Have Body, Will Guard 2: Dancing with the Tide

Neil Plakcy

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Someone wants to kill cute, sexy gay pop star Karif al-Fulan, and it’s up to bodyguards Liam McCullough and Aidan Greene to keep him safe. But will Karif destroy the burgeoning love between Liam and Aidan with his intimate a...
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Someone wants to kill cute, sexy gay pop star Karif al-Fulan, and it’s up to bodyguards Liam McCullough and Aidan Greene to keep him safe. But will Karif destroy the burgeoning love between Liam and Aidan with his intimate advances? Between passionate romps in a private villa on the resort island of Djerba, off the coast of Tunisia, Liam and Aidan must face down bombs, guns, and the pressure of their own testosterone.

Who’s trying to run them off the road in Tunis, orchestrating rock-throwing demonstrations, and issuing death threats? What’s Karif’s connection to a prominent Palestinian politician? From poolside play to a Turkish bath to alley blowjobs in an island souk, these guys are good at getting into and out of trouble. But in the end, once Aidan and Liam save Karif, they still have to find a way to work together without destroying their romance.

  • Note:This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Male/male sexual practices.
My assailant came at me fast, his right fist clenched, his left arm extended. He was taller than I was, bigger, and stronger, and I felt an adrenaline-laced surge of fear as his beefy arm wrapped around my neck in a choke hold.

But I remembered my lessons, lowered my head so it was below his jaw, then surged upward.

He broke the hold as his head slammed back, and he staggered for a moment. But there was no room for me to escape, and he came at me again, this time keeping his head down. I couldn’t help noticing the two brown coins of his nipples against his sleek, bare chest, the way his biceps rippled and his broad shoulders led down to his narrow waist.

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close to him again, though keeping my head down. His skin was slippery from oil and sweat, and it was hard to get a purchase on him.

I was shirtless and slippery too, though, and I tried to slide out of his grasp. But he was too quick, and he kicked my legs out from under me. We fell to the faded mat below us, him on top, pinning me to the ground. With one last surge of energy, I brought my knee up to his groin.

“Not that again,” he said, moving out of reach at the last minute.

He was focused on my knee, so he wasn’t watching my mouth. I grabbed one nipple between my teeth and bit down.

“Oh, you fucker,” Liam McCullough said, pulling back, then flopping down next to me on the mat. “You can’t turn every fighting lesson into sex play.”

“It got you hard,” I said, reaching over to stroke his dick through the skimpy nylon shorts we both wore for practice. I could feel the vein that ran down the side of his dick and the mushroom cap, already leaking juice.

“Everything about you gets me hard, Aidan,” he said, leaning back against the stucco wall of the living room in the small house we shared. “But if you want to learn to be a bodyguard, you’ve got to focus on training, not on sex.”

“Maybe train some more later.” I reached over and skinned down his shorts, letting his stiff dick bang up against his belly. His flesh was hot and smooth, the muscles of his abdomen rippling. I leaned down and licked my tongue up the length of his dick, which made him shiver. He rested his hands on my shoulders -- just a subtle pressure to let me know he liked what I was doing.

He shivered as I took the head of his dick in my mouth, pursed my lips around it, and inhaled, creating suction. His dick tasted of sweat and the lemon soap we used in the outdoor shower behind our small house, a few blocks off the Avenue Habib Bourguiba in Tunis, the capital of Tunisia.

We had met a few months before, when I fled a failed relationship in Philadelphia and ended up following Liam, a professional bodyguard, into the desert on a crazy adventure. We fell in love against a backdrop of terrorists, camels, and endless sand, and I decided I wanted to be a bodyguard too.

Since my only previous work experience had been teaching English as a Second Language, I had a lot to learn when it came to self-defense, weapons use, and moving silently the way Liam did. I had just returned from a five-day training course in Atlanta, where I renewed my CPR certification, learned defensive-driving skills, began improving my marksmanship, and studied close-protection tactics.

I didn’t need any training, though, when it came to sucking dick. I’d been doing that since I was nineteen, and though I’d been out of practice for a long time, going through a dry spell with my former partner, riding a dick was a lot like riding a bicycle -- it came back to you.

Liam sighed deeply as I licked long strokes up and down his dick. I buried my nose in his pubic hair, the rough bristles brushing against my nostrils, and inhaled. I loved Liam’s scent. I took one of his big, hairy balls in my mouth and sucked it, then released it and repeated with the other.

“Stop teasing,” he panted. “Suck me.”

I looked up into his light green eyes and smiled to see the need in them. He was incredibly handsome, from his laughing eyes to his square cheekbones to the light stubble on his chin. Sometimes I looked at him and couldn’t believe how lucky I was that this Greek god come to life was my boyfriend.

I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick and felt his sweat and precum lubricate it. As I sucked and licked and teased the sensitive head, my hand slid up and down on his shaft. Heat rose from his skin, and beads of sweat made glowing tracks down his chest.

He tugged down my shorts and boxers as he rolled me over onto my back, looming above me on his powerful forearms so that I could see every muscle in his naked body rippling. It was one of my favorite positions -- though hell, almost every position that involved me and Liam naked was a favorite. He scooted up so that his dick was level with my mouth, and began doing push-ups.

Down his dick came into my mouth, driving into my throat. Then he pulled back as he rose above. Down and up, down and up. I grabbed his round, muscular butt cheeks, holding him so that his dick stayed in my mouth, only letting go when I needed to catch my breath.

Feeling his raw power over me was the greatest aphrodisiac. My own dick was stiff and leaking, so hard it was almost painful. Liam shuddered, moaned, and then came in my mouth, the salty fluid dripping down my throat.

Then he lowered his body onto mine. Maybe that was my favorite position -- feeling all his weight on me, the heat rising from his body. He rubbed his belly against my dick, the pressure of his smooth skin grinding against my erection, bringing me off so fast, I couldn’t keep up with my own feelings, the passion of my orgasm sweeping through me. It was like a fire boiled up in my gut and then exploded. I clenched my eyes shut and saw fireworks against my lids. I felt and smelled Liam so close to me that it was like we were one person.

We lay there, just enjoying each other’s bodies, the Tunisian heat already drying the sweat from our skin. We had pushed the furniture around in the living room to make this impromptu workout area, though sometimes, when it was cooler, we also worked out in the courtyard behind the house, giving the men at the Bar Mamounia across the way a private show.

I was just about to suggest a joint shower when the phone rang. Liam rolled off me and motioned to the Apple iPhone, which sat on the desk, vibrating and rocking to the tune of “Who Let the Dogs Out” by the Baha Men.

“My little secretary,” he said as I scrambled up.

“Bigger than you.” I did have the bigger dick, though just by an inch, and we had measured each other many times before we finally agreed. What can I say, there’s a lot of free-floating testosterone in our relationship, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

At six-four, Liam was a little over three inches taller than I was, with broad shoulders and ropy muscles in his arms and legs. His hair was a light brown, cropped short; mine was darker and shaggier. I had a Mediterranean complexion that was a natural olive, while Liam’s skin was deeply tanned from hours in the sun.

“McCullough Protection Associates,” I said after noticing the call was a local one from Tunis, from a number I didn’t recognize.

The man began speaking quickly in Arabic. I’m good with languages, and I’d started taking Arabic lessons already, but he was much too fast for me. “One moment, please,” I interrupted him in Arabic. I’d learned that much, along with “You are speaking too quickly for me” and “Please hold on.”

“You’ve got to take this one,” I said, handing the phone to Liam. “Too much Arabic.”

“I have to do everything,” he said theatrically, then took the phone from me. “Aywa,” he said. That meant yes. “Aywa.Aywa. Mumkin.” The last meant “maybe” or “I’ll see.”

“You want to go to Djerba?” he asked me, holding his hand over the phone. “Bodyguard work?”

Djerba is an island off the coast of Tunisia, renowned for its beaches. “Aywa,” I said. “You bet.”

He motioned for a pen and paper, which I handed to him, as well as his reading glasses. He looked so sexy there, sitting naked on the rubber mat, a tiny bubble of leftover cum dribbling from the top of his soft dick. The half-round reading glasses were an incongruous touch for such a big, strong, handsome man. I could only stare at him and think how lucky I was.

He slipped me a piece of paper with the name “Karif Al-Fulan” and the word “Google.” I grabbed my shorts and was about to pull them on when Liam tapped me on the shoulder and shook his head.

Rather than pull a chair up to the simple wooden desk and sit, I stood by the computer, presenting my ass to Liam, and started typing. The top link was to the French-language Tunisian newspaper La Presse. My French had always been pretty good, and since moving to Tunis, I had been getting a lot of practice speaking and reading the language, which was the country’s second. I scanned the article and said, “Holy shit,” as Liam hung up the phone.

“Who is this guy?” he asked, pulling his glasses off and leaning back against the sofa.

“Pop singer. He won the Eurovision song contest a couple of years ago.”

“I thought I recognized the name. What’s the article say?”

“He came out of the closet two days ago. This morning an imam in Cairo issued a fatwa on him.”

Copyright © Neil Plakcy


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