Chapter 2

"Viggo. I'm glad you came; please sit down."

Viggo looked down the long terrace at the back of the mansion. Clive half stood from the padded wicker chair and gestured toward another on the other side of the glass-topped table. Viggo sat and a brown-skinned woman set a well-laden plate in front of him.

"Gracias, anciana," Viggo said softly, making the old lady smile as she retreated.

Clive looked curiously at Viggo. "You speak Spanish," the Brit said.

"It's a good idea to learn some if you intend to live in SoCal," Viggo said.

"Southern California," Clive translated. "I've learned that one. Well, go ahead and tuck in if you're hungry."

Viggo picked up a piece of cantaloupe. "I don't see any guards," he said. "Do you feel that secure here?"

Clive nodded. "Once you're officially hired, you'll get the tour of the facilities and see all of the wonderful people and machines that keep the world out there at a comfortable distance. Right now, I want to have some breakfast and a small chat. Coffee?"

"The orange juice is fine," Viggo said, looking around. "Very nice place you have, by the way."

Clive looked down from the patio at the sweeping grounds bordered by a high wall. A large deck below the terrace held a pool that gleamed like the world's largest piece of turquoise. A tanned body knifed through the sparkling water, turned at the wall and swam resolutely back toward the other end. Bana stood at the edge of the pool like an ancient bronze statue of an athlete from the first Olympic Games.

Viggo glanced aside at his potential boss. Clive's gaze was fastened on the swimmer as Bana reached down a hand and hauled the glistening figure from the water. The sun sparkled on the droplets that dewed the swimmer's smooth olive skin, accenting the long, hard muscles of the trim physique. Viggo recognized Orly as the boy shook his wet hair, spraying Bana.

"It's not much, but its home," Clive said, watching Orly walk up from the lower deck.

"He really is exceptional," Viggo said. "Been together long?"

Clive turned to look at Viggo. "Were you this familiar with your last boss?" he asked sternly before breaking into a smile. "I'm just taking the piss with you, mate. As long as you're respectful, you can ask me anything you like. You might not like the answers you get, but you're welcome to ask."

"Have you and Orly been together long, Clive?" Viggo asked.

Clive's smile broadened. "Not long," he said. "I imported him. A little taste of home, if you know what I mean."

Viggo grinned easily. "He sure is feisty."

"I can't stomach sissies," Clive said. "That boy drew blood the first time we kissed."

"Are you talking about me?" Orly asked, blocking the sun as he stopped in front of the table.

"What else would we be talking about?" Viggo asked. "With the show you just put on."

Orly draped his towel over a chair, but didn't sit. "If this much skin embarrasses you, I can put more clothes on."

"It doesn't embarrass me," Viggo said, eyeing the translucent white micro-thong Orly was almost wearing. "It embarrasses you. Though, I must say, a brown butt is nice."

Clive looked up at the speechless boy like a sailor searches the sky for signs of bad weather. However, Orly seemed more confused than anything.

"I think you've met your match, crumpet," Clive said. "If Viggo's as good with his fists as he is with his tongue, he's hired on the spot."

Orly looked down at Clive through his lush lashes and gave the man a half-hearted pout before abandoning the ploy in mid-expression. Instead, he picked up the pitcher of orange juice and poured a glass. After taking a long swallow, he stared at the glass as if insulted.

"I can't even taste the rum," Orly said.

"There's no rum, tiger kitten."

"Where has it gone? And why?"

"Try the bar, lambie, or the liquor cabinet. I'm sure you'll find some," Clive said, smacking Orly's rock hard glutes. "Viggo and I have some business to finish up."

"Are you going to make him fight Crowe, or Bana?" Orly asked.

"What do you care?"

"I don't; just wondering which one's going to the emergency room."

Clive looked at Viggo, but spoke to Orly. "You have a lot of confidence in someone you met last night."

"I've seen his sort before," Orly said. "It's something in the eyes, something made of steel, polished until it shines with a light that … well, that some people can see, and some can't."

"Go on then, my little fortune-teller, and have your drink," Clive said, with an edge of something like steel in his voice. "And don't go out. I'll want to see you after we've put Viggo through his paces."

Orly's face went utterly still for a brief second. Clive was looking at Viggo and didn't notice. Viggo wasn't sure he'd seen it himself, it was gone so quickly, but he got the impression that the young man wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of a post-fight visit from his … Viggo wasn't sure what to call Clive: lover, sugar daddy, pimp?

Orly turned curtly, and walked away without another word.

"Are you finished eating, Viggo?" Clive asked.

Viggo nodded. "I'm ready."

"Good," Clive said.

Viggo saw the man's eyes change and some sixth sense sent him sideways out of his chair. Scrambling up from the flagstones, he launched himself at Bana. Bana rose from the wreckage of the table with a crepe stuck to his massive chest and met Viggo's charge.

Viggo hurtled into the muscle man, intending to take him down as quickly as possible. It worked better than he'd hoped. Bana put his back foot down on a piece of china that skidded out from under him. The big man flew backward and tumbled down the steps with Viggo wrapped around him.

Locked in an inimical embrace, the two men hit the lower deck and broke apart. Viggo rose first and delivered a roundhouse kick to the kneeling Bana that sent the big man into the water. Clive came down the stairs behind them, laughing heartily.

"Enough," the Brit said. "You don't have to prove to me that you can take of yourself."

"It's the steely-eyes thing," Viggo said. "My secret weapon."

Clive laughed again. "Bloody hell, mate, you've got reflexes like I've never seen. What a fucking brilliant boxer you'd make. You might be interested in the local bare-knuckle tournaments. Bit of cash to be made there, enough said."

"I'll think about it," Viggo said, as he warily watched Bana climb out of the pool. "Can I assume my references checked out okay?"

"Banderas' people say you're *un macho *, which Orly assures me is the same as a *righteous dude * and a *stand-up guy *," Clive said. "I'm not certain of all the connotations, but I assume it's a good thing. I'm sure you're aware that I'm the new boy in town and I took this territory from someone else. The turf war is over now and I need solid people to help me build my empire. You have to decide your level of commitment."

"What are you offering me?"

"You can be a soldier like Bana, Crowe, Urban and the other lads that do the heavy lifting, or you can be a lieutenant. Of course, you'll have to start as muscle, but I think you're too smart to stay there."

"I'll think about that too," Viggo said. "When do I start and how much are you paying me?"

"How long do you need?"

"Assuming I'll be living here, I can be back in the morning, ready to work."

"We'll talk money later, but I'm sure you'll be satisfied with the wages," Clive said, flicking his eyes toward Bana. "See you for breakfast tomorrow?"

"You got it," Viggo said.

"That didn't last long enough," Clive said to himself, as Viggo left. "Eric, I'm in the mood for some sparring."

Fifteen minutes later, Clive walked into Orly's bedroom. He was sweating and a small cut on his brow bone trickled blood down his left temple. Tearing off his shirt, he used it to mop his armpits before throwing it on the floor. The bathroom door opened, and a naked Orly stared at the man in surprise.

"Get the fuck out of here," Orly said.

Clive's smile would have made a crocodile nervous. "Not until I get what I came for, you beautiful brat," he said.

"Get out," Orly said more loudly.

"I will," Clive assured him as he dropped his trousers. "As soon as I've fucked you silly. I might even take the time to fuck you back to your senses."

Orly looked defiantly into the eyes of the man stalking purposefully toward him. "If you touch me, I'll kill you; I swear," Orly said.

"Ooh, you know I like it when you talk tough," Clive said.

"Then you're going to love this," Orly said.

Clive ducked the punch the young man aimed at his head and wrapped his arms around the willowy frame. Orly writhed like a demon in a pentagram, but the big man held him fast. Turning right, Clive pitched them both onto the bed.

"Fuck you, you bastard," Orly said.

Clive chuckled as he gathered both slender wrists in one large hand. "Make me work for it, darling boy."

"Get off me, arsehole!" Orly barked as Clive settled against him.

Clive pinned one of the young's man's thighs to the mattress with his knee and yanked the other leg over his shoulder. "You're so fucking beautiful," Clive growled as he gazed down at Orly's crotch.

"Fuck you," Orly replied.

Clive nodded as though the boy had agreed with him. Taking himself in hand, he gave his hardening flesh some finishing touches.

"Don't," Orly said as the blunt head touched his opening. "I swear I'll kill you."

Clive shivered and eased forward. The tip of his cock pushed through the opening and slid a few inches into the well-lubricated passage. "Good boy," he muttered absently.

"Fucking bastard," Orly groaned.

Clive moved his hips, working his shaft deeper in small increments.

"Damn you, you son-of-a-bitch! Stop torturing me. Get it over with."

Clive thrust, sheathing his length to the hilt, as he stared down into Orly's furious gaze.

"There's no one else quite like you, tiger kitten," Clive said. "I hope you don't make me do something foolish some day. I'd miss you something rotten."

"Just fuck me if you're going to," the boy said. "You're killing the mood with all this chat."

Clive was hard as granite and felt as though he could cum without moving another centimeter. The boy excited him to a degree he'd not known was possible. None of the rough games he'd played with rent-boys or cellmates could compare with this. Clive enjoyed the role-playing, because he knew Orly was not afraid of him, not even a little.

Clive let go of his lover's hands as he thrust. Taking up Orly's lolling cock, Clive fisted it rapidly. The young man squirmed restlessly and pushed against Clive's darkly furred pectorals. Clive increased the speed and force of his stroke as he leaned over the boy.

"You. Fuck. Ing. Bast. Tard," Orly panted as Clive pounded into him.

"Cum for me, baby," Clive groaned, as the narrow sheath bore down on his cock.

Orly blinked at this command as though recalling some vivid memory and a convulsive shudder shook his supple length. Clive groaned again, clutching Orly's hip with one hand while he worked the boy's semi-erect shaft with the other.

"Fuh-uh-uh … Fuh-fuck … you," Orly gasped. "I ha-hate yuh-you, you fuh-fuh-fucker."

"Oh hell yes baby!" Clive cried hoarsely as he buried his arousal.

Orly squeezed his eyes shut as the hard cock twitched deep inside him. He imagined he could feel the bastard's seed flowing like venom into his system, becoming part of him, tainting him with the same evil. However nothing showed on his smooth face as the man sank to rest against his chest.

"That was marvelous," Clive murmured against Orly's neck.

"Piss off."

"Not still sore are you?"

"In a number of places," Orly said. "Mind getting off me now?"

Clive shifted his hips and pulled his wilting shaft free. Rolling onto his side, he looked down into Orly's face.

"You didn't cum. Again," Clive said. "I'm going to start taking it personally, crumpet."

"You had more foreplay than I did," Orly said, rubbing at the dried blood on the side of Clive's face.

"So I did," Clive acknowledged. "Are you going shopping soon?"

Orly gave the man a look that plainly asked if he was insane.

"Silly question," Clive said. "While you're out spending my money, buy yourself a dildo. Whatever you like. The next time I tell you to be ready for me, I want you to be ready."

"Whatever you want," Orly said and changed the subject. "Did you hire that Viggo guy?"

"Yes I did. He made Bana look like a bumbling fool."

"I told you so."

"Yes you did, you clever sausage," Clive said. "I'm glad Rickman took it upon himself to send you over. Shame he got busted, but his misfortune is my good luck since I get to keep you."

"You know Clive, I think you hired Viggo just so you can watch him insult me."

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because you revel in conflict and violence, you walking vat of testosterone."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Clive smirked as he sat up and began pulling on his pants. "Listen, I have to meet with some blokes, business, you understand. I have to be there in person, but after … I could come back here and we could have a late dinner. How does that sound?"

"Boring," Orly said. "Tell me where to meet you and we'll party like lemmings."

Clive was silent for a long moment as he bent to retrieve his discarded shirt.

"Fine," Orly said. "I don't want to go to your boring meeting, but is there a club nearby? I could wear something crotchless and you could fuck me right on the dance floor."

"Jesusmaryandjoseph," Clive breathed. "Meet me at that Greek place."

"Acropolis Now?" Orly asked.

"Yeah, that one," Clive leaned over the bed and grabbed a fistful of the boy's loose curls. "You don't know what you do to me when you say those things with those pretty lips."

Orly surrendered his mouth as Clive took bold possession. Drawing back, the man looked down into the boy's depthless eyes.

"Crotchless," Orli whispered, smiling impishly.

"Be there," Clive said and left before he lost control of himself.

The day was coming when Clive would have to think long and hard about the amount of influence the boy had over him. He needed to focus on consolidating his base of power here in the Colonies and Orly was becoming a major distraction.

Clive mustn't lose sight of the fact that his lover was a convenience, an appliance, a toy that relieved stress. Some day, Clive was going to have to point out these facts in a way the lad wouldn't forget.

Some day, but not today, Clive thought with a sense of relief that he didn't acknowledge. Taking his hand from the doorknob of Orly's room, Clive moved on down the hall.

After the man's footsteps finally faded, Orly got up and took another long, scalding shower.

Read Chapter Three of Twenty of Bailey's And Miles To Go Before I Sleep