From Morocco to Paris Read online

  “He sounds like a nightmare.”

  “My point,” Davey grew peevish, “is that he’s too polite for me to subject myself to. You can’t even get a moment to yourself to jerk off around here. A man has needs!”

  Zane groaned. “I might have known this would be about your sexual frustration.”

  “Right, and you’re going to go a month without so much as jerking off?”

  Zane shrugged. “This isn’t about sex. We’re supposed to be working. There’s more important things to occupy our time.”

  “Sure. And you’re out of your mind if you believe the French never jerked off. That’s why homosexuality takes place in armies. It’s not a choice, it’s a necessity!”

  Zane looked at the people around him: all bedraggled, dirty, and ready to collapse. Clearly none of them were thinking about sex or lack thereof.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Zane said, “there are women around here, Davey. One whole unit of the stunt crew is female. You don’t have to be gay.”

  “Maybe I want to be.”

  “Suit yourself. Me, I’m focused on work. I’m going to turn in Elliot’s props, then I’m going to the showers.”

  “I’m going to the showers too. We’ll see how much you’re not thinking about sex when we’re naked together.”

  “I find it hard to get aroused when I’ve got ice cold water shrinking my balls.”

  Zane stepped to the front of the line, and the prop girl raised an eyebrow. He smiled wearily at her. “I don’t understand why a scientist needs a sword and a bayonet,” he said, “but tomorrow, can he have cardboard ones?”

  Zane maintained his stance on sex for exactly four more days. He spent those days helping Elliot stay organized, keeping him hydrated and shielded from the sun, and observing Saul every chance he got. He grew used to the very basic meals, became faster in the showers, and went through two bottles of sun block. At least he had the luxury of Elliot’s umbrella during takes and his air-conditioned trailer when the temperature became overwhelming.

  On the fifth day, he woke up with an erection hard enough he could have put someone’s eye out. Glad Elliot wasn’t awake, he rolled over on his little cot and tried to think unsexy thoughts.

  Soon after, a cloud of sexual frustration born of deprivation descended, gripping most of the crew. Everyone talked about sex, mourning the absence of their significant others and trying to devise ways to call them or get them out there. Zane suspected some experimentation started like they were in prison. Or at war. Zane behaved himself, until one tension-filled night after dinner. As he went behind the craft tent to sneak a smoke — Davey had rekindled his addiction quite successfully — Davey caught up with him. They were alone and in the dark.

  Zane didn’t realize his will had slipped so much until their bodies were pressed together. Davey kissed him and his mouth tasted like salt and sweat. Their clammy skin stuck together. Zane put a knee between Davey’s thighs and Davey rubbed Zane through his pants, his touch firm and sure and everything Zane wanted to deny he’d been craving. Zane hadn’t dry humped anyone in a while, but need overcame propriety, and he could only think of finding something solid to lean against. The tent wasn’t viable, obviously.

  Then they heard voices and had to break apart. Zane tried to catch his breath, heart pounding. Davey slipped off, leaving him with a rather distracting hard-on. Zane saw Davey’s eyes flash as he looked over his shoulder, then he disappeared. Zane lit his cigarette and swore violently in his head.

  Afterward, every time they got so much as a second alone they were on each other like horny teenagers. They barely spoke during these furtive encounters, but Zane always understood they would meet again — largely because they never got to finish, privacy being as scarce as water. The frustration ratcheted up so high Zane wanted to scream.

  The closest they got to completion was behind Elliot’s trailer one morning, during a fifteen-minute break in shooting. They’d discovered loose linen provided easy access, and Davey’s pants were around his knees, his thighs bare and covered with dust that turned to mud under Zane’s sweaty, clutching fingers. Davey had managed to get his leg around Zane’s hip, his boot heel digging into the back of Zane’s calf. Zane pressed his back against the trailer, hips working, their cocks grinding together. They both panted with the heat and effort. Everything tasted and smelled like sweat. Zane had almost reached the long-elusive blissful plateau when he heard voices.

  “Fuck!” Davey swore. He wrenched away and Zane moaned in misery. They quickly pulled their pants up.

  “We have to find some time alone,” Davey said lowly as the interlopers came around the corner. “This is going to kill me.”

  “You’re fucking telling me.” Zane bent over, hands on his knees, pretending to fend off the heat.

  Zane thought things might be better altogether if they stopped trying to get off on each other, but couldn’t avoid still thinking about bending Davey over the nearest stable object and sating himself. He started slacking and forgetting things. He couldn’t focus on work, and Elliot wanted to kill him.

  A couple days later, an opportunity came along for Zane and Davey to get the alone-time they were craving.

  A small village rested about five miles from where they were camped. Supply trucks went through the village to get to the camp, and one had broken down there. The truck carried props and costumes flown in from London, and unless they got them shooting would be put back a day. Saul had a small heart attack, and then he came up with a plan.

  “Listen,” Saul said to Zane, taking him aside. Zane had managed to strike up conversation with Saul several times during the desert excursion and usually hovered near the director, trying to subtly get his attention. “I’ve seen you working hard,” Saul said. “You wanna help me out? I’ll give you a list of things I need most. Take one of the Jeeps and load it up, bring the stuff back.”

  Zane eagerly agreed, grateful Saul had noticed him, even if only because he made a good errand boy. He went to grab a hat and some water. While filling up his canteen, Davey appeared.

  “I’m going with you,” Davey said. Zane knew the light in his eyes all too well.

  “All right…”

  “I heard you were going and asked if I could go. You’ll need help loading things.”

  Behind the wheel of the Jeep, driving from the camp to the road, Zane glanced sideways at Davey.

  “You know, they send supply trucks up and down this road all the time,” Zane said. “There’s not exactly anywhere to pull over.”

  “It’s only going to take a few minutes, trust me.”

  Davey held onto the roll bar as they jolted over the uneven ground. They reached the road, and Zane sped up, the air whipping around him hot and dry, the going much smoother.

  After a few minutes of silence, Davey said sharply, “Zane!”

  “I’m not gonna pull over! We’re not a couple of teenagers, for fuck sake. And someone could come along. There’s not exactly anywhere private to park out here!” Indeed, flat, barren desert stretched in all directions.

  Davey slumped in his seat, knees propped against the dashboard, arms crossed over his chest. His hair was coming out of its ponytail, being whipped by the wind. He glowered.

  “You mean to tell me,” Davey said, “you’ve been humping my fucking leg for the past week, and the first opportunity we get to be alone, you’re not in the mood? I think I’ve got your fucking DNA rubbed into my thigh!”

  “It’s not that I’m not in the mood.” Zane squeezed the wheel. His palms were slick with sweat. “We just can’t do it out here!”

  “I don’t see anyone,” Davey said and sat up, looking through the windshield. Little stones, kicked up by the tires, clicked against the glass. “It’s not going to take long!”

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  “You said you were clean.”

  “Are you?”

  “Are you seriously just now asking me that after we’ve fucked as many times
as we have? I don’t know if you’re insulting me or stupid.”

  Zane continued to drive. He swore to himself he wasn’t this desperate. Then he recalled humping Davey against the trailer and realized whatever dignity he proposed to have had left him long ago.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Zane said.

  Davey turned his head, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “What?”

  Zane flexed his fingers on the wheel. “I’ll drive, and you can jerk off. It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before. Then on the way back, you can drive and I’ll do it. That way we at least get some of our frustrations out.”

  Zane glanced over nervously. Davey stared at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

  “That’s completely depraved,” Davey said, sounding more delighted than disgusted.

  “It’s the best we’ve got. If a truck comes along you’ll have plenty of time to tuck it away.”

  Davey appeared to consider the offer.

  “You better decide quick,” Zane said. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Davey smirked and slid down on the seat. He undid his pants. “Your mind is getting more and more warped. I like it.”

  “Just shut up and do it.”

  Zane drove a little slower and tried to keep his eyes on the road. Davey held true to his usual shamelessness — in fact, he seemed driven to more lewdness having Zane as a captive audience. He pushed his pants down to his knees and put his feet up on the dashboard. Tank top tugged up, he rested one hand on his stomach right above his treasure trail, the hair glistening and plastered to his skin with sweat. He worked his cock with the other hand, gasping softly, the sound barely audible over the whipping wind but loud enough to creep along Zane’s skin like the rivulets of sweat beneath his clothes.

  Zane’s cock wanted to rip through his pants. A delirious fantasy entered his mind, of licking Davey’s stomach, his thighs, all around his fingers on his cock. He could almost taste the tang of his sweat.

  “Enjoying the show?” Davey asked, voice husky. “This was a great idea, Zane.”

  Zane didn’t reply. The village loomed into sight on the horizon, and he wanted to keep driving. Maybe fucking like teenagers alongside the road wasn’t such a bad idea after all. They hadn’t passed a single vehicle.

  Davey squirmed, arching his hips. Zane heard his skin drag on the leather seat. Davey gripped the roll bar above him, head thrown back. Zane thought he would get off himself just seeing and listening to him.

  “Is there a tissue or something in here?” Davey’s urgent, breathy question cut through the fog in Zane’s head.

  “I don’t think so.” Zane didn’t bother to look around because he could barely move. “Just wipe it on the inside of your shirt.” Just finish before you fucking kill me.

  Zane glanced over. Even if he wasn’t desperately aroused he would have looked out of sheer curiosity. Davey lowered his hips to the seat, let go of the roll bar, and cupped his hand around the head of his cock. His cheeks were red, eyelids drooping as he watched himself, mouth open. His nipples were dark through the tank top, and Zane wanted to squeeze them.

  Suddenly, Davey gasped and arched off the seat again. Zane made himself look straight ahead. From the corner of his eye, Zane saw Davey writhe and heard him cry out sharply, followed by softer moans. Zane drew a deep, relieved sigh when Davey finally slumped into a relaxed pose. The village was straight ahead, and they had to pull themselves together.

  Davey sat up. Zane looked over, despite himself. Davey carefully removed his hands from his cock, still mostly hard. He looked at the hand he had cupped around the head and made a face. Zane caught a whiff of musk on the wind.

  “Hmph,” Davey said.

  With his dry hand Davey started working his pants up. He licked his other palm. Watching him, Zane got a sudden urge, fired by his arousal. He reached over and grabbed Davey’s wrist and pulled his hand over, and sucked one of his slick fingers clean. His skin tasted like sex.

  Davey smirked. “Oh, that’s hot.”

  By the time they drove into the village, Davey had righted himself, and Zane had willed his erection down most of the way. Davey sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, then yanked on his ponytail to tighten the band. “That was like giving a man dying of thirst a teaspoon of water,” he said. “It just made me want more.”

  The village consisted of little stone houses in neat rows with narrow dirt streets between them. No plants grew, but animals were everywhere, goats and chickens mostly, snuffling and pecking in the dust and drinking from troughs. The people dressed in bright colors, shielded from the sun by hoods and veils. The air smelled pungent with rubbish fires. They found the truck near the center of the village, where people gathered around a well, watching and chattering in their language.

  In the cool, cluttered back of the hulking army truck, beyond the tarp serving as a tailgate, Zane located the items on the list — replica weaponry, tools, containers of costumes. They piled everything in the back of the Jeep. Soldiers from the camp were working under the massive hood.

  “We’ll be running by this evening,” one of them told Zane in a thick accent. “Tell Mr. Brennan we bring the rest as soon as possible.”

  Zane and Davey headed back to the Jeep. Zane wasn’t thinking about props or broken-down trucks or shooting schedules. His ardor hadn’t cooled as Davey kept brushing against him and his taste still lingered on his tongue. Children chased the Jeep, laughing and squealing, to the edge of the village. They got back on the road, Davey behind the wheel this time.

  “Your turn,” Davey said and smiled saucily. “I’ll keep it at the speed limit.”

  On stage, Zane found himself shy. However, the thought of spending the next few weeks in utter blue-balled agony without another second of privacy made him push his pants down.

  He thought he’d be too nervous, but after a few strokes, lubricated by sweat and a palm full of spit, his cock had no qualms. He bit his lip and tilted his head back, closing his eyes so he could pretend Davey wasn’t there. He braced his feet on the floor, pushing back against the seat.

  Pretending Davey wasn’t there proved futile, since Davey shoehorned himself right into his fantasy. Zane didn’t need much help, but the sound of the road and the wind rushing by, the jolting of the Jeep, the sweat trickling down his spine — all these were terrible distractions and he needed something to focus on. He pictured Davey’s mouth, imagining the slick-wet movement of his own hand on the shaft of his cock as Davey’s lips. He wanted to cup his balls, like he usually did while masturbating, but he figured Davey had enough of a show already. The pleasure sharpened, intensified, spread. Fantasy-Davey took him deep into his throat, slurping around him. Zane curled his toes in his boots. Finally, at last…

  Davey’s voice cut through the cloud of pleasure. “What are you thinking about?”

  Zane groaned, pulled back sharply from the edge. “Come on, I didn’t bother you!”

  “I’m not trying to bother you. I thought it might make you hotter.”

  “I’m hot enough already.” Zane squeezed his cock, the turgid organ aching, begging for release.

  “Know what I was thinking about?” Davey asked.

  Zane knew he wouldn’t get another second to himself until he let him speak. He stroked, keeping the knot of tension tight.

  “What?” Zane asked.

  “I was thinking about the other day, against Elliot’s trailer. Only instead of what we were doing, you had me turned around and your fingers were inside me.”

  Zane closed his eyes again. “Nice,” he said. He tried to imagine the scenario, but the scene changed to him against the trailer, Davey kneeling in front of him. Where was he again? Ah yes…right there in Davey’s mouth, about to let go down his throat.

  Davey suddenly whipped the Jeep off the road, and Zane shrieked in rather unmanly fashion, grabbing at the roll bar above him in alarm. The vehicle rattled over the rocky ground, past scrubby brush, lurching into the desert
. Zane held on for his life, cock bobbing dementedly in his lap.

  “Davey!” Zane yelled. But Davey drove on, not speaking. Dust billowed thick around the Jeep, making Zane cough and shield his eyes.

  About a hundred yards out, Davey turned the Jeep around, pointing the vehicle toward the road, and came to a sudden stop, making Zane lurch forward. He turned off the engine.

  “What the fuck!” Zane bellowed, brushing dust off. His cock had quickly gone soft. “What the hell are you doing!” He coughed and sputtered.

  Davey turned toward him, eyes gleaming through the settling dust.

  “Get in the back seat,” Davey said.

  Zane stared at him. Davey stared back, gaze intense.

  “We can’t fucking — “ Zane began.

  “We’re far enough from the road no one can see us. And if anybody comes, we’ll have enough time to straighten ourselves out. Now,” he leaned toward Zane, “get in the back seat.” He undid his seatbelt.

  Zane realized he had two choices: he could keep arguing and never get off — and possibly become Davey’s desert-land sex prisoner and never see civilization again, the crazy bastard — or have his cock ridden and enjoy the experience. He glanced toward the road, empty both ways. Zane got in the back seat.

  Davey wrenched off and deposited his boots on the floorboards up front, then made short work of his pants, which he tossed into the passenger seat. He clambered bare and sweaty into the backseat and over Zane’s lap, making Zane’s cock perk right back up. Zane pulled him closer, and Davey straddled him on the narrow seat, their cocks nestled between them, rubbing silkily together.

  “Lube,” Zane blurted, barely remembering English. He kept one anxious eye on the road.

  “We’ll make do,” Davey answered. He paused, gathered saliva in his mouth, and spit into his palm. He slicked the spit along the length of Zane’s cock and Zane moaned, thighs tensing.

  “I told you, I don’t have a — “