Date: Wed, 22 Jul 2015 02:17:19 -0400
From: rw6789@aol.com
Subject: "A Trial Of Strength" - Part 269  by Rob Williams

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 269
By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER: Lloyd and the bruised Steve reconcile with humor and great
sex.  "Does it still hurt?" Lloyd asks. "Only when I laugh.  Just cut the
crap, man, and suck dick."  Randy rides to the rescue when Brandon takes a
solo trip and gets in dangerous trouble.  Brandon lies in the sand as Randy
confronts the two bikers.  "See, guys, anyone who fucks this boy has to
fuck me first.  And I don't get fucked by assholes."

*******************************


Chapter 269 – "STEVE CONFRONTS LLOYD – RANDY SAVES BEN"

The best that could be said of Randy's disastrous explosion of anger was
that he meant well.

It was his fiercely protective instincts, honed by years of defending his
younger brothers on the tough streets of West Texas, that impelled him to
"protect" his brother, Doctor Steve, by savagely punishing Steve's new
friend, the beautiful swimwear model, Grady.  That impulsively misguided
action had led to a brutal fight between the two brothers, resulting in an
ignominious defeat for Randy.

Those closest to him, Bob, Pablo and young Ben, had shared his humiliation
but had already had their self-esteem restored by the guys who loved them
most, with the time-honored remedy of "a good, honest-to-god fuck."

Those had been the first faltering steps toward reconciliation, but the
unsettled group was collectively juggling a lot of balls in the air, trying
to drop as few as possible.  Steve and his aggrieved lover Lloyd were still
talking.  Grady was still with Hassan wondering what the hell was going on,
and where, if anywhere, he fit into all this or whether he should just go
home and get on with his life.

At the center of it all was Randy, who was right now lying bruised and
confused, being cared for by young Brandon.  His reputation in the tribe
was in shreds and was perilously close to being unredeemable.  But as it
turned out Brandon, unwittingly, would help to take care of that too,
though, to use Randy's phrase, it wouldn't be pretty.

**********************************

But that new drama was several days away and in the meantime the group was
still asking itself what chance Steve and Lloyd had of salvaging their
relationship.  Lloyd's light-hearted but ill-advised experiment of throwing
together his gym-buddy Grady and the therapist Steve had gone horribly
wrong.  It had not resulted in a fast fuck, as Lloyd intended, but a whole
night of passion and lustful fantasy between the two men.

And now Steve was in the twins' apartment recuperating from the big fight.
As soon as he recovered his wits he had asked for Lloyd to come see him.
It would be the first time they had met since the whole incident began.

When Lloyd came into the twins' room Steve was deeply ensconced in an
armchair being plied with pillows and provisions by Kyle and Kevin.  He was
in his boxers and, as his own shirt had been shredded, the twins had lent
him one of Bob's T-shirts.  The twins made a discreet exit and Lloyd stood
nervously in front of his bruised lover. Nothing for it, he thought, but to
make a clean breast of it.

"Steve, before you say anything, I gotta tell you this was all my fault.  I
started it.  God I've been stupid.  See, I thought you had this secret
fantasy of fucking a patient so when Grady told me he wanted to find a good
therapist I naturally referred him to you.  I was pretty sure you'd be
attracted to him – shit, he's so goddam gorgeous – and live out your
fantasy.  But I never expected it to get totally out of hand the way it
did.  Like I said, I'm a damn fool."

"Wait, wait, Lloyd" Steve said.  "There's enough blame to go around in this
whole mess, starting with me.  You're right, Grady is a beautiful man –
inside and out, actually – and I fell for him in a big way.  But I
behaved like a total shit to you and I can't forgive myself for that.
`Course, then my big brother comes charging in like a mad bull in a china
shop and makes everything ten times worse by roughing up Grady, which of
course is totally unforgiveable.  I'm not sure how I can look him in the
face again."

Steve shrugged.  "What you did was small potatoes in comparison and I
realize you did it basically to give me pleasure.  But, man, didn't you
realize you were playing with fire?"

"That's exactly what Bob said to me when he warned me off the whole idea.
I should have listened to him – huh, me and my bright ideas."  After a
long pause, "So what now, Steve?  You're the shrink ... any bright ideas?"

"Yeah, I'm great at giving advice to patients in situations like this but
this is us, you and me, buddy.  You know, the first thing I ask a patient
is `do you think you still love him?'  But I don't even have to ask myself
that – of course I love you, Lloyd, body and soul."  Another long pause.
"But what if I asked you that question, Lloyd – after the way I behaved
to you?"

Lloyd's reply was instant.  "I'd say yes, Steve, of course I would.  You're
my perfect lover and I never want us to break up."  They exchanged smiles
of relief but then Lloyd's smile became a rueful grin.  "But there's still
something else we have to confront and we both know it, don't we Steve?
I'd call it the elephant in the room except that Grady bears absolutely no
resemblance to an elephant – except the trunk maybe."

"Yeah I know what you mean, Lloyd – especially the bit about the trunk.
That long dick of his is beautiful.  Shit, Lloyd, the man is beautiful in
every way and, you may not wanna hear this, but what we did together was
fucking spectacular."

"I'm sure it was, Steve.  I wish I'd been there."  It was a casual remark
but suddenly seemed significant to both of them.  Somehow it gave them
hope.

"Steve, you're not the only one who's nuts about Grady.  You might as well
know that I jack off a lot thinking about him.  So far all we've done is
fool around a couple of times in the shed in back of the gym where they
keep the pool equipment.  Both times I fucked him and, man, was that hot.
When we work out together I know he has a hard-on in his shorts all the
time, as I do.  The reason we never went to each other's home was because I
told him I had a lover."

"Ouch," Steve said.  "That never stopped me, did it?  Man I'm sorry.  I got
carried away."

There was a long silence but not a cold one – getting warmer, actually,
by the minute.  Finally Lloyd asked, "Buddy, do you feel strong enough yet
for me to take you home?"

"Soon," Steve smiled.  "That tender, loving room-service from the twins
could become addictive. Besides, I just wanna make sure all the parts are
still working.  It was a hell of a fight, wasn't it?"  Lloyd could tell he
was on the mend by the devilish look that came to Steve's eye.  "Not
altogether sure about some of the parts."

Lloyd grinned, "The nuts and bolts, you mean."

"Bingo.  Randy got a pretty good knee-slam in my balls ... gives the term
`numb-nuts' a whole new meaning.  I'm hoping it's temporary ... maybe I
should take them for a test drive to make sure."

"Hey, man, you're in no condition to drive.  You need a chauffeur."  Lloyd
grinned, "Did I ever tell you when I was in college I drove a cab part-time
for extra money?"

"You still remember how to do it?"

"Buddy, there are some things you never forget.  All you have to do is make
yourself comfortable in the back seat and leave the rest to me."

With a salacious smile Steve settled back in the cushions of the armchair
and Lloyd knelt on the floor beside him.  "First thing we have to check out
is the gear shift lever."

Lloyd carefully reached inside Steve's boxers and pulled out his semi-hard
cock.  "Hmm," Lloyd frowned, "no serious damage I'd say, but it's not in
perfect working order either.  Nothing we can't fix, though.  Just needs a
tune up."  He leaned down and kissed Steve on the lips.  "And you've got
just the right mechanic for the job, sir.  Satisfaction guaranteed or your
money back."

Lloyd lowered his head, licked Steve's balls and felt them quiver under his
tongue.  "Hmm," he muttered, "there's life in them there balls."  He opened
his mouth wide, sucked in both balls and massaged them with his lips and
tongue.  He heard Steve moan and felt the balls get harder.  He pulled off
them and said, "OK, ball-bearings are fine, let's check the gear lever."
Steve smiled, realizing again how much he loved this handsome man with his
wacky sense of humor.

Lloyd closed his mouth round the head of Steve's cock and sucked it all in,
gulping so that his throat muscles clenched round the semi-hard and quickly
swelling cock.  He moved back and forth just a few times before the cock
became iron hard in his mouth.  He pulled away and grinned at Steve.  "See
that?  Perfect.  Not so much a gear lever now – more of a joystick."

Horny as he was, but careful not to move too much because of his bruised
ribs, Steve couldn't help laughing, which made him wince.  "Does it still
hurt?" Lloyd asked.

"Only when I laugh."

"OK, we're doing great," Lloyd grinned.  "Ball-bearings – check.
Joystick – check.  Now all we have to do is top up the fluid levels."

Steve laughed and winced again but Lloyd was relentless.  "See, what makes
a great mechanic is he has to love the engine he's working on.  And I
myself am crazy about this one."

Through his laughter Steve said, "For god's sake, man, will you cut the
crap and just suck dick!"

"You're the customer, sir, and, like I said, satisfaction guaranteed."
Steve moaned as Lloyd expertly lowered his pursed lips down the shaft,
pausing to swallow every few inches to squeeze his lover's cock with his
throat muscles.

Although he would never have admitted it, Lloyd had taken blow-job lessons
from young Eddie, as had some of the men (in private) and all the boys (not
so privately – in fact, publicly flaunting their acquired skills).
Eddie had taught by example and serviced all comers (and cummers).  He
always got permission first from Hassan who indulged his boy and even, in
his quiet way, enjoyed pride of ownership of the best young cock-sucker in
the city.

And Steve now reaped the benefit of Lloyd's acquired skills as he lay back
in the cushions, trying not to move too much, gazing down at the handsome
jock face and disheveled dark hair rising and falling over his cock.  Steve
reached down, grabbed the hair and used it to gently pull Lloyd's face up
and down his shaft, which shuddered near the brink of orgasm so often as to
require constant pauses.

"Man, that's hot," Steve sighed.  "I could have cum a dozen times already,
but I want it to last.  I love you, buddy.  If this is how you tune up
engines I'll keep you on the payroll as resident mechanic.  OK, forget the
battle wounds.  Who gives a shit about bruises when my body feels this
good?"

Steve's sexual pleasure was intensified by the joy of knowing it was Lloyd
who was giving it to him – the man he loved so much but had treated so
thoughtlessly.  This was not only love-making gift-wrapped in flippancy and
fun, but Lloyd's way of forgiving him and laughing it off – or as Lloyd
would have said, `not making too big a deal out of it'.

It was Lloyd's talent to bring light-heartedness to the darkness of Steve's
mood after the fight – not to mention the best blow-job Lloyd had ever
given him.  Steve was now pressing both hands on Lloyd's head, pushing his
face down faster and faster on his cock.  He could control the physical
orgasm that kept pushing for release but it was the passion that Lloyd had
reignited that finally overwhelmed him.

Feeling Steve's approaching climax Lloyd swallowed again and again, his
throat clenching round the shuddering cock as if squeezing the juice from
it.  "Man, that's so fucking hot," Steve groaned.  "I love you, buddy
... you're driving me crazy here ... I gotta cum ... I gotta cum ... aaah."
He released his pent-up load at last, pouring sperm in his lover's mouth.

Lloyd gulped it down, then suddenly pulled his mouth back.  He stood up,
straddled Steve's waist, then quickly lowered his butt onto the still-hard
cum-slicked rod.  As he felt his ass being impaled he grabbed his own cock,
pointed it down at Steve and blasted jizz all over his face.

Through a film of semen Steve looked up and saw his lover laughing happily
like a mischievous boy.  And at that moment Steve knew he would always be
in love with this handsome, funny, loyal, loving man.

Through his laughter Lloyd asked, "Satisfaction guaranteed, sir?"

"I'll say.  I won't be asking for my money back."

"You better not.  And your fluid levels check out just fine. Your working
parts are all in good shape.  As a mechanic I usually recommend a tune-up
like that about every three months.  But with a turbocharged engine like
yours I suggest a more frequent schedule – say, every day."

"Or even twice a day?" Steve grinned.

Outside the twins grinned and bumped fists as they heard raucous laughter
coming from behind the bedroom door.

*********************************

Steve stirred in the chair.  "OK, buddy, after that expert tune-up I'm
ready.  Give me a hand here and take me back up to the house, OK?"

Right on cue there was a knock at the door and the twins came in, with
Steve's jeans folded over Kyle's arm.  "Your jeans were a mess after the
fight, sir, but we laundered them while you and Lloyd were ... talking in
here."  Kevin added, "Unfortunately your shirt was ripped to shreds, sir,
which is why, when you came up here we, we gave you the T-shirt from Bob's
clean laundry that you're wearing now."

The twins stared at the shirt which was smothered in Lloyd's cum and
stifled a smile.  "But, er, it seems that shirt is a bit messed up too,
sir.  We should get you another – Bob won't mind."

"Nah, we gotta hit the road," Steve grinned, "this one will do fine.
Thanks for the jeans and ... thanks for everything, you guys.  You've been
terrific ... just what the doctor needed."  Leaning on Lloyd he pulled on
the jeans and boots, then he and Lloyd hugged the twins, sore ribs be
damned, and Lloyd helped him downstairs to the garden.

Calm had settled over the house as everyone had paired off for an early
night.  But there were two figures sitting at the table by the pool in the
gathering twilight.  Bob and Mark were taking a breather from their bedroom
exertions and were now sipping Scotch supplied by the twins. They were
shirtless in loose sweatpants from Mark's supply.  (Swapping clothes was
not unusual for the guys of this house where clothes were exchanged as
often as bodily fluids.)

Lloyd looked at the two muscle-gods, one blond, one dark, and whistled in
admiration.  "Wow, you guys look like two porn stars about to shoot a movie
... or who've just finished one ... or maybe waiting between scenes while
they change the lighting."

Mark laughed, "Lloyd, you and your fantasies.  Is anything real in your
world?"

"Oh yeah, some things are really, really real."  Lloyd threw his arm over
Steve's shoulder.

Steve said, "Bob, I'm sorry.  The twins lent me one of your T-shirts and I
seem to have messed it up, with a little help from my friend here.  I'll
have it washed and ..."

"Don't you dare," Bob teased.  "It looks perfect like that.  Keep it as a
reconciliation gift, if that is what we're looking at here –
reconciliation."

Turning serious Steve asked, "Er, how's Randy doing, by the way?  "I hope
he's..."

"Steve," Mark grinned, "you know that brother of yours, the man of steel.
Hell he could get run over by a truck and he'd jump right up and punch out
the truck.  Right now he's fast asleep, cuddled up with his nurse,
Brandon."

"That's a relief," Steve sighed.  "Listen, I've gotta thank you guys and
the twins for helping calm things down after all the rough stuff."

"No sweat," Bob said, "we get plenty of practice around here, picking up
the pieces after this brawling tribe.  Besides, all the thanks we need is
what we're looking at now.  Now get the hell back to your house and carry
on reconciling.  That is what you call it, right?"

"Damn right it is," Steve said.

As Lloyd drove the BMW up to their Mulholland house Steve rested his hand
on Lloyd's thigh.  They drove in silence, partly because peace had been
restored between them but mostly because neither knew what to say about
Grady, or what they would say to him, assuming he was still up at their
house.  But as it would turn out, Grady said it all for them.

******************************

Early next morning when Zack and Darius showed up for work at the
construction site they were amazed to see someone there before them,
hacking lustily at a stubborn pile of concrete, breaking it into rubble to
clear the space for construction to begin.

"Son of a bitch," Zack said.  "After the beating he took yesterday!  The
man's not human."  They both knew that Randy was doing what he always did
when his life turned to crap – he took refuge in hard physical labor.
It was what he knew best – something solid in his life that could always
be relied on to restore his sanity.  "Hey, guys," he hollered across the
site.  "Come give me a hand here."

They both joined in and the concrete was pulverized in minutes.  No mention
was made of yesterday's events, though they all knew that Randy's
reputation with the tribe was in the toilet and the group would be slow to
forgive his brutal behavior to Steve's friend.  Let alone the effect on
Bob, who everyone knew had spent the night with Mark.

"Zack," Randy said, as if yesterday had never happened, "I called out to
that new site we opened in the desert and it's a fucking mess.  We need to
fire the foreman's ass.  He's a dickhead.  I'm gonna be busy here so I was
wondering if you and your boy would like to take a run out there and whip
them into shape.  Literally if necessary," and he managed a grin.

"Sure, buddy, I was thinking the same thing myself.  "How about it, kid?
Maybe grab a beer afterwards at that leather bar where we discovered
Eddie?"

Darius jumped at the chance to take a trip with the man he idolized and
show off with him at the construction site and the bar, where they were
already stars.  So they hit the road a short while later leaving Randy
alone, which is the way he wanted it.  His thoughts went to Bob and he
muttered "fuck, fuck, fuck" as he took another angry swing of the pickaxe
to the pile of rubble.

****************************

Meanwhile Brandon was stirring and instinctively reached for Randy in whose
arms he had spent the night.  Nothing ... he was gone.  Brandon sat up in
alarm, his first thought for Randy's bruised and battered body.  Then he
remembered this was the man whose power to recover from a fight was
legendary.

He saw a scrap of paper next to him on Randy's pillow.  On it was scrawled,
"Thanks, kid.  You rock."  Brandon smiled ... that was a keeper.  He folded
it up and pushed it into his wheelchair saddle bag beside the bed.

He was disappointed, though.  He had been looking forward to serving
breakfast in bed to his hero but ... ah well.  Even though nothing had
happened except a long, deep sleep, Brandon was left feeling unsettled –
sort of empty.  Last night was over and Randy was getting on with his life.
But Brandon knew that Randy would have a tough time confronting the
disapproval of most of the men.

And that's where Brandon was feeling confused.  He looked up to Randy
... he was the big boss, his hero, but he couldn't reconcile that with the
description of what he had done to Doctor Steve's friend Grady.  Brandon
had huge respect (not to mention lust, as everyone did) for the handsome
doctor, so the fight between the brothers had confused him even more.

But the worst thing was he didn't have Pete to talk it over with.  One of
his favorite things was long discussions with the Ranger, his master –
right up there with making love to him.  Well, that was the best, he had to
admit.  But Pete was over 300 miles away in Yosemite and would be out of
touch most of the day working with the other Rangers.  Pete had emphasized
that Brandon must let Randy keep an eye on him and Brandon should stay in
close touch with him.

Huh, Brandon grinned to himself, he had sure kept in close touch last
night, real close, but even that confused him as he had a feeling he would
like more from Randy than a cuddle.  He was pretty sure Pete wouldn't mind,
but then again ...

Damn, it was all such a muddle.  He would never want to go back to his
earlier lonely life but he had to admit it sure was simpler when he worked
things out for himself, when the only one he had to talk to was himself.
Then he realized that that's what he wanted now – to be alone for a
while, sort things out, know where he was going.  `Where he was going',
yeah.  Today was the day he could use that ride he had promised himself on
his motor-trike ... be free, independent, alone with his own thoughts."

But Bob had decreed that the work and house routine should resume as usual
so he headed for the shower.  He was still in Zack's house of course and
Zack and Darius had already left for work but he smiled when he saw that
Darius had left a bench in the shower for him so he could shower and dry
off sitting on it, then haul himself back into his wheelchair and pull on
some clothes.  He was proud that he took all this in stride – though
when that phrase crossed his mind he giggled to himself.  Maybe not the
best metaphor for a boy in a wheelchair.

He wheeled himself across the street where were still quite a few
stragglers at the breakfast table by the pool, with the twins doing the
honors as always.  Bob was there keeping a paternal eye on things, making
sure there were no residual problems, and so were Brandon's amigos Eddie
and Ben.  Eddie was still bragging about being "sold", as he put it, by
Hassan to Grady, and Ben was kind of morose, still recovering from the
trauma of watching his brothers fight.

So Brandon sat between Bob and Jamie, his office boss.  Bob leaned into him
quietly and said, "Thank you for everything you did for Randy yesterday,
Brandon, and for spending the night with him.  He told Zack that he slept
like a log with you."  Brandon wasn't sure that was a compliment but he
took it as such.

Intuitive as ever Bob sensed the uneasiness in Brandon and realized it was
inevitable that he would be confused.  He also detected the note of longing
in the boy's voice when he talked about taking off on his own for a while.
"Jamie," Bob asked, "how's that budget coming along?"

"Well, sir, it's kind of stalled until tomorrow when we'll get the figures
from the site managers."

"So it'll be a light day for you two, uh?  Hmm, do you think it would be a
good time for Brandon to take the day off?  I think he might like some time
alone."  Jamie agreed at once, understanding just what Bob was getting at.
"Things will be slow today, sir, so that's fine."

So it was settled, but before he left the table, Bob said quietly to
Brandon.  "Now I know you value your independence, Brandon, but remember
what Pete told you.  If you go out keep Randy on speed dial and, if you
have any problems at all you call him right away, OK?  And stay in touch
with your pals Eddie and Ben.  Check in with them regularly so they know
you're OK."

Eddie and Ben were almost as excited as Brandon as they helped him get
ready for the trip.  He would only be gone a few hours so there wasn't much
to pack on his trike, but Brandon dressed in the leather pants and vest
Pete had given him so he'd look the part of a biker.  He rolled onto his
trike, raised the ramp up behind him, clamped the wheels to the platform
and strapped on his helmet. Then, sitting up straight, his eyes shining
with the pride of independence, he was off.

As Bob watched him go down the hill he suddenly, and strangely, flashed on
Randy.  That look in the boy's eyes was the same look he saw so often in
Randy's – the pride and swagger of a man supremely comfortable in his
own skin.  Bob thought that Randy must have looked a lot like that when he
was Brandon's age – minus the wheelchair, of course.

***********************************

Brandon knew exactly where he was going ... he had been there before
... with Zack.  He felt the tension and worry slipping away from him as he
held his face to the breeze, reveling in the joy of being on the open road,
by himself, in charge.  He was headed down Pacific Coast Highway making for
the ramshackle Sunset Beach and the biker bar he had gone to with Zack.  He
wanted to show those guys that he didn't need a minder.  He could do it all
by himself.  He was a biker like them.

It took him a couple of hours to get there as he rode at a leisurely pace
and kept to surface streets, not the freeway.  It wasn't that he was scared
of the freeway.  He preferred the succession of small towns along the coast
and the sound of the waves to the right of him.

But it was easy to take the wrong turn, which he did a couple of times.
With that, and stopping for lunch along the way where he checked in by
phone with Eddie and Ben, by the time he arrived at the bar they were
already into their daily beer bust.

He parked carefully, enjoying the stares he got from the few bikers milling
around outside as he wheeled himself off his trike and replaced the ramp
or, as he liked to think, raised the drawbridge.  Inside he got the same
attention as he proudly wheeled himself to the bar through the small crowd
of surprised bikers.  The bartender, Jim, remembered him from when he had
come here with Zack and greeted him raucously.  "Hey, kid, where's that hot
black stud Zack?  Shit, whenever he comes in here it's, like, `hard-ons all
round'."

"He's out in the desert," Brandon grinned.  "I came here solo this time."

"The hell you did," Jim said and slid a beer across the counter to him.
"On the house, Brandon – any friend of Zack's...  The time before last
he came with that big gypsy guy – fucking gorgeous, built like a brick
shit house.  What's his name, er...?"

"That would be Randy," Brandon grinned.  "I live with him too."

And so for a while Brandon was the center of attention until the crowd
began to thin and two tough looking bikers who had been keeping to
themselves in the corner sauntered over to him.  Tall, muscular, heavily
tattooed, about the same age as Randy, he reckoned, they seemed friendly
enough as one introduced himself, Karl, and asked him how he'd got here on
his own.

Eagerly Brandon got on to his favorite subject, his three-wheeler, and
offered to show it to them.  He followed them out to the parking lot and
proudly showed them how it worked.  Then Karl jumped on the platform and
started it up.  For the first time Brandon felt a jolt of fear as he said
boldly, "No, you can't ride it like that.  You'll break it.  Get off.  I'll
show you how I ride it."

The only response was a guttural laugh as the leather-clad biker stood on
the platform, like riding a chariot.  His buddy jumped on behind him and
they rode the trike round the lot.  "Hey this is great," Karl shouted.
"Let's open it up, man."

Horrified, Brandon watched as Karl steered along the boardwalk toward a
cluster of rocks.  He raced after them in his wheelchair and saw them
swerve off the boardwalk onto the beach and disappear behind the rocks.  He
followed them, heaving his chair over the sand and round the rocks.  And
there he stopped and his heart missed a beat.

The two bikers were standing by his trike, grinning at him threateningly.
Reflexively Brandon knew he had to get away but as he tried to turn around
his wheels sank into the wet sand.  He struggled desperately but realized
it was hopeless.  He was trapped.  It would take the help of the two guys
to free him and he knew that wasn't gonna happen.

Karl folded his arms across his chest.  "We was just saying, this bike of
yours ain't half bad, and the kid ain't bad either.  What say I go and get
us some beer and leave my buddy with you?  The beach is deserted at this
hour and besides we're pretty much hidden behind these rocks, so we got the
place to ourselves.  Give us a chance to get acquainted.  We'll get shit
faced, then get to know each other even better, if you know what I mean.
Hell, hot kid like you ... sure you know what I mean."

Brandon's mind raced.  If only he could use his phone, but he knew they
wouldn't let him.  Worse still, he remembered switching it off after he had
called the boys from the lunch place.  Man, he'd been stupid.  He walked
right into this.  He'd have to play for time ... pretend to go along with
them and hope that the boys back home would raise the alarm.

*********************************

Which is exactly what happened.  For some time now Eddie and Ben had felt
mounting anxiety as they hadn't heard from Brandon and when they tried to
call him it went straight to voicemail.  They knew something was wrong and
there was only one thing to do – call Randy.  So that is when Eddie
sounded the alarm.  "Sir, sir, come quick.  It's Brandon.  He took off and
now we can't get through on his phone.  He hasn't checked in with us either
like he said he would.  He must be in some kind of trouble."

Randy was still on the construction site, still morose, keeping to himself.
But when he got Eddie's call a surge of adrenaline raced through him and
every fiber of his being came alive.  Brandon, the boy he had sworn to
protect.  Brandon, that vulnerable boy, was in trouble.

He raced off the lot, leapt into his truck, and was home in minutes.  The
house was alive with anxiety, bordering on panic, which Bob was trying his
best to damp down, though he himself felt a rock in the pit of his stomach.
Zack was in the desert, Mark was working and Bob was feeling very alone
until, mercifully, Rany slammed through the gate and went straight to Eddie
and Ben.  "Where did he go?  Did he tell you?"

Ben looked tearfully at his brother.  "All he said was he was going where
Zack took him – somewhere down the coast.  But that's all, sir."

Just then Randy's phone rang and his blood ran cold when he answered it.
"Sir," said the muffled voice, "I need help, sir.  At the bar ... there's
these two guys ..."  He shouted, "No, don't ..."  There were sounds of a
scuffle and a gritty voice in the background said, "You won't be needing
that, kid.  We're your buddies now..." and the line went dead.

With calm, steely efficiency Randy punched the number for Zack's cell.
"Listen, buddy, something's come up..."  Zack told him that some weeks ago
he had taken Brandon to the biker bar in Sunset Beach, the same one he once
took Randy to.  He was about to ask more questions but Randy cut him off
with, "Thanks buddy," and shut off the phone.

His mind raced.  He'd take the freeway, but rush hour was starting and the
traffic would be sluggish.  The bike was the only answer.  The Harley would
be twice as fast as the truck.  Pablo, who had just got home, helped him
haul it out of the garage and quickly cast his expert mechanic's eye over
it.  He always kept all the vehicles gassed up so it was ready to go.  "Let
me go with you, sir."

"Thanks kid, but no.  I deal with this kind of shit better on my own."
With a steely expression and a clenched jaw he threw his leg over his bike
and kick-started the engine.

Bob had not spoken to Randy all day but now those old issues faded into
insignificance compared with his fear for Brandon and for Randy.  Bob knew
this could be dangerous and said, "Are you sure you should go, Randy?"

Randy's blue eyes pierced Bob's.  "Of course, buddy, I have to.  It's what
I do ... I take care of my boys - and my brothers.  You should know that by
now."  Then he switched his focus to the road and roared away.

Bob watched him disappear into the distance – and he understood.  He
understood it all and his eyes brimmed with tears of love - and of guilt.
Guilt over his harsh recrimination when Randy had impulsively acted to
"help" his brother Steve.  Now he was on another mission to help one of his
most vulnerable boys.  And in a fundamental way the two weren't so
different.

Bob saw now that both actions sprang from Randy's fierce protective
instinct, a feral instinct that was ingrained in him so long ago, so bred
in the bone that it overshadowed all his other reflexes, especially
restraint.  It was a visceral impulse that consumed him and he stopped to
reflect on his actions only after the deed was done.  After all, Bob
thought, when a lion protects his cubs he doesn't stop to think.  He just
tears the enemy limb from limb.

It was also what endowed Randy with his raw masculinity – a caveman when
misused, as with Grady – a hero when the same instinct rallies to save
Brandon.  Everyone had condemned Randy for intervening like a raging-bull
when, in truth, they all feared that Grady might come between Steve and
Lloyd.  But at least Randy had acted while the rest of them remained
silent.

Gazing at the empty road Bob's eyes filled with tears and he murmured to
himself, "Man, I love you so much.  Stay safe, buddy.  And bring our boy
home."

*********************************

It may have taken Brandon, in his meandering stop-for-lunch way, a couple
of hours to reach Sunset Beach.  But Randy was on the freeway, on his
Harley weaving in and out between rush-hour traffic ... and he was grimly
determined.  It took him not much more than half an hour before he pulled
up in front of the bar.

The remains of the beer bust crowd fell silent as the heavy leather strips
over the door were pulled back and the wild gypsy stood there, backlit by
the sun.  He looked formidable in his work clothes – muddy jeans and
boots and an old tank hanging over his muscular chest streaked with dirt
and grease.  There was something about him that defied any contact as he
strode through the crowd to the bar.

"Hey," the bartender yelled.  "This is our lucky day, guys.  Randy ain't
it?  Welcome back, stud.  Strange, you're name came up a while ago when I
was talking to this boy who knows you."

"Where is he, Jim?"  It was as much an accusation as a question and Jim
wilted under the gaze of the steel blue eyes."

"Dunno, Randy, now you mention it.  He was here not so long ago but he went
out with a couple guys to show him his bike, I think.  Haven't seen him
since."  He frowned.  "Don't know the guys.  Strangers ... probably from
out of town."

One of the customers chimed in.  "Can't have gone far, though.  I just went
out to pee and their bikes were still there, but your boy's trike was gone.
Maybe they're trying it out along the boardwalk."

"Thanks, guys," Randy said distractedly and strode out of the bar.  He
walked fast along the board walk, his eyes searching in every direction but
especially out over the beach.  He was almost at the point of turning back
when he saw in the distance a silhouette against the setting sun ... two
figures standing on what had to be Brandon's trike, riding it along the
water's edge.

He immediately started to run toward the ocean and almost tripped over a
figure dragging himself over the sand, shirtless in leather pants.  "Hello,
sir," the boy said.  "I was hoping you would show up.  I knew you would."

Randy dropped to his knees and ran his hands over Brandon's face and bare
chest.  "You OK, kid?  What's happened?  What are you doing?"

"I'm fine, sir.  My wheelchair's stuck in the sand behind those rocks and
those guys have got my bike.  They took my cell phone too, and said they
were gonna work me over and fuck my ass.  While they drank beer I played
along, flattered them, told them how I would suck their cocks.  I described
Eddie's technique, sir, and that's enough to turn anyone on.

"They were getting real horny though so I told them I had to get my mouth
ready (whatever that means) as I was sure they had huge dicks, I said.  So
they took my trike for a ride along the beach and said that when they got
back I better be ready to get my face and ass fucked at the same time.
They laughed and said they would toss a coin to see which of them got which
end.

"They left me alone knowing I couldn't go anywhere without my wheelchair.
Least, that's what they thought.  Maybe I can't walk, but I can sure as
hell crawl using my arms.  That's what I'm doing down here.  I knew they'd
catch up with me but I thought if I could get closer to the boardwalk maybe
someone would hear me yelling.  But then I saw you coming, sir, and I knew
I was safe.  Thank you for coming, sir."

Randy gazed down at the boy in disbelief.  He could not believe this calm
recitation of the facts from a kid who had been in extreme peril. Tears
came to his eyes imagining the sheer guts of the boy.  He looked up and saw
the bikers get off Brandon's trike and start running toward them.

Brandon looked scared for Randy.  "Please don't fight them, sir.  You had a
big fight yesterday and you're body's still sore.  You're still weak so
they'll beat you up.  Let's talk to them instead and I'll suck them off
while you go for help.

"Like hell you will.  You underestimate me, kid.  Weak?  Not a word I'm
familiar with.  Now don't move and leave these shitholes to me."

They ran up panting and Karl said, "Thanks dude, you stopped the little
punk from getting away.  He'll pay for that."  He sized up the dirt-covered
gypsy kneeling on the ground and figured he was harmless.  "We're all set
to fuck the kid's ass.  You can grab a piece of the action too if you
want."

Slowly Randy stood up to his full height, legs apart, fists clenched.  He
had two kinds of anger – blazing hot and ice cold.  These two got the
frozen one – the deadlier kind, and they took a step back as he stood
staring at them threateningly.  "Gentlemen, I agree with you that this kid
is eminently fuckable, but the thing is, anyone who fucks him is gonna have
to fuck me first ... and I don't get fucked by assholes."

"Hey man, don't get hostile here.  See we found the kid first, he's ours
now, his bike too, and we plan on hanging on to them both for a while."

Randy frowned.  "Well, see that presents another small problem.  Fact is,
the kid belongs to me ... he's my boy.  But hey, I'm not an unreasonable
kinda guy.  You want him, you can have him.  All you have to do is take
him."

The bikers hesitated.  They were not only intimidated by Randy's wild look
and the strength of his muscular physique.  They were confused by his
words.  Was he playing ball or not?  What was he thinking right now,
staring through them like that?  As a matter of fact, Randy was sizing them
up ... two big mother-fuckers, strong, tough, in leather pants and boots,
their muscles flexing under bulging black T-shirts.

Karl snarled, "You'd be a damn fool to try anything, man.  Two men against
one asshole and a cripple kid.  I don't think so."  That word pierced Randy
like an arrow and his cold rage turned red hot.  When Karl bent over and
grabbed Brandon's wrist Randy reached down, grabbed Karl's hair, pulled his
head up and slammed the back of his fist against his face, sending him
reeling backwards and crashing on the sand with a sickening howl.

"OK, mother-fucker," his buddy yelled, "you wanna play rough eh?"  He
pulled a knife from his back pocket and flicked open the blade.  While Karl
still groaned on the ground the two men circled each other warily and, when
the biker lunged, Randy caught his wrist and pulled it up high, their
chests pushing together in a trial of strength.

As they pushed against each other their faces were inches apart and Randy
smiled at him maliciously.  Seemingly effortlessly he squeezed the man's
wrist and twisted it savagely until the knife fell in the sand.  "You wanna
know how `crippled' feels, dickwad?  Give this a try."  He slammed his knee
up into his balls and the man screamed, lunged forward and fell writhing on
the ground, clutching his crotch in agony.

Meanwhile Karl was shaking his head to clear it.  He looked up at Randy
with hatred in his eyes, leapt to his feet and in a lightning move clamped
his hands round Randy's throat, choking him.  Brandon watched in horror as
Randy gripped Karl's wrists and tried desperately to pull the hands from
his throat.

Every muscle in the gypsy's body flexed and sweat poured down his face as,
agonizingly slowly, in an epic act of brute strength, he pulled the hands
apart, away from his throat, and suddenly twisted the biker round, forcing
his arm up behind his back in a brutal hammerlock.

"Aaaagh ... you're breaking my fucking arm.  Let me go ... please, man."

"Careful what you wish for, douchebag."  Randy let go his arm and, with the
man still doubled over, brought both his arms down across his shoulders in
a double forearm smash.  He sprawled again on the ground and Randy stood
over him and spat on him.  "You shit-for-brains mother-fucker.  You dare to
threaten my boy, you dare to lay your filthy hands on my boy.  This is what
you get, asshole," and he slammed his boot into his stomach.

But he couldn't see what Brandon saw.  The other man was crawling painfully
over the sand and his hand touched the fallen knife.  He grabbed it and
staggered to his feet behind Randy's back.  He raised the knife but Brandon
reached out, grabbed his ankle with both hands and yanked hard.  Already
unsteady the man lost his balance and fell.

Randy spun round and saw immediately what had happened.  "Thanks kiddo, I
owe you one.  Shit damn, you assholes never learn.  Both men were
staggering to their feet now and Karl lunged for him again.  Randy bent his
head, butted his attacker in the stomach and lifted him up bodily onto his
shoulders.  With a bull roar he raised him high above his head and, as his
buddy charged, flung him down onto him.  With agonized screams they
collapsed to the ground in a flailing heap.

Dazed they stared up at him and Karl stammered, "Enough, man, we give up.
We submit."

Randy grinned down at them and said to Brandon, "So what do we do with
them, kiddo?"  Brandon pulled himself up into a sitting position leaning
back on his hands.  "Oh, I'd say throw them back in the gutter they came
from, sir."

"Good idea, kid.  So what gutter would that be, guys?  Where you from?"

"Vegas," Karl groaned and Randy laughed.  "Well you know what they say
about that place.  Whatever filth crawls out of Vegas should have stayed in
Vegas."  He leaned down, patted Karl's pocket and pulled out a cell-phone.
"This yours, kid?"  Brandon nodded.  Randy held it to his eye and took
several pictures of the men, then tossed the phone to Brandon.

"Right, so here's what's gonna happen.  You're gonna get on your bikes and
hightail it back to Vegas.  One of my best buddies is a cop and I'll give
these photos to him for posting.  And if you ever come back to California,
you better hope the cops nab you first, `cos if they don't I will and I'll
rip your fucking balls off, stuff them down your throat and choke you to
death."

"And I'll do the same if you move a muscle right now."  Randy scooped
Brandon in his arms and ran over to the rocks.  He sat the boy in his
wheelchair, hauled the wheels out of the sand and dragged it across the
beach to the scene of the fight.  "I can take it from here, sir," Brandon
said.

Randy grabbed the men's T-shirts by the scruff of the neck and dragged them
across the sand to the parking lot.  He threw them down in front of the
crowd of men who had gathered there.  He saw the bartender in the crowd and
said, "Jim, these two ass-wipes are going right back to Vegas without
stopping, but if they show their ugly faces here again I want you to call
me or Zack and we will come down personally and castrate them.  They
captured my boy, threatened him with rape, and hurt him.  Nobody does that
to one of my boys.  Nobody."

He hauled the men up and they groaned as they got painfully on their bikes.
They winced at the pain in their balls as they kick started the bikes and
took off, headed for the freeway.  "OK, Jim," Randy grinned.  "Me and my
boy got sand in our mouths.  Any chance of a beer?"

"On the house, big guy.  You're good for business."  And everyone crowded
back into the bar.

****************************

After that an excited Brandon watched Randy take charge.  He made phone
calls to a relieved Bob, then to Pete who showered him with thanks. "Randy
I'll always be in your debt.  Can you take real special care of him
tonight?  He's a tough young kid but some of that's bravado and underneath
he was probably shit scared.  Please, do whatever it takes to make him feel
safe and loved.  Anything ... you know what I mean."

Brandon spoke to Pete who said much the same thing to him.  "Brandon, I
want you to show your gratitude to Randy by doing whatever he asks you to."
He chuckled.  "I have a feeling that won't be too difficult for you
either."

Next Randy went back out to the beach and rescued Brandon's trike.  "It's
clogged with sand and the front wheel's all out of whack," he said.  They
took it to a mechanic down the street who was about to close for the day.
"Jeez I love these things," he said.  "My nephew's handicapped and he rides
one.  But this one's all fucked up with sand.  Needs a thorough clean and
lube."

Randy said, "Looks like it needs a new front wheel too.  Can you help us
with that?"

"Sure no problem.  Not today though.  My parts supplier's closed for the
day.  I can have it for you by, say, noon tomorrow?"

"Thanks, buddy, you're a prince."  As they left Randy said to Brandon, "No
point going back to town on my bike tonight and coming back down tomorrow.
We'll have to stay the night.  But first, I'm fucking starved.  Nothing
like a good fight to work up an appetite.  I saw a little restaurant down
the street, but I doubt they'd serve me looking like this.  This tank was
filthy to start with and now it's pretty much shredded.  You know what they
say – `no shirt, no service'."

"No problem there, sir," Brandon said.  He leaned over and fished a T-shirt
out of the saddle bag of his wheelchair.  "This`ll fit, sir."  He grinned.
"It used to be yours."

*********************************

They went back to the biker bar, then round to the motel behind it on the
beach, where Brandon had once stayed with Zack.  "You're in luck guys,"
said the clerk.  "We're real busy tonight but I got one room left.  It's
only got one bed but it's a king-size if that's OK.  "We'll take it," said
Randy and Brandon together, grinning at each other conspiratorially like a
couple of truant kids on a caper.  Randy took the key and asked, "Is that
restaurant down the street open?"

"Sure is," the clerk grinned.  "I'd go for the club sandwich."

So a few minutes later they were sitting at a table facing each over club
sandwiches and beers.  Randy grinned at Brandon.  "So how come you still
got one of my T-shirts, kiddo?"

Brandon blushed but said in his forthright way.  "It's the one you left in
my apartment the first day you came to install those pull-down shelves.
After you left I held it to my face, breathed in and jerked off.  After
that I kept it under my pillow for the longest time, and now I carry it
with me in my saddle bags."  I told Pete about it and he's OK with it.
Made him laugh, actually."

"You're something else, kiddo," Randy smiled.  Again it was that
straightforward way of telling a story – a slight blush but no real
embarrassment.  The directness came, he knew, from a boy who was totally
truthful and self-assured.  There was an inner strength that must have
built up over years of hardship and learning to fend for himself – not
unlike Randy's own youth.  It reminded him of someone else, too.  Bob, with
his bright-eyed directness and honesty.  Yeah, the kid had something of
both men in him.

"Sir," Brandon said, "I wanna apologize for causing you so much trouble.
Maybe I was wrong taking off on my own like that.  I guess I'm not so
independent after all."

Randy's eyes flashed.  "That's bullshit, kiddo.  Your independence is the
greatest thing you have going for you so cling onto it.  Trust me, I know.
I'll tell you something.  Once, when I was just a kid, I got tired of the
shit hole I lived in and wanted to take off on my own.  So I stole a bike
and went joyriding for a couple of days – two of the happiest days of my
life up to then, a taste of freedom.  But I came back and gave the bike
back.  Got into a shitload of trouble, but it was worth it.

"So you see, you and me we're not so different.  And anyway, you've always
got Pete to protect you – and me when he's not around. "

A warm intimacy was growing between man and boy as they confided in each
other about their lives, friendships, hopes and fears.  But finally Randy
drained his beer and said.  "OK, kid, time to call it a day.  I'll get a
six-pack to go.  Early night tonight, sleep in late tomorrow, then
breakfast, pick up your trike and we head home.  Agreed?"

"Agreed," Brandon smiled happily.  On the way back Randy walked beside the
wheelchair, his hand resting on Brandon's shoulder.  The motel consisted of
a series of small, faded bungalows and theirs was the last one, closest to
the ocean.  Randy put the key in the lock but Brandon paused, turned toward
the ocean and felt sea spray in the breeze blowing into his face.  Randy
sat on a low wall beside him and rested his arm lightly round his shoulder.

It was a clear night.  The stars were bright, and the almost-full moon
hovered just above the horizon, sending its light glistening toward them
over the water, streaking the brown waves with silver. The only sound came
from the surf hissing onshore, the salty breeze and the occasional lament
of a seagull.  They sat quietly together in the moonlight, their thoughts
drifting.

Brandon gazed up at the stars and said, "Good, ain't it, sir?"

"Very good, kiddo," Randy agreed.

*********************************

Their room was like a million other motel rooms, and Randy surprised
Brandon by preparing to take a shower.  It was well known that Bob had to
goad him into showering before bed, but Randy now seemed to be taking
special care.  Brandon too wanted a wash after crawling over the sand, but
the prospect daunted him.  "Sir," he said.  "That thing about independence.
Didn't you ever feel like just like letting it go for a while and having
someone else take care of you?"

"A lot of the time, kiddo, only I never found anyone I could trust enough
to let them ... until I met Bob."  He chuckled.  "But I'm guessing that's
exactly how you feel now.  OK, kid, I'm your man.  Leave everything to me."
He quickly shed his clothes and eased Brandon's T-shirt and shorts off him.
The fact that they were both butt naked sharing a room seemed the most
natural thing in the world.

Randy said, "You know, Pete gave me the green light to do whatever I wanted
while I'm taking care of you."

"I know, sir.  He said the same to me.  Whatever you want to do."

"Good."  Randy brought in a wooden chair from the porch that he placed in
the shower.  Then he reached down and gently lifted Brandon out of his
wheelchair, carried him to the shower and lowered him into the chair.  He
turned on the water and they showered together.

Randy lathered himself up, then got on his knees and soaped Brandon all
over, letting his hand play over his cock.  He stood up and massaged
shampoo in the boy's hair.  As he leaned over his long cock swung inches
from Brandon's face and the boy poked out his tongue and licked his balls,
then the head of his cock.  Randy bent closer and Brandon sucked in the
head, then the whole shaft, feeling it get stiffer and stiffer in his
mouth.

Randy pulled back and murmured, "Playing with fire there, boy."  Brandon
giggled.  "Fire's good, though, don't you think, sir?"

"You little punk ... what you need is a cold shower.  Randy turned the
water to lukewarm and rinsed them both off.  Then he grabbed a towel and
dried them off.  He went to the bedroom to pull back the bedcovers, then
came back and lifted Brandon out of the chair.  Holding him across his
outstretched arms he smiled down at him.  "You know Pete said `anything I
want'.  How do you feel about that, boy?"

"Like I said, sir, I've let go of my independence.  I'm letting someone
else take care of me, doing whatever he wants."

Randy carried the boy over to the bed and laid him gently on the cool
sheets.  Standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded across his chest,
Randy growled, "You know I'm the kind of man who always takes what he
wants.  Guys don't say no to me."  Brandon gulped.  "No, sir ... I mean,
yes, sir."

The words were vintage Randy ... but the actions were not.  He flashed a
smile and knelt on the foot of the bed.  He pushed Brandon's legs back,
bent forward and buried his face between the cheeks of the boy's ass.  He
pushed his tongue inside and massaged the sphincter and the soft membrane
inside.  Brandon was groaning with pleasure and anticipation.

Randy pulled back, spat on his own cock several times and spread the spit
over it, stroking it in his fist.  Brandon gazed up in awe at the naked
gypsy, at his intense eyes, stubbled face and the muscular torso rippling
as he stroked his cock.  "It's pretty big, kiddo.  You got lube in those
saddle bags?"

"Yes, sir, but I don't need it.  I know it won't hurt, sir.  Not from you."

"OK, Brandon, I hoped you'd say that.  Now look at my eyes ... that's it,
good."  Randy pressed the head of his thick cock against the boy's
sphincter and felt it relax, inviting him in.  Slowly, tenderly he eased
his shaft inside, down the warm chute, inch by inch by inch.  When he felt
the boy tense he paused, waited for his ass to relax, then resumed the
gentle pressure.  At last he felt his pubic hair pressing against Brandon's
balls.

"I'm inside you, kiddo, all the way inside.  Am I hurting you?"

"Not at all, sir.  It feels so good after ... after those guys ..."  He
choked up and tears started to flow down his face.  "I was so scared, sir.
I thought they were going to ... you know ...  I was praying you would come
... I knew you were the only one who could save me.  I'm sorry, sir, I
tried not to cry but ... Please, sir ... make love to me ... make me feel
safe.  I love you, sir."

Randy had known that when the boy finally relaxed, let the adrenaline flow
away, he would at last give in to his fear and let it all come out.  He
leaned forward and licked the tears from his cheeks.  "Hey, it's me,
Brandon, and I am gonna make love to you.  It will be an honor to fuck a
brave kid like you."

"Not so brave, though, sir.  You won't tell the guys I bawled my eyes out,
will you?"

Randy grinned.  "As Eddie would say ..."  He ran his fingertips along his
pursed lips and twisted them at the corner like a key.  Brandon laughed
through his tears.  "Thank you sir."

And so they made love – soft, tender, healing love.  Randy's body rose
and fell gently over the boy, his rod sliding easily in his ass.  He leaned
forward and pinned Brandon's wrists to the bed above his head.  But Brandon
didn't feel trapped.  He welcomed the sense of being the captive of this
wonderful man.  He saw Randy's face coming closer and closer, saw his
smiling blue eyes, felt the warmth of his lips as they pressed against his.

The wild gypsy face seemed to soften, the darkness less dark, the
fierceness less fierce.  This was the man he had watched yesterday in a
brutal fight with his brother, and a few hours ago demolishing two men with
the savagery of a tiger.  And now here he was making love to him – with
a tenderness that was surprising and doubly erotic coming from a warrior
like him.

Randy kissed his lips, his eyes, his neck, then licked his nipples lightly,
and all the time his cock made love to the boy's warm ass.  Brandon felt
the stubbled chin scraping over his chest and reached up, ran his hands
through the long black hair and pulled the gypsy face down harder on his
chest.  After a while Randy pulled back, eased Brandon onto his side,
wrapped his arms round him from behind and slid his cock even deeper into
his ass.

Brandon was moaning, clenching Randy's hands that were clamped over his
chest.  He was in the arms of his hero, the man who had pledged to save him
and had plucked him out of danger.  All his fears disappeared, his
determined independence melted, as he allowed himself to be consumed by the
man, fucked by him, loved by him.

Randy turned him over on his back again and pinned his wrists as before.
He smiled and said softly, "Your ass is so sweet, kid, that I'm gonna have
to spill my jizz in it.  I'll show you how you know someone loves you.
Look into my eyes – really look deep into them so that's all you see,
all that exists in the world."

It wasn't hard to do.  Brandon felt he was drowning in the limpid blue
pools, saw his own reflection in them.  He saw himself inside Randy while
the magnificent gypsy was inside him, caressing his ass with his gentle
cock.  The muscular body jolted over him ... and the boy felt warm liquid
flowing deep into his ass, the juice of his hero.  His own body was on
fire, cum raced from his balls, through his cock and spurted over his abs
and chest.

Randy lowered himself onto him and they clung together, Randy licking the
last of the tears drying on the boy's face.  Brandon had never felt safer
in his life.

**********************************

A short time later they were on their sides facing each other, propped up
on one elbow, a beer in their free hand.  Brandon inhaled sharply as Randy
idly traced the bottom of his cold bottle over the boy's chest.  "You, er,
tired, kiddo?"

"Not at all, sir," Brandon said with mischief glinting in his eyes.  "As a
matter of fact, Pete said I should be sure to thank you and I haven't
really done that yet.  Eddie always says there's only one really great way
to thank a guy ... and he gave us all lessons."

"Yeah, I've heard about Eddie's lessons – the best little cock-sucker in
town as Hassan says."

"... in the world according to Eddie," Brandon laughed.

"`Course," Randy said, "at this rate we might be up for hours yet, but I
can take it if you can.  And like I said, we can sleep in late tomorrow.
Your bike won't be ready `til noon.  The night is young, so let's make the
most of it, and let tomorrow take care of itself."

"Fine with me, sir.  You're the boss."  Randy grinned ... he kind of
doubted that.

*******************************

Actually tomorrow didn't exactly take care of itself ... it needed a nudge
from several of the guys.  Randy and Brandon continued to `take care' of
each other next morning.  Bob was already planning how he would `take care'
of his returning warrior.

And the reconciled Steve and Lloyd also took good care of each other, while
grappling with how to handle the delicate issue of Grady.  The handsome
young jock had left the guys' house by the time they arrived home but he
had left a long note.

It began, "'Hey, Steve, I thought it best to hit the road as I have a
strong feeling I caused a whole bunch of problems for you and Lloyd –
not to mention that brother of yours."  They read the rest of the note and
it left them stunned.

"You know what we have to do, don't you buddy?" Steve said.

"Of course I do," Lloyd replied.

***********************************

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" – Chapter 270


Hey guys, this is Rob Williams.  I hope that chapter got you off, and I
welcome your comments and suggestions, which can be very helpful in
planning future chapters.  E-mail me in confidence at rw6789@aol.com.

ALSO, I urge you to visit my Web-site www.atrialofstrength.com.  You can
read the whole story, all the many chapters, with extras, including
pictures and biographies of all the characters and some other great
artwork.  Click on the `Our Story' tab to read the current chapter, or
click on the green button to browse all the chapter synopses.  Enjoy!