Disclaimer: I still don't own the rights. Rockstar Games does.

Chapter 3: Body Harvest

CJ's POV

When he woke up the next morning, CJ immediately had two thoughts: 'I'm not home, and someone's cooking somewhere.'

He sat upright and looked around the room. The scent of pine, which he recognized from car air fresheners, impregnated every molecule of air. Sunlight tiptoed through the sheer curtains on the window at the foot of the bed. Carl was taken aback the most by an almost inaudible street outside his four walls. Eager to get his bearings, the black gangsta swung his bare feet to the floor and padded through a heavy curtain clad only in his boxers. His confusion ebbed when he spied a shirtless Cesar cooking at a miniature stove in a kitchenette.

The events of the previous day struck Carl with an unexpected anger. And for that moment, he decided to direct it at Cesar. The beefy gangsta marched into the kitchen and yelled, "Cesar!"

The lean Latino whirled around and reflexively raised a sawn-off shotgun to CJ's face. The Black raised his hands in innocence and took two steps back. With the advantage of his muscle mass and seven extra inches, Cesar never had intimidated Carl, until that moment.

"Whoa, Ceese, I was just kiddin' with you. Put the gun down!"

Cesar blinked then lowered the gun to his side. "Sorry, CJ, but after all the shit that went down lately…I guess I'm a little bit jumpy."

"It's cool. I don't blame you."

"Yeah." Cesar turned off the stove and in five moves prepared a plate stacked with pancakes, thick-cut bacon, and eggs. "Here you go, CJ. You want coffee or orange juice?"

CJ flopped into the nearest armchair. "Coffee."

From one of the cabinets, Cesar pulled down a coffee percolator and a bag of coffee grounds. "You want cream or sugar or both?"

"I like mine black. When did you have time to put all this together?"

"You weren't the only one up early this morning." Cesar sat in the other armchair with his food in his lap. He handed CJ a mug of steaming coffee. "What were you doing this morning, ese?"

CJ failed to respond immediately. He had noticed Cesar's white boxers, the only clothing he wore, and could see the Latino's brown skin through the fabric. The boxers were tight and sheer. For some reason, they fascinated him; for that same reason, the beefy gangsta exercised self-control to avoid staring at them. "Uh…I had to put work in for Tenpenny and them."

"Fuckin' chotas! You workin' for them?" The incensed Latino stood and loomed over CJ. It gave the Black an opportunity to examine the details of Cesar's body. His ripped torso was covered in a fine layer of black hair. Cesar's slender upper body tapered to into a V at his bellybutton. The white boxers he wore were both tight and nearly sheer, so that the Black could study the outlines of his brown skin underneath.

'No! I don't do that shit!' CJ reprimanded himself. Even when Grove Street members commented on his beefy frame, the Black felt uneasy with their eyes roving his body. He would not do it to another man. "Yeah I know. But I gotta work for them. They got Sweet in a prison hospital. If I do one thing wrong, they take out my family."

The Latino's gaze softened and he nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, homes. I know you wouldn't work for the pigs unless you had to." Cesar brushed his hand over his low-cut hair.

"It's cool, Ceese." Carl and Cesar polished off the rest of their breakfast in silence. When he reclined in the armchair with contentment, the husky gangsta noticed the slimmer one's surreptitious observation of the way his body rested in the chair. Hazel eyes grazed the contours of his chest and arms under half-closed long eyelashes.

'Shit, my homie's just recognizing the way I'm swole.' It would be an affront to Cesar to question the other man's sexual preference, and CJ needed all the allies he could get. "What you gettin' into today?"

"Gonna head back to LS, take care of some things. What about you, homes?"

"Yo, Ceese, I don't think that's such a good idea. Maybe you should chill out here?"

Cesar stood up, gathered the empty dishes, and carried them into the kitchenette to wash. "Why you say that, homes?"

Carl noticed the way his best friend's eyes stayed lowered on the plates. Cesar was no shrinking violet, so something about his words had truly cut the Latino's feelings. He had to choose his words with tact. "LS is dangerous right now. What if something happened to you? I'd never forgive myself. Kendl neither."

"I understand that, CJ. I promise I'll be safe. It's just a business meeting. Don't worry!"

'Can't lose Cesar the way I lost my moms and Brian. I wasn't there to protect them.' The brawny black stretched out his tense body. "Ay, Ceese, you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Nah, homes. Like I said, it's just business. Besides…" Something lit up the Hispanic's face. "Ay, CJ! I got some stuff for you in the trunk of my car!"

"Where your keys?"

"In my pants in my room. Ay, put your pants on and go take a look!"

CJ dashed to his room as quickly as possible in the narrow hallway. He sniffed his damp track pants and was immediately revolted by their musty smell. Even though her sons were gangbangers, Beverly Johnson never let them wear dirty, smelly clothes or eat from dirty dishes. "Ay Ceese! Can I borrow a pair of your pants?"

"Sure thing, homes!"

The husky gangsta went to Cesar's room and hesitated when he pulled back the curtain. He had anticipated a full-size room like his own. Cesar's room was cramped because the prefab's water heater and a large crate of cleaning supplies occupied the space. On one side of the room, Carl noticed that a ratty pile of blankets had conformed to the shape of the lean gangsta's body. 'Shit, Ceese. This is your spot, but you let me have the one bed in your own house? Man, you really care about a nigga.'

Carl grabbed a pair of Cesar's chinos but his muscular frame barely fit into the slimmer gangsta's pants and removed the car keys within. Even with his considerable strength, he couldn't tug the waistline past the firm curve of his booty and had hardly enough room in the front to accommodate his sack and heavy length of black pipe, even if it was soft. 'Guess I just got too much dick for my own damn good.'

Cesar was still washing dishes when CJ walked past him. The husky black popped the trunk and was in awe of all the stuff the Latino had packed. Carl had kept his moms' house stockpiled for a potential war with the Ballas with guns, but also money and clothes, in case he needed to run from the law for a while. Cesar and Kendl had grabbed Carl's AK-47, his Tec-9, and a sawnoff shotgun. Two plastic trash bags were filled with his clothes and shoes, and a third was filled with dollar bills. In addition, two suitcases at the back of the trunk rattled with bullets and ammunition. It took Carl three tips to bring everything in. 'Yeah, I'm gonna be set for whatever this Truth motherfucker and the pigs got me doing.'

Cesar's POV:

CJ returned with the last of his bags of clothes. Cesar noticed the Black's beefy biceps bulged with the strain of the weight they carried. He watched his best friend set the clothes on the floor, alongside his other stuff, and squat down beside his belongings.

And Cesar watched.

Ripped thigh muscles like two hamhocks pressed against the fabric. The belt loops of the chinos sagged below the Black's waistline, stopped by the twin globes of his booty. Chiseled planes of Carl's back gave way to the rise of his booty, which peeked tantalizingly over the belt line. When CJ moved around his things, all his muscles seemed to move in graceful tandem. 'I don't like muchachos, I like muchachas,' the Latino tried to reassure himself. But he couldn't look away.

Then Cesar glanced over his shoulder. He smiled, and Cesar spotted a chipped molar that only added to the Black's attractive facial features. "Ay, Ceese?"

The Latino swallowed the drool gathering in his mouth and shifted his gaze to the dishes in front of him. "Yeah, homes?" Swallowed again because he peeked at the waistline of CJ's pants again. Swallowed again because the Latino had fantasized about slowly trailing his limber, pink tongue over the curves of the Black's booty. Swallowed again because he wanted to caress it with his long brown fingers and weigh for himself CJ's member in his hand.

"Just wanted to say thanks. You taking a shower first?"

He could picture the beefy gangsta's sculpted body under the powerful jets of the bathroom showerhead. Water trickling along his granite pecs and rock-hard eight pack abs. Cesar imagined CJ's hand ghosting along his abs down toward the hefty length of his shaft, fondling it almost seductively as the Black soaped up. The Hispanic let himself slip into a daydream of watching the Black's hands scrubbing his member, a playful and inviting smile as it stiffened. It had to be a monster, from the way it looked huge even while it was soft.

'I don't like muchachos. I like muchachas. I'm dating his sister.' "Nah."

"Cool." CJ stood up and dropped the borrowed pair of pants. "Don't know how you wear these, man. They just uncomfortable on me."

Cesar watched Carl confidently stride into the bathroom wearing only his black boxers. He was fully erect, just as he had been all morning while the Black tormented him with no shirt lean Latino closed his eyes and gripped the sink as Carl disappeared behind the curtain. 'I don't like muchachos. I like muchachas.'