The Promised Land, Book TwoPart OneIn the meantime, the press had gone mad for the Boys. When the Boys were on the cover of magazines, those magazines flew off the shelves. In Seattle, where a lot of alternative music was being made, a young dyke journalist named Tasha Yarwood, blonde, chunky-featured, eyes the color of a rainswept sky, wrote in her Hello Kitty notebook: "Why is it boy critics love Metallica and Aerosmith and Motley Crue and all that he-boy dick rock but they don't get what girls see in Jean-Luc and the ‘Boys?" In Ohio, Professor Arthur Weyoun sat down in front of his trusty Remington and began to type: "Part of the fascination of popular music is the way in which the most fundamental needs of the audience are met. By far the most successful acts," he frowned for a moment as he puffed his pipe, "are those which incorporate basic human narratives into their public personae. I speak of Elvis Presley and the Beatles, those whose trajectory of fame include discovery, wealth, separation and bitter dissolution of the family, decay, and death in a kind of public shorthand which almost perfectly tallies with life as we know it. On the other hand, those performers who believe it is the music and the music only are the ones who end up parodying themselves. Seducing supermodels, organizing forlorn and temporary benefits for the darker-skinned less fortunate, and always with a pained look which seems to say, what happened? Well, nothing happened, lads! That's the problem! Where's our story! But while you weren't changing, those who live and die on stage have won fame. They know the potency of narrative. And nowhere is this better illustrated than in the adventures of Jean-Luc and his Magic Mountain Boys." Professor Weyoun's odd lavender eyes blinked several times: *oh, good stuff, Arturo!* he said to himself. In New York City, in the *Village Voice*, the famous critic Tom Kang published his review of the Boys' latest album. He wrote, "John-Luke Picard certainly has an amazing voice, but I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. " He filled two columns with the words "I hate them." For this, Kang was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. And everywhere were the tabloids. Ben Sisko sold the story of "JAILHOUSE ORGY WITH THE BOYS" to the National Questioner. ("I wondered when that motherfucker would surface," Jean-Luc said darkly.) And there were other, more lurid headlines. The Weekly World Gazette screamed MAGIC MOUNTAIN BOYS AIDS SCARE. And GAY BLUEGRASS BAND GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL, SAYS POPE. And GAY BLUEGRASS SINGERS SECRET PLAN TO TURN AMERICA GAY! How do you fight something like that? The Boys were not even safe relaxing at home with each other. Reporters hid in trash cans and under bushes to get pictures of them hanging around their pool. They were filmed constantly, but, since they didn't do much by the pool but roughhouse and make jokes, they were angered but not freaked. One afternoon Q had taken his clothes off and elegantly stepped onto the stairs in the shallow end and started swimming around. The camera wasn't able to catch what happened next, but there were some obvious sexual shenanigans interspersed with the splashing, mostly having to do with Q's activities when he took a deep breath and dove right below Jean-Luc's waist and then swam away again after a moment. The National Quizbox showed a butt shot of Q walking into the house to dry himself off, but really you couldn't even tell it was Q. Although there were those who recognized that butt ("BOYS MALE-MALE POOLSIDE ESCAPADES SHOCK ONLOOKERS"). After the tenth article appeared (it was in the National Exposer: another Sisko special entitled "THE BOYS' PSYCHO SEX PARTIES: INMATE CHUM REVEALS!"), Tommy Quark hastily called a press conference. He was shocked! Shocked! "You'd believe a criminal like Ben Sisko?" he said to the newspapermen. The newspapermen smirked at each other. Little Tommy wasn't denying it. Eileen Farralon was in a tizzy. A couple of the newspaper boys went to Fear Alley itself and made an appointment to see Warden Dougherty. Warden Dougherty was an interesting bird; he pronounced Jean-Luc "Zzzahhn Leewwk". The way a snake would! He talked aimlessly into their tape recorders about how good Fear Alley was at rehabilitation; Zzzahn Leewwk and his little friends sang hymns, you see. Why, the one called Q was a librarian. Worf had perfect conduct. Fear Alley's rate of curing criminals was fabulous! Look! – as his secretary brought in coffee, – "See my secretary: he was a con. Now he's my right-hand man; I trust him with everything! Isn't that right, Wesley?" And Wesley smiled alluringly at the reporters. But, the newspaper boys asked, was Fear Alley rife with homosexuality, as everyone suggested? Warden Dougherty eyed the tape recorder: "Is that thing still on?" he asked. Then he said, "O'Brien!" A man on crutches with an eyepatch stumped in. "Get out before I cut yer balls off." The Irish First Amendment. Speeding away from Fear Alley in their rental car, one newspaper boy turned to the other: "You know it, I know it, the American people know it, Fear Alley is nothing but a manfuck factory." "Oh, wow!" said the other newspaper boy admiringly. Then there was: "I'M ASHAMED OF MY QUEER SON!!!" Q had to call Meemaw. She wept to him on the phone that the neighbors were all praying for him not to be queer any more. He ended up sending her a lot of money, and, when they saw Mrs. McConn in her brand new Mercury Cougar sedan, the neighbors shut the hell up. Then they found the FBI standing on the front porch. The FBI had an interesting photo. Yellowed with age, it was a simple photo of a boy and his big friend. Just thirteen-year-old Will sucking off a grown man. How many times did Will have sex with this guy, they asked, and who else did Will have sex with? Geordi (who was blatantly eavesdropping and anyway always heard everything) heard Will's voice go high and uncertain, and he called Data's room and said, "Something's wrong. We should go check it out." The Boys had politely cleared out of the living room so as to give Will his privacy, but, without the rest of the Boys, Will had no strength, and the FBI people were tearing him to pieces. Will was terrified. The FBI wanted him to bring charges of trafficking in child prostitution against the man who happened to be, in addition to a child molester, a big time Mafiosi, but how could he do that? Then . . . people would . . . know. About him. After Data and Geordi gave the alert, the Boys trooped downstairs from their bedrooms and in from their studios. They drifted into Will's line of sight, and saw his desperate eyes pleading at them to come help him. So Data led Geordi in and they sat to one side of him on their long couch. Jean-Luc and Q came in and sat to the other side, and Worf came up and put his hands on Will's shoulders from behind. Will sat back and crossed his arms. The tension drained out of his features. Next to him, Q crossed his arms as well, and one by one every Boy sat back and crossed his arms and legs. The FBI man found himself looking at a wall of resistance. He kept his temper, but barely. "I can finish this downtown if you are going to be uncooperative," he threatened. "In fact you cannot." Data's voice was even and pleasant. "According to the uniform criminal code of the State of California, subsection d, paragraph 12, you may not detain Will unless he is a suspect in a felony." Mr. FBI looked at their faces: contempt, cold endurance, irritation. These guys were unintimidated now that they were all together. The FBI man looked up at the big black guy standing protectively behind Will. The black guy was a convicted killer, and, according to the information they had, these two had an ongoing homosexual liaison. His mind put the two of them together in a bed and he recoiled slightly. He decided to play harder. "If you don't help us, we won't have any incentive to keep the rest of these pictures away from the newspapers." He opened a manila envelope and dumped it on the table. Out poured scores of pictures. Pictures of Will. Pictures of Will sucking and being fucked every way. The Boys stared. They didn't mean to, but they couldn't help themselves. Will was only a child in these photographs, and there were dozens of snapshots. The FBI man smirked. "I'm sure your friends are used to seeing you like this, but what will this do to your band's reputation when these get out? Cooperate with us and we'll spin them nice." Will was destroyed. "How did you get these?" "Do you know the name ‘Mona Riker'?" Will nodded, pale and sweaty. "She got pissed off at something and stole these pictures from your father. Too bad for Kyle; I think he wanted to do something else with them. Still, we let him think things over for a while and now he's going to testify against these filthy sodomites who forced you into prostitution." "But it was Big Daddy who turned me out," Will whispered. The head FBI man lounged in his chair. "I'm sure he did. I asked your father where he kept the family pictures. You on a tricycle. You and him at a picnic. You and him at a ball game ... he doesn't have a single one. But he has a lot of pictures like this. We're still identifying most of your boyfriends. But this is the biggie." He tapped the first photo. "Eddie Ducatti. Or did you call him Uncle Eddie? See, I know exactly what kind of man your daddy is, and I don't care. I want Ducatti and you're going to help me get him. Or you and your little white trash group of howler monkeys are going to be destroyed." Jean-Luc looked at the merciless photographs. He saw Will's clear, youthful skin, his big wide blue eyes, his mouth pursed in an expression of mature lust that sat oddly on his young face. He saw Will's slight build and the first downy bits of hair appearing in his chin in the close-up of him sucking dick. Smiling with downcast eyes as some man took him from the back. Will should have been in junior high, but there he was in a cheap hotel earning money for his father. Everything fell into place. When Will was supposed to be doing homework, he was out whoring. Jean-Luc rippled with fury. "Get out," he ordered. The chief FBI man smirked as he lazily made his way out. Jean-Luc's anger meant nothing to him. He was the one holding all the cards, not Jean-Luc. When Jean-Luc got back from putting the FBI people out of their house, the Boys were staring at the pictures in shocked silence. They looked at the pictures and then at Will. At Will, then at the pictures. Geordi's frantic demand to know what was happening went unanswered. Will was pure shame. He couldn't meet any of their gazes, not even Worf's. Jean-Luc picked up a couple of snapshots. "You were something." Will heaved to his feet and left the room. Jean-Luc collected Worf with his eyes and they caught Will at the foot of the stairs. "Don't walk away. You took it like a little man. I had no idea you had such a talented tongue. I could have some fun with you." Will turned pale. "Come on, Will," Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed and his voice was very low. "Let's go upstairs. It'll be just like old times." "All right, Jean-Luc." Will's eyes were glazing over with fear and his mouth was open. "Ladies, I believe we have something to celebrate," Jean-Luc said. The other Boys hesitated; then they followed. Upstairs, Jean-Luc sat on the bed and patted the mattress, waiting for Will to join him. When Will eased down next to him, Jean-Luc wrapped his arms around him and began to kiss him. They necked until their breathing came heavy and ragged. "What do you want, Will? Maybe somebody could buttfuck you for old times sake. Which one of us do you want?" Will looked at everyone. He wanted to say Jean-Luc, but he was too scared. So he said his second choice. "Geordi." Jean-Luc was surprised. "Why?" For answer, Will made his thumb and forefinger into a circle, and everyone except Geordi smiled. Geordi's cock, thick as a cucumber, was a very unique, very gratifying ride. "Yes," Jean-Luc's voice went even lower. "He has a big cock and you want it up your ass." Will's eyes got frightened, but Jean-Luc only smiled. "I know what you're thinking." He caressed Will's broad shoulders. Will nodded helplessly, caught in Jean-Luc's will. "You're don't know if this makes you a good boy or a bad boy, right?" He shifted closer, running his thumb across Will's jaw. Will didn't speak, simply stared into Jean-Luc's face. Jean-Luc kept his hold on Will. He knew exactly where he was going. His voice was smoother than anyone remembered hearing it. "But you wanted to be Daddy's good boy, didn't you? That's why you were smiling in all those pictures. You wanted to help Daddy." This time Will nodded. "He told me that after a while I wouldn't have to anymore, but I..." "But you liked it. You wanted those men to keep coming to you so you could do those things with them, but you weren't sure if you were still a good boy anymore, right?" Will nodded. "You were always a good boy. You're still a good boy. Because you do what Daddy wants. And right now Daddy wants you to lie down on the bed. Geordi, touch Will where he wants to be touched." "Billy," Will whispered. "He called me Billy." Data and Q started undressing Geordi. Jean-Luc helped Will, pulling at his shirt until Will got the idea and shucked off the rest of his clothes. Then Jean-Luc sat on the easy chair by the bed, watching every muscle of Will's longing body. "After he fucks you, we'll get in a line, and you'll have all of us. And if you do that, Daddy will be very proud of you and always love you, Billy." "Okay," Will whispered. He still looked a bit apprehensive, but, when Geordi was starfished on his body, his features went slack with gratitude and desire. He twisted his head back and forth frantically, eyes closed. Jean-Luc beckoned to Data to him. "Get naked, Data. Sit on my lap." Data draped himself across Jean-Luc's lap and Jean-Luc fondled him while watching the scene on the bed. Soon enough Geordi came. He bent down to the side of Will's head and murmured some meaningless, reassuring compliment, and Will took a deep breath and thanked him. "Your turn, Data," Jean-Luc ordered. Data felt a little shy, but the sight of so much wet, luscious flesh inspired him and presently he was fucking Will enthusiastically; his eyes closed, his breathing clogged. Jean-Luc stood up and walked over to Worf. They both undressed, each holding the other's eye and smiling a little. Then, like a wild stag, Jean-Luc pressed his forehead to Worf's and they hissed sexy words to each other as Data fucked Will. "You girl cunt." "You bitch, gimme that pussy." When Data was finished, he fell back. His normally sallow skin was flushed and his eyes stared at nothing. Jean-Luc disengaged himself and gently pushed Worf towards the bed where his lover waited for him. "Your turn, Worf." Serious now, Worf turned to the bed. Will was still on his back. "On your knees," Worf told him. Then, entering him, "Love you." But for this particular fuck, there was no place for the kind of love shared between adults. Worf barrelled in and out of Will's body, stroking him reassuringly, telling Will exactly what he needed to hear. "Daddy's good boy?" Worf demanded. "Daddy's best boy?" "Ooooh, yes, yes!" Will threw himself against his lover in a frenzy of appreciation and lust. He'd wanted to be Worf's boy like this from the day they'd met. He banged his ass against Worf with such force that the big muscular man was forced to use one hand to brace himself. Worf was very strong, but Will was a big boy too. They made fire on that bed. Jean-Luc turned to Q whose eyes were bright. "You're next, baby. Will, did you hear me? Q's going to fuck you. His dick makes Worf's look like a tadpole's. There's no fuck like Q. And I've had them all." They watched and listened as Worf turned Will onto his back again, pushing in and out of him. Worf was roaring. Will was moaning and thrashing. Jean-Luc just couldn't keep away. He eased his naked body up next to theirs, helping Worf hold Will's big leg, indiscriminately pressing himself against their flesh, caught in the pitch of their desire. "Come on, bitch," he spoke to Worf roughly, punctuating his order with a couple of hard slaps to Worf's ass. "Harder!" Worf growled, and Jean-Luc brought his hand down so forcefully that Q winced. He cried when Johnny hit him that hard, but Worf seemed to love it, roaring out his pain as his thrusts became stronger, more violent. All too soon he stiffened. His face contorted. He groaned in an agony of relief. And, in the midst of his coming, Jean-Luc pushed him away, but Worf was too much in the moment to object, or even notice. "We learned how to buddy fuck in the pen," and he slipped into Will's ass. Will cried out in surprise, but Jean-Luc shushed him. He was riding Will roughly, patently enjoying himself. "Be a good boy for Daddy," he ordered. "Show Daddy what a good boy you are." Will's expression became open and needy when Jean-Luc said that. He arched his back up higher, holding his legs wide open for Jean-Luc. "Your ass is so great," Jean-Luc encouraged. He fell into a steady rhythm, showing off how long he could fuck without shooting his wad. Finally, he slapped Will's round wet flesh and withdrew without coming. "Q?" Q stuck his dick in his mouth – the better to give Will the full sense of the moment – then he eased back down and began to fuck Will, hands on Will's hairy breasts. He was tall enough that he could curve his body over Will's girth and kiss him; a long, sensual Q kiss. The others sighed in appreciation. It looked hot. Will looked hot, taking it from Q. All Q wanted, as usual, was Jean-Luc's approval. He watched Johnny for cues as to what he should do and say. "Tell Billy what a good boy he is," Jean-Luc ordered. "Tell him what a hot little fuck he is. Tell him what a talented mouth he has. Tell him how much Daddy loves him when he's good like this." "Billy," Q murmured. This was actually the first time he'd been up Will's ass. The sphincter was nice and loose -- the flesh inside swollen after such a strenuous workout. Q knew exactly how that felt. He knew how much it would hurt tomorrow whenever Will tried to sit down. "You're doing great," he encouraged. "God, it's so good." He knew what else Will needed to hear. "It's almost over, and when it's finished Johnny will love you ... Daddy will love you," he corrected himself. Jean-Luc liked that. He liked being Daddy. Approvingly, he stuck two wolfish fingers up Q's ass and watched Q come helplessly. Now it was his turn again. He casually pushed Q aside and stuck it in Will a second time. Will was very brave. It hurt now, but he didn't cry. Jean-Luc looked down at him. "Do you want to come, Will?" Will nodded, waiting patiently for Daddy to give him his reward. For the first time in his life, Daddy might come through on a promise. "Would you like to stick it in Q? His stuff is hot. On your knees, Q." And he moved away from Will so Q could move in. "Will he suck me?" Will asked diffidently. In response Q got on his knees and sucked Will til Will was gasping – and then he turned his ass to Will. "Please now, I want you to fuck me, Will." Will jumped in. He'd only had Q one time before, and, as Jean-Luc liked to boast, Q was just about the best there was. Will's head fell back in ecstacy as his hands braced Q's lean form. "My God," Worf murmured. He was squinting at Will as if he hadn't ever seen him before, appreciation and amazement on his features. Data and Jean-Luc followed his gaze, looking more closely. In a sudden revelatory unveiling they saw it too -- before their eyes Will became grave and handsome, as if Daddy's approval, or Q's unrelenting beauty, or some other thing, had somehow rubbed off on him, burnishing him so that his own magnificence was finally revealed. He looked like a Renaissance Zeus. Worf stretched on the bed behind them, the better to appreciate his lover's transformation. When Will finished, gasping, Worf pulled him so that they lay together. Then Jean-Luc crawled into bed with them, painfully aware that he hadn't come yet. Data curled up next to Geordi, whispering some quiet narration as they made themselves comfortable on the floor. Jean-Luc smiled at Worf. Pushing Worf and Q together, he then turned Will so that his ass was right next to Jean-Luc's dick and stuck it in and fucked Will on his side. At one point Will opened his eyes and gave a dreamy smile to Worf and Q who watched approvingly. Daddy was fucking Billy. In his ass. Because he was good. He shut his eyes again. Jean-Luc pulled out and came all over Will's body. Q reached out and smeared Jean-Luc's come into Will's skin. The deed was done. Now they could sleep. Nobody wanted to leave. "Push the blanket down here," Geordi murmured. He and Data got a blanket and a pillow. It was like the old days again, six men crowded in a single room, and it made them feel nostalgic and cozy. They all fell asleep together, heart to heart with their lovers, immovable as mountains. (The chief FBI man had three ex-wives and a girl friend; he was smiling because he had just told the big hotshot mountain boys where to get off with their perverted ways. It would not be long, he told himself, til they were all behind bars. Then he'd write a book and have all the nookie in the western hemisphere. That night he told his girlfriend what he'd done; her first name ended in "i". "You talked to them and you didn't get their autograph!" The chief FBI man was astonished. "They're perverts!" he said. She rolled her eyes, "you really blew it this time! What a hopeless fucking jerk!") Everyone wanted their piece--it was one of the rules by which Eddie "The Snake" Ducatti lived his life. Sometimes they bargained for it, sometimes they begged, sometimes they lied or killed or stole. And this little redneck jukebox robber was no different. Eddie recognized a type somehow similar to himself, the expensive clothes that somehow managed to look cheap the moment they touched his body; the ducking underdog set to his shoulders; the big words that tripped clumsily off his tongue -- still he looked unusually self-confident for a basic backwoods greaser, but Eddie couldn't see why. "So what do you want?" After sizing him up, Eddie figured he didn't need to be polite. Tommy looked around. "I need the room cleared except for you." "Okay." Ducatti jerked his head and his goons walked out, their scowls trained on Tommy's face. "So now." Eddie made his voice very threatening. "Whaddaya want?" Tommy reached into his breast pocket. He knew to do it very slowly and deliberately, and Eddie's tension racheted up a few notches. If it wasn't a hit...? Tommy pulled a picture out and silently slid it across the desk. Then he sat back and crossed his arms. His eyes were contemptuous and a little amused. Eddie Ducatti looked at the picture. It was as if a gun had suddenly exploded at his temple, and he slumped lower in his chair. Even sitting he'd lost all his strength at the sight of what lay before him. Across the table Tommy ghosted a laugh. For a moment, Eddie almost pulled a gun out of his desk and shot the man, a convulsive, desperate attempt to erase the fact that his most secret pleasure was exposed. For there he himself was, his face ecstatic, with a boy, twelve, maybe thirteen at the max, kneeling on the bed in front of him, smiling, obviously taking it up the ass and loving it. Eddie knew he'd gone pale, and he could feel the sweat breaking out across his forehead, but there was no help for it. "There are lots more," Tommy assured him. "What do you want?" Eddie croaked. Tommy shrugged. "Nothing. But when we do want something I'm coming to you and I want no questions, just solutions. If I want money, I get money. I want help with a problem, I get help with a problem. Et. Cett. Uh. Ra." 'We.' So somebody else knew about him. More than one somebody else, by the sound of it. Eddie nodded. "You got it." Tommy sat like a statue, his arms crossed. "You gotta understand something. The statute of limitations has run out on this for us. We don't care. It's just business. Nobody's gonna tell unless they have to." They held each other's eye, and finally Ducatti nodded. It was just a shakedown, but a good one. Tommy had no reason to tell because then he had no hold over Ducatti anymore. If any of the other bosses found out ... Tommy got up. He made no move to reach for the picture. "Keep that if you want." Ducatti put it in his own breast pocket. Now that he knew he was safe for the moment, he had plans to savor this expensive little photo. Actually, Tommy had saved both their lives. Even Ducatti's own people would turn on him if they found out -- boyfucking violated their macho image. And Eddie had no intention of stopping. He would simply be more careful next time. He did not intend to get caught, and Little Tommy Quark didn't want him caught. Obviously. Eddie was more useful to Tommy alive and powerful. "Have a nice day, Mr. Ducatti." After Quark left, Ducatti drew out the photo. Sweet Jesus! Twenty years ago at least. Maybe it was his first time with the boy, but definitely not his last -- he still remembered every inch of that night. The freshfaced angelic beauty; the way the old man had turned him around so Eddie could see his round little ass; the way the kid had done everything he wanted; smiling, wanting it, loving it. Showing it all off. That kid had known what he was doing, even at that young age. Eddie felt the stirring of his slow reptile blood. He took a deep breath. Tonight he would make some phone calls. He knew some janitors at third-rate orphanages, and he knew some out-of-work country club tennis coaches. Surely somebody would have something for him. Jean-Luc looked at Quark, and Quark gazed back. "It's all pretty fucked, Quark." "I universally saved everyone's bacon, Jean-Luc. I don't see what the problem is." "The FBI wants Will to testify against Snake Ducatti, and Will might do it if he thinks he'll be able to . . ." Jean-Luc had to force the words out, "adopt a . . . baby." Quark looked at the ceiling. "Well, we do A LOT of business with Eddie's friends. Using those connections was the only way I could get to see him." Quark and Jean-Luc kept staring at one another. "I sense some synergy here," Quark said. Eileen Farralon's private investigators were hawkeyed women who combed through the house looking for any sign that the Boys were going to be a bad influence for a child. Eileen Farralon's private investigators also knew a lot of people in town. Jean-Luc sat across from Ducatti in the same chair Quark had occupied. The Snake's discussion of how to keep the record company from pissing on him had been most informative. Now it was time to turn to other topics. Jean-Luc told Eddie that for some reason he'd been thinking a lot about kids lately. "You know Will? Big Daddy Riker used to beat him all the time. Even thinking about it just messes with my Boy's head." Jean-Luc's face was carefully neutral. "Can you imagine that? The kid was bringing home a thousand dollars a night on his little knees and the old man still slapped him around." Ducatti wagged his lean and sleazy head in manufactured outrage. "Some people, the way they behave they ought not be allowed to have kids. Maybe they shouldn't even be allowed to live." |
