tagGay MaleA Deviant Spawn Betrayal Ch. 04

A Deviant Spawn Betrayal Ch. 04

byLoveBird1929©

"Do me a great big favor. Go play in rush hour traffic."

~Linda Wilkinson to six year old son Shane~


*


February 5, 2011

"Let's pluck his eyebrows completely off."

"Not good enough. The slut would just draw them back on."

"Hmmm, how about this, then? We kidnap him, take him to the hotel's salon then you hold him down while I give him a spray tan."

"Extra orangey?"

"Extra, extra orangey."

"Now that idea just might have some merit to it, Ror. But let's keep brainstorming and see what else we can come up with."

Rory and Shane were sitting at one of the tables that ringed the back of Doux Rêves while Revelin, Taz and Angel were up on the stage at the front of the club performing a sound check. Rather than watch the band, Shane and Rory found themselves focused on the area where Angel's girlfriends stood.

This set was a different set than the two girls Angel had been with while down in Orlando. Actually, they weren't even one of the three sets he famously rotated between.

These two were both taller than Angel, leggy and gorgeous. They could almost pass for twins they looked so much alike. They were also blonde, just like Eric, who they'd taken an immediate liking to on their late arrival to the club. Eric stood with them in the center of the otherwise cleared out area right in front of the club's stage and the three were enthralled watching Deviant Spawn practice. Their rapturous attention was only disturbed by their occasional tittering whisper.

Shane wanted to claw all of their eyes out, the Doublemint Twins just on GP.

"How about shaving half his head, plucking his eyebrows and giving him that tan?" Shane suggested. When Rory didn't respond, he forced his attention away from the golden haired troika.

An evil glow of happiness blossomed in Shane's chest when he saw Nietz crouched by Rory's side, whispering in Rory's ear. Rory nodded at whatever news Nietz imparted, then Nietz stood and retreated to the club's shadows.

Rory looked at Shane. "You want the good news first? Or the bad news?"

There was bad news? "What bad news?"

"Good idea, let's go with the good news first."

"What bad news?"

"The guard has been relieved of his duties effective immediately. His offer to you has also been conveyed to his superiors at the security agency. And Nietz said you are to report any other inappropriate comments made by the guards or any employees of the hotel. That is to be done immediately, Shane, not when it best suits you."

"What bad news?"

Rory shifted in his seat, mumbling, "Crap, why do I have to be the one to tell you?"

"Rory—"

"He stays."

Fuck. Shane's heart plummeted. "Tell me, please tell me—Christ, you don't mean Eric."

"I do."

"But...why? The only reason he's here in the first place is because he sucked that guard off!"

"And he stays because Revelin has personally asked him to."

Shane knew Rory was telling the truth...and he had a pretty good idea of when the offer had been imparted. About an hour and a half before, the band had taken a quick break after hashing out what Rory informed Shane were intricate, safety related details with the pyrotechnicians of where Revelin and Taz would be standing on the stage at certain moments of their performance. Revelin had hopped off the stage and strode to the club's bar to retrieve a bottle of water afterwards. And Eric had immediately discarded his coat to reveal a tiny t-shirt with I'm Kind Of A Big Deal written on the front, shoved his coat into the hands of one of the girls and was one step behind Revelin.

When Eric laid a hand on Revelin's arm to get his attention, Revelin had looked first at Eric in amusement then to Shane with less than friendly intent. On seeing what had attracted Revelin's notice, Eric said something that drew the taller man's attention back to him. He'd followed his statement up with another comment, making Revelin laugh. They'd stood at the bar for a good five minutes conversing, Eric using his hands to talk as much as he did his mouth.

Neither men had looked in Shane's direction again.

But Shane had watched them.

Shane felt like his entire world, which had been shaky since birth, was tumbling down around him. And it was all his fault. "Rory, I need to—I can't—I gotta—"

"Hungry? I'm hungry." Without waiting for an answer, Rory jumped to his feet and grabbed Shane's hand, pulling Shane out of his chair. "Let's go get some brunch."

Rory drug Shane out of the club, only pausing long enough to advise Nietz where they were going.

Minutes later, they sat at a table in the middle of Treble Clef. Rory ordered for them both and long, silent minutes were spent waiting for their food to arrive. When it did, Rory nibbled at his entree while Shane stared at his.

"Fruit salad is good," Rory remarked, dabbing his napkin at the corners of his mouth.

"Uh-huh," Shane agreed.

"How would you know? You haven't even touched yours."

"I'm not really hungry."

"I am," Taz said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Rory's head of silken brown waves then collapsed into the chair next to Rory's.

"Practice over?" Rory asked.

"Yep. Time for some rest and relaxation for a couple hours." He waggled his eyebrows at Rory. "You gonna wear me out so I can rest good? Or—"

"Damn it, Taz, will you be good in front of Shane, please."

Rory and Taz's cutesy display was something Shane couldn't deal with at the moment. It was too much. Way too much. With the goal of distraction in mind, Shane slid his full plate of food to Taz. "Help yourself."

"Taz, do not eat that," Rory warned. As Taz placed the fork he'd just picked up back on the table, Rory continued, "You need to eat, Shane."

Success. "Not if I'm not hun—"

A shrill, high-pitched squeal sounded from one of the tables behind Shane. The grating sound was followed up by Eric's giggling shriek of, "Let me sit down, Revelin!"

Revelin's response was an indistinct rumble.

"I can't very well do it here, now can I? I said I'll show you later. When we're alone."

Shane was on his feet and out the door of the café before Rory or Taz could stop him.

Pulling his hood over his head, Shane hunched his shoulders against the elements and exited The Huntington out to the hotel's courtyard. Although the courtyard was private, with access having to be gained through the hotel itself, the manager had taken no risks after her talk with Taz. Courtesy of the hotel, she'd arranged for extra security to be brought in. For each one of the hotel's entry points for all hours of the day until every member of the band and their entourage checked out. Thankfully, the man currently on guard at the door utilized by Shane let him pass with no lewd innuendos, with no comments being made at all.

Sloshing through the pure, previously undisturbed snow, Shane walked. It was his first time ever seeing snow in person, but he was so distracted he couldn't enjoy the experience. He walked past The Huntington's closed down exterior brick bar. Past the multi-tiered stone water fountain with its immense basin filled to the brim with cold, white stuff. Past the striped down trees with their sad, thin arms of icicle branches. He wasn't aware of where he was going, he just knew he had to do something, to go somewhere.

The temptation to fall back on his original plan of the day was strong at the forefront of his mind. Since it was more than evident Eric wasn't going anywhere, Shane thought maybe he should be the one to leave instead.

But Shane wasn't a punk. He'd never run from his mother's abuse and he wasn't going to run from this situation either.

Resolute in what he needed to do, Shane's journey stopped when his mind reached a conclusion.

He was just going to have to deal. And he was going to do it with grace.

Crunching snow from behind forecasted the approach of another, but Shane didn't turn around to see who it was. He knew. And God love Rory, he was the best friend Shane could've ever asked for and the only friend Shane had, but Shane was ready to flip on the boy for not giving him a few precious moments to himself.

"Ay, dios mio, it's fucking freezing out here!" the new arrival exclaimed.

"Angel?" Shane asked in confusion, spinning to face the drummer.

"Here, put this on." In Angel's hands was an unbuttoned black leather coat. He held it at the collar, open and ready for Shane to slip his arms inside.

Shane was too bewildered to do anything except stare. Had Angel followed him?

Given that Angel wore a black cap on his shaved head and that there was a black leather coat already covering his own body, Shane was inclined to believe that, yes, Angel had gone to his room to grab a second coat for Shane, then followed Shane out to the courtyard.

Of all the people Shane figured had a reason to follow him, to either profess their concern or express their disgust, he didn't see where Angel had an interest. They had had no dealings with each other outside of an exchanged smile on Christmas Eve, a pleasantry or two swapped on the limo ride to Rory's house Christmas Day and the few words Angel had spoken to him today.

A fierce gust of wind whistled through the courtyard, cutting right through Shane's hoodie. A violent tremor wracked his body.

"The general idea here is for you to put this on before you freeze to death," Angel said kindly.

The next gust sent Shane flying to Angel. He shrugged into the shearling-lined coat, the scent of expensive men's cologne suffusing his nostrils. The aroma was very pleasing in an understated sort of way. Although Angel was the same height as Shane, maybe even a fraction of an inch shorter, the coat was still a big fit as he was stocky where Shane was lanky.

"That looks much better on you than it ever has on me," Angel commented, studying Shane. "You should keep it."

It was one thing for Shane to borrow the coat until he returned inside, quite another for him to not give it back at all. Fashion may have been more Rory's passion than Shane's, but Shane wasn't oblivious. The coat's label had read Salvatore Ferragamo. And Salvatore Ferragamo was a big name...meaning the coat had cost big bucks. It was probably worth more than Shane's entire hodgepodge wardrobe of Walmart shirts, Target accessories and Hot Topic pants all put together.

"No way!" Shane protested. "I can't keep this."

"It's already yours."

"But I have no need of it back home."

"Then do with it what you will. Hang it your closet, donate it, sell it—shit, I don't care, but just don't try to give it back again. I don't take gifts back."

That settled that. "How'd you know where I was? That I even needed a coat?"

"I was standing in the lobby just now and watched you rush by. And I was with Rory and Taz last night when Rory mentioned that the hoodie you got on right now was all you had. I figured I had the extra coat while you had the extra body..." Angel shrugged then rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet.

"Thanks," Shane said.

"No problem, but I'm going back inside now. I'm not made for this cold shit." Angel took a few steps away from Shane, stopped, then retraced his way back to Shane's side. "Who am I trying to fool, I can't leave you out here by yourself. You just seem too...upset. When I saw you leaving earlier and even more so now."

Upset didn't even begin to cover it. Shane was defeated, but he forced a sad smile regardless. "I'm fine. A-okay, that's me."

Skepticism was apparent on every one Angel's tawny hued features. "And you're being about as truthful with me as Revelin is being period right now showing off his new boy toy." Angel fell silent, then added, "He's miserable without you."

"You're wrong," Shane whispered. "He's miserable because of me."

"Even so, you still don't deserve to have him shove his skank down your throat."

"I bet you don't even know what I did to him, do you?" The prickle of tears burned Shane's eyes, but he held them back.

"I don't need to know. Because, no matter what, as my mama always says, there's always the other cheek."

"I deserve this, Angel, I deserve everything Revelin's doing. And more...much, much more." The tiniest sliver formed in Shane's dam and the first tear escaped. Which was quickly followed by a second. And a third.

Strong arms wrapped around Shane. "Ah, shit, no, don't do that."

"These are tears of happiness," Shane sobbed, trembling uncontrollably. He clutched at Angel. "Can't you tell I'm happy right now? So fucking happy."

Angel didn't dispute Shane's claim. He just held on until Shane had exhausted his well, soothing hands rubbing up and down Shane's back. "All done, cariño?"

"Yeah, sorry for spreading my happiness all over you." Shane attempted to pull away.

But Angel refused to let go. And Shane was suddenly aware that there was no space between their bodies. None.

And Shane didn't think the heat emanating off Angel was solely due to the man's body temperature.

Intense dark brown orbs on level with Shane's own eyes regarded Shane. "You are just too goddamn cute."

Whoa. "I, uh, you—shouldn't you go—yes, you should definitely—"

The space that had been nothing to begin with disappeared completely as Angel tugged the hood off Shane's head, leaned forward and pressed his lips against Shane's.

The kiss was sweet, tender, gentle.

And passionless.

All Shane could think about was how much Angel's facial hair didn't tickle like he thought it should.

"You've got to be shitting me," a loud voice snarled.

Oh, boy.

Oh, boy.

Revelin.

Shane tried to jump back...and still didn't get anywhere. Angel was holding on to him tighter than before.

"What's up?" Angel said to his band mate. Hidden from Revelin's view, he winked at Shane. "As you can see, this isn't the most convenient of moments."

Rage was visible in every line of Revelin's angular face. "Are you having some type of crisis with your sexuality, Angel? In case you've forgotten, chulo, you're a man whore, not a fag."

"Be still," Angel hissed under his breath as Shane tried wiggling his way to freedom. "I don't know, Rev, having all these pretty boys around all over the place is wreaking crazy havoc on my libido. Pretty cool we each get one of our own, huh? Taz has Rory, you have him—" an inclined head indicated Eric who Shane hadn't realized was present "—and I get Shane."

"You've got your bimbos." Each word was enunciated deliberately slow. "You like your bimbos. That's why you have multiple sets of them."

"Without a doubt, I like my bimbos." A meaningful pause preceded Angel's next statement of, "But I like Shane, too."

Revelin turned back towards The Huntington. Mumbling and cursing, he stomped off.

"Sorry about that," Angel said to Shane, releasing him. "Couldn't resist myself. He deserved it. I meant it when I said he's been miserable. To be specific, he's been a miserable, moody asshole. To everybody."

"S'alright," Shane murmured. He couldn't rant and rail at Angel for ruining everything between him and Revelin...Shane had already managed to take care of that himself. With no help required from anybody else.

"Well, guess I better go smooth things over and make sure the high strung motherfucker doesn't try to quit Deviant Spawn before our show tonight." Angel stared after Revelin's retreating form. "If he does, that'll really piss Taz off since I'm pretty convinced that's been his number one goal this entire past week. It'll burn his ass he wasn't the one to make Rev leave." The soulful eyes settled on Shane again. "You really are too cute, cariño. Your vulnerability makes you just too goddamn irresistible for your own good." Sighing, he added, "And too bad I couldn't make you feel something. Rev really doesn't deserve you, but I can tell he's definitely the one for you." Pace brisk, Angel took off after Revelin, calling, "Wait up, motherfucker."

"Why? Done with the scene kid already? Decided you ready to be fucked by a real man now? If that's what—" The rest of the retort was lost in the roaring wintery winds.

Pulling his hood up over his head, Shane watched the pair depart.

What the fuck had that been all

"I really can't stand you," an annoying, high-pitched, male voice bitched.

Shane had forgotten about Eric. His gaze snapped to the fuming blond. "Ditto, slut."

Whelp, there went his grace.

*


"You love me...? Shut up. Just shut the fuck up."

~Linda Wilkinson to fifteen year old son Shane~


*


December 25, 2010

"I'll be damned," Revelin grumbled. "The slick ass bastard really was telling the truth."

He was sitting up on the bed, back propped against the headboard. Still dealing with my myriad of spiraling emotions, I lay beside him, awake, just like I'd spent my entire night.

"Get up, baby," he commanded.

"Sleepy," I mumbled, stretching and rolling from my side onto my stomach.

"You have two seconds to get up or I'm going to bury my cock in your ass again."

One point five. That's how many seconds it took for me to sit up. One to process what he said, the half to do as he said.

Going by the twinge I felt when I scrambled into a sitting position, my butt was still extremely sore from last night's activities. Too much for me to entertain thoughts of using it to sit down comfortably ever again, much less using it to house Revelin's huge organ anytime soon.

And he knew it, too. Around dawn, I'd had to put to use on him a set of skills I'd perfected long ago. Early in life, I'd learned hearing me chatter at a breakneck speed amused my mother. It tended to distract her from the fact she didn't like me, her living reminder of the drunken one-night stand she'd had during her junior year of high school. She didn't even know the last name of the man who'd bought her all those illegal shots all those years ago.

What she did know was that I ruined her life.

Her friends graduated high school and went off to college while my mom dropped out and went off to work at McDonalds. Her friends married and took extravagant vacations abroad with their husbands and each other while my mom couldn't afford to take me right down the street to Disney World, Universal Studios or, the cheapest of the three, Sea World.

Her friends blossomed into beautiful, sophisticated, business women with planned families while my mom deteriorated into a bitter, chain-smoking, welfare mother living in subsidized housing.

A welfare mother with her own special brand of not so loving mothering.

Whenever she would raise her hand to me, I would excitedly babble in an effort to talk myself out of a violent punishment. Oftentimes, it worked. And my mom would lower her fist as she started laughing at her, "Stupid, fucking idiot of a son."

Other times, I wasn't quite so lucky. But, hey, I accepted that I couldn't win every battle just so long as I continued to win some.

It was those same speed-talking skills I'd employed on Revelin early this morning to convince him to let me suck him off rather than fuck me again. He'd finally capitulated—just to shut me up. "It's not that I don't enjoy a good blow," he'd explained, "it's just that I love the feeling of your overly tight ass wrapped around my dick more. Now shut the fuck up and come suck my dick for me again, baby. And then I'll suck you."

Despite my ass's protestation, my cock was interested in exploring the depth of Revelin's threat. As proven when he chuckled and it lurched against my thigh, half hard.

"Whaddya want?" I asked, ignoring my traitorous body part.

In answer, Revelin placed his phone in my hand. There was a picture on the screen. Of a disheveled Rory wearing the same outfit from the night before. Hair obscuring his red face, Rory stared at the ground while a relaxed, grinning Taz had his arm draped around Rory's shoulders. He stared at the top of Rory's bent head while Nietz was stationed right behind the two men.

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