Date: Wed, 29 Jun 2005 15:19:34 +0100
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: Terry & the Peachers 6

This story follows on from an earlier Nifty story published on the College
site -- 'The Decent Inn'.  It follows up on some of the loose ends and some
of the marginal characters in the earlier story, as well as continuing the
story of the rocky romance of Matthew White and Andy Peacher, and the story
of their friend Paul Oscott.  The institutions named in it are (almost) all
imaginary.  Matthew's home university is in an entirely fictional
university city in England somewhere between Reading and Swindon and its
resemblances to any real university are simply generic.  The persons
described in the story are also fictitious and bear no resemblance to any
living person.

The story contains graphic depictions of sex, mostly between young males.
If the reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your
place of residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed
further.  If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.



VI


They got back to what Terry was already calling home late on Tuesday
afternoon.  He didn't have much time to look round Washington, which was a
pity.  But, as he concluded philosophically, he wasn't there as a tourist.
Terry picked up the Merc from long term parking at LAX and drove round to
collect Andy and Sylvia.  He shut them in and hopped into the driving seat.
Andy was impressed with his young aide's confidence behind the wheel.  And
he had taken the White House in his stride, too.
  They turned into the short drive to find several people waiting for them
and trying to look as if they weren't.  Ramon, in just his old shorts and
sandals, was straightening the already straight edges of the well-clipped
front lawn.  Matt was lurking near the curtains with one eye on a book and
another on the road.  Mrs Fuentas was polishing the sparkling door knob.
  Andy noticed all this, and made his conclusions.  He also noticed the
nature of the glance exchanged between Terry and Ramon.  He smiled a little
to himself, but he knew that was a side issue.  It was Matt's sombre look
that bothered him.  He left the car and bags for Terry to take care of, and
walked quickly into the house.  But he was stopped at the door first by Mrs
Fuentas.
  'Can I have a word, Mr Peacher?'
  'Er, sure.  But won't it wait?'
  'I'm afraid not.  It's about Ramon.'
  'Is there a problem?  I thought he was happy here.'
  'He is, Mr Peacher ... but I don't suppose you'd noticed that he's
... formed an attachment with your driver.'
  'I only just now saw it.  Why is this a problem?  I thought you'd
accepted he was gay, and I've never seen that Matt and I caused you any
anxiety.'
  'You're grown-up men who know their own minds, sir.  It's different for
Ramon.  He's just a boy, young for seventeen, and easily influenced.  I
know what his mother would say if she knew.'
  'You think Terry's making a victim of him?'
  'I wouldn't put it like that.  But he's a lot older and more
experienced.'
  'Mrs Fuentas, Terry's just nineteen.'
  'Nineteen?  Oh!  Really?  He seems so much more mature.'
  'That's just Terry.  The age difference isn't that great, but more to the
point, Terry's no seducer.  Believe me, he can be trusted.  I don't know
how it will work out, but I think you can trust Terry to behave well,
whatever happens.'
  At that very moment in Terry's room, Ramon was already naked with a
straining erection, stripping Terry of his clothes frantically, joined at
the lips with neither of them showing much evidence of responsibility in
their behaviour, but at least they were blissfully happy and about to get
happier.
  Andy and Matt too were kissing, but soon broke apart.  'Problems?' asked
Andy a little nervously.
  'Big problems, Andy love.'
  'Was the place wired, like Paulie thought?'
  'No, and that's the problem.  The best surveillance agency in LA gave us
a clean bill ... we're bug-free.  But if the information didn't get to
Anson that way, how did it get to him?  Somewhere quite close to us in the
Peacher empire there is a dangerous leak, and I have no idea how to find
it.  It's shocking and it's a real worry.'
  'Anson?'
  'He's left London, but no information from Paulie yet as to where he's
ended up.'

  'I love you so much Terry, I cried every hour you were away'
  'Ramon, you're exaggerating; try again, less like a Latino.'  Ramon
grinned down at the object of his adoration, 'I love you so much Terry, I
jerked off every hour you were away'
  'That I can believe.  You gush like a geyser.'
  'Now you're exaggerating.'
  'Take a look at that headboard, see all the little white spots?  Those
were your Hispanic zygotes whizzing screaming and air-sick past me ear when
you wanked off.'  They kissed for a very long time, and Ramon's dark lips
moved slowly down his lover's body.  He looked up when he reached Terry's
thick and curling pubic bush.  He ran his fingers through it lovingly.
  'It's blond like the rest of your hair, ain't that great?  Blond pubes.
Black is so boring and ordinary.  Fuck me again, Terry.  In fact don't stop
fucking me till next week.  I hate it when you leave my ass empty.'
  Terry swung around and adjusted himself so that he could rim his lover,
who was kneeling in front of his face, he pulled back his legs balletically
way over his shoulders and Ramon moved so that the rimming could be mutual.
The noise of their sucking and slurping was all that could be heard for
some time.  Eventually Ramon groaned and broke off contact, begging to be
filled.  Terry mounted his kneeling partner from behind and beat into him
long and slowly, reaching under to masturbate the younger boy till he
spurted down on the bed.  Then he came in his turn, tumultuously, inside
Ramon's anus.  They fell down on to the bed, Terry staying hard inside
Ramon, not leaving him and keeping up a gentle unaggressive thrusting.
Ramon squirmed gently in his own cum, making the most of the feeling of
being full for as long as he could.  It was a quarter of an hour before
Terry fell out of him.
  'Now that was the best fuck yet,' groaned Ramon.
  'You say that every time.'
  'As God is my witness, it's true every time.'  They lay back and dozed
comfortably, and as they did Terry realised what it was that connected him
to Ramon.  It was the Spanish boy's brave determination to defeat his
circumstances and climb.  It was the same as had connected him to Paul, a
boy of very similar sort, disadvantaged but dauntless, brave and bright.
It was the fact that Paul and Ramon had direction in their lives, and that
he had none.  They were following their star and he was happy to be tugged
along with them, since he had no horizons of his own.  He wanted to help
and wanted to be there to applaud them.  They lifted him out of the sticky
quicksand of self-indulgence and hopelessness where he had wallowed with
the likes of Anthony and Dom.  That's why he had fallen in love with Paul
and Ramon.  And he was in love with Ramon, even more than he had been in
love with Paul.  Paul had not wanted him, but Ramon very much did.  This
was it.  Yes, this was finally the big one.  He had found the love of his
life.  Terry's eyes filled and he looked at the boy sleeping beside him,
with a soft look of adoration that had never been seen on his face before.

At 11.00 Wednesday morning, Terry woke from a doze to the sound of the
phone.  Ramon had long gone, and he could hear him outside the window,
brushing paths.  He reached across and picked up.
  'Sylvia?'
  'Yes, Terry.  Were you thinking of working today?'
  'Mr Peacher gave me the morning off, you know that.'
  'I think you may find he's changed his mind.'
  'What's happened?'
  'You'd better turn the TV on, it's all over CNN and Fox.  Then come
across to the house.'
  Terry got up and found his boxers, his lucky pair, with pictures of chili
peppers and the words 'Hot Stuff'.  Anson had wanted to keep them as a
trophy when he saw them.
  He flicked through the news channels.  Sylvia was not kidding.  Peacher
faces, including Andy's, succeeded aerial shots of the big Santa Barbara
mansion, but the principal face was a pretty one which Terry recognised as
belonging to Peter Peacher, Andy's half-brother.  The scrolling headlines
ran, ABDUCTION OF PEACHER HEIR.
  'Fuckin' hell,' said Terry.  The house was in turmoil.  Andy was sitting
pale and shocked, Matt was holding his hand and talking earnestly.  Sylvia
was on the phone, a hand over her other ear.  Two big dark-suited men were
in the hall, with ear-piece radios; they looked him over carefully.  A
black-and-white was parked next to the Merc in the drive and two more were
in the road; armed policemen were all over the lawn.  Terry went into the
kitchen and found Mrs Fuentas, who was busy making hot drinks.
  'What's happened, Felicia?'
  She gave Terry a look, but ignored for now the unauthorised use of her
first name.  'The Peachers flew back to Santa Barbara from Washington
Tuesday morning.  They went to bed as usual last night, but Mr Peter
Peacher was not in his in the morning.  He'd disappeared and it looks like
the house's security system had been compromised.  One camera seems to show
him in his pyjamas with his mouth and hands taped, being dragged off by a
hooded figure.  There's been no demand yet, but it looks very obviously
like a kidnap.'
  'Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what a mess.'
  'Give me a hand with the drinks, Terry.'  They took the trays through.
Andy looked up and said thanks.  Matt told him to get the car ready, that
they were leaving for Santa Barbara in an hour.  Terry ran over to his room
and packed a bag quickly and looked up the route.  He needn't have
bothered; they were preceded all the way by a black SUV with the two
heavies inside, and police cars with buzz bars flashing behind them.  The
presence of Sylvia next to him in the car put a brake on the questions he
was desperate to ask Matt.  Could this relate to the dossier?  Was Anson
somehow involved?
  If Pasadena had been like a disturbed anthill, Santa Barbara was
something else.  What seemed to be an entire SWAT battalion ringed the
Peacher mansion and helicopters were buzzing and chattering overhead.  A
line of police cars spread a long way down the hill that Terry drove up.
They were waved through an armed perimeter, and swept up on to the plateau
on which the big house was built.
  As the car crackled across the gravel towards the main door, two pretty
blond kids ran out of the house and stood hopping with excitement as it
pulled up.  Terry leaped to open the door for Andy, but they had beaten him
to it.  They had wrenched it open, jumped on Andy and were hugging him, the
little girl in tears.  He hugged them back tightly, kissing their hair.
  Matt came up behind him, 'Those are Ed and Harriet Peacher, the twins,'
he said, 'You'd better get the bags, Terry, and follow us in.'
  Inside the huge hall, Terry dropped the bags, and felt lost.  Everybody
had disappeared.  Eventually a short dark man, who introduced himself as
Carlos, and whom he assumed was a butler, came up and asked him to follow.
They hauled the bags upstairs to Andy's suite, but it was empty.  A few
discreet questions from Carlos revealed that Terry was not safe to be
trusted with unpacking and was not domestic staff, so he was ushered out
and taken down back stairs to the service wing and handed over to the
kitchen staff.
  He begged a late lunch, and they obliged.  The talk was all about the
kidnapping, naturally.  Unfortunately most of it was in Mexican Spanish, so
Terry only picked up the odd word; they spoke Catalan on Ibiza.  He
strolled out to find the car, but it had already been moved around the back
to the garage block.  Terry felt a bit useless and lost.  So he leaned on
the car in the sunshine, read a book and tried to enjoy the view over the
shining Pacific.  Every now and again, policemen patrolled round the house
and eyed him suspiciously.  Once, a team with FBI on their flak jackets and
ball caps strode past.
  'Terry!  There you are!  We need to get you a pager, I've been looking
for you for twenty minutes.'  It was Matt, smiling wearily.
  'Sorry Matt, I didn't know where to go.  How're things?'
  'To tell the truth, I don't have a clue.  Richard Peacher is in there
now, talking to the Lieutenant Governor.  But apart from deploying the
National Guard, I can't see what else they can do.  Peter's gone, and
there's no clue who has him.  Still no demand.  Everybody's got theories,
and no one has any information.  Andy's going to stay here with Sylvia.
You and me are going back this evening.  Since it's only me, we don't get
the police escort.'
  As they drove back down the coast, Terry asked Matt about the Peacher
children.  'Oh, Peter's more like the father.  Big into money and status,
and very competitive.  He resents Andy.  I always assumed it was because
the Stepmom turned him against his big brother, but I think now that maybe
the boy hates any rival for his father's affections.  He's pretty mean to
the twins too, and they're really sweet.  They're why Andy is staying, they
love him to bits and feel safer when he's around.  He'd take them down to
Pasadena to get them away from it all, but the Stepmom won't let him.
  Andy has really tried to make bridges with Peter, but he gets nothing
back.  It hurts him a lot.  The boy's difficult to read.  He's very bright,
there's no doubt about that, but he can be very mean and petty.  But then
he's a teen; and they're never easy.  I did see him smile once when he
thought no one was watching, and he really looked quite nice.  He's
certainly got the looks that Andy missed out on ... while Andy got the
kindness and sweetness he's not got.  Put their best features together and
you'd have one really amazing guy.'
  'Is this disappearance anything to do with our problems?'
  'I can't see how it can be.  And it makes things better in one way.
There'll be no getting near any Peacher home for the foreseeable future.
We can sleep safe in our beds ... not that you're doing much sleeping in
your bed at the moment.'
  Terry laughed, 'That obvious is it?'
  'Mrs Fuentas is not happy about it.  Spotted it straight away.  But she
can't send Ramon back to his mother.'
  'Is is true what he told me about what happened in Houston?'
  'I don't know what he told you.  But I heard that he and his friend
Esteban got involved in a gang as well as each other, and that it was the
wrong gang.  Ramon's brother set them up, and organised Esteban's knifing.'
  'What.  He wasn't castrated?'
  'Castrated?  Who told you that?'
  'I'll kill that Ramon.  Winding me up like that.'  Matt looked amused,
'Don't underestimate Ramon Villa, he's a very bright lad with quite a sense
of humour.  He's trying to finish high school part-time and is aiming for a
high SAT score.  Andy wants to get him into a good university and although
he hasn't said anything yet, I think he's quite willing to pay.  He sees
Ramon as another Paulie, and with some reason.'
  It was dark and late when they returned, two police cars were still
outside the house, the cops chatting and drinking coffee.  Terry opened the
door for Matt, who smiled and thanked him nicely as he went off to bed.  He
put the car away and returned to the utility house.  The pool and path
lights were on, but the block was dark.
  He scratched around with his key to find the lock, but found the door
open.  He'd better have a word with Ramon about security.  In fact, he owed
the beautiful bastard a payback for that ruthless wind-up.  He slipped
silently up the stairs and along the landing to the loo, where he patiently
and quietly filled a bucket with cold water.  He stealthily made his way to
Ramon's room.  Then he abruptly kicked the door open, snapped the light on
and threw the contents of the bucket over the bed.
  But the figure that shot up and gave a strangled shriek was not Ramon.
Terry blinked.  Although his hair was flattened, dark and soaked, the
terrified face was clearly that of Peter Peacher.