Date: Mon, 19 Mar 2007 13:26:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Virtual Insanity <virtualinsanity78@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mason and Blake 2

This story contains male/male consensual relationships of a romantic and
sexual nature.  If it is illegal for you to read this type of material, please
adhere to your laws.

			***

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			Part Two

	Mason was shoving half of a cheese sandwich into his mouth
at the kitchen counter when they walked in.  Pellegrino and the kid.  Mason
stopped chewing and stared at them.

	They had spent most of the day before in the gym together and
Mason suspected that his father was seriously talking to Blake about
training him, but it was rare that any of the guys got to come to the house.

	"Mason, you know Blake," Pellegrino said easily, coming into
the room carefully on his bad knees and sliding into his usual chair at the
kitchen table.

	"Yeah," Mason said and nodded at Blake half-heartedly.

	"Hey," Blake said, his eyes glued to Mason.   Mason
remembered to chew again and then swallowed hard.  The other half of the
sandwich sat lifelessly in his hand.

	"Blake's gonna be staying with us for awhile," Pellegrino said.
"He's gonna train full-time."  Mason eyed the two of them carefully, suddenly
taking note of the duffel bag slung over Blake's shoulder, of the needy look
in the emerald eyes.

	"Yeah," Mason said again.  Like it was no big deal.  It was a big
deal.  They all knew it.  Pellegrino because he had another full-time trainee
on his hands.  Mason because his father was about to invest his heart and soul
into the guy...and because he wouldn't get a moment's peace with the kid in
their home.  Blake because he got to stand just ten feet away from Mason.

	"You gonna show him where he can sleep?" Pellegrino asked and
Mason threw the sandwich into the garbage can under the counter.  His
father wouldn't climb the stairs with his knees the way they were.

	The upstairs of the rambling, six-bedroom house had been
Mason's private domain.  It had its own entrance...and he was well known
for sneaking his twink-of-the-night in that way.  Now, he'd be forced to
share that space with Blake.

	"Did Anita say which room she wants him in?" Mason asked and
Pellegrino nodded, leaning back.

	"She wants him in the one next to you," he said lightly.  "It's the
only one she's got aired out and cleaned."

	Did Mason begrudge his mother the right to want to make her life
easier by only having to clean one side of the upstairs rooms on a regular
basis?  She had always wrinkled her nose up at having a cleaning person come
in to help out.  Never mind the fact that their house could be classified as a
mansion.  Never mind the fact that the kid was going to be separated from him
every night by a single wall.

	"Come on," Mason said and started out of the kitchen.  Blake
followed him quietly, silently taking in the way that Mason moved so
comfortably across the huge house, the way that the ripped up t-shirt he was
wearing showcased his biceps.

	Mason took the stairs two steps at a time and then waited
for Blake at the top of the staircase.  Blake's eyes were locked on his face as
he made his way up.  Mason's own eyes slashed into the sight of Blake
coming up the staircase and then slid carefully away.  He did what he could
to ignore the fact that his heart was pounding heavily and erratically, that the
blood was racing through his veins.

	"This way," Mason said when Blake came flush with him, heading
off in the direction of the the spare bedroom.  Blake followed him quietly,
silent and acquiescent in a way that scared the life out of Mason, if he would
admit it.  But he wouldn't.  Instead, he swung open the door to the spare room,
took a few steps in.

	"So, this is where you'll be bunking," Mason said with a careless
wave and Blake stepped further into the room, brushing past Mason slowly,
his eyes taking in the vast interior of the room, the coordinating furniture,
everything new and clean, unscuffed and pristine.  This would be the nicest
place that Blake had ever stayed in, the best place he'd ever lived.

	"It's real nice," Blake said inadequately, suddenly realizing the true
magnitude of what was happening to him.  He was moving in with the
Pellegrinos.  A family name that would eaily be recognized in most American
households.  Both Pellegrino and Mason had been on the cover of Sports
Illustrated...once they'd appeared on it together.  Mason had an HBO deal.
These people were millionaires.  Yes, they didn't exactly put on those kinds of
airs with anyone they came across, but the fact remained the same.  Blake
had spent the last five years of his life essentially homeless and here he was
standing next to the Great Italian Hope.

	It also struck him as he stood there and snuck glances at the line
of Mason's profile, that this beautiful man, who it had only taken him a single
glance at to become lost in, was well and truly completely out of his reach.
Completely.  What was he doing there?  Pretending to be a boxer?

	"My dad grew up in the Bronx," Mason said slowly, a low rumble
from near the doorway, his arms folded defensively across his chest.  "Dirt
poor.  His mother was too ashamed to get assistance from the government and
his father was too wrapped up in boxing to spend any time at home.  My
father fought everyday.  For everything he got.  He laid bricks all day from the
time he was eleven until he was twenty-two.  He got up at the crack of dawn
and he went out and laid bricks all day, then he went to the gym to catch a
glimpse of his father and to get his dad's attention, he decided to box.  So,
he laid bricks and he boxed.  And four weeks after his twenty-second birthday,
Anita had me and my dad got in the ring with the heavyweight champion of the
world...and in two rounds my dad had him out cold.  He was fighting for his
life.  He was fighting for Anita.  But he says that most of all he was fighting for
me."
	And with that said and done, Mason turned on his heel and left
the room and Blake was left glancing after him.

			       ***

	Blake had not seen Mason since earlier that day.  Mason had
disappeared for the gym right after he'd shown Blake the room and at the gym
he'd been focused and bitter, unapproachable.

	The thought that he'd see Mason at Anita's dinner table had
sustained him and he was sharply disappointed when he got there and realized
that Mason wasn't coming.

	Pellegrino and Anita had an interesting relationship. They talked
very little, but spoke a lot with their eyes.  Blake watched as they stared at
each other, the smiles and frowns and the little touches and caresses here and
there as he shovelled one of the best-tasting meals he'd ever had into his
mouth.  His parents had always blown either hot or cold.  There had been the
times when they couldn't seem to keep their hands off of each other and then
the times when they were pretending that the other person didn't even exist.

	"When's Mason coming back?" the words were out of his mouth
before he could recall them, or even think about them.  He shifted uncertainly
in his seat as both Anita and Pellegrino's eyes locked onto him.  Was he being
obvious?  Could they figure out how he felt?

	"I dunno," Pellegrino said, his voice a gravelly rumble from lack
of use.  "He spends a lot of time out or on his own."

	Blake nodded, shifted the food around on his plate.  He had been
ravenous after leaving the gym, covered in sweat and aching.  But now, he
wasn't sure if he'd even finish the meal, even though he'd never tasted anything
like it.

	"Ain't you got no friends around here?" Pellegrino asked slowly,
after a moment.  "I don't make you spend all of your free time under lock and
key unless you got a big match coming up."

	Blake shook his head.

	"I got a lot of people I know," Blake told him.  "No friends."  And
it was the truth.  But he could already see that spending every evening with
Anita and Pellegrino wasn't going to fly.

	Pellegrino grunted and went back to eating.  Anita's eyes were on
him, shining...compassion, not pity.  That he could take.

	"I'll help with the dishes," he said, more out of desperation than
good manners and her smile widened...and her eyes softened to a warm shade
of caramel.  And something inside of Blake warmed up, too...melted a little
bit.

			    ***

	Blake could hear Mason in the hall a little after midnight.  Someone
giggled...and it wasn't Mason.  Too high-pitched, but not girly.  Blake's eyes
opened wide and he stared at the ceiling.  He knew.  That Mason was gay.
Everybody did.  He wasn't going around trying to hide it, he'd mentioned it in
interviews and everything.

	In a way, Blake admired that about Mason, that he faced things
head on and didn't pussyfoot around.  The press had never been able to drag
him through the mud because he'd been upfront and honest about who he was...
and he still kicked ass in the ring better than anybody had in years.

	Still, Blake wasn't entirely certain that Mason acted on his sexuality.
But as he listened to more than one set of footsteps creep down the hall, he
knew that Mason did.  His heart lurched in his chest and he was frozen for a
long moment.  Then, he hopped stealthily out of the bed and crept quietly to the
door and opened it a crack, determined to see who this guy was, what kind of
man could catch Mason's eye.

	It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dark hall, to differentiate
shadow from flesh.  Mason had the guy pressed up against the wall, their lips
locked, their tongues dueling.  The guy was tall, taller than Blake, but on the
skinny side.  Blond hair, long, thin fingers that clutched frantically at Mason's
back.  When Mason pulled back, Blake took in his face, the guy was gorgeous,
supermodel pretty, perfectly arched lashes, pouty red lips, big, heart-stopping
blue eyes. There was glitter on his face, along the line of his impossibly high
cheekbones...he was a club princess, a fucking twink.  Something that Blake
could never be, not even if tried.

	Was that Mason's type?  God.

	Blake watched as Mason pushed the guy into his bedroom and
slammed the door behind them, left alone, peering into a now empty hallway.
Blake shut his door with a quiet click.  He crouched there, breathing unsteadily
for a long moment.  His mind racing, willing his heart to stop pounding so
loudly, his ears stretching for the slightest sound.

	He heard them, muffled kisses, the bedsprings groaning.  Silence,
then laughter, Mason's...and the giggle.  Silence, again.  Blake sat on the plushy
carpet near the door, his legs bent at the knees.  His head low.

	Rhythm.  The sound of the bed creaking and groaning in sequence.
Mason was fucking his twink.  Blake felt tiny, pinpricks of awareness against
his skin.  The glitterboy was bottoming for Mason.  Was that why he chose the
type?

	Blake would bottom for Mason...any day.  God, it hurt.  His heart
ached in his chest.  He wanted to be the one, the guy that Mason wanted.  The
guy that Mason fucked.

	But Mason wouldn't even look at him...wouldn't even care.  Blake
clenched his fist, cursed the fact that his dick had decided to spring to life,
long and hard against his thighs, pulsating.  He would not...could not touch
himself, not when Mason was in there with someone else.  He wouldn't.

	Blake stretched his legs out, clenched his fists, ran his hands across
the flat expanse of his stomach, his fingertips touched the waistband of his
boxers....his cock, angry and red and leaking.  He palmed it slowly.

	He could hear them, the sound of Mason grunting.  Mason was a
loud lover.  With almost the entire house between him and his parents, he could
afford to be.  And Blake began to stroke himself, helplessly, to the rhythm and
the sounds coming from Mason's room.

	Blake pretended that it was him.  That Mason's tongue was in
his mouth, that Mason's dick was inside of him, pounding in search of
release.  That Mason loved him.

	It didn't take long for him to come against his boxers and his thighs,
breathing crazily, aching for release but still feeling the tension when it finally
came.  Blake bent his knees and buried his face in his arms, listening to the
sounds of Mason reaching his climax, mentally blocking out the blond twink's
moans and cries.
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To be continued......

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