Date: Wed, 18 Aug 2004 13:07:19 -0400
From: Owen Emm <owenmtheprofessional@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Professional - Chapter 3

The Professional

By

OwenM


I think these apologies for the lengthy delays between chapters are going to
become more the norm instead of the exception, unfortunately, with as busy
as my life has been.  I really appreciate everyone who has written to me and
shared their opinions.  I look forward to hearing what everyone has to say
about this one.  Comments to owenmtheprofessional@hotmail.com.


Chapter 3

	"Mr. Elliott, how wonderful to see you again!"

	The waiter interrupted his conversation mid-sentence the moment he spotted
Jon and Elliott walking into the restaurant.  Jon watched the waiter abandon
the annoyed looking couple standing at the podium, rushing up to the two of
them with a solicitous smile.  He felt a little twinge of envy as he watched
Elliott hold his hand out confidently for the waiter to shake.  He was
usually the one on the other side of the coin, standing alone and frustrated
that he didn't merit this kind of special attention.  Elliott shook the
waiter's hand with polished experience.

	"Good to see you too, Kevin," Elliott said brightly.  "Kevin, meet uncle
Jon."  Jon's face turned bright red the waiter's attention was redirected at
him.  He stared dumbfounded at the outstretched hand for a moment before
instinct kicked in and his limp hand thrust forward to allow the waiter to
shake it.  As much as I like the special attention, he thought wryly, maybe
now's not the right time.

	"Uncle Jon, it's a pleasure," the waiter said, his face still fixed in a
smile.  "I have your usual table all ready for you, if you'd like to follow
me."  They breezed right by the visibly upset couple still standing ignored
at the podium, Jon suspecting that they were used to getting the kind of
attention that Elliott commanded.  In the time it took for them to enter the
dining room, two other waiters and the maitre d' all greeted him by name,
shaking his hand warmly and exclaiming with unrestrained excitement how
wonderful it was to see him again.  All at once, it seemed to Jon as though
everyone seated in the restaurant turned to stare at them, murmuring to each
other about which one of them was the celebrity making an appearance.  Jon
felt the urge to flee grow stronger as those eyes followed them through the
restaurant, relieved when they were escorted to a small, dimly lit, and very
private table in the back of the dining room.  "Something from the bar?"
Kevin asked cordially as waiters swarmed from all directions, filling water
glasses and placing napkins on their laps.

	"Scotch," Jon mumbled.  "Something old.  Neat."

	"Of course.  The usual, Mr. Elliott?"

	"Thanks, Kevin," Elliott said, looking across the table at Jon with a
knowing smile as the waiter rushed off to fill their order.  "I come here a
lot."

	"I could tell."  Jon squirmed a little in his chair.

	"Have you eaten here before?" Elliott asked, sipping his water.  Jon shook
his head.  "I hope you're hungry, cause they have the best food.  Do you
like steak?"  Jon nodded, opening the menu, staring at it blankly as an
awkward silence descended over the table, one that Elliott didn't allow to
last for long.  "How often do you get to come to Vegas?"

	Jon stared for a moment before he could speak.  "Not much, but, I used to."
  He swallowed hard.  "I mean, we...I used to live in California, so I was
nearby, so we would come sometimes."  He looked away, frustrated.  "I
haven't been here for a while."

	Elliott nodded.  "Well if you're not sure what you want to do while you're
here, I know all the best places to go."

	Jon smiled thinly.  "I've never done Vegas like this...I mean, as a VIP or
high roller or something."

	Elliott giggled.  "Do you like it?"

	Jon shrugged.  "I suppose I'll get spoiled and won't want to come back
unless I can have a suite at the Bellagio and waiters bumping me to the
front of the line at exclusive restaurants."  He shook his head, angry that
his comment sounded so sarcastic in his ears.  He didn't want to be speaking
with that kind of tone, not with Elliott.  The boy didn't seem to care,
smiling warmly at Jon.

	"Everyone likes being important," he said sagely as the waiter returned
with the drinks.  Jon ignored the familiar highball as it was set in front
of him, watching the oversized martini glass being placed in front of
Elliott.  "Thanks, Kevin," the boy said sincerely, picking up the glass
dexterously and taking a long sip.  It was large enough to hide his entire
face, and Jon couldn't suppress a small laugh.  Elliott put the glass down
and looked at him inquiringly.

	"I'm not...I just...That is so cute," he said, unable to stop.

	Elliott giggled a little himself.  "What's cute?"

	"That," Jon said, pointing at the glass.  "They bring your drink in a
martini glass, I just think that's really cute."

	"It's supposed to come in one," he said simply.

	"Why, is it a martini?"

	"Yeah.  It's a lemon drop."

	"A what?"

	"A lemon drop, they make it with lemon vodka, triple sec, and a little bit
of lemon juice."  Jon stared at him, flabbergasted.  "And a sugared rim,"
Elliott added.

	"Oh, I see," Jon said after comprehension set in a few moments later, a
smug smile spreading on his face, the kind that adults reserve for humoring
children.

	"No, I'm serious," Elliott said, reading Jon expertly.  "Try some, it's
really good."

	 "You're just teasing me," Jon said, suddenly not so sure of himself.

	Elliott pushed the glass halfway across the table.  "Try it."

	Jon stared intently at Elliott for a moment before reaching for the glass.
He picked it up and took a small sip, expecting to taste nothing stronger
than lemonade.  He was barely able to keep from spraying it across the table
in surprise.  "It's real!" he sputtered.

	"Of course it's real," Elliott said without a hint of gloating or sarcasm.

	"But...how...they serve you alcohol?"

	"I have an arrangement," Elliott said mysteriously, pulling the glass back
across the table.

	"What kind of arrangement could you have that would get a restaurant to
serve you alcohol?"

	Elliott leaned into the table as though he was about to divulge a deep
secret.  "They give me what I want without asking any questions, and I give
them really big tips."  The boy winked and giggled.

	"But...Elliott...you're eleven years old, you...you shouldn't be
drinking...for crying out loud you shouldn't even like martinis!"

	Elliott leaned back in his chair.  "I think that's cute," he said softly.

	"You think what's cute?"

	"You."  He blinked twice, slowly.  "You sound like you're my father or
something."

	Jon sank into his chair.  "I didn't mean..."

	"Hey, it's ok," Elliott interrupted with a warm smile.  "I like it."

	"You like it?"

	"Yeah, I do," he said more seriously, leaning into the table again.  "Jon,
I do grown-up things for a living.  Don't you think I should be allowed to
drink grown-up drinks if I want?"

	Jon stared speechless, his mouth hanging slightly open.   It's not that he
had trouble understanding what had just happened, how Elliott had
masterfully turned the whole conversation back around, calling him cute just
as he had done moments before.  It wasn't even because he could find no way
to argue with Elliott's unassailable logic, of course he should be allowed
to do as he wanted given his circumstances.  It was how Elliott had done it,
chiding him in such a gracious and adult manner.  He picked up his glass and
slammed back its contents in a single gulp.

	"You're right," he answered sheepishly.  "I can't argue with that.  You
should be allowed."  Elliott leaned back and smiled warmly again.  The
waiter chose that moment to return.

	"Gentlemen, may I answer any questions for you?"

	"Do you know what you want?"  Elliott asked.  Jon looked back down at the
menu that he hadn't even glanced over, shaking his head.  "If it's ok, I can
order for us, I know what's good here."  Jon looked back up and nodded as
Elliott rapidly chose things from every section of the menu, appetizers,
soups, salads, entrees, side dishes, far more than Jon thought they could
possibly eat.  He then picked up the wine list and calmly selected two
bottles, pronouncing the one that sounded French with what sounded to Jon
like a perfect accent.  "One for the appetizers and the other for the meal,"
he explained, handing the wine menu over to Jon as the waiter nodded his
approval and pointed out Elliott's selections.  Jon didn't profess to know
anything about wine, but he was sure that Elliott must have selected well,
those two bottles had a combined price tag of almost a thousand dollars.
Jon coughed nervously, suddenly worried that he might be expected to pay for
this lavish feast.

	"You ordered a lot of food," he commented.

	Elliott grinned.  "I'm a growing boy."  Jon forgot about the money as he
became acutely aware again just how young, how small the boy across the
table looked to him, especially as he raised that huge martini glass to his
lips.  He shifted in his chair, catching part of the tablecloth and knocking
several pieces of silverware to the ground, turning red as they fell with a
clatter.  Elliott looked at him sympathetically.  "You don't have to be so
nervous."

	"I'm not nervous," Jon stammered, reaching down to pick up the forks and
nearly knocking the entire table over in the process.  "Do you always order
a thousand dollars in wine when you go out to eat?" he blurted out.

	"No," Elliott said, looking down, a little hurt.  "It just seemed like a
special occasion to me, that's all."  Jon breathed deeply, furious with
himself again.  "I can tell them to bring something else if you want."

	"No," Jon said, looking back at the boy.  "I'm sorry, I'm acting like a
real jerk."

	"You're just nervous," Elliott said.  "It's ok, everything's going to be
fine."

	"Listen to you," Jon said, shaking his head with a smile.  "Reassuring me
when it's me that should be reassuring you."

	Elliott blinked several times.  "Why?"

	"Because," was all Jon answered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair again,
searching for something to change the conversation.  Elliott found something
first.

	"What are your favorite restaurants here, so I can get us reservations."

	"I don't really have any," he answered thoughtfully.  "Whenever we used to
come here, we weren't interested in fine dining.  We used to go to the
buffets, mostly."  Elliott made a face, and Jon had to smile.  "One time for
my birthday we decided to try somewhere special, you know that place down
the escalator at the Bellagio with all the paintings?"

	"You mean Picasso," he said knowingly.

	"Yeah, Picasso.  We wound up going to the coffee shop afterwards to
actually get some food.  Four hundred dollars and nothing to eat."

	"The polite way to say it is that they don't deserve their reputation,"
Elliott said, and then winked.  "But actually their food just sucks."  Jon
laughed, watching the waiter go through the ritual of opening their first
bottle of wine, presenting the cork, waiting for Elliott's approval before
filling their glasses.  Jon took a careful sip after his was poured.

	"This is good," he said, taking another sip.  "This is really good.  I've
never had wine like this."

	Elliott grinned, speaking excitedly.  "Tomorrow we should go to Aureole,
they've got the best wine list around.  They've got this forty foot tower
and they hang on bungee cords to get the bottles out."  Jon looked at him in
disbelief.  "Seriously, they do.  We should definitely go to Le Cirque also,
and to Lutece.  I think we should only go to the best restaurants while
you're here."

	"I wouldn't have expected you to be so...passionate about food," Jon said
quietly.

	"It's important to me," Elliott said seriously.

	"When I was eleven, I used to exist on fast food and candy bars."

	Elliott contorted his face in mock disgust.  "Yuck.  I never eat that
stuff.  It's such a waste, eating food that's so bad for you and doesn't
even taste good.  It's like smoking, why would I bother smoking some
pointless cigarette when I could have a good cigar?"

	Jon raised his eyebrows.  "Cigars too?"

	"Only two or three a week, ok dad?" Elliott countered without sarcasm,
giggling for a moment before his face turned serious, blinking slowly and
methodically.  "Life is short, you know?  I don't want to waste any of it."

	"You're too young to be worrying about things like that."

	"Maybe," Elliott said softly, taking another sip of wine.

	Jon couldn't help but be impressed as the meal unfolded around him, the
food being some of the best he had ever tasted.   But it was Elliott that
made the meal truly a special experience.  Jon couldn't remember being with
someone that could just charm like Elliott could.  He was amazed by the
breadth of Elliott's knowledge, his ability to speak comfortably on so many
subjects while never being cynical or stooping to sarcasm.  Even beyond his
intelligence, it was the way his melodic voice had a unique power to
captivate and hypnotize, from his excited patter to his witty jokes, from
his wry humor to his quiet honesty.  Even though the boy was constantly
trying to engage him, get him to talk about a wide variety of subjects from
food and wine to music to sports to politics, Jon preferred just to listen.
His observations had a depth that betrayed a much richer understanding of
the world than his tender years would suggest, but it never dampened the
boyish sparkle in his eyes that held Jon's gaze and refused to let it go.
Three hours flew by in a flash, Jon realizing the time only by the half
eaten desserts and coffee cups arrayed on the table in the now empty
restaurant.

	"Elliott, that was absolutely the best meal I've ever had," Jon said,
leaning back in his chair, uncomfortably full.  Elliott was beaming.

	"Have you ever watched the fountains at the Bellagio?"

	"Sure, of course I have."

	"They have a bar that overlooks the lagoon, it's the best place to watch
them.  There's still a little time."

	"Elliott, isn't that an over twenty-one only bar?"

	Elliott rolled his eyes, speaking as though he were explaining a simple
concept to a small child.  "Jon, I have..."

	Jon held up is hands in resignation.  "An arrangement, yes, I understand."
They laughed together while Elliott called the waiter over.

	"Kevin, could you call the Fontana bar and have them hold an outside table
for us?"

	"Anything for you, Mr. Elliott.  Is there anything else I can do for you
gentlemen?"

	"Nope."  Elliott stood up and smiled at Kevin.  "You're the best.  See you
later!"  Jon wasn't certain, but he thought just for a moment that Kevin
turned the slightest shade of red as the waiter turned and left.  "Ready?"
he asked Jon.

	Jon cleared his throat gently.  "I'll take care of the bill," he said
softly.

	Elliott shook his head.  "Don't worry about it, I've got a tab."

	"Then should I give you the money?"

	Elliott blinked a few times, walking around the table to stand next to Jon.
  "No, I'm paying for everything."

	Jon stood up, looking down at the boy.  "Sorry, I just didn't know how it
usually works."

	"It's not," Elliott said softly.  "Usually the client pays."  Jon didn't
know what to say.  "Can I ask you something?" Elliott continued, shuffling
his feet and looking down at the ground, his voice suddenly turning shaky,
losing its usual confidence.

	"Sure," Jon answered warmly.

	"Can we hold hands again?"

	"I don't know," he answered nervously.  "I don't know if it's a good idea
to hold hands in public."

	"No one's going to care if we hold hands," Elliott said softly.  "I really
liked it when you held my hand when we left the room."

	"You did?" Jon breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

	"Yeah," Elliott said, his voice turning sad.  "Clients don't usually want
to hold my hand."

	They left the restaurant together, Elliott's hand clasped tightly in Jon's.


							*******

	Jon pulled his coat around him a little tighter, trying to banish the bite
of the cold winter air, the initial warmth from all the alcohol he had
consumed finally fading away.  The water of the lagoon was placid, serene,
only dimly lit, awaiting the stroke of midnight when the last show would
play.  Elliott sat in a chair right next to Jon, their hands wrapped tightly
in each other's, the boy's head resting gently against Jon's shoulder as
they huddled together for warmth.  The cold had chased everyone else away
from the patio, the crowds only coming out when the show was playing and
quickly retreating back to the warmth of the lounge the moment it ended.
Now that the night was drawing to a close, the preceding show had only
attracted a few onlookers, and Jon suspected even those die-hard fans
wouldn't bother to make another appearance.  It just felt like yet another
privilege of the elite, a private showing of the fountains reserved
exclusively for the two of them.  Jon squeezed Elliott's hand gently, as he
had done throughout the time they had spent there, and Elliott squeezed back
in response.  Mugs of reinforced coffee drinks steamed on the table in front
of them.

	By no means was this the first time that Jon had admired the fountains of
the Bellagio.  In fact, he had sat on this very balcony before, possibly
even at this same table.  You'd have to be truly jaded not to appreciate it,
Jon thought, streams of water from a thousand jets all synchronized in
perfect harmony, dancing with an uncanny precision to the music,
choreography that rivaled the most dazzling ballets ever staged.  The power
of the fountains to inspire awe in his heart had faded at some point, the
dances familiar and expected, but tonight, watching them with Elliott next
to him, it felt like seeing them for the first time all over again.
Actually, he wasn't even paying attention to the water, but to the boy
beside him.  The moment a show would start, Elliott would instantly sit up
straight in his seat from his comfortable slouch, staring raptly out over
the lagoon with his eyes wide and full of an innocent childlike wonder,
humming the music softly to himself as he squeezed Jon's hand so tightly
that it hurt.  When the show ended, Elliott would slouch back into his
chair, his eyes closed as though he was somehow recording the entire
experience so he could summon it back and replay it whenever he wanted, or
maybe needed to see it again.

	For the most part, Elliott hadn't seemed as interested in casual
conversation as he had been over dinner.  He had been content to sit quietly
next to Jon, leaning into him and holding his hand, and Jon was perfectly
happy with that arrangement.  As nice as it had been to be engaged in
conversation with someone as versed in that art as Elliott, just being
together without the need to fill the space with needless chatter seemed far
nicer.  Jon was actually a little disappointed when Elliott spoke again, his
voice soft.  "Can I ask you a question?"

	"Of course," he said, trying not to let his disappointment show.  "You
don't need to ask me that, you can always say what's on your mind."

	The boy paused for a moment.  "Are you married?"

	Jon froze.  "Am I what?"

	"I was just wondering if you're married."

	"Why in the world would you think I was married?"

	"From things you said before.  You always said we, so I thought that must
mean you were married."

	"Elliott," Jon said carefully, "why would I be...I mean..."

	"Coming to see me if you were married?" he finished quietly.  Jon managed a
nod.  "Most of my clients are married."

	Jon sat back in his chair, shocked.  "Really?"

	"Yeah," Elliott said matter-of-factly.  "People get married for all kinds
of different reasons, I guess.  It's no big deal if you don't want to say, I
was just curious."

	"I am," Jon said curtly.

	"Do you have kids?"

	"Two.  Mark is seven and Josh is going to be five in a month."

	"That's nice," Elliott said warmly.

	"How is it nice?" Jon said, his face suddenly flush with anger.  "Here I
am, with a wife and two boys.  You must think I'm the worst kind of lying,
cheating scumbag."

	"Hey," Elliott said tenderly, grasping Jon's hand tighter.  "I don't think
that at all.  I think you're a really nice guy and I'll bet you're a good
father and a good husband."  Jon could find no words to answer as he stared
out over the lagoon.  "Don't be so hard on yourself."  He sighed and looked
over at the boy, meeting his wide and open gaze, filled with a gentle
sympathy that erased the anger from his mind almost instantly.  Elliott
blinked a couple of times in a slow methodical way that Jon had come to
recognize if not fully understand, noticing for the first time how those
deep hazel eyes were flecked with a trace of gold.  He smiled thinly, and
for the first time an unbidden thought popped into his head, an image of
Elliott not as they were together now, but as they would be together
sometime soon.  Chills ran down his spine as he tried to shake it away, the
picture of that sweet and vulnerable boy on his knees fulfilling Jon's most
depraved fantasies, his stomach filling with revulsion.  Jesus Christ...what
in the hell am I doing here?

	The final show began, Elliott returning his attention to the water, humming
along to the familiar tune of Con Te Partiro.  Jon couldn't concentrate,
trying desperately to dispel the image that seemed etched permanently in his
head, mortified that even though his stomach was ready to expel all of its
contents at the idea his dick seemed to have a different opinion.  It was
one thing to imagine a fantasy boy, Jon had certainly done that countless
times.  Every time a cute boy of the right age would ride by on a bicycle,
walk by alone or maybe in a pack at the mall, or even worse use the urinal
next to his, Jon couldn't help but let his eyes wander over him, picturing
him without his clothes and lying in bed, ready and willing for what came
next.  How many times had he pulled up to his house, wondering if this was
the time that his dream would finally come true and a cute boy would greet
him at the front door with open arms, ready to hop in the sack before he
could even drop his briefcase?  Not once had he ever felt any remorse about
those fantasies, they were too fleeting, they were too divorced from
reality.  Those boys wandered into his life only for a few moments and then
disappeared, never to be seen again.  But this...this was truly terrifying,
the prospect that all this was for real...

	Elliott turned to Jon when the final show concluded.  "It's getting cold,"
he remarked, but Jon knew the meaning behind his words.  Desperately, he
searched for an alternative.

	"Hey, I know a bar I liked at the Paris, they usually had jazz music and a
very masculine atmosphere with a cigar lounge..."  Jon trailed off when he
saw the expression on Elliott's face, dark and brooding.  "What?"

	"I can't go there," he said flatly.  "I don't have an arrangement."

	"I didn't know," Jon said apologetically.

	"It's ok," he said softly.  "We can go most anywhere except for the Paris,
Caesar's, Bally's, and the Flamingo."

	"Paris, Caesar's...wait, aren't those all owned by...oh," he trailed off.
"Did something happen?"
	"Is it ok if we don't talk about it?"  Elliott coughed gently.  "Anyway, I
thought we might go back to the room now."

	A chill raced down Jon's spine.  "It's only midnight, it's still early..."

	"It's time to go back to the room," Elliott said gently, but with an
authority that left no room for argument.  He stood up, holding Jon's hand
firmly.  "Come on," he said in the same soft tone.  Even though a voice
inside started screaming at him to flee, to jump into the water if he had
to, the boy seemed to have a power over Jon that forced him to obey,
dragging him somehow to his feet.  Their hands glued together, Elliott led
Jon along the wide paths of the hotel past the crowds, past the unmistakable
cacophony of thousands of slot machines luring their victims mixed with the
shouts and groans from the table games, past the various lounge acts
competing against each other.  He saw the path that led to the hotel exit,
the urge to yank away and dash to those doors overwhelming, but still he
followed the boy to the small private lounge and the elevator to the suites.
  As the elevator doors opened, Jon nearly pushed the boy away and dashed
from the confining space, but the doors closed and they climbed back into
the heavens.  He was almost in a full-fledged panic as Elliott used a key
card to open the doors to the room, ready to leap from the balcony if that's
what it would take to get away.

	Elliott led Jon to one of the couches in the vast living room, sitting him
down and taking both of Jon's hands in his.  "I'll be right back," he
whispered, lingering for a moment before letting go and disappearing down
the long corridor that led to rooms unknown.  Jon's eyes darted around the
room as he listened to the soft music playing in the background, noticing
the lights had been dimmed and a bucket of ice loaded with an instantly
recognizable bottle of Dom Perignon had appeared along with two tall
champagne glasses.  Get the hell out of here, the voice in his head
screamed.  Get out of this room, out of this hotel, out of this city, get as
far away as possible before you do something that you will regret for all
eternity...His stomach sank to his knees, his freezing hands shook
uncontrollably, his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears, cold sweat beaded
on his forehead, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, but he didn't
move, gripped in an overwhelming paralysis.

	Jon didn't know how much time had passed when Elliott came back, walking
slowly and silently on the marble floor, his shoes gone, his small feet clad
in dark brown socks.  His blazer and his sweater were gone as well, his
white button down dress shirt no longer tucked into his pants.  As he
approached Jon, standing right in front of him, his eyes warm and loving, he
looked even smaller and younger than he had with that martini glass in front
of his face.

	Elliott took Jon's hand.  "Let's go to the bedroom."

	Jon began to shake his head frenziedly, tears suddenly streaming down his
face.  "No, no, I can't..."

	"Jon..."

	"Please, Elliott!" he said heatedly.  "This was a mistake, this was just a
big mistake, I can't do this, I won't do this, I can't do this to you...you
can just keep the money, I don't care, but I can't..."

	"It's ok..."

	"It's not ok!  Please, let me leave.  Just let me go and I'll never bother
you again, you're so sweet and wonderful and charming and I just
can't...please just let me leave..."

	"Jon, listen to me," Elliott interrupted.  Jon tried to turn away, but was
stopped when Elliott put one hand on his shoulder.  "Listen to me," he said
more forcefully, commanding Jon's attention.  "I know what you're thinking,"
he said more tenderly.  "I understand you think you'll hurt me when we have
sex, but you won't.  Remember when I told you what I loved on the phone?"
Jon was silent.  "Do you remember?"

	Jon nodded, crying in earnest.  "Yes," he whispered.

	"Tell me."

	"You said that you...you loved looking into a man's eyes...when you...when
you..."

	"When I'm giving him the best fuck of his life," Elliott said bluntly.

	"When you...and you loved that look..."

	"Jon," Elliott said, blinking fiercely, "I want to see that look in your
eyes."

	"Elliott..." Jon whispered.

	"Everything we're going to do tonight, we're going to do with each other,
together.   Come on, just be with me."  Elliott bent down and touched his
lips to Jon's cheek ever so gently, the sensation rocketing throughout Jon's
entire nervous system. Jon stared into the boy's eyes, full of honesty, not
able to comprehend how it could be possible that Elliott's command to join
him was as sincere as he knew it to be.  He truly wanted to have sex, not
because of the money, not because of a threat of force, not out of some
sense of obligation, but just because he actually wanted to.   It was like
finding a leftover piece from a jigsaw puzzle after the entire thing had
been assembled.   You know that the piece could not possibly belong to the
puzzle because there's no place to put it, and yet you continue to search,
doubt nagging away that maybe some other piece had been put in where it
didn't belong.

	When Elliott tugged gently on Jon's hand, he stood and followed the boy to
the bedroom, sitting down on the immense carved four poster bed, Elliott
standing so closely in front of him that he could feel the boy's soft
breaths on his face.  He went to speak, but Elliott shook his head.  "Shh,"
he said with a tender smile.  "Don't worry, just let me take care of
everything, ok?"  Slowly, his every move deliberate and precise, Elliott
unbuttoned his shirt.  Their eyes remained locked together, forcing Jon to
squirm uncomfortably as he tried unsuccessfully to avert his gaze in the way
he had learned to force himself to do long ago whenever he had the
misfortune to be caught in a place with a boy undressing.  Elliott's shirt
fell open as the last of the buttons came free, a narrow band of gently
tanned skin from his neck to his stomach contrasting sharply with the bright
white of his shirt, Jon's breath catching in his throat when he allowed his
eyes to wander across it for the merest fraction of a second.  Without a
word, Elliott took Jon's hand firmly, pulling it until it was only inches
away from his chest.  "Go ahead," Elliott said, his voice barely louder than
a whisper.  Jon instinctively pulled his hand away from Elliott's grasp as
the gap closed, but Elliott wrapped his fingers even more firmly around
Jon's wrist, taking a step forward and leaning in, Jon's fingertips just
barely touching his bare flesh.

	No, Jon mouthed, shaking his head, his whole body trembling as Elliott held
his hand in place, pushing forward until his entire palm was pressed flat
against his chest.  Elliott sighed gently, his eyes closing as Jon felt his
hand being drawn downward, a single stroke across the boy's taut but
yielding flesh, his own hand feeling as coarse as sandpaper against
Elliott's smooth skin.  Any moment now, I'm going to wake up, this is all a
dream, I can't actually be touching a boy like this, this is something that
will never actually happen to me.  Jon felt lightheaded, dizzy, his breaths
short and shallow.   It seemed an unfathomable length of time before Jon
felt his hand being released, Elliott's shirt somehow falling away on it's
own, his pants and socks simply vanishing into thin air as the boy clad only
in a pair of bright white underpants climbed onto the bed.  Just a soft push
on his shoulder was all that it took for Jon to collapse onto the bed on his
back, staring up at the ceiling blindly until his vision was filled with
Elliott's smiling face.

	"Elliott," Jon managed to whisper.

	"Shhh," Elliott answered.  "Don't talk."  He laid his finger against Jon's
mouth, slowly pulling it down, his fingertip catching Jon's bottom lip for
just a moment before he let go.  His lips touched Jon's cheek again, this
time pressing a little harder and lingering a little longer.  Jon gasped,
suddenly aware that he had forgotten to breathe.  He lay on the bed as if
fastened in place, unable to even move the slightest muscle as Elliott
kissed him again, this time on his neck.  Slowly, with a kind of deliberate
precision, the boy planted small pecks over and over again, working his way
down Jon's neck to his chest, where somehow his shirt had fallen open.  At
first they were the lightest of touches, lasting for barely a moment, each
feeling like the priceless work of a gifted artist.  Before long they were
transformed into real kisses, each more passionate than the next.  Jon lost
himself, feeling the boy's weight against his side, the boy's smooth skin
against his hairy chest, suddenly aware of something brushing against his
cock, the sensation exploding ...

	With a gasp, Jon sat up suddenly in bed, throwing Elliott off to the side.
He looked over at the boy wildly, acutely aware of things that had been
beyond his consciousness only a second earlier.  Things like how little
clothing the two of them were wearing, Jon's shirt wide open and his pants
down to his thighs, or how intimately Elliott had been touching him.
Elliott turned back over, his face full of concern.

	"What's wrong?" he asked tenderly, placing his hand on Jon's shoulder.

	Jon shook his head.  "I don't know," he whimpered.

	"It's ok," Elliott said reassuringly.  "We can slow down a little if you
want.  We've got all night."

	"I've never felt anything like this," said Jon, more to himself than to
Elliott.

	"Thanks," Elliott said with complete sincerity.  "But we haven't even
gotten started yet."

	Jon sighed deeply, turning his head and looking into Elliott's eyes.  His
hand moved on it's own, his fingers running through the boy's silky hair,
twirling a lock around his finger.  "This would be enough for me," Jon said
softly.  "I'd be happy to do nothing but this for the rest of the night."

	Elliott blinked fiercely.  "You're sweet," he said with a smile, his voice
cracking just a little.  "But I still have to see that look in your eyes.  I
want..." he trailed off, biting his upper lip.  "I want to.  I want...I want
to be naked with you.  I want to find out what you feel like, what you taste
like."  His hand grasped Jon's arm so tightly it hurt.  "I want to feel you
inside me," he said, his voice cracking again.

	"Elliott," Jon whispered.

	Without a word, Elliott thrust himself into Jon, throwing him back down to
the bed.  His kisses were filled with a feverish abandon, no longer
concerned with placing each one with meticulous care.  Jon's eyes rolled
into the back of his head, the room turning into a cavernous vault, the
walls disappearing, everything vanishing except for himself and the warm,
soft boy pressed against him.  He was overwhelmed by feelings that he
couldn't control, couldn't even comprehend.  Time became nothing more than a
series of moments that blended together like raindrops in a puddle.  Their
lips met, their mouths locked together with tongues shared.  Their naked
bodies became a hopeless tangle of limbs, hands and mouths exploring every
nuance, every crevice of each other's body, the boy's touch filling parts of
Jon that he never knew were empty.  As Elliott lay on top of Jon, the sight
of his bare ass dominating Jon's vision, the touch of Elliott's tongue
lapping over his cock, the pressure as the boy slowly ground his own dick
into Jon's stomach, he was only vaguely aware of his loins pulsing with
glorious feeling.  And then Elliott was sitting on him, cocooning him in
gently burning warmth.  Jon's eyes glazed over, the sound of Elliott's sighs
and moans accompanying each thrust ringing loudly in his ears, staring with
wonder as the fifty-foot tall boy devoured him.  There was no more Jon,
there was no more Elliott, there was only one being joined together that
could never be parted.  He was drowning, flying, spinning madly out of
control, plummeting to the earth only to be able to reach out and touch the
stars.  He barely even noticed when the feeling in his cock swelled so great
that he shouted at the top of his lungs, because that feeling really didn't
matter to him any more.  The only thing that mattered was the love that was
bursting in his heart.

	Jon's eyes met Elliott's as a grin spread across the boy's face.

	"Yeah," the boy said softly, nodding slowly.  "That's the look."