Part Seven
Roommate

Trenton pulled off the earphones. "Scuse me?"

The older man gestured at the window. The bed was against the wall, and the window was near its foot. "I always sleep in the bed by the window, when I have a choice," he said calmly.

"Oh. Geez, I'm sorry." Trenton sat up. "I didn't know. I can move."

The other waved dismissively. "It is nothing." He inclined his head graciously. "You are the guest. You must have first choice." He held out his hand. "I am Anatole."

Trenton shook hands. "I'm Trenton Vittelli, the exchange student."

"Of course you are." Anatole seemed to be appraising him. "You are younger than I expected."

Trent felt defensive. "I'm almost seventeen."

"So old? But the exchange students are usually seniors, n'est pas?"

"Not always. Anyway, the one who was supposed to come got sick. She got hepatitis."

"Quel dommage." Somehow, Anatole didn't really sound sorry. When he saw Trenton's skeptical look, he shrugged in a peculiarly Gallic gesture. "I wish no one illness, but I am glad you came instead. I have sisters. It will be nice to have another man to speak to."

"I don't think your parents were expecting you."

"They knew I would come, but sometimes I do not arrive till Saturday." His eyes twinkled. They were very blue, Trent noticed. "How lax of them not to warn you that a strange man might come creeping into your room. I might have frightened you into a fit."

"I wasn't scared," Trent protested. "You just startled me."

"Yes. I suppose I should not have touched you." Trent started. Anatole continued smoothly. "You seemed to be having a rather vivid dream. No doubt my hand on your arm became a part of it."

Mention of his dream suddenly reminded Trenton that he was almost naked, and still completely aroused. He dragged the sheet over his crotch in what he hoped was a casual manner, saying, "I guess. I really don't remember it." *Oo,Trenton Vittelli, you liar! You could write a thousand word essay on how Clive's leather pants felt when he shoved his thigh between your legs.*

Anatole nodded. "Well, I hope you do not mind if I retire now. We will have many hours to talk while you are here, oui?" He began to unbutton his shirt.

"Uh... yeah. Sure. I'd like that." He finished the sentence just as Anatole opened his shirt and slid it off, revealing a nicely cut torso. There was a thin dusting of golden hair across his chest, swirling around pale copper nipples, which were hard.

*Oh, crap, Trenton!* The thought was frantic. *Look away! Don't leer at the host's son.* He dropped his gaze, but that didn't do any good. He just noticed that Anatole had a six pack almost as well defined as Tuscon's had been, and there was a thin trickle of that same yellow hair running from the shallow dent of his navel to disappear under his waistband.

Anatole started to unbuckle his belt, and Trenton lay back down quickly, closing his eyes. For good measure, he laid his forearm over them. Anatole chuckled softly. Trenton heard the muted pop of a snap, then the rasping purr of a zipper being lowered. There was the rustle of cloth.

When he spoke, Anatole's voice was closer than Trent would have expected. "I hope you don't mind, but I sleep in the nude. I suppose I should wear something in case of fire, but they just seem to strangle me." Trenton grunted, noncommital.

There were padding footsteps. Trenton remembered seeing a pair of shoes and socks tucked neatly by the other single bed. Anatole must have removed them when he came in, so as not to disturb the household. He had been able to move very quietly. There was a click, and the red wash across the back of Trent's eyelids went black, signaling that the lights had been turned out. More padding footsteps, then the rustle of bedclothes, and the sound of a body settling into bed. After a moment Trenton said hesitantly, "Good night, Anatole."

Again there was a chuckle. "Sommeil bien, peu Americain. Plaisants reves"

*Sleep well? Oh, fat chance.* Trenton peeked miserably under the sheets at his erection. *Terrific. Cock like a rock, and not a damn thing I can do about it with him in the room. It's going to be a long night.*

He lay there for awhile, staring up at the shadowed ceiling and feeling sorry for himself. After a while, his hard-on began to flag a little. That was, until he heard the noises.

At first he just thought Anatole was having trouble getting comfortable and settling down. There was a rustling of cloth, the sound of a sheet sliding against bare skin. Trenton glanced over at the other bed, though, and the man didn't seem to be tossing and turning. He was lying on his back. Then Trenton noticed the slow, steady motion just about his groin. A lump beneath the sheet rose and fell.

*Son of a bitch! The guy's jerking off! With someone else in the room, right here. Right here...* A soft sigh drifted across the room. *Sounds like he's having fun.* Trent's prick was suddenly hard as a stone again. *Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.*

He lay there, very still, listening and watching as Anatole pleasured himself. The movement under the sheets speeded up, and suddenly Anatole rolled on his side, away from Trenton. The boy had been hoping that the sheet might be dislodged by Anatole's increasingly vigorous self caresses. Now his wish was granted.

The cloth slipped as he turned, and Trenton was presented with a view of an ass so perfect that his breath caught in his throat. Two perfect globes, split by a narrow crease, gleamed in the pale moonlight that fell through the window. Anatole crooked his upper leg at the knee, planting his foot flat on the bed, reached back, and pried his cheeks apart. One finger traced down the open valley.

Trenton swallowed hard, and his own hands crept to shove down his shorts. His cock sprang free, so rigid that it almost slapped against his belly. Anatole was preoccupied. Surely it would be safe...? His hands closed around himself, and he began to stroke.

The room was dim, and Trent could not see certain details. He couldn't actually make out Anatole's asshole, but when his hand moved, and one finger disappeared, he knew what was happening. Anatole groaned happily, and Trent had to stifle an answering groan.

Trenton masturbated, watching as Anatole finger fucked himself. The older man began to pump more strongely. Soon he worked a second finger into himself, and shoved them in and out almost ruthlessly. Trenton marveled. Wouldn't that hurt? Apparently not, judging from the lustful grunts the Frenchman was making.

Anatole shoved himself back onto his probing fingers, then surged forward into his own caresses. Trenton was sweating, trying not to pant too loudly. *How can he not hear me? Maybe he thinks I'm having another dream. Oh, crap, this is like a dream--a wet dream.*

Suddenly Anatole stiffened, and gave a soft cry. His fingers dug deep, twisting, and his hips bucked. *He's coming.* Trenton's hand worked frantically. He'd always been quiet when sexing himself, mindful of his mother sleeping in the next room, but a small whine escaped his throat. The thought of Anatole having his orgasm, shooting hot, sticky semen all over his hands, sent Trent over the edge, too.

His body bowed, hips lifting off the mattress as he thrust into his fist, and he erupted. His balls emptied in two pulses so strong they were almost painful, splattering his belly almost up to his chest with his spunk.

Unable to lie there and enjoy the afterglow, Trent hastily skinned his jockeys off and used them to wipe himself. He then wadded them up, and stared at them for a moment, perplexed. What on earth was he going to do with them? After a moment's thought he dropped them in the wastebasket that was next to the bed, moving a few papers as quietly as possible to cover them. Anatole started to shift onto his back once again, and Trenton quickly lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to make his breathing deep and even.

Anatole lay on his side and studied the boy lying on the other bed. *Je pense qu'il a supposé que je ne le noterais pas masturbating. Comment doux. Il est un innocent, je pensent. Ne serait-il pas beau pour l'enseigner?* He smiled to himself in the dark, and his lips moved without sound, forming the word, "Trehn-tonne." He drifted off to sleep, well satisfied and very much looking forward to the next few months.

Translations

n'est pas?--not so? Or, is it not so?
Quel dommage--What a pity.
oui--yes (Duh)
Sommeil bien, peu américain. Plaisants rêves--
Sleep well, little American. Pleasant dreams.
Je pense qu'il a supposé que je ne le noterais pas masturbating. Comment doux. Il est un innocent, je pensent. Ne serait-il pas beau pour l'enseigner?--
I think he supposed that I would not notice him masturbating. How sweet. He is an innocent, I think. Wouldn't it be lovely to teach him?