Tensions and Attentions

Chapter 6: The Winner

Franco did not give up the race. No.

In retrospect, he only agreed on not suing the Hamptons anymore. He continued helping his governor for a week before the election. He wrote his speeches, he gathered intellectual crowds, and accepted calls at night. He hasn’t been asleep properly, added by the fact that someone under his care died.

He can’t get over Harold.

Not because he’s been close with the guy. Harold died the day after they met, but what unsettles him is the fact that a normal man can be easily reduced to a skittish and apologetic left over of himself without any sense of property. Harold could have been his main pawn, but now he’s gone. He also felt a bit guilty. He let him die. He left him there. He has a sorry whack life. And most importantly, he thought of him as a chess piece to defeat the enemy, exposing him to obvious harm.

He’s no different from Quinn.

After two weeks, the election results came. Despite his intellectual efforts, he realized that the poor can still be blinded by the rich. Only the intellectual community voted for Jacques, and unfortunately, they’re not that many in New York. The very common people have been given extreme promises like ‘free sanitation, free healthcare, discount cards to Hampton malls’ and so on. For not knowing their real rights, they took the cheapest bait.
And so Gregory McKlein won and to hell with New York.

Franco went to a bar to drink his guts out. The Bar Master is a Jacques sympathizer and gave Franco free drinks. But with limits. Franco is a bad drunk. Can’t notice and remember people for the life of him.
While drinking, a sexy and petite brunette guy sat beside him, smiling at him flirtatiously. He has light brown eyes like Marcus, a jet black hair like Marcus, and a thin stature almost similar to Marcus. However, unlike Marcus’ sun-kissed skin, this man has paper white skin and tender behind.

“Hey sexy, I see you’re sad. Is it because of the elections?”

Franco cannot recognize that face and voice with his blurry mind, but he smiled nonetheless. “Wanna make me happy, sweetheart?”

It all happened in a blur. They went back to Franco’s apartment to have their time and almost destroyed the bed. Despite the hazy mind, Franco would start drunken conversation with the man, but the man would shut him up with a kiss. The man likes kisses, he thought. And so kisses he gave away. Franco is a lover, as most of his bed partners would say. Bottoming for the earlier days of University made him a great top upon acquiring his manly physique. (I’m still not as manly as Sergei, not that I compare.)

When the morning came, he caressed the head of his night partner. He gives it a kiss and admired how it perfectly reflects the morning sun. It reflects so perfectly that it almost looks like the sun.

And there we wonders.

He was certain he brought home a brunette. And when he lifted the blanket, he saw the naked Quinn Alexander Hampton cozily hugging his equally naked torso. They’re both covered in dried jizz, and while Franco is trying to stand up, Quinn’s hug tighten.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Quinn greeted with heavy lid.

“Ffff.” Franco finally dismantled himself from the brat. “Fffucking hell!”

Quinn stretched as if he owns the place. He stood up, took Franco’s dress shirt from the previous night and wore it. As he yawns, he went to the bathroom, parading his bottom-less glory around the small apartment.

“Why the fuck are you here!” Franco shouted as the heir splashes his face with water. He wipes his face using Franco’s hand towel and in five steps, he reached the kitchen area to sit down on the small coffee table. Franco followed him and began cooking something out of habit.
As he cooks, his anger continues to fume. The brat wore wig, contact lenses, and changed his voice. He manipulated him into fucking his sworn enemy and that’s just the worst. The Hamptons really have no morals.