Warning: This chapter contains racial slurs, drug usage, bad Spanish, and man-on-man sexual encounters.
Chapter 8: Are You Going to San Fierro?
Cesar's POV:
When the screen door on the front porch opened, so did Cesar's eyes.
If he had slept on, he would have missed the figure cloaked in nighttime creeping into the house.
Cesar had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room for the fifth time in the two weeks since Pitbull had come to live with Carl and Cesar. Beyond the prettyboy gangsta's lone declaration of his intent, Cesar's erratic sleeping patterns seemed to deter any contact between the two men. There were still innocuous moments when the two men were awkwardly close, such as the previous morning, when Cesar had caught Pitbull exiting from the shower in nothing but a fluffy blue towel around his waist. The prettyboy had yanked suggestively on the waist of the towel, and Cesar had spent almost an entire day driving along the coast and running on the beach. It was the only recourse he had to prevent any unwanted contact without alerting CJ.
He lay perfectly motionless on the sofa as the figure crept toward the hallway. Cesar's left hand wrapped around his silencer under the gray blanket he had draped over himself. The heavy footsteps sounded familiar. He had to capitalize on the element of surprise.
In one swift motion, the Latino swung his feet to the floor, turned on the light with his right hand, and aimed the gun with his left. "Que pasa, motherfucker!...CJ?"
The husky Black cringed with the light. His folded arms failed to conceal the magnificent sculpture of his nearly naked ebony body. Despite the weeks they had spent in the country, Cesar observed the definition and vascularity to Carl's torso of a committed bodybuilder. A pair of shredded black boxers maintained the Black's modesty only because his large, veiny hands held the cloth in place. Cesar tore his gaze from Carl's body to avoid the thoughts it aroused, but eye contact with the Black gangsta was no better. A foul shame filled Carl's mysterious brown eyes. "Cesar….Don't….Don't look at me like this."
He suddenly noticed the fine, bloody welts crisscrossing CJ's chest. "Carl, what-?" Before Cesar could finish his question, he heard Pitbull's feet thudding on the upstairs floor. 'I can't let him see Carl like this, no matter what happened to him.'
Cesar stripped off his white tank top and tossed it at CJ. "Put it on!" he hissed. Pitbull's feet thudded down the stairs as Carl yanked the shirt over his cornrowed head. Cesar had unfastened his pants and had stepped out the right pant leg when Pitbull appeared in the kitchen. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants but no shirt, and clenched a Desert Eagle in his right hand.
As he surveyed the scene, the half-Dominican's eyes widened. "What the fuck's going on here?"
Carl cleared his throat. "I gotta go meet Truth. Just stopped in for a change of clothes."
The Black's voice had resumed its authoritative tone, but something was still uncertain about CJ. Cesar and Pitbull both detected it. "Where you been homes?" Cesar asked.
"Yeah, and how come you got on Cesar's shirt?" Pitbull addressed Carl, but his scrutinizing gaze locked on Cesar. The racing king ignored him.
"I was with Catalina."
"Did she hurt you, or-?" The beefy Black limped out the room and up the stairs before Cesar could finish his question. Cesar waited for a response until the bathroom door slammed shut and the shower began running.
Pitbull's eyes roved fervently up and down Cesar's shirtless, pantless body. Like Carl, the Latino gangsta had sustained the body he had achieved from months of weight training in Los Santos, but with his naturally slim frame, he didn't require as much exercise. His trim, well-defined eight pack and the span of his muscular chest came naturally, as long as he ate. Even with his gifted body, there was no justification for the way Pitbull looked at him. "Don't look at me like that, pendejo."
"I was just thinking, 'Damn, I need to get me a body like that.' You got any idea where I can get one?" Pitbull ran his tongue over his lips.
"I'm leaving." Cesar pulled up his pants and checked his pockets for the keys. Pitbull lunged toward him, seizing Cesar's arms in a desperate grip.
"Ay, Cesar." The racing king stopped in his tracks. "Perdón, but what was really going on there? Did tu prima loco do something to him? Or…?"
Cesar snatched his arm from the prettyboy's grip and stormed out the house to his Savanna. 'Shouldn't have tried to pull that shit, not even to cover CJ's ass. Should've just let CJ walk in naked.' Cesar recalled how his best friend, shamefully snuck into the house and distraughtly clung to the remains of his boxers. He shook off the image and struggled to replace the stirring of his loins with the anger in his blood. 'Now this pendejo thinks it was something, thanks to me being estúpido. I gotta get outta here before he makes something happen.'
Pitbull trailed behind Cesar and slammed his beefy hand on Cesar's car door. "Hey. I'm talkin' to you, novio."
Cesar shoved away the larger man's hand and scanned their surroundings. They were protected from wandering eyes by the back of the farmhouse and a brick general store beside it. No one would hear them over the blare of truck horns and the revving of engines on the street. "Let's get two things straight, right now: Nothing happened between me and CJ. He's like mi hermano, would never do nothin' like that."
He stepped into Pitbull's glaring face. "Tambien, I am not your fuckin' novio, never have been. Why you think I drive off to nowhere, huh? Why you think I sleep on that shitty couch? I don't want to be near you. I'm in love with…"
The prettyboy gangsta's body was pressed against Cesar's. His full, pouty lips trapped Cesar's slim ones, and the weight of his body slammed Cesar's back into the wall behind the general store. He raised his hands to push away Pitbull's aggressive, yearning body and found his fingers tracing the beefy prettyboy's shirtless pecs. Husky light brown arms blocked him on either side. As their bodies pressed against one another, Cesar felt the undeniable rise of Pitbull's erection against his lean thighs.
"I'm in love with you. Creo que, nothing else matters," Pitbull mumbled against Cesar's lips.
He pressed his lips against Cesar's again. This time, the Azteca king offered no resistance. Pitbull's tongue played along Cesar's soft, pliant lips. When the smaller man opened his mouth in a desperate, air-gulping moan after several passionate years and subtly arched his lower back to increase his contact with Pitbull's growing erection, the half-Dominican's tongue snaked into Cesar's gaping mouth. His broad, strapping frame eagerly pressed against Cesar's lean body.
"Stop," Cesar croaked, weak with heady arousal.
"No." Pitbull's soft lips moved from Cesar's mouth to his neck. The gentle caress of his tongue and the nibble of his full lips enflamed the racing king's desire even further. His body shook with barely restrained need. Cesar flung his arms around Pitbull's neck and wantonly spread his legs against the back of the store. Pitbull drove his hips against Cesar's, causing the smaller Latino's breath to hitch when Pitbull's erection rubbed against his own. "Lo quiero, mi corazon?" he whispered, stroking Cesar's exposed, hardened nipples with the large pads of his thumbs.
Despite his all-consuming arousal, Cesar shoved Pitbull backwards. "I said stop."
Then he noticed that the back door of the farmhouse was open. Carl stood on the back stoop clad in grey boxers with a blue towel draped around his shoulders. His gaze scanned both Cesar and Pitbull, both of whom were sporting obvious erections. "What's going on?"
Ryder's POV:
"You look mad this morning, Smoke. Somethin' you wanna share, homie?"
The fat man sat heavily in a leather armchair on the fourth floor of the compound he shared with Ryder. Following their betrayal of the Johnson brothers, Ryder and Smoke had purchased an empty bodega and converted it into a fortress, packed with loyal Ballas and Vagos. Their renovations hadn't gone much further than the third and fourth floors. Strippers, a bar, pool tables, and card tables waited to entertain on the third floor, while the fourth floor contained four bedrooms and two separate entrances for their respective living quarters.
Ryder sat on the opposite side of his living room. His TV and game system blocked Ryder's small body from view, but Smoke could discern that the gangsta's face was more focused on the game than on him. "Nah man, I'm a'ight. Like it says in the Good Book, I may be tested but I will not be moved. I know who my redeemer is."
"Yeah? You sure you ain't pissed about somethin'?"
He tried to laugh, but he only drew air between his teeth. Rico, Cesar Vialpando's cousin, knelt on the floor before Ryder and fellated the Black with such an ardent eagerness that Ryder's legs trembled uncontrollably. 'This bitch here knows just how I like it. Looks up at me while he suckin' it too.'
Big Smoke stood up. "Aye, Ryder, since you so gangsta, how about-?" He spotted Rico's almost naked body kneeling before the smaller Black and Ryder's scrawny shirtless torso in the hands of the Latino gangsta. "What the fuck?!"
The Latino started to stand up, but Ryder grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth back into place. "What's wrong, Smoke?"
"You-you fuckin' sissy! Gettin' your dick sucked by another man, what's wrong with you Ryder?"
Ryder forced a chuckle and shoved Rico's head so far down, the Latino gangsta's eyes watered. "This bitch is suckin' my dick to stay alive. Told him and his chulo homie to find somethin' I want. Even gave 'em two extra weeks. Already shot the first one, now Rico here tryin' to negotiate with me."
"That still ain't right, Ryder. You sick in the head, nigga."
"Nigga, I don't see nobody givin' skull to your fat ass, so shut the fuck up." Big Smoke opened his mouth to speak. The shorter Black yanked Rico's head from his lap by the back of the Latino's neck with one hand and jumped to his feet with a silver Tec-9 aimed at Big Smoke's face with the other. "This is about respect. I tell this bitch to get a job done, I expect it done. I just cum as an added bonus. Any other questions, fat man?"
Big Smoke shook his jowly head. Ryder motioned with his gun for the obese gangsta to sit down, and Big Smoke complied. Ryder shoved his member back into Rico's moist, waiting mouth and viciously began humping the Hispanic's face. While Rico struggled to slurp up every inch of Ryder's swollen shaft, the smaller gangsta reveled audibly in the experience, especially to make Big Smoke as uncomfortable as possible. "Ooowee, suck that dick...Gobble it up, all of it, there you go! Don't stop wetback bitch...Keep going bitch, keep going...Oh, shit, I'm 'bout to cum!"
He grabbed Rico's hair and positioned it so that his seed exploded onto the Latino's forehead and trickled down. "Damn, that was good. How was it for you, bitch?"
"Good," Rico whimpered.
"Yeah, bet it beats being dead, don't it? Now get the fuck up and get out my crib." The Hispanic snatched up his purple sweatshirt from the floor where Ryder had tossed it and sprinted to the door. Ryder's lips curled into a sneer, watching an abashed Rico wipe the semen off his cheeks. 'Damn, I'm still hard and if Smoke wasn't here, I'd be takin' care of some more business with that chulo. Oh well, gotta see what his fat ass wants.'
Ryder zipped himself up and crossed the room to stand over Big Smoke. "Now talk motherfucker. What you want?"
"I could be askin' you the same thing, homie. What you got him lookin' for?"
"Nah, nigga, you first."
"The Locos want us to come out to San Fierro, discuss a better way of shipping the product here." Ryder lifted a cushion on the sofa and produced a fat plastic bag of high-grade, dull green marijuana. "We losin' money on this operation, homie."
Ryder took a rolling paper from his pocket. "You think they tryin' to shut us down?"
"I think they want their money. Last time I checked, we ain't fuckin' got it!"
"Chill homie." Ryder licked the blunt closed, placed it on his lips, and lit it. He took a deep drag on it, then offered it to Big Smoke. "Relax." The fat gangsta took the blunt and took two puffs. "They just tryin' to make us sweat is all, homie. We gonna go into San Fierro, talk to 'em, and get things straightened out. If they wanna give us some bullshit, we blast on all of 'em!"
Big Smoke took two more puffs, then handed the blunt back to Ryder. "Sounds like a plan to me." Ryder took his two hits. "So what you got that ese runnin' out here for?"
"Told him a couple weeks ago to go find his cousin, him and another little bitch the Rifa sent over. They ain't done what I told 'em, so I capped one of 'em and made the other bitch remember his place in this organization." Ryder passed the blunt to Big Smoke.
"Who's his cousin?"
"Cesar Vialpando."
"That vato Carl was cool with? The one from Los Aztecas?"
"Chea."
"What you want him for?"
Ryder ignored the repugnant glance Big Smoke shot at him. "He's got two things I want: that fine sister of CJ's and access to more guns than GSF ever had."
"Why in the fuck would you want either one? We got plenty of bitches, and we armed to the teeth."
Ryder chuckled and flung the roach into an ashtray. "That's why they call shit a secret. Now get out. I gotta take a shower, wash all this wetback off me."
Author's Note: I promised a huge update after two weeks. I'm diligently working to complete chapters three more chapters with the hope of posting all four before midnight this Saturday. Enjoy the story. Please review or post any questions you may have.