From Morocco to Paris (9 page)

“It’s hot out here!” Cristiano called, grinning and wiping a hand over his forehead.

“I’ll go get Elliot!” Davey said. He leapt up and took off.

Zane stood. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Milan!”

“Surprise.” Cristiano smiled and took off his sunglasses. “I found out you were going to Marrakech for the weekend so I flew down.”

“Elliot is going to be happy.”

Elliot, actually, appeared ecstatic when he returned with Davey. Elliot had been considering not going to Marrakech, but his mind had apparently been changed.

“We better get ready,” Zane said to Davey, as the other two were avidly embracing.

“Yeah.” Davey smirked. “There’s a blanket right over there you guys!” he yelled at Elliot and Cristiano.

Zane yanked the umbrella out of the ground. He walked back to camp with the handle balanced on his shoulder, Davey joining him beneath the shade carrying the chairs.

***

Zane spent so long in the shower in his hotel room that Davey had to almost physically remove him. He had never appreciated a shower so much -- warm water, for as long as he wanted, and real soap and shampoo. He brought in a nailbrush to dig all the grit from under his fingernails and toenails. He washed his hair twice to get the dust out. Every crevice of his body got a thorough scrubbing.

“It’s going to be midnight before we get anywhere!” Davey admonished Zane as he dressed. Zane slipped into a clean, dust-free shirt, nearly delirious at the luxury. “It’s almost sunset!” Davey said.

“Don’t worry, the booze will wait for you. The bars don’t turn into pumpkins at midnight.”

Davey had showered as well, and his hair fell smooth and gleaming on his shoulders. He wore jeans and a clingy, physique-enhancing black shirt. He looked fantastic enough to be distracting. Zane opted for comfy jeans and a t-shirt and as many cuffs and bracelets as he could fit -- he liked jewelry.

Marrakech had an impressive nightlife. They went to Guéliz, around Place Abdelmoumen ben Ali, where there were numerous modern bars, clubs, restaurants, and cafés. The area displayed a charming mixture of past and present, sleek modern buildings interspersed with older structures, some of the streets paved and others still made up of uneven stones. The walkways were crowded with people in colorful dress. Music drifted from doorways and the smell of food filled the air. They saw quite a few people from the camp and everyone waved to each other and gathered in little groups to chat before moving on. Zane’s blood started to pump faster and thoughts of crawling into bed were quickly banished.

They started at Hotel La Renaissance, which had a spacious and beautiful rooftop terrace, and then commenced a massive string of bar visits, hopping readily from one to the next. Davey danced wherever he heard music. Zane joined him once his head filled with a pleasant, buzzing fog from the beer he was drinking.

In a noisy, crowded bar pulsing with music and thick with smoke, Rory Kendall, one of Saul’s assistant directors, ran into them. He had in his company two tipsy, voluptuous young women, both from the stunt crew.

“Elliot is throwing a party in his suite tonight,” Rory said near Zane’s ear, yelling to be heard over the noise. “We’re heading that way. You wanna come?”

Zane looked around for Davey and saw him at the bar, standing amidst a group of Moroccan men who were talking loudly and making lively gestures. Davey seemed to be trying to understand them, as well as speak to them with his limited grasp of their language. Zane caught his eye and waved him over.

“You wanna go to a party at El’s suite?” Zane asked him. He hadn’t even been aware Elliot
had
a suite.

Davey looked thoughtful, then nodded.

“We’ll come,” Zane told Rory.

Walking through the streets Zane and Davey fell all over each other, laughing, trying to hold each other up and not run into anyone. At one point they started singing again and Rory shook his head. Apparently he hadn’t had enough to drink yet. Zane wondered if Rory wanted to spare one of his girls for the night, since he had two and all. There was his father-shaped masculinity, trying to fight its way out of the box he’d managed to stuff it in for the past several weeks.

“You used to be a football player, didn’t you?” Davey asked Rory in the elevator at the hotel, a very chic and modern establishment.

Zane wondered how Elliot had gotten a suite. The main actors had nice rooms at their hotel but Zane didn’t think Elliot would be afforded such a thing. Also, as far as he knew, Elliot had been put up in the same hotel as him.

“Sure did,” Rory said. “Played for UCLA.” He turned to Davey with an exaggerated grunt. “You want me to show you some moves?”

The girls tittered and Davey smirked, going on the defense.

“Bring it on,” Davey said.

The girls laughed while Rory pretended to knock Davey around. Their perfume filled the elevator, and Zane considered how much time had passed since he’d been with a woman. As much as he hated considering it lately and being reminded of the past because of it, his wounded masculinity demanded a patch-up.

Inside the suite, a true Hollywood party raged -- bare flesh, music pounding, the smell of pot.
Oh yes, this is a familiar place.
Booze in the main room, drugs in the kitchen. Take turns in the bedrooms and hope no one left anything sticky on the sheets before you go in.

Davey went to mingle, following Rory. Zane tried to decide if hash or Jack should come first when Kristy Amberlin, the film’s property master, walked up to him smiling. She wore a slinky black dress, her auburn hair piled in curls atop her head.

“Hey there.” She pressed a bottle into his hand. “Welcome, have a drink. You’re Elliot’s assistant, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. Zane Reed.” He twisted off the bottle top a bit clumsily, his head still floating. “Thanks.”

“Kristy.” She smiled. “How are you enjoying desert life?”

“It’s hot,” Zane said and chuckled awkwardly.

Elliot came by, clothes rumpled and looking soused, Cristiano hanging off him and obviously inebriated as well.

“Oh hi, Zane!” Elliot said brightly. “Been wondering where you were! You like the suite?”

“It’s nice.” Zane looked around. “How the fuck did you get a suite?”

“Cristiano got it for me as a present!” He patted Cristiano’s hand on his shoulder.

“I thought a party would be nice!” Cristiano said, his accent heavy.

“It was a good call,” Zane said. He lifted his beer to them and they wandered off, wobbling.

Kristy looked at Zane. “I didn’t realize Elliot was gay.”

“I think there’s a lot people don’t realize about him.”

Zane and Kristy sat down on a couch. They talked and drank and smoked a little. Harder things were available elsewhere in the suite, but Zane wasn’t in the mood. Kristy played with his hair. Every now and then he saw Davey through the crowd, women flocked around him. Davey chatted with them but didn’t appear overly affectionate. Once he glanced in Zane’s direction, but quickly looked away. Then he disappeared completely for a good half hour.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” Zane said, placing his empty beer bottle with the other ones at his feet.

Kristy lounged against him, her shoes off.

“Don’t do it here,” she said with a grin. He smirked at her and got up. She flopped over on the cushions with a sigh and smiled. “Hurry back…”

Zane found the bathroom at the end of a short hallway, occupied. The suite probably had one in the main bedroom, but he didn’t care to see whoever might be on the bed, so he waited. When a burly-looking guy Zane recognized as one of the extras vacated the bathroom, he went in, did his business, and washed his hands. The room smelled like smoke.

Zane stared at himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked tired. He thought of Kristy out on the couch. She would probably sleep with him; he would only have to take her back to his hotel. He didn’t want to fuck anybody though. As the night wore on, his buzz had faded despite the application of more alcohol, and he kept thinking more and more about a nice sleep in a comfortable bed. His masculinity bleated and gazed reproachfully through his eyes. His father whispered in his ear:
you’ve become such a fairy you can’t even get it on with a hot woman, can you?

He left the sink, dried his hands, then opened the bathroom door and stopped short. Davey stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He rubbed at his face, sniffing.

“What’s wrong?” Zane asked and stepped toward him. “What’s the matter?”

Davey looked up. His eyes were watery and Zane thought for a second he was crying. Davey lowered his hand and snorted hard.

“First time doing coke,” he said in a thick voice.

Zane sighed despairingly. “Are you fucking serious? Get in here.” He pulled Davey into the bathroom and closed the door.

“I think I snorted way too much.” Davey leaned over the sink while Zane got him some tissues. “Cristiano had it. God, it burns
my
throat
!” He coughed and gagged, then spit into the sink.

“Cristiano was doing coke?”

“A lot of it. He has a whole bag.”

For some reason Zane found the revelation oddly disquieting -- drugs weren’t novel in the circles he mingled, but the thought of Cristiano doing them unnerved him. Maybe because of Elliot. Maybe because Cristiano just seemed so much better than the rest of them -- successful and smart and refined. Zane felt disillusioned at the idea he might be on their level after all.

Zane handed Davey the tissues and said, “I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve done coke. But that aside, are you going to throw up?”

“No.” Davey took them and wiped his nose, then blew it hard.

Zane found a plastic cup and filled it with water.

“I watched my mother do every drug imaginable all throughout my childhood,” Davey said, his voice muffled by the tissue. “Made them less appealing.”

“What the fuck made it seem like an awesome idea tonight?” Zane handed him the cup as he lowered the tissue.

“I don’t know, really.”

Davey drank some of the water then wiped at his eyes. A knock sounded at the bathroom door.

“Be out in a minute!” Zane called.

“So, you going back to the hotel with Kristy?” Davey asked and wiped his nose again. “You seem cozy.”

“I doubt it. I think I’m just going to bed.” Zane glanced at Davey in the mirror. “What about you? You going back with one of those girls that have been hanging all over you?”

“No.” Davey took another drink and tossed the tissues in the wastebasket. “I’m not into girls right now.”

“Right now?” Zane found another plastic cup on the counter and filled it from the tap. His mouth felt dry from the beer. “Do you have a schedule?”

Davey shrugged, leaning against the counter and taking another drink. He lowered the cup.

“Sometimes I’m into girls,” he said. “Sometimes I’m into guys. Right now I’m on a guy kick.”

“You gonna take a guy back then?”

The knock came at the door again.

“Hold on a fucking minute!” Zane barked. He got a few nasty words from a female voice in return.

“Yes, I am.” Davey crumpled up the cup and threw it in the wastebasket, then grabbed Zane by the hand. “Let’s go.”

They left the bathroom, Davey dragging Zane along. Zane cringed as the girl standing outside, as well as the two guys behind her, watched them pass with curiosity. Zane made Davey let go before they returned to the main room.

Zane apologized to Kristy, telling her Davey had gotten sick, and he needed to take him back to the hotel. She offered to drive them since she had a car, but Davey had already called a cab. Zane left his masculinity writhing and wailing at the door of the suite.

On the way to the hotel Davey sat slumped in the back of the cab, still and quiet. Zane wondered if he was ridiculously high, thus the silence. He was tired and heavy himself and didn’t attempt to make conversation.

At the hotel, Zane helped Davey to his room. A voice in his head whispered,
go to bed
. Davey whispered in his ear, “Come to bed with me.” His masculinity still back at the party trying to look up Kristy’s skirt, Zane ended up in Davey’s bed, kissing his soft lips and sucking on his beer-soaked tongue.

“This shit has to stop,” Zane said.
Or else I’m going to break all my rules for you.

Davey smirked lazily up at him. “It will, but not yet,” he said.

Chapter 7

They didn’t fuck, both having too much alcohol -- and other things -- in their systems for the necessary parts to work properly. Instead they fell asleep half-naked and tangled up.

Zane dreamt he was in the desert looking for something in the sand and dust. He crawled around, digging frantically. His fingernails bled and the sun burnt his back but he couldn’t stop searching. The air smelled fruity for some reason. He woke up in the dim light of pre-dawn with his face in Davey’s hair. He actually looked at his fingers, but the nails were merely clipped and clean, for the first time in weeks. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

When he opened them again, light streamed through the windows, and Davey had left the bed.

Zane groaned, lying on his stomach, still wearing his jeans. He pressed his face into the pillow, his head thick but only a little achy. Definitely a good sign -- no vicious hangover. However, his muscles were sore, like they were every morning, and his body urged him to stay put rather than moving and causing more pain.

“About time you woke up,” he heard Davey’s voice. “Drunken bastard.”

Zane lifted his head and looked around, squinting. Davey stood in the doorway of the room’s little balcony, framed with morning light. He wore his djellaba, fastened in just enough places so the fabric covered his midsection. His bare chest and leg were visible beyond the open folds, deeply tanned like Zane’s skin had become. He held a small red glass, which he lifted.

“Want some tea?” Davey asked. “I ordered a pot from room service. Moroccan tea is a big deal, you know.”

“Sure.” Zane grunted and rolled out of bed, wincing at the ache in his limbs and lower back. “Just gonna take a piss first.”

When he emerged from the bathroom he felt a little better, being mobile and his bladder empty. He took one of the small, multi-colored glasses from the room service tray, poured some tea, and walked out to the balcony. The air was warm and lovely. He peeked over the railing. They were dizzyingly high above the busy street, the balcony enclosed on both sides.

“This is nice,” Zane said. “I haven’t been out on mine yet.”

Davey sat on a lounge chair, his legs spread on either side of the seat. This made his djellaba ride up far enough Zane had a clear view of both thighs, enough to know he didn’t have underwear on. He gazed at Zane, eyes luminous in the morning light.

“Feeling better?” Zane asked.

Davey took a sip of his tea and sucked at his lower lip. “Mm hm.”

Zane took a sip as well. The tea tasted sweet, with a hint of lemon.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Zane said. “Guess I was too fucked to fuck.”

“It’s all right.” Davey sat his glass aside on a table next to the chair. “You wanna do it now?”

“Can we have breakfast first?”

Davey smiled and sat forward, clasping his hands. “You know, I think I figured it out.”

“What’s that?” Zane strolled over to the railing again and peered over the edge.

“Why I did coke last night.”

Zane looked over at him. “You don’t need to say it. In fact, it’ll be a lot less awkward if you refrain. Don’t make this weird.”

Davey tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, then he half-smirked, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s not about you, Zane. Well, it is, but not the way you’re thinking. It’s because you told me about your father yesterday.”

Zane tensed a little. “While I admit my father made me want to do drugs, I’m not sure why you, who never even met him, would feel the same way.”

Davey spread his hands. “I grew up watching my mother do all sorts of depraved shit. She made a mess of me. For so long I was terrified of abandonment, desperate for attention, but I conquered those demons.” When Zane gave him a disbelieving look he smirked. “For the
most
part. Why not overcome the terror of drugs she instilled in me as well? One by one, I’m knocking down the walls she helped put around me, those defensive walls of imagined safety. I don’t want to live my life in fear.”

“I’m not sure your logic is wholly sound, but whatever gets you through the night. However, I still don’t see what that has to do with my father.”

“As I said,” Davey looked at him pointedly, “I chose to conquer my demons.”

Zane lurched toward him before he could stop himself.

“I told you,” Zane snarled. “Don’t fucking psychoanalyze me.” He pointed at Davey with the glass in hand and some tea sloshed out and splattered on the balcony floor.

Davey looked down at the puddle, then back up at him, lips in a tight line, gaze guarded, but also knowing.

Zane righted the glass and took a step back.

“Just don’t,” Zane said tightly. “Just leave it alone.” He was a little surprised at his own reaction. Part of him didn’t want Davey working out that all his insecurities led back to his father and trying to fix him. Another part of him was ashamed for Davey to know how bad it had been.

They were silent for a moment, Davey still staring at him, and then his expression eased and softened.

“I’m sorry,” Davey said, the light coming back to his eyes. “I won’t bring it up again.”

Zane looked down at his glass, now half-empty. He took a drink and looked toward the balcony door.

“Did you order food, too?” Zane asked.

“Are you hungry?” Davey scooted forward on the lounge, legs still spread. This put him within reaching distance of Zane’s belt loops, which he grabbed onto.

“A little.” Zane made a sound of protest as Davey pulled him forward. “Davey!” He lifted his glass so as not to whack him in the head.

“You can have your breakfast after I’ve had mine.”

Davey undid Zane’s jeans, his face at belly-level so his breath tickled Zane’s stomach. The previous conversation seemed to have instantly vanished.

“Should we do this out here?” Zane asked and looked around nervously, but they weren’t really in ‘public.’ One would have to be scaling the hotel to see them and there were no tall buildings across the way.

Standing holding his glass of tea while Davey pushed his jeans down and got his cock out of his underwear had to be the most absurd feeling ever. His cock twitched from the attention, clearly not feeling awkward at all. Davey pushed Zane’s underwear down around his knees with his jeans.

“Can I at least put my tea down?” Zane asked.

Davey reached up and took the glass, put it on the floor next to the lounge, then leaned forward and gathered Zane’s cock up in both hands. Zane lost the ability to complain. Davey stroked him to half-hardness and slid his mouth over him, which coaxed him up the rest of the way. Zane gasped, gazing down at him.

Davey removed one hand from Zane’s cock and started undoing his djellaba. After an awkward minute of fighting with the clasps, he got the robe open and started stroking himself while he slowly bobbed his head. Zane alternated between watching Davey’s hand and watching his face. His long, soft lashes fell demurely against his cheeks, his nose brushing Zane’s belly with each downward stroke. Zane reached down and stroked his hair, and then closed his eyes, the morning breeze on his skin as sensual as Davey’s mouth.

Davey popped off after a few minutes, and Zane moaned in protest, opening his eyes and looking down at him. The head of his cock brushed his swollen lower lip.

“You still want breakfast?” Davey asked, his breath ghosting over Zane’s wet, straining cock.

“You’ve persuaded me to put it off,” Zane said. He eyed the lounge behind Davey, thinking of putting him back and pulling his legs up over his shoulders.

Davey got to his feet though, rising up in front of Zane, close enough their cocks brushed together. Zane gripped Davey’s hips, drew him closer, and pressed against him, wanting sensation.

“Wanna go back inside?” Zane whispered.

“No.” Davey touched a finger to Zane’s lower lip, his eyes bright and sultry. “Take off your pants and come here.”

Zane frowned and Davey slipped away, the fabric of his djellaba fluttering against Zane’s bare thigh. Davey went to the railing. Zane looked down, then pushed his jeans and underwear to his ankles and fought his way out of them. Being naked out in the open, without being too risky, felt oddly liberating.

Davey stood at the railing, back to Zane, gazing out at the sprawling city of Marrakech. A solid wall at waist level beneath the railing kept him from exposing himself to everyone in the street below.

Zane went over to him. “What?”

Davey turned. “Right here,” he said.

Zane stared at him. “On the railing?” He panicked.

“No. Just standing right here. I’m not
that
much of a daredevil.” Davey propped his foot up on the chair beside him. “My lube’s in my bag, next to the bed.”

Zane stared at him another moment and then went inside. He came back with the bottle and hesitated.

“Should I get a condom?” Zane asked.

“It’s pointless now, isn’t it? And I liked feeling you inside me, bare.”

Zane just swallowed and nodded.

Davey hiked his djellaba up around his hips so the fabric draped in front of him. Zane thought even with Davey’s foot up on the chair the awkward position wouldn’t work. However, Davey gripped the railing and leaned over a bit, which put him at the perfect height.

After such an awesome blowjob, Zane wanted little more than to slick up and slide in, but he made himself be patient, since their trysts were rarely patient and they actually had all the time in the world. Zane coated his fingers thickly with lube and pressed one into Davey. He heard him gasp, and he looked back over his shoulder, eyelids drooping.

“Giving me my up-against-the-trailer fantasy, are you?” Davey asked.

“Just be quiet and enjoy it.”

He clearly did, tossing his head, rolling his shoulders, bathed in sunlight as Zane worked inside him. He added more lube and a second finger. Davey rocked his hips gently, the djellaba shifting around them. His toes curled against the mesh of the chair. The greasy scent of lubricant overrode the smell of the warm, summery morning. Zane closed his eyes and concentrated on the breeze on his bare skin, the heat and tightness around his fingers.

Finally, Davey tilted his head back and whispered huskily, “Fuck me.”

Zane slid his fingers out and slicked some lube onto his cock. Gazing out over the city gleaming in the morning sun, he slid into Davey with one slow, smooth movement. They moaned in unison.

Up against the railing, bared to the world and yet the world completely oblivious, Zane couldn’t have asked for a more surreal experience. He gripped Davey’s hip with one hand and rocked into him, reaching around with his other, lube-slick hand to seek out his cock in the soft folds of his djellaba.

“This is why I’m into guys right now,” Davey said, his voice a sigh of pleasure. “God, you feel good in my ass.”

Zane didn’t understand how Davey could mix sensuality and filth so well, but he liked the combination. He thrust harder, sweat dampening his skin.

“You feel good too,” Zane breathed across his back. He worked his hand on Davey’s cock and felt his breath come quicker, signaling the approach of his orgasm.

Sure enough, in short time he peaked.

“Gonna come,” Davey moaned, twisting his hands on the railing. He pushed back demandingly. “Right…now!”

He clenched around Zane’s cock, jerking in his hand, scooting the chair in his spasms. Wet heat spilled over Zane’s fingers. Zane shuddered and pounded into him, working himself to the edge as well. Davey’s moans turned to sharp cries.

Zane came with the sun on his skin, the breeze in his hair, Davey’s body soft and hot against him. He barely stayed on his feet, but managed to by clinging to Davey. Davey hung on to the railing, moaning deeply. Zane pressed against him and regained his breath.

“Awesome,” Davey said dreamily.

Zane concurred.

They sprawled on the lounge together, taking up all available room, legs tangled. Davey sipped his tea. Zane tried not to consider that Davey might have just used sex to deflect his earlier anger.

“I should call Kristy and apologize for last night,” Zane said, hand resting on Davey’s chest, playing idly with the fine hairs there. “Maybe see if she has plans for dinner.”

Davey smirked and swiveled to put his glass on the floor next to the lounge.

“Zane, why don’t you do something for me?”

“What’s that?” Zane gazed up at the cloudless sky.

“Put your macho pride away. Come be into guys for a while with me.”

Zane frowned and looked at him. “What?”

“You obviously want to, so why don’t you?” Davey shrugged a shoulder. “When you leave here, you can carouse with all the women of the world. You know you will. Why not enjoy this side of yourself while you’re here?”

“Are you jealous?”

Davey smirked and untangled himself. The lounge lurched as he fought his way off. Zane scooted to the side as much as he could to give him room to move.

“I don’t have to be,” Davey said, rising to his feet.

“Why’s that?”

Zane watched as Davey tugged his dejella closed. The fabric flowed behind him as he walked toward the room. In the doorway he stopped and looked back.

“Because,” Davey said, “it’s me you fucked on this balcony this morning, not her.”

Davey disappeared into the room. Zane stared after him in silence.

God, he had him there.

Chapter 8

“You’re going to call me, aren’t you?” Davey asked.

Davey prowled Zane’s room as if he were the one staying there, looking in drawers and peeking in the closet. Zane wondered when they’d gotten married and why no one had informed him. He only allowed Davey’s presumptuous invasion because of the way he was dressed, or wasn’t dressed -- shirtless, tight jeans losing their last tenuous grip on his slim, angular hipbones, his hair brushing against his bare back in delicate tangles, making Zane want to run his fingers through the strands and right them. If he’d shown up fully clothed, Zane would have thrown him out.

“Yes, I’ll call you, Mommy,” Zane said. He checked to make sure he had his watch and scowled as Davey tossed several shirts on top the clothes in his neatly-packed suitcase. “I’m only going to be gone for three fucking days, Davey!”