A Long, Hard Life

I need noise
I need the buzz of a sub
Need the crack of a whip
Need some blood in the cut
I need blood in the cut
I need blood in the cut

Met back up with the boy I love
Cried on the streets of San Francisco
I don't have an agenda
All I do is pretend to be okay so my friends
Can't see my heart in the blender

– "Blood in the Cut" by K. Flay

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MELBOURNE!

Melbourne-fucking-Austialia, Gay Pride, February 2019. I finally remembered where and when we were once I heard a valet tip his hat with a jaunty smile, his spiky red hair and Aussie accent on fine display.

"G'day mates!" He chirped cheerfully as he herded us like ducklings into the back seat of a limousine. I looked outside, practically drooling.

"Redhead…I want…." I made little grabby hands. Emil sat in the far seat next to me with a licentious grin on his face while Anton stopped dead in his tracks to proposition the cute ginger snack cake.

"If you want to have sex with us, be at our suite tonight after your shift ends. You may bring one male companion." He gave over a business card.

"Bang on it, mate! I'll be there with bells on! By the by, the name is Zeke. You gents have just the greatest day!" The valet shut the car door with a wink and we were off to the park.

"ANTON!" I wailed in embarrassment. "What in the actual fuck–?"

He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "You wanted him, no?"

"I thought he was cute but then I think a lot of guys are cute! I don't ask them for sex on the street!" I gesticulated as wildly as I could while sandwiched between two blonde demigods. I looked to Emil for help. He usually played the voice of reason but the adorable ass chose that moment to crack up laughing.

"You don't want him? We'll send him away when he arrives." Anton shrugged.

"We will not!" I howled indignantly. Emil sounded like a hyperventilating hyena by this point. Anton's lips twitched, cracking his aristocratic facade. I fussed with the imaginary lint on my thighs, "That would be rude!" I pouted.

"So, be rude. You must be clear about what you want, Chonay. We will spare nothing to please you."

My jaw hung open. He meant that. I saw it in his too blue eyes. My eyes opened long ago to the extravagance the brothers took for granted but I foolishly assumed there was a limit to what they could -or would- do for me. I suddenly realized the power they surrendered to me and chills shot down my spine. I leaned forward to respond when something on the television caught my attention. I read a headline on what appeared to be BBC News.

* * *

SCOTLAND CHEERS AS DENMARK BUYS TRUMP GOLF RESORT

API. A business group led by members of the Danish Royal Family reached an agreement to purchase Trump International's Turnberry Golf Resort and Hotel in Aberdeenshire, Scotland. The resort, target of frequent public protest, reputedly experienced financial hardship after several years of falling attendance numbers. Turnberry was also a target of international investigators looking into alleged financial wrongdoing by Trump international. Danish Prince Emil Freja-Owainsen, seen here representing the as-yet unnamed business group, joined members of Trump International in a joint press conference outside Turnberry to confirm the deal.

* * *

"I refuse to set foot on that property until it has been sterilized!" Anton jutted a warning finger at his brother. "If I find a stale 'french fry' or a single hamburger wrapper–"

"The cleaning crews are already on site!" Emil raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Quiet, there is a pretty prince on TV!" I shushed them stridently before staring at Emil's handsome face on the screen. I sat on the floor, propped my chin, and purred. 

"He said I was pretty." Emil whispered smugly behind my back. Anton did not miss a beat.

"So what, I'm bigger, stronger, and I will beat your 'pretty' ass!"

"Will you two act your age? I swear to god, if you are typical of the ruling elite then it's no wonder humanity has less than a hundred years left!" I whirled on them and pounced. We wrestled across the seats and on the floor. They had military training whereas I was small, mean, and creative. Soon enough hormones kicked in and I wound up on the floor with my face buried in Anton's open zipper, gulping down Jormungandr, my pet name for his enormous cock.

Emil lay on his side propped on an elbow with his shirt undone, his luscious lips sliding down my steely hard five inches. Anton stared longingly at his brother's juicy meat jutting proudly from his zipper. It looked so much like his own, dripping invitingly only inches away. He took Emil in hand and opened his mouth, about to complete the circuit between us, but he changed course and only stroked his brother off. I watched as he looked away, an expression of cheated desire on his face. My heart ached for him so I stepped up my sucking to fill him with pleasure. Anton closed his eyes and rested back against the seat, his head lolling back and forth as the limo moved. Our eyes met a short time later and he smiled a grateful smile before taking me by my thick black hair.

He pulled me until our lips met in a kiss filled with smoldering heat. He slid his tongue past my teeth and savored the remnants of his arousal. I rubbed the back of his neck breathing long moans of banked lust. I felt ready to climax from Anton's kisses alone when he lathed the shell of my ear with his tongue, whispering, "blow my brother, then kiss me."

I pulled back to consider his words. I knew what he wanted and why. I did not mind serving as a bridge in this capacity. I gave him a knowing smile, drawing his gaze with me as I reached across and pulled Emil's glistening cock deeply into my throat.

"Fuck," Emil gasped with surprise, having gotten lost in pleasuring me. I pushed him fully onto his back and straddled his face. He gleefully slurped my pulsing stalk down once again.

I locked my gaze on Anton as I lapped rivulets of clear, viscous fluid from his brother's towering organ. I teased Emil's tender foreskin with teeth and tongue, then I swallowed his shaft, curved much like an elegant katana, until my chin met his pubic bone. All the while Anton milked his mighty shaft with slow, achingly erotic strokes.

Emil fell back with a deep, throaty curse. "I can't take much of this!"

I smiled inside and stepped up my two-pronged seduction. Emil caught on and raced me at my own game, sucking me with greater energy. We filled the cabin with sounds of sex, growing ever louder, increasingly desperate, until I pulled back enough on Emil's sword to whimper my release. Emil drank greedily until his own weapon surged thicker and began jerking, firing long streams of  heady white cream. I caught much of it across my face before clamping down on the tap. A moment later I kept my silent promise.

I leaned in close to kiss Anton. He clutched me to him with his hands twisted painfully tight in my hair. He licked me clean with animalistic growls then plumbed my mouth with his tongue, scooping out the rest of my treasure with breathy longing. He stiffened suddenly and I bolted into action. I swallowed Anton's great sword, taking in his vital essence until it dribbled down my chin. Emil looked on pleadingly and I pushed him onto his back, feeding him Anton's load in a swirling frenzy of oral lust. Little Brother fed with the eagerness of a baby bird until we three lay in a breathless heap on the limousine floor. I watched as the brothers held hands on top of my chest. I took their hands and kissed their knuckles. They met in the middle and kissed me.

"I think we passed the park." I huffed a breathless laugh, remembering our purpose for leaving the hotel. I planned to sketch the brothers in the park while they donned their gay pride colors.

"The driver knows to drive until we're ready." Anton zipped his jeans. I pondered this news with dread.

"The driver knows what we're doing back here?" 

"The privacy screen is closed. There is a light that tells him to keep driving." Anton tucked his shirt while his brother sat back on the seat and fixed his clothes.

"He probably knows anyway considering how much we rock the car." Emil giggled. I turned scarlet deep into my chest. Anton pulled me up to sit on his lap. Never to be outdone, Emil lay across the seat pillowing his head in my lap. The elder brother examined me closely.

"How do you feel?"

I smiled, "incredible, the hormone is working. I feel no weepiness or an urge for bloody meat between my teeth."

"Good," he caressed my cheek and flipped off the light. Soon we arrived at the park. I grabbed up my bag of art supplies.

February in the Southern hemisphere struck my northern hemisphere senses out of whack. I expected the chill of winter, not deep summer. The park was lush and green with people in shorts enjoying cookouts and games. We dressed casually but the security detail hovered close enough that we drew attention. Reporters followed like a flock of raucous gulls eager for us to drop a tasty morsel.

The princes were Danish royalty, only sixth and seventh from the throne but famous for their activism, as well as their tabloid scandals. I was the latest in a long line of attention grabbing headlines. "Officially" I was Anton's latest of many lovers and the first male. This started the predictable meltdown in social media, especially since it was well established that Anton and his younger brother Emil shared everything. I prepared for a life in the spotlight but never like this.

The brothers played futbol, American soccer while I followed along snapping portraits and taking video. I painted digitally on my iPad once I acquired enough stock to work from.

Anton showed off his outfit for the Gay Pride parade later in the morning. I called it an "outfit" in conservative terms. He tugged off his jeans revealing a rainbow striped jockstrap, little more than a tongue of Lycra pulled tightly over his prodigious endowment. It looked positively obscene and I grew raging hard at the sight. Emil sported the same only he added a matching bondage harness and collar.

They each hung with one hand from opposite branches with a foot propped on a tree trunk, their skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight, their muscles bulging with prurient power. I took pictures front and back wishing to all that was sacred to bury my face in their dimpled asses when I heard a man yelling from the distance, "Hey, Daniel Joshua Hanes! Daddy says hi!"

I dropped everything and spun about terrified. I searched frantically for my father and half brothers. I saw only a reporter in the press pool with a nasty smirk on his face. He snapped pictures of my stone cold fury as I marched toward him with my fists clenched. Reporters muttered "oh, shit," and "uh-oh" as they backed away, cameras still rolling. Meanwhile, the brothers stumbled to put their clothes back on, their pleas for calm falling on my deaf ears. I reached the reporters and asked the sneering asshole a question in my calmest, most reasonable voice.

"Sir, you know my name, but I don't know yours." I grinned through my teeth.

"I'm Doug Sanders, Sky News Australia. I have a few questions about –"

I raised a hand and stalled him. "Doug Sanders, Sky News Australia, thank you." I squeezed my fist. "I expect any well-trained journalist to know what a dead name is. Allow me to educate you. When an individual transitions into a new identity they put to rest their old life, their old name, and take a new name. This old name is never used again. It is dead to them, hence 'dead name.' It is considered unconscionably cruel for anyone to address another by their dead name, like you just did. I will not answer to it nor will I grant interviews to any affiliate who broadcasts it or prints it. You will address me as Chonay Walksfar or you will not address me at all."

I pivoted on one heel and walked to the limo. Emil held the door for me as I climbed inside. I slid into Anton's lap and he held me. Emil's comforting weight settled against my back moments later. The limo started moving.

I wanted to tear something apart. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fill the air with words of pain and fury at having my privacy so callously violated. I did nothing.

"We'll shut it down." Anton promised.

"It's out already. Besides, my father is selling my secrets to the highest bidder."

"We can go back to the hotel." Emil offered but I shook my head in resignation. "Thank you, but if we change our plans the sharks will smell blood in the water. I freely chose to give up my privacy when I became an activist. I just wasn't ready for how it happened."

"I'm sorry you hurt," Emil kissed my shoulder. I took a deep breath and forced a happy face.

"Fuck them, the best revenge is a life well lived. We're going to Pride, I'm going to parade down the street holding your leashes, you're going to engineer at least one 'wardrobe malfunction', we're going to get drunk, have sex in public, then go back to the hotel and fuck a ginger snack cake. By the time we're done creating scandalous headlines my dead name will be pushed to page six, all but ignored."

"Sounds like fun!" Emil cracked into the booze and argued with Anton about whose jockstrap was going to split first at the parade. I sat back sketching them on my iPad. Our life was nothing perfect and only fools might have wanted to trade places but it was ours. We made the most of it.

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Author Note: I write in a fantasy world where sexually transmitted diseases do not exist but in the real world, PrEP before you play and glove it before you love it. Carry on gentlemen!