Into Dark Waters

by

Angelia Sparrow

and

Naomi Brooks

This anthology is copyright 2009 by Succubus Productions
“Tuition Fees” previously appeared as an Arcana Single Shot from

Torquere Press 2007

“Talk Like a Pirate Day” previously appeared as a Sip from

Torquere Press 2008

“Paying Forfeits” previously appeared as a Games People Play

from Torquere Press, 2007

“Hunger for the Edge” appeared in the Eternal Darkness

Anthology from Torquere Press 2006

“Crossroads” previously appeared as a Bareback Angels Sip from

Torquere Press 2008

“Deadman's Curve” is copyright 2007
“Serpents” appeared in the Shifting Back anthology from Torquere

Press 2007

Welcome onto the pier.
Starting a new book is a little like taking a trip. You

know you'll arrive at the end and you'll never be quite the
same, but you don't necessarily know what you'll encounter
on that trip.

We hope you'll enjoy the trip with us. The stories here

are a little older, things from the early days when Brooks &
Sparrow had just become a team.

They aren't all pleasant. They aren't all happy. Even in

the sweetest, the shadow of the Reaper looms.

But you pays your money and you takes your chances.
Now, since you've already paid the ferryman, step

aboard. We're taking you into dark waters and there is no
guarantee of a farther shore.

Angelia & Naomi

Other Books by Brooks & Sparrow

available through www.brooksandsparrow.com

Novels

Privateer's Treasure

Glad Hands

Heart of A Forest

Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists

Shell-Shocked

Alive on the Inside

Shorts

For Love of Etarin

Collared Hearts

Frosted Hearts

Color of Magic/Color of Money

Showdown at Yellowstone River

Chain-Male

Master Bear

Tuition Fees

Christian McIntosh set his carry bag down in the

courtyard of Teufelsteinschloss and lit a clove. He couldn’t
believe he was actually here, that all this wasn’t a dream.
He’d received the invitation letter along with the other art
school acceptances. It wasn’t until he went back over the
papers that he realized he’d never applied to The Academy.

That’s all the literature called it: The Academy “A

rarefied atmosphere in which promising talent is
intensively nurtured for seven years." Professor
Morgenstern was apparently wealthy enough to offer a full
ride, right down to his passport, plane tickets and train fare
to the airport. That alone was enough to make his
grandparents insist he accept the offer.

They were good people but had worried about college

since he was a baby. Fixed incomes didn’t go far, not in
rural New Hampshire, and especially not with a grandfather
who was an invalid. He’d insisted on working part-time as
soon as he was old enough: paper routes, aluminum
collection, mowing lawns, anything that would help.

A red-haired woman had met him during his extremely

long layover in New York and taken him shopping. “The
Professor knows not all his students are appropriately
accoutered. Therefore, he has me meet specific ones and
take care of the situation."

Her accent was not American, but sounded like no

European accent he’d ever heard. She had dragged him
through two clothing stores, a shoe shop and then let him
linger in an art supply store as a reward for his patience.
She bought everything he needed and anything he wanted.

She took him for lunch in Greenwich Village. He scarcely
knew what he was eating. The village was the last known
location of his mother and he watched distractedly,
searching the faces of every curly-haired brunette that
passed. The red-haired woman made sure he caught the
proper flight to Europe.

He didn’t remember much of the trip after that. The

plane ride was long and dull. Europe was a sleepy haze of
landing in Stuttgart, being greeted by a red-haired woman,
who looked much like the New York lady, holding a sign
that read “McIntosh”and getting into a large, black, antique
car. He slept until they reached the castle.

“So that’s what flagstones look like,” he mumbled, not

quite awake. He ran a hand through his rumpled dyed-black
hair and realized the rest of his baggage was still in the car,
which had purred away into the gathering dusk. He blinked
against the cold New Year’s Day air and rang the bell pull.
He’d missed all the parties.

Another car rumbled into the courtyard. Three young

men, none of them more than twenty-five, one obviously
American, one in traditional African dress topped with a
parka, the third indeterminate under the scarf and hat,
climbed out. They, too, stood blinking in the courtyard.
Chris caught sight of a necktie and was suddenly quite
aware of the buckles and straps on his pants, his tanker
boots and Carhartt coat. The blond American boy rang the
bell. He gave Chris a grin and stuck out his hand. The
gloves were black leather and Chris guessed the coat was
alpaca wool.

“Nicholas Admire, former legislator from Missouri

District 124. Call me Nick." The smile never touched his
green eyes.

Chris, too shy to say he’d already rung, shook the boy’s

hand, quite aware of how practiced the firm grip and two
pumps felt. He was glad he’d left the mittens his
grandmother had knitted in his pocket, even if the wind did

bite at his bare fingers. “Chris McIntosh. Artist. I’m from
New Hampshire.”

The dark-haired boy offered a hand. “Geoffrey

Laurent." His French accent was mild, to Chris’s surprise.
“I have recently finished medical school. Do you ever do
anatomical drawing? The textbooks need good illustrators.”

Chris almost blushed. “Only a few studio nudes." He

wasn’t going to say anything about the trip to the
psychologist after Grandma had found them.

The African boy shook his hand. “Okeleke Nzenga. I

am a student of agriculture.”

“Nice to meet you.”
The big doors swung open. A tall redheaded woman,

who looked enough like the others to be their triplet, held a
lamp. “This way please, gentlemen,” she said in the same
unidentifiable accent. She led them down the hall to a large
parlor where nine other young men were already waiting.

It was all dark wood over stone and deep wine carpets

and heavy leather furniture. A plate of small cakes and a
silver tea service sat on a low mahogany table. A well-
stocked bar stood opposite a black marble fireplace large
enough to stand in.

Geoffrey and Okeleke poured tea and helped

themselves to the cakes. The red-haired boy at the
harpsichord looked up with annoyance when Nick rattled
the ice in a cocktail shaker. A Japanese boy looked up at the
new arrivals and his two Hispanic companions did the
same. Chris was enthralled by all the amazing faces and his
fingers twitched for his sketchpad. He would have a
splendid time drawing here, but right now, he wanted to
fade into the woodwork and not be the center of attention.

Nick seemed to have no problem with it. He worked

the room after his martini was made, introducing himself
first to the Indian boy who had been leaning on the
harpsichord, vocalizing with the redhead’s playing, and
then apologizing to the musician. Chris just looked,

working up the nerve to get a cup of tea.

An Australoid black man, a little older than the rest of

them, sat on the sofa sharing pictures with a Chinese youth
and an Arabic one. A blue-eyed American boy sulked,
leaning on the mantle of the fireplace.

“What’re you staring at?” he growled at Chris. “Take a

picture. It’ll last longer.”

“Politeness, Sterling.” A middle-aged man spoke from

the shadows of a dark leather armchair. “You shouldn’t
antagonize your classmates in the first five minutes." He
rose, tall and angular. The firelight put golden glints into
his wavy hair and his smile spoke of far too much
knowledge. “So we are all assembled. Welcome, my boys,
to Teufelsteinschloss Academy. I am Professor
Morgenstern. As each of your letters stated, you will study
here for seven years. At the end of that time, you will pay
the tuition and go out, leaders in your fields.”

He took a drink from the brandy snifter in his hand.

“Each of you was invited because you are one of the best
men in your field under the age of twenty-five. When you
leave, you will be the best. All of you are extraordinarily
gifted."

Morgenstern looked them over and Chris dropped his

eyes when the professor’s fell on him. He’d never met
anyone like this, charismatic, compelling and almost
preternaturally beautiful. He knew what his first drawing at
the Schloss would be.

“Thirteen of the most talented, most lovely young men

in the world. In seven years, you will own the world.
Come. Dinner is at nine sharp. Both attendance and formal
dress are mandatory." He pulled part of a deck of tarot
cards from the pocket of his jacket and fanned them out in
one long hand. “Thirteen: six pairs and a trump. The cards’
numbers correspond to your room assignment. The cards
will pair you for your stay.”

“This is a very large castle. Why don’t we get our own

rooms?" The Indian youth at the harpsichord asked.

“Because if I allow that, our little artist will never

emerge for meals and Mr. Admire will never go to bed for
politicking. You will not get the rest you need and Matthew
will compose until he drops. You will all watch out for each
other. Who is first?”

Nick gave a cocky yet charming smile. Chris could see

why he’d been elected to the State House so young. He
strode forward and picked a card out of Morgenstern’s
hand.

“Welcome, Mr. Admire. It’s a pleasure to have you

here." Morgenstern’s smile was as polished as Nick’s.

“Five of swords,” he said.
One by one, the men drew their cards. As each man

found his roommate and the two cards came together, a
small flash of light created a glowing beacon. The fox fire
balls led them out of the sitting room and to their
bedrooms.

Li, who Morgenstern greeted as a chemist, poked at the

fox fire and left discussing it with Faki, the philosopher
from Cairo, trying to figure out what it was and what had
caused it. Sterling, who turned out to be a criminal
mastermind, scowled more when he was paired with Matt,
the redheaded musician.

“Better not be any damn violins at all hours,” he

grumbled.

Professor Morgenstern laughed. Then he smiled when

Ayutu pulled the trump card of the Tower. “Most fitting for
you, my astrophysicist. The view from the tower is quite
good and I have several excellent telescopes. Yes, I think
you should have your own garret. Mind the singing mice.”

A laugh ran through the remaining men. Even Chris

smiled. Apparently Disney animated movies were a
universal experience. Two by two, the others left.

Morgenstern held out the last card to Chris. “Little

artist?” he said, his voice making Chris’s knees go weak

even as it drew him forward. Morgenstern barely touched
Chris’s hand as he took the card, sending hot and cold
shivers all over the youth.

“Fi-five of swords." He already knew, since Nick–now

working on his third martini–was the only one left.

“Last is first and first is last and so we make the

Kingdom ourselves.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s quite how

that goes. C’mon Chris, we’ll get settled.”

“Shakespeare?” Chris mumbled, letting Nick draw him

out. He couldn’t stop looking at Professor Morgenstern.
The light from the fireplace played with his handsome face,
creating shadows and highlights that made Chris want to
weep and sketch and paint. The fire put red and gold
highlights into the graying mane and beard. It caught a last
small smile, just for Chris, sending him out hard and needy.

The bedroom mixed the castle’s antiquity with every

modern convenience. The wall sconces held adjustable soft
fluorescent bulbs. The mattress on the great canopied four-
poster was a Sealy Posturepedic. Cherry wood roll-top
desks boasted state-of-the-art computers and ergonomic
chairs, made of the same cherry wood and scarlet brocade
that matched the bed curtains. Two cherry armoires waited
for their clothes. A porcelain washbasin and pitcher stood
next to the door of a very modern, very luxurious bath of
black marble and gold fittings

Chris examined a mirror with attached candles.

“Girandole, early baroque period. I think it’s real.”

“Of course it is." Nick hung his suits and khakis and

oxford shirts in the armoire with the air of a man
accustomed to living out of suitcases in the lap of luxury.

“No phone. But we have the Internet,” Chris added

checking the computer.

“No cell signal either." Nick turned off his phone and

tossed it in his nearly empty suitcase. “Better unpack and
dress.”

Chris tried not to be embarrassed about the tags and

store tissues still in his new clothing. He hung everything
neatly and laid out the dinner jacket and good pants. “I’m
having a shower." He looked at the bed, where Nick was
sprawled working on his palm pilot. “One bed.”

“Yeah, I at least expected bunks." Nick flashed him a

grin. “Top or bottom?”

Chris swallowed hard and ducked into the bath. The

casual way Nick had asked threw him. He’d known for
years that he liked boys as well as girls. He washed, already
aroused from the professor and Nick’s offhand suggestion.
When Nick joined him in the shower and slid down to suck
him without any preliminaries, all he could do was lean
against the wall and gasp for breath.

Nick’s tongue left him stunned, doing his best

impression of a beached tuna. He came in very short order.
Nick gave him a grin, stood up and began washing his hair
as if nothing had happened.

“Uh, pleased to meet you too?” Chris ventured.
“Beats the hell out of a handshake, doesn’t it?” Nick

ducked under the water to rinse.

“How long have you known?” Chris asked. “That you

liked boys?”

“Since I was about 12 and saw Leo DiCaprio in The

Man in the Iron Mask. He was so beautiful in that scene
where his mistress killed herself, alla that red hair, I wanted
to kiss him and console him. Kissed my first boy a couple
months later. You?”

“Always knew. I’ve been fighting it. Small town."

Somehow, Chris couldn’t manage complete sentences.

“Yeah, me too." Nick didn’t want to talk about his one-

blinky light town with the funny name and the Bass Pro
Shop. He stepped out of the shower and dried off.

“Starting your scandals young?" Chris followed him,

reaching for his own towel.

“Nah. It’s only a scandal if I deny it. If I just say ‘yeah?

So?’ they back off. The only way to be a politician in my
particular loop of the Bible belt is to either be purer than
God or just brazen it out. Most of the pious hypocrites go
for the first route. And that is what makes a scandal, babe.”

“I’ll remember,” Chris said as he got dressed. He

managed the dress-shirt and the pants well enough, but
looked puzzled at the cuff links and shirt studs. The bow-tie
baffled him.

“All right, let me help you." Nick sighed. He was

already dressed. He showed Chris how to fasten the
jewelry. Then he stood behind Chris and made him learn to
tie the bow tie. He kissed the nape of Chris’s neck. “Look,
don’t let me push you. I come on kinda strong.”

Chris shuddered under the kiss and nodded. He went

down to the main hall with Nick and found the other
milling around. Most wore dinner jackets. Ayutu had a
black kimono cut almost like a tuxedo. Bansi and Okeleke
chose formal ethnic costume, Bansi’s bright crimson silk
and Okeleke’s deep green standing out the sea of black.

The doors of the dining room opened at 8:57. Professor

Morgenstern stood before a chair at the head of a long
table. The men’s names were on place-cards. They had
been shuffled so that no one sat next to his roommate. It
didn’t stop Chris from looking down the table now and then
at Nick, remembering the shower. He also caught Professor
Morgenstern looking at him a time or two when he glanced
up the table. He wasn’t paying any attention to Ignacio
talking mathematics to Ayutu on his left or Li and Okeleke
discussing pH balances in soil on his right. He ate the meal,
scarcely knowing what it was, so lost was he in his own
thoughts.

As the dessert, warm bread pudding with whiskey

sauce, was brought out, Professor Morgenstern stood up.
“Gentlemen, in your rooms you will find your course
packets. Each of you will have one hour a day of tutoring
and the rest–save dinner–as independent study. Your packet

will inform you of the time, what you are expected to bring
to the first session and what you must produce this week. I
bid you good evening."

He left and the dining room ate in silence. The silence

hung even as they left the dining room, headed back to their
own rooms. Nick finally broke it. “Weird kind of school, if
you ask me.”

“No one did, Admire." Matt, the musician, scowled, his

color high and his brogue getting thicker with each word.

“Oh yeah, O’Neill? Don’t mean I can’t speak up."

Nick’s temper was showing on his face, jet-lag and
weirdness taking their toll.

“Stop it. No fighting." Bansi stepped between the pair.

“We are all tired.”

Nick took a couple deep breaths, stepped back and

nodded. “Thanks. I needed that break. No hard feelings,
O’Neill.”

“None here on you either." Matt headed toward the

room he shared with Sterling. So far the other had not liked
a single one of his compositions, preferring to plug himself
into his hip-hop and rap by way of his ipod. Simple noise in
Matt’s opinion.

Back in the room, Chris sat on the bed and opened his

packet. “My class is at seven. That leaves an hour to get
ready for dinner.”

“Nine in the morning. Boy, we can really sleep in."

Nick read over the meal schedule: breakfast available from
seven until nine, lunch from eleven to one, mandatory
formal dinner at nine. He yawned hugely. “Bedtime. And
no frills.”

Chris gave a small smile and got into his pajamas,

feeling silly. Nick had already seen him naked. But Nick,
too, pulled on flannel sleep pants and drew the curtains on
the bed against the chilly night air.

***

Chris brought his entire portfolio, even the nudes he’d

never shown to anyone, to his first class session with the
professor. A half-finished sketch of Nick holding his coffee,
the newest piece, caught Morgenstern’s eye, even though
there was no face on it.

“Your roommate?" Chris nodded, a bit stunned that

he’d recognized it without a face. “The mole." He pointed
to a distinctive figure-eight mole on the back of the hand
holding the coffee cup. “You say in your application letters
you want to transition from the pencil and oil pastels to
painting, eventually into the style of the Old Masters.
Today would be a good day to try." Chris dared not open
his mouth to say he’d never written an application to The
Academy. Morgenstern had voiced his deepest desire, the
one he had never told anyone. He wanted McIntosh to be
remembered with Van Gogh and Rembrandt in another five
hundred years.

Morgenstern settled Chris in with the paints and

showed him the ways that painting was different from
drawing and the ways it was the same. Chris had some
experience mixing pigments from various art classes and
summer institutes. He began a landscape that looked like
the one out the window, but darkened and twisted.

At seven forty-five, Morgenstern called a halt for clean

up. “You’ve made great progress, little artist. I will see you
at dinner.”

***

Over the days and weeks, Chris’s barely concealed awe

of his teacher only grew. Nick was a pleasant room mate,
even if he did insist on making sure Chris ate regularly and
socialized with the others.

Sometimes Chris wondered what it would be like to be

rooming with someone less outgoing. Someone less sexual,

who didn’t blow him at the drop of a shower curtain or kiss
him every time they passed. He loved the attention. His
grandmother had been a fine specimen of puritan Yankee
matriarchy who believed physical contact was at best
distasteful and more likely sinful.

Nick was beginning to push for more, though. After

four months of blow jobs, hand jobs and frotting off behind
every tapestry they could find, he was ready to fuck. Chris,
well, Chris wasn’t. He liked Nick just fine, enjoyed fooling
around, but he thought his first time should be with
someone he loved and wanted.

Someone like the Professor, the persistent little voice in

the back of his mind whispered as it had been since Easter.
He shushed it and went to his art lesson.

“Dear little one, show me what you've drawn today."

Morgenstern was sitting quietly before the fireplace, a glass
of brandy in his hand after Chris finished with his painting
and cleaned his brushes. Chris had noticed, weeks ago, that
Morgenstern never called him by his name.

He had another landscape done: the crags around the

schloss, with Okeleke’s just-blooming roses making a
splash of color like fresh blood against the bare and jagged
rocks.

“Dear little Goth boy, turning all you see into bleakness

and despair." Morgenstern smiled his approval. “How is
your painting coming?”

“Acrylics are still going better than oil.”
“Splendid. Do keep at it. Have you tried any human

figures lately?”

Chris dug through his work and handed over several

sheets, most pencil-work, but one small oil canvas. He
watched Morgenstern look them over and nibbled the end
of a brush in anxiety.

Morgenstern smiled as he looked at them. There was

Marcelo at prayer, his fingers working his rosary. The style
of the picture led him to expect a hair shirt or some

Inquisition victims in evidence. Here was Li with his test-
tubes, looking like a mad scientist under Chris’s skills.
Okeleke dug in his garden, but looked more as if he was
burying a body than planting the flowers beside him in the
wheelbarrow. Morgenstern caught himself looking for a
skeletal hand under the peonies. The oil was of Nick,
stretched naked on the bed, apparently working on his
PDA. The angle of the viewer was from the floor looking
up, as if Nick had casually tossed them out of bed,
assuming the proper place for a used sex slave was on the
floor.

“You have an eye for the morbid, my little artist. It is

fashionable now." He tapped Nick’s painting. “Your
roommate. It is an unusual angle." Morgenstern looked
Chris up and down until he shivered under the appraising
eyes. “Has he had you yet?”

Chris swallowed hard. “Had, sir?”
Morgenstern leaned in close, too close. His voice

purred seductively, “Has he fucked you yet?”

Chris shivered, from the breath on his ear, the crudity

or simply the Professor’s closeness he couldn’t say. “No.”

Morgenstern smiled. “Very good. If you are willing,

after dinner, we will have an oil tutoring session. You will
not return to your room as virginal as when you left it.”

Chris blinked a few times, stunned by the suddenness

of the proposition.

“Problem, little artist?”
Chris smiled. “No, sir." He glanced at the Professor’s

package quite obviously before he caught himself.

Morgenstern saw this and smiled. “I will not hurt you,

child.”

“I didn't think so." Chris gathered up his materials,

seeing time was nearly over.

“Are you willing?" At Chris’s nod, he smiled more

broadly. “Very good. I do not force anyone." He watched as
Chris made for the door. “And do keep drawing. You have

an eye for the shadows." He crooked a finger.

“Thank you, I–“ the words died on Chris’s lips as he

saw the beckoning. His stomach fluttered when he stepped
close to the red velvet sofa.

Morgenstern’s kiss was light, gentle. Chris closed his

eyes and sighed into it. When he opened them again,
Morgenstern was at the door, opening it. Confusion wrote
itself large on Chris’s features and he picked up the
portfolio he’d dropped.

“After dinner then,” he managed.
“Indeed." Professor Morgenstern vanished out the door.
After dinner, Chris barely noticed the glare Nick shot at

him as he gathered his art materials. He fumbled his easel
on the stairs and had to sit down until his stomach stopped
knotting. He got himself together and made it to the parlor.
He swallowed until his mouth wasn’t quite as dry and
knocked at the door.

Morgenstern smiled as he opened the door and Chris

leaned a little on the wall for support because his knees no
longer wanted to hold him up. He followed the professor
into the parlor.

The lesson demanded complete concentration.

Morgenstern moved quickly, requiring much from Chris.
Chris performed brilliantly. He’d always worked well under
pressure.

“Excellent, little artist." Morgenstern seized him by the

shoulders and kissed him in congratulation as he finished
adding his initials to the stark landscape.

The long-desired kiss took Chris by surprise. He

melted before it and then returned it, reaching his paint-
smeared hands up to Morgenstern’s hair before he realized
it. He left gray and brown and black smudges in the fair
hair and on his teacher’s face.

Morgenstern did no more than laugh. “Eager child." He

blotted at his face with a handkerchief. The kiss left Chris
too fuddled to notice the ease with which the paint

vanished. “Clean your brushes and yourself, then come
with me.”

Chris made a fast but thorough clean up and went to

where Morgenstern waited near a door behind a tapestry. To
his surprise, the professor’s bedroom looked exactly like a
student room, save there was only one desk and one
armoire. The four-poster was identical to the one he shared
with Nick. He’d expected something much more personal,
more lived-in. Only the Gustav Doré engraving of Lucifer
Cast Out from Paradise Lost marked the room as any
different. Chris lingered at the foot of the bed.

Morgenstern had settled himself on the bed, already in

his dressing gown. “Talk to me, little artist.”

“How do you do these things?" Chris’s eyes were large.

Morgenstern merely lifted an eyebrow and Chris
elaborated, “You move too fast to be seen. I barely make it
to the foot of the bed and you’re already changed. You
clean messes with barely a wave. How?”

“Little one, are you so dense? Do you not know me?"

Morgenstern’s smile never faltered.

“We talk. Marcelo says you’re the Devil himself. I

don’t believe in it.”

Morgenstern laughed and Chris realized he was the

butt of the joke. “It doesn't matter what you believe.
Believe the moon is made of green cheese for all I care."
He lounged, seemingly heedless of how the dressing gown
was falling. For all that Chris had always heard angels were
sexless, the man before him was demonstrably male. Based
on observation, he was twice the man Nick was. Chris went
as Morgenstern beckoned him to the bed.

“Whether you believe or not, and no matter what

churchmen say, I remain Archangel Lucifiel, Light of God
and best beloved of the Father. The one who loved God
enough to take on the most despised of duties, that of
Adversary." He ran a hand over Chris’s trembling shoulder.
“Why should having it said upset you so? You knew, did

you not? What do you fear?”

“I don’t want it to be true,” Chris blurted. “I can’t

believe, can’t comprehend.”

“Do you want me? Do you comprehend what we are

doing?”

Chris nodded.
“Will you tell me if I am hurting?”
“I’ll try not to scream too loud, yeah.”
Morgenstern hooked the tip of his index finger under

Chris’s chin and drew him down for a kiss. He was fire and
honey under Chris’s mouth, opening and kissing not with
haste or urgency, but with a measured slowness as though
they had infinite time to enjoy themselves in nothing more
than this kiss.

When Chris finally moved away, Morgenstern gave

him another smile. “Fear not, little artist." He smiled wryly.
“It has been millennia since I used the common greeting of
my kind to mortals. You will be fine and we will create a
work of art between two bodies. Touch me. I will not break,
nor will I hurt you.”

Chris’s smile felt sickly on his face. He reached out and

traced his teacher’s strong jaw, his chest, his stomach,
making his way to the goal. “Yes,” he sighed, wrapping one
hand around the thick shaft. He experimented with different
grips, different speed, the softness firming into velvety
iron.

“Yes,” Morgenstern responded. He smiled,

encouraging Chris with each different hold. “Yes, sweet
one, that’s perfect,” he sighed when Chris lowered his
mouth for a taste.

Chris had wanted this for weeks, ever since Nick

started letting him reciprocate on the blow jobs.
Morgenstern was clean and the same sweetness of his
mouth was here as well. As Morgenstern grew harder, Chris
wasn’t sure he could take all of it. He fitted his mouth
around the head, licking under the foreskin, just

experimenting, learning as he would with a new brush. He
felt Morgenstern’s hands, stroking his hair, his jaw. The soft
words from above him were litanies of soothing sound with
no meaning. Unlike Nick, Morgenstern never shoved into
his mouth. Chris was glad; the monster in his mouth could
choke him without trying.

Chris sucked and licked and kissed until his jaw ached.

Morgenstern drew him back up for a kiss and held him.

“You do that wonderfully well, little one.”
Chris shot him an impish look. “Practice.”
Morgenstern laughed a little, then kissed him. “I did

not climax for a reason, although you had me quite close. I
would rather be within you." He slid one hand along
Chris’s body to stroke his ass, feeling the give of his
buttocks.

Chris caught his breath and nodded. “Want that too,”

was all he managed.

“Gently then, my sweet lover." Morgenstern rolled

Chris away from him and spooned in behind him. He ran
his hand over Chris’s body, grazing his cock several times
before stopping to stroke it.

“Very gently?" Chris squirmed a little, trying to hold

back the orgasm on whose brink he teetered.

Morgenstern kissed his neck. “Come for me. It will

relax you." The words knocked Chris’s precarious control
from him and sent him over the edge, spurting all over the
professor’s hand. Morgenstern brought his hand to his
mouth and licked at it, offering Chris only single finger,
mock-grudgingly.

Chris moaned softly as he licked the length of

Morgenstern’s long forefinger. His own bland salty flavor
combined with the professor’s skin seemed to be making
him hotter than ever.

When the finger was clean, Morgenstern began

working on him. That finger worked its way into Chris’s
body, slick and careful. A second joined it, gentler than the

first.

Chris voiced his fear. “Never going to fit in there.”
“It will, little artist, and I will not hurt you." The

passage loosened under his unfailingly gentle ministrations.
He added a third finger and used them to form a funnel for
more lubricant. Slowly he moved into position and
removed the fingers. “Easy now." He rocked gently against
Chris, letting him open under the pressure and not forcing
his way in.

Chris hissed at the burn, then yelped when the head

worked its way inside his body. He could do this. He bit
down hard, then eased up. He took deep breaths, trying to
relax so it would stop hurting.

Morgenstern stopped moving and merely held him.

“Tell me when you are ready." He kissed Chris’s neck and
stroked his body. He felt Chris relax well before he heard
the shaky affirmation. He slipped in, slow, gentle, very
careful, until he was buried in the artist’s body.

Chris gave a long, low moan, feeling filled beyond

expectations.

“See? I told you, sweet one." Morgenstern punctuated

this with a kiss and was delighted when Chris moved
tentatively on him while still in the kiss. Morgenstern
smiled into the kiss and continued, his hands stroking even
as his tongue did. At length, they broke. “Are you still
afraid?”

“Maybe,” Chris hesitated. “Mostly of liking this too

much.”

Morgenstern gave a purr like a great lazy cat. “Too

much is almost enough." He took control, moving gently
but firmly. To his delight, Chris emitted that low moan
again, louder this time. “Sexy boy,” he whispered, stepping
up his motion to firm thrusts. “So very good, so tight."
When Chris rolled a bit more onto his stomach,
Morgenstern asked. “More?”

“Oh yes...” Chris breathed, parting his legs, trying to

give Morgenstern more access to his body. He lost the
breathiness and grew loud as Morgenstern moved harder
and faster, almost pounding at him.

Morgenstern gave a soft laugh at the filth that poured

from his boy, a steady stream of vulgarity that was almost a
prayer in its intensity. In return, he pounded very hard for a
few strokes. When Chris screamed for more, more and
more, Morgenstern gave it, burying himself completely,
with full force of his strength behind the thrust as he came
with a scream of his own.

That sound, half wail, half-startled surprise, triggered

Chris into an explosive second orgasm. They came down
together, Morgenstern kissing Chris’s neck and shoulders.

“Sweet boy,” he whispered.
Chris gasped, “Don't leave yet.”
“I'll stay within as long as I can." Morgenstern rolled

them back to spooning, cradling Chris gently and
whispering filthy French poetry until the young man
calmed down.

“So good,” Chris said softly.
“So very good, little artist. A work of art in itself."

When Chris laughed, Morgenstern kissed his neck, his ear
and his cheek, his lips light and comforting. “You came to
my bed fearful: afraid of pain, afraid of my size, afraid of
your inexperience. Have I quelled your fears?" He shifted
as he softened enough to leave Chris’s body.

Chris rolled to face him. “All of them." For the first

time, he looked deep into Morgenstern’s eyes, losing
himself in them, drowning in honey and amber. “I've
wanted this for months." The intensity in his voice drew an
answering nod from Morgenstern.

“I knew the first night, from the way you looked at me.

You were not simply storing me up to draw. But Walpurgis
night seemed a much more appropriate time for a,” he
chuckled, “virgin sacrifice.”

The name rang a bell, but Chris couldn’t put any

specific idea to it. “Why?”

Morgenstern tsked. “My little Goth, I thought you of

all people would know. Have you forgotten your Stoker?
From "Dracula's Guest": ‘Walpurgis Night was when,
according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was
abroad--when the graves were opened and the dead came
forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and
water held revels.’”

“Beltaine,” Chris realized suddenly. “It’s Beltaine. I

guess I forgot." He wasn’t sure if he was speaking of the
quote or the date. Probably both and he knew Morgenstern
would understand.

Morgenstern stoked his face gently. “After your

evening, I am surprised you know your own name.”

Chris laughed quietly. “Of course I do. It's...Roger?”
Morgenstern smiled and kissed his cheek. “Very well,

Roger, and you have been, quite thoroughly, you know.”

“Mmmhmm,” Chris agreed. He’d suspected it was love

for some time, but now, he was sure.

Morgenstern held him a while longer. “I will not have

you every night, but you may ask for me any time you
like.”

Chris looked at him, confused and a little hurt. “You

wish to sleep alone tonight?”

Morgenstern kissed his forehead. “Dear one, I nearly

always sleep alone. I fear your roommate is growing
disgruntled." He whispered, “I revert to myself in sleep and
my own form is not so comely as this." Seeing Chris about
to protest, he laid a long finger across the boy’s lips. “Some
night, you will stay and you will see. There is always one
who is brave enough to do so.”

Wanting to be that brave one, Chris sat up.

Morgenstern pulled him back for a long, deep kiss. His lips
burned hot against Chris’s mouth, his tongue slick and
invading, knowing the places Chris would like best. Chris
gasped when they parted.

“Go on, little artist."
Chris shut the door behind him and climbed the stairs,

each step reminding him of the evening. He pushed the
door of the bedroom open, barely able to stay upright. He
hadn’t bothered to dress beyond his jeans and he clutched
the rest of his clothes like a security blanket.

Nick looked up from where he was reading

Machiavelli in bed, highlighter in hand. “You look fucking
wrecked. Are you stoned?" Chris shook his head. “Drunk?"
Nick looked him over. “What did you do?”

Chris staggered across the room and fell into bed. “Got

deflowered.”

Nick looked him over and gave a short humorless

laugh. “Baby, you didn't get deflowered. You got picked
and plowed under and resown with ragweed." Chris’s laugh
held more humor and he missed the undertone in Nick’s
voice.

Nick kissed his neck. “Come on, let me check you

over. You're probably bleeding if you’re walking like that.
Standing in that door, you looked like a whore that just
took on a whole legion.”

Chris squirmed out of his pants without getting up and

rolled over. Nick’s hands moved over his ass, parting him
gently. Nick’s breath on the back of his balls would have
aroused him if he hadn’t been spent.

“Nope, I was wrong. He's good then." Nick licked

along the cleft of Chris’s ass, tasting him, tasting
Morgenstern, resisting the temptation to shove his tongue
deep then follow it with fingers and cock and then, maybe
even more.

Chris glanced over his shoulder. “Want me too?”
Nick got up, covered Chris with the blanket and laid

down beside him “Always. But not after he's had you." His
face hardened. “I don't take sloppy seconds.”

Chris missed the danger again. “Later, then.”
Nick slid under the covers himself. “Definitely,” he

promised, no longer seeming so jealous. He drew Chris in
for a cuddle, then kissed him, only to find he was already
asleep.

***

The great portrait hall of the schloss changed for each

student. Marcelo and Geoffrey had learned this as they
compared notes with Nick. Nick’s Machiavelli and
Washington were replaced by Pasteur and Curie and Calvin
and Loyola as befit the situation. Marcelo in particular
found the hall conducive to meditation.

“Don’t let me disturb you.”
He had heard the deliberately heavy step behind him.

“Good morning, professor. I spoke with Loyola for a
minute.”

Morgenstern smiled. “Yes, Ignatius was one of my

better pieces of work. I understand why you would speak to
him and not,” he strolled down the line of pictures “let us
say, Luther.”

Marcelo nodded. “I toured Luther’s home in my

traveling. They are still showing the ink stain to tourists.”

“Dear, stuffy Martin. He grew full of himself in his

later years and no longer welcomed a visit from his old
teacher." Morgenstern took in the lack of surprise on
Marcelo’s face. “How long have you known, dear
Marcelo?”

“Since I came. The name is transparent. And the

legends, although not so common, are well known in
certain villages." He looked on down the wall as the more
modern pictures. “Robertson.”

“Of course. I could not have asked for a better sower of

discord." He tapped another one familiar to millions of
television viewers. “Falwell, alas, was not one of my more
successful endeavors. He is a small greedy man.”

“Cho, of South Korea..." Marcelo stared into the face

of the leading proponent of the Prosperity Gospel, which
stood in direct opposition his own Liberation Theology.
“You set us at each other’s throats.”

“You set yourselves there. I merely give you the tools.”
“Yes." Marcelo’s face was disturbed. He had been

disturbed since arriving and his unease was growing more
pronounced as the first year wore down.

“You need not continue in your studies, Marcelo." The

offer came softly and Morgenstern’s hand fell on his
shoulder.

“It is enlightening to argue with one who was present

from the dawn of time." Marcelo had thought long and hard
on the subject. “Teach me and I will use it to withhold as
many as I can from you.”

Morgenstern laughed. “So be it then. Shall we continue

with substitutionary atonement or shall we move on to
transubstantiation?”

“Why?" Marcelo turned to face him. “Why the school?

Why the teaching that we may go forth and aid mankind
when you despise us?"

Morgenstern said nothing and led him to the book-

lined study where they always argued. He sat in his great
leather chair and, for the first time since Marcelo had seen
him, the smile vanished. “Because even I am not outside of
the Divine Plan. Because, like all angels, I cannot create,
therefore I must inspire others. This is my chosen method
of it.”

Marcelo sat quietly for a minute. “I believe I

understand.”

***

New Year’s came and went with a party in the parlor

and what Chris thought of as a deathwatch for the old year.
Each boy had put in a request for a special dish at dinner
and there had been much laughter and passing of plates at

the table. They moved into the parlor. Matt and Bansi had
favored them with a composition for voice and cello.
Okeleke’s hothouse provided the orchids that graced the
occasional tables. Several of Chris’s best pieces were on
easels for the others to see.

Marcelo and Faki were quietly arguing the nature of

God in the corner. Li and Malcolm were talking computer
technology, mathematics and the possibility of life on
another planet with Ayutu and Ignacio. The discussion
often grew heated and profanities in Spanish and Japanese
vied with the Cantonese and Bunaba vulgarities.

Chris sketched ferociously, as if trying to record the

whole night for posterity in pencil. He lingered in the tight
curls of Malcolm’s hair, on the highlights of Faki’s long,
straight nose, getting the swirled embroidery of Matt’s
cuffs and the geometric designs of Bansi’s tunic.

Morgenstern merely watched over his boys, amused. At

five before midnight, he signaled Matt to stop and cranked
an old Victrola. Guy Lombardo filled the room with ”Auld
Lang Syne” to many puzzled looks.

“A happy new year,” Morgenstern said. “May your

next year here be as productive as this one has." He stepped
out the door to his rooms.

The boys, realizing the party was over, drifted back to

their rooms. Nick lingered, talking to some of the others,
but Chris, tired, went straight upstairs.

He flipped through his sketch pad: his friends; his

classmates; and always the professor. Just looking at the art
made him want Morgenstern.

He set the sketch pad aside and curled up under the

blankets to masturbate. Maybe he could be done and asleep
before Nick got in. His roommate had only gotten slicker
and more charismatic over the last year, as well as more
demanding. Chris didn’t mind the sex so much, but
sometimes, he just wanted to sleep without being fucked
first.

He put Nick out of his mind and thought of the

professor. He imagined his hand was Morgenstern’s large
one, cool and firm, wrapped around his cock and stroking.
He knew he was moaning, but couldn’t stop, lost in the
fantasy and the sensation.

Nick sitting on the edge of the bed broke both.

“Someone had himself quite a tutoring session tonight, it
looks like.”

Chris rolled up, startled and clutching the blankets

tighter around himself. Nick laughed softly and replaced
Chris’s hand with his own.

“Going bashful on me?" When Chris just looked at

him, Nick stroked Chris’s hair out of his eyes. “Big blue
eyes. Your hair’s growing out. You need to re-dye it or cut
it." He played in it a moment, touching the roots. “I like the
brown.”

Chris licked his lips, trying to find words for the

moment. He shot Nick a pleading look. “Finish me?”

Nick gave the charming half-smile. “Sure." The hand

that loosely circled Chris’s cock moved faster, gripping
tight. He moved faster and faster until Chris came over his
hand with a loud wail. Nick laughed softly and wiped his
hands on a tissue. “Noisy little thing.”

Chris rolled away, fumbled for the clove cigarettes he

kept in the night stand. After lighting one and taking a deep
drag, he sighed, “Needed that.”

Nick stroked his hair. “Your lessons are pretty good

then.”

Chris nodded. “I haven’t had a crush in years. I’ve

never had one like this.”

“Kinda hard not to around here. Alla these gorgeous

guys and the prof himself.”

“You have one too?" Chris was surprised. Nick didn’t

seem like the crushing type.

“A few actually." Nick touched his cheek. “You're

one.”

“Is it a crush if I let you have me?" Chris wasn’t sure

about that. After all, he was in Morgenstern’s bed too and it
seemed silly to describe it as something so small as a
“crush.”

“Only when I fantasize about keeping you." Nick

leaned in and kissed him, thrusting into his mouth, making
it very clear who was in control of the kiss. “That would be
a real scandal, especially since I’ll have to get married in
the next few years. No one gets anywhere without the wife
and kids and dog. Representative Admire and his wife and
his gay lover just doesn’t look the same on the Christmas
letter to the voters.”

He kissed Chris again and there were teeth behind his

lips, hard and bruising. He didn’t stop until Chris was
whimpering.

“So what was your lesson?" Nick always loved seeing

his artwork. He flipped through the sketchbook. “Still
drawing the professor at every chance, huh?”

“Light and shadow work. The fire does amazing things

to his face." Chris smiled, lost in thinking about the play of
light over the angular face.

“It’s the cheekbones, man." Nick set the sketchbook

aside and slid in beside Chris, slipping out of his pants. He
kissed Chris’s neck then licked up to his ear to whisper,
“You know, I'm not afraid of what First Baptist says
anymore. I answer to a lower power.”

***

Chris enjoyed his lessons with the professor more and

more. He knew what Morgenstern was, yet it didn’t matter.
He didn’t believe in hell or devils or God or any of it. At
the beginning of a session, when all the homework he’d
had to show were chiaroscuro studies of the professor’s
face, he found the nerve to ask.

“I want to see you, this time. Not this,” he gestured at

the glasses and the beard, “but the real you.”

Morgenstern blinked at the request. “Little artist, you

don't know what you're asking. When my kind appears
uncloaked before humans, the usual greeting is ‘Do not
fear.’ Few mortals can stand on their feet in the presence of
an angel.”

Chris set his jaw. “My gift is my eyes. I'm able to make

real what I see. And I want to see you: Lucifiel, not my
professor who likes tweed and cognac.”

Morgenstern drew Chris in close and kissed him. “If

you are certain." Chris nodded. “Sit then and take up your
materials. I cannot hold the manifestation long." He seemed
to wrap himself in a cloak of darkness that filled the entire
center of the parlor and then emerged. Chris looked upon a
true angel, his broken wings smoke-stained, golden armor
dented and tarnished, his face bruised, battered and
careworn.

Chris sat, his sketchbook in his lap for a moment. His

breath caught in his throat and he drank in every detail of
the being before him.

“Be afraid, little one,” Lucifiel, the Morning Star, said.
Chris was shaking, but he steadied his hand. “I am

afraid. I won't let it stop me." He drew rapidly, broad
strokes, capturing as much as he could before the vision
left.

After a few minutes, too few for Chris, the angel was

gone and only his much-adored professor was still there.
Chris ceased looking up from his drawing and filled in the
details from memory. Sweat stood out on his forehead and
he pushed his too-long hair out of his face several times.

Morgenstern sat quietly, drinking his cognac and

watching. When Chris finally set the sketchbook aside, he
drew the artist to his feet and kissed him. Chris clung there,
stretching the kiss out.

“Show it to me when you finish,” the professor said.

“Little one, are you too tired for me?”

“Never.”
“I feel generous,” Morgenstern said, drawing Chris

toward the bed. “What would you like tonight?”

“Sweet and slow?" His eyes were big and hopeful and

Morgenstern did not miss the bruised look of his lips.

The professor stroked his face. “You know I'm just

tempting you, ensnaring you further. And that any small
kindness done me is tantamount to sacrificing to idols.”

Chris shrugged. “I don't care. I'd rather have this than

anything else.”

Morgenstern’s laugh was soft and bitter. “So you shall,

little artist, of your own will.”

Another year passed and a third. Chris grew more and

more uneasy in his rooms. Nick had mastered persuasion
and now he could talk anyone into anything and Chris had
learned more about deviant sex than he’d ever really
wanted to know. Every time Chris made Nick angry, there
was a new and humiliating sex act to try and Chris dared
not say how much he hated them. He’d seen Nick truly
angry exactly once. Then, the solid wood armoire had
ended up so much kindling. He never wanted that turned on
him.

Nick had been quite apologetic afterward and very

loving. Even Chris had read enough to know he was
spiraling into a cycle of abuse, but he couldn’t think how to
get out. Chris noticed Nick’s anger tended to peak two days
after he’d spent the night with the professor. He also
noticed Nick never stayed out overnight anymore.

Chris knew it was over the night he came in late from a

session with Morgenstern. Nick was waiting up for him, as
he almost always did.

“Good fuck tonight, slut?” he sneered, slamming his

book onto the table.

Chris just looked confused. “Yes.”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say. Nick spat in his

direction and rolled up into the blankets, hogging the

majority of them. Chris managed to retrieve enough to
sleep under once Nick was asleep. He was disconcerted to
awaken in Nick’s arms.

The awkwardness only grew. Nick ignored him as

often as not in the next weeks. Chris could live with being
ignored, but it was the little verbal digs and the occasional
physical things that got to him. Nick would trip him when
he could, or make sure his art was destroyed just before
class. Chris began avoiding his room, except at bedtime,
which only made Nick angrier.

“Fucking around on me like a little whore,” he raged,

one evening when Chris hadn’t come in for two days.

“I only sleep with the Professor. You know that.”
Nick closed the distance. “Yeah, that's what you say.”
Chris found his voice at last. “Who else do you think

I've been with?” he demanded.

“Anyone that'll fill your pretty ass." Nick’s tone

vibrated with fury and danger. “Bet Sterling loves it when
you look up at him with those big blue eyes while your
mouth is around his cock. And I know Malcolm's been in
your pants. Bet he’s hung. If you haven't gone tail-up for
Ayutu, it's only a matter of time." Nick caught Chris by his
shirt front and slammed him against the wall to kiss him
hard, almost biting him. The move knocked away the
breath Chris had taken to refute the charges. “You’re
mine,” Nick snarled, his face ugly with possession. He did
bite Chris with the next kiss, bloodying his lip.

Chris cried out and pulled away, hitting his head on the

wall. He gasped as Nick gave a nasty laugh and dove in,
leaving a very large, dark hickey, with teeth marks in it,
high on his throat.

“Now anyone who sees you knows you’re taken. I

catch you fucking anybody else, or sucking anybody and
you are going to be one very sorry little slut.”

Chris stayed as quiet as he could. He hoped the storm

had passed. Nick’s next actions confirmed it had. Nick

drew him in and kissed him sweetly. He responded just as
sweetly, hoping the tantrum was over.

Nick cupped his face and pressed their foreheads

together. “Love you, babe. You just make me crazy-
jealous." He held Chris close, whispering over and over
how much he loved him.

Softly, Chris ventured, “I love you too. Just you. You

don't have to be jealous.”

“That's my sweet boy.”
Nick was very sweet over the next few days. He didn’t

hesitate to show affection in public. Chris was careful not
to cover the hickey, knowing Nick would want it seen.

During the next art lesson, Morgenstern ran very light

fingers over the bruise and the bite on his mouth. “Our Mr.
Admire is causing you trouble I see.”

Chris shrugged. “He just got a little rough." He didn’t

want to make a scene.

Morgenstern nodded. “And do you like him rough? Or

do you not know how to tell him no?”

“I like it to a point,” Chris covered.
“To this point?" The quiet question hung between

them.

“No, he went too far this time. Marked me. Like I was

his property or something.”

“Are you? And may I trespass?”
Chris nodded, thinking Nick was right, he was a slut to

enjoy this. “Please. Evenings with you are what keep me
going.”

Morgenstern was very gentle and Chris left,

considerably easier in his own mind. Nick was asleep, so he
slipped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and undressed
for bed. When he slid in, Nick flipped him to his back.

Chris gasped. “You’re awake.”
“Damn right." Nick backhanded him. “Out half the

night. How many put it to you? Did you fuck the eleven
other infernal apostles and his Satanic Majesty too?”

Chris just blinked, stunned by the blow and the

accusation. “Just...the professor." He shook his head trying
to clear it.

“Lying little slut." Nick rolled off and threw him bodily

out of bed. “I don’t sleep with whores.”

Chris landed hard, cracking his head on the night stand.

Nick never even checked the thud and somehow that hurt
most of all. Chris grabbed his clothes and yanked his pants
on as he left. He found one of the sofas in the parlor and
fell asleep holding his bruised head.

In the wee hours, Chris woke to a hand on his shoulder.
“This will not do. Back to your bed, little artist."

Morgenstern offered him a hand to help rise. Halfway to
the door, he saw the bruise on Chris’s face. He drew the
young man into an embrace. “Why do you sleep here?”

“Nick’s angry at me. Because of you.”
“Is he?" Morgenstern’s soothing voice counter-pointed

his gentle hand in Chris’s hair.

“I just-- I really want to leave about now.”
Morgenstern guided him back to a sofa and sat them

both down. “Darling boy, talk to me.”

“I miss home. I did have a few friends there.”
“And you have none here after three years? You do not

sit in the gardens with Okeleke and speak of flowers? You
do not draw fractals for Ignacio? Or paint as Matthew plays
the piano? You have not gotten all the boys to pose for you
at one time or another?”

Chris screwed up his courage. “May I get a new

roommate? The others like me better than Nick.”

“Jealous little beast. Perhaps it is time for a roommate

reassignment throughout the group.”

“Professor, I don't want to mess up everyone else's

assignments who are doing well together.”

“No, it is time. We always shuffle about half way

through the term. I’ll do it Saturday. Now, back to your
own room. And if Nicholas harms you again, come straight

to me.”

Chris said nothing. He decided that the next time Nick

hit him, he was going to hit back. He got his chance sooner
than expected. Morgenstern had barely shut the door
behind him when Nick left off feigning sleep.

“Had to have a second round?"
Chris knew when Nick’s voice was quiet and sweet like

that, he was in danger. When Nick slapped him, he was
ready for it. He rolled with the slap, not taking the full
brunt of it. He drove out sharply from the shoulder with his
fist, planting it in Nick’s stomach, just like they’d taught
him that summer at the Y.

Nick sat down hard. He glared up and tried to catch his

breath. “Oh baby, you just made a big fucking mistake,” he
whispered, getting to his feet and seizing Chris’s wrist.
Chris tried to pull away, but Nick held him fast and bent his
hand painfully back at the wrist. “How well you gonna
draw with a broken hand, slut?”

Chris looked scared. “Stop. Nick, please.”
Nick bent it back farther and Chris’s eyes filled with

tears. There was no question in Chris’s mind that Nick
would break it.

A wicked smile spread over Nick’s face. “Maybe I

should start with your fingers. Then every bone in your
hands. Then your wrist.”

Chris kicked at him, truly panicking now. “Professor!”

he yelled.

Nick slugged him in the jaw this time. “You want to

shut it before I break your arm, too. Both of them." He let
go of Chris’s wrist. “The Professor doesn’t care. He’s the
Devil. He wants you to suffer. You ever notice he never
calls you by name?”

Keep him talking, Chris thought. Nick loved the sound

of his own words and maybe he’d forget his threats. “I
noticed in the first month. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then this doesn’t either." Nick snapped the little

finger of Chris’s left hand as casually as breaking a twig.

Chris clutched his injured hand between his thighs and

staggered to the bed. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of Nick,
but a whimper escaped him anyway. He lay down and
curled into a ball.

“That's for hitting me, asshole. You want to keep the

other nine out of splints, you better calm down and be
good." Nick wrapped himself around Chris and hissed in
his ear, “Do I make myself clear, you little shit? Nobody
goes down your throat or up your ass except me.”

Chris shoved an elbow back. “Not even you. Not

anymore. Get away from me.”

Nick only clutched him tighter, pinning his arms to his

side. “You're wrong about that, little bitch. I'll have you
when I want. Or I’ll make you an even sorrier slut than you
are now.”

“Never again,” Chris insisted quietly. He rocked a bit,

his finger throbbing.

“Oh I wouldn’t put any money on that." Nick thrust

against him through their pajama pants, letting Chris feel
just how hard this had made him. “ I’ve been wondering
how easy one of your palette knives would take out an eye.
I think you'll be begging me to fuck you in a week if not
less.”

Chris didn’t say anything. He heard the threat and

understood it clearly. He let Nick hold him and whisper
about how good it all could be if he’d just quit fucking
around. He didn’t have the energy to correct Nick, or even
the desire now. Dawn was just starting to show in the castle
windows when Nick let go of him. Chris shuddered when
Nick kissed his neck and waited until he was gone for real.

He made his way down the steps and knocked on

Geoffrey’s door. The young doctor would help him. He had
to.

Geoff looked him over. “What did you do, pinch it in

an easel?" His hands were gentle and careful as he set and

splinted the finger. “You should always come to me at
once.”

“It was late,” Chris said. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“This hurt you all night, I know. It may be late, but

never hesitate to call. Wake me if you must.”

Chris glanced around, nervous, hoping Nick didn’t

overhear the encounter and read it as cheating.

“Okay. You keep it dry and take the pain pills at the

first sign of discomfort. Do not wait to truly hurt." He
handed Chris a vial with several tablets in it. When Chris
took it, Geoff noticed the bruises on his right wrist. He
knew what they were. “What happened here?” he asked,
waiting to see if Chris would tell the truth.

“I fell on the stairs. Caught myself.”
Geoff’s eyes were cold and narrow. “You are lying."

He indicated the palm and inner wrist. “You see, breaking a
fall would bruise you here and here." He wrapped his hand
around Chris’s wrist. “Being grabbed bruises you just as
you are.”

Chris just looked at him. After a long while, he

dropped his eyes and nodded.

“It was no easel, was it?" Geoff’s soft question made

Chris shake.

“Don't say a word. He's my roommate. He'll break my

hand in the night while I'm sleeping." The panic was back
in the edged of Chris’s voice.

“Tell the professor,” Geoff urged. “If you do not, I

must.”

Chris shook his head. “We’re getting new roommates

in a few days. Just keep quiet, please?”

“What else did he threaten to do to you that you are so

frightened?”

“Don’t. Please. Not unless you can make me new

eyes.”

Geoff looked horrified. “He is a psychopath.”
“He loves me and he’s jealous,” Chris corrected.

“Love is not broken bones and threats of blinding, my

friend. I will speak to the professor before I sign your death
certificate.”

“Just stay out of it. Thank you for the fix." Chris left in

a hurry, only to find Nick coming down the stairs as he
stepped out of Geoff’s infirmary office and closed the door.
He held up the splint by way of explanation.

Nick scowled. “Later,” he promised and left for his

class.

Chris spent the day in the room until a summons came

from the professor. He knocked on the door of the study,
trying to keep his splint out of sight. Morgenstern looked
up from behind the great ebony desk.

“Come in and have a seat." Morgenstern waited until

Chris was sitting in the big leather chair, taking up as small
a space as he could occupy. “Our young doctor told me a
most distressing tale today." At Chris’s sigh, he
commanded, “Show me your hands, little one." He looked
at the bruises that were even darker now. “Rooms will be
reassigned at dinner tonight. Now tell me why you did not
come straight to me from the infirmary.”

Chris just shook his head.
“It has been a pattern, yes? And it has escalated from a

few nasty words to broken bones." Chris nodded, not
wanting to tell of Nick’s threat to take his eyes. “Now, he
keeps you in fear. What does he threaten to do? And why?”

“He thinks I sleep with everyone here. And you know

he's jealous. He hit me after you brought me back last
night. I hit back, or tried. Then he threatened to break my
hand. I tried to make him let me go and he broke my finger
in retaliation. I yelled for you. Why didn’t you come?”

“I did not hear." Morgenstern let that statement lie

between them. “Won't he make a prize husband for some
luckless woman?”

“I do love him. But I can't risk my hand." Chris tried to

make him understand.

“Would a man who loves you threaten to hurt you in

any way? Would he break bones? Would he threaten your
very gift?”

Chris shrugged at the questions. “If I made him angry

enough, anyone could.”

“Yes, I think we will reassign. You are not to be alone

with him again. Stay here until supper." Morgenstern rose
to leave and shut his eyes at the sight of Chris massaging
his bruised hand to keep it limber.

***

Chris eyed his new roommate with suspicion. Marcelo

was nice enough, he knew, but he wasn’t sure why the
professor had him in the room with the theologian. He hung
up his clothes and watched Marcelo finish praying.

“Our teacher has a sense of humor, Christian,” Marcelo

said. “I will not bite. The worst I do is leave my socks
about and mumble a great deal.”

“You won’t try converting me?" Chris asked. “I

thought that was your mission.”

“Have you heard the basic message or is all you know

of your namesake the “you may not” of legalism?”

“What do you think is the basic message?” Chris had

been baptized and made his First Communion, but after
Grandpa got sick, Grandma hadn’t taken him to church any
more and it hadn’t stuck.

“That God loves us. He sent his only son to teach us of

radical equality and free us from fear. And by believing, we
are obligated to love others and preach freedom to them.”

Chris rolled his eyes, biting his tongue hard. This was

nothing like what he heard about Christians on the news.
“The words full of shit come to mind. So you don’t hate
gay people and bomb abortion clinics, calling everyone else
a sinner while ignoring your own?”

Marcelo shook his head. “My own are quite clear to me

and I work on them. I won't beat you with my Bible, I
promise.”

Chris, remembering protests and laws and other

nastiness back home, pressed, “And if I say I like being
fucked more than fucking someone, you'd say I'm on my
way straight to hell. No matter how much charity and
kindness I showed.”

Marcelo smiled. “What makes you think there is a

Hell?”

“I don't. It's someone's fanciful idea to scare people

into staying in line.”

“The Professor may have different words about that,

but that is my belief as well. As for the sex...did not Jesus
heal the Centurion's boy?" Seeing Chris’s confusion, he
told the story of how the Centurion came begging healing
for his servant who was paralyzed. “The word used is pais,
which is a boy, an armor bearer. Most centurions, stationed
away from their wives took the pais to bed in the Greek
fashion.”

Chris thought about it. “But you still wouldn't do it.”
“No, for I am married to the church. Even if men

appealed, it would be adultery.”

Chris smiled. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
The next two years passed quietly. Marcelo’s

easygoing ways made him a pleasant roommate, even if he
did, as forewarned, leave his socks about. Chris turned out
a number of pictures of all the other students. Morgenstern
had laughed a bit when he saw the crucifix Chris had
drawn, with Marcelo’s face and body.

“Your roommate has not seen this one, I take it?”
Chris shook his head. “He asked me not to, but I

couldn’t resist.”

Morgenstern nodded. “It is hard to be a man of God in

an era when God is obsolete. Are you safe and content with
him?”

Chris nodded. He would not tell of Nick stealing roses

and leaving them for him, or the occasional love note. He
steadfastly ignored all of the advances. It seemed, each
time he was tempted, a rain storm would make his broken
finger talk to him. Geoff had told him it was arthritis setting
in early.

“It may not progress beyond the one joint, or you may

lose use of your hands before forty. It is an unpredictable
disease.”

Frightened, Chris spent more hours a day painting and

drawing. Marcelo only bothered him to make sure he ate.

As the sixth year wore down, Morgenstern called each

student into his office and discussed his body of work. Li
had published twelve papers in six years. Ayutu had named
three new stars. Marcelo had written four books, reams of
sermons and many articles. Matthew had cut five records
and was finishing mixing and post-production on the sixth.
He was engaged to Bansi. They had announced it at
Christmas. Geoffrey had patented a new surgical procedure.

Chris brought his entire portfolio down. They sat up

late into the night, looking over his art: the landscapes, the
figure studies, the nudes. Chris lingered over his
illustrations for several of his favorite books. His particular
pride, the Poe series, illustrated “The Raven,” “The Cask of
Amontillado,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” and “The
Masque of the Red Death." His Madeline and Roderick
clung incestuously in death. Bibulous Fortunato, his face
sardonic and sadistic, hung in the chains of the half-mad
Montresor. The raven gazed malevolently down from the
blind bust of Pallas. And Prince Prospero’s seven rooms
were garishly bright, their bad taste readily apparent even
as the dancing figures collapsed bloody and dying from the
Red Death.

Morgenstern approved the lot. “I have a friend who

would enjoy adding these to a new Poe collection. With
your approval?”

Chris looked amazed. “Yes?" It was something he’d

never dared dream, not even since he was little Gothling
reading “The Telltale Heart” for the first time. He’d always
wanted to do the illustrations, but he’d never been brave
enough or confident enough to try.

“Splendid. Now I have a task for you. Consider it your

final examination if you wish. Take the whole year to do
it." He rose and paced. “On New Year's Eve, we will have a
last party in the parlor, as we have done for the last five
years and as we will do tomorrow. But this one, it will be
different. At 11:45, I will fan out a deck of tarot cards. Each
of you will choose a single card to indicate your future."
Morgenstern kissed his neck and Chris shivered under his
lips. “I should like you to draw this class’s deck. My artist
always does when I have one in residence. I find the cards
respond better in those classes than when I must use a
commercially produced one.”

Chris nodded. “I have a Rider-Waite deck in my room.

I can base it from that.”

Morgenstern smiled. “Excellent. After the last future is

cast, this class will pay the tuition fee and go out.”

Chris looked him over, then looked out the window and

started sketching the schloss for the back of the cards.

***

New Year’s Eve came around again and with it the

annual party. Chris did not request anything special from
the kitchen. He’d finished the Tarot Deck in October and
spent the last two months drawing and painting during all
his waking hours. Most of the requested dishes went back
only half-eaten anyway. Melancholy hung around the men.
They had all spent the day packing and there was a decided
sense of foreboding in the air. None knew exactly what the
fee for his education would be and some were more
worried than others.

In the parlor, there was none of the usual drinking and

laughter. The Victrola was in its usual place, but a large
gold cup sat on a small rosewood table next to the Tarot
deck that Chris had drawn.

At eleven, Morgenstern appeared. They all knew who

he was now. There could be no mistaking it, for he had
manifested in his true form. There were a few gasps from
those who had thought Chris’s paintings were merely
fantasy art and grotesques. Morgenstern seated himself on a
low stool before the rosewood table, his great scorched and
broken wings held stiffly behind him. Chris wanted to weep
seeing him like this.

“One by one, my boys, come to me. Draw a card for

your future, which you may keep, and drink the cup of
parting. After you have paid your fee, Lillian is waiting to
take you back to the airport. I have enjoyed your company,
now go out and spread what you have learned here. There
are others who have studied here. You know them. You may
call on them for aid at any time. Draw the cards, my boys.
Let us see what awaits you.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Not everyone had

believed the legends. Some did not even believe in a devil.
Marcelo mumbled a prayer that his soul would not be
required of him. To everyone’s surprise, Nick was not first.
Sterling drew first. He’d never fit in with others, seeing
them as a bunch of brains and art-fags. He, at least, was
practical.

“Ah, Sterling. I expect to hear great things of you, my

boy.”

Sterling just scowled and pulled a card from the deck.

“The Tower." It was, the lightening-struck tower with the
figures plummeting from it. Chris’s hand had darkened it.
No yods fluttered about like tongues of flame to symbolize
a rebirth from the destruction. “Not looking good.”

“A climb to great heights, my dear." Morgenstern said.

“You should be proud.”

“Yeah, but you should know better than anyone what

they say about pride and falls." Sterling got up, the trump
still in hand. “Thanks for everything." He went to sit on the
benches next to the far wall, without drinking and without a
hug for his roommate.

Matt decided he was next and sat before the table, his

long pianist’s fingers drifting over the cards. He drew the
Two of Cups. The two lovers pledging themselves beneath
the angelic face–which resembled Morgenstern–were both
male. The man on the right handed the cup to the one on
the left, with an odd gesture at the rim that looked almost as
if he were poisoning it.

“A lovely card,” Morgenstern said. “Showing

partnerships, marriage and working together." Matt’s
green eyes flashed to where Bansi stood with the others. It
was no secret the pair was deeply in love. The records they
had cut here at the schloss had burnt up the charts and were
still selling steadily.

“Thank you, sir. For everything." Matt drank from the

cup and rose. “Good whiskey too.”

“Water of life, is that not what it is?" Morgenstern

smiled as Matt stepped to the bench.

Bansi seated himself next, his blue silk shimmering in

the dim light. He’d taken to using kohl in the last few years
and Morgenstern thought it a lovely addition. He drew the
Lovers and smiled, his dark eyes shining. Both figures on
the card were male and again the angel above them looked
like the professor, as did the serpent in the tree.

Morgenstern said nothing but simply smiled back and

nodded toward Matt. Bansi leaned across the table, kissed
Morgenstern lightly.

“Thank you. For everything." He drank and rose. Matt

was waiting for him.

Okeleke seated himself next, his large calloused hands

moving over the cards. He drew the Magician. There were
no lilies about his feet only black roses, with one blooming
bloodily scarlet, and the usual serpent was a Sam Browne

belt instead of a mere sash.

“Transformation, transfiguration. Appropriate, my

magician who will draw out all the greatness of the richest
continent, so sorely neglected." Morgenstern smiled.

Okeleke offered no more than a handshake. “Thank

you. I will use what I have learned here." He drank and
went to sit.

Geoffrey sat down before the seat was cold. He pulled

the Queen of Cups, who stared into her closed cup,
contemplating its occult mysteries even as the waves
lapped about her knees.

“Morbid. Christian’s art is always morbid,” he said.
Morgenstern frowned and tapped the deck. “And it tells

us nothing save that you are a doctor." He looked
apologetic. Geoffrey leaned over and kissed him. It wasn’t
a light one as Bansi had done. Geoff had been in
Morgenstern’s bed almost as often as Chris.

“Thank you, for all of it, my beloved professor." He

drank of the cup and left the table.

Marcelo took the seat, looking uncomfortable. “I have

never touched such a deck,” he said. Morgenstern nodded.
He pulled his card quickly and placed on the table as if
afraid it would burn him. A decaying Hierophant, dressed
in the fashion of the Borgias, but looking much like
Benedict XVI, lolled drunkenly on the throne, his crown
askew. “Blasphemy,” he whispered.

“For all of the artist’s irreverence, you have drawn

well. There is the literal meaning that you may yet be Pope,
as well as the notion you are a wise counselor and teacher
and friend." He beckoned Marcelo closer. “You will be
Marcellus II.”

Marcelo’s eyes narrowed. St. Marcellus had guided the

church through some of the darkest periods of Diocletian’s
persecution and was exiled. The prophecy did not bode
well. He smiled anyway.

“Lies from the Father of Lies. It has been interesting

and I will use your own knowledge against you and keep as
many from your hands as possible.”

“I would expect no less. I have enjoyed our

discussions." Morgenstern gave him a fond smile and was
not offended when Marcelo rose without drinking or taking
his card along.

Quiet Ayutu stepped to the table and sat opposite the

professor. “I thank you for all your teachings." He reached
out and drew his card, Judgment. Here Chris had not drawn
on the standard deck so much as Hieronymus Bosch. A
distant, unreachable Christ, flanked by a smug looking
host, gave his approval to the burning lands and the
torments of the Damned. Chris smiled, glad someone had
pulled that card. Nick, nearby, shot a glance at Chris. He
moved in closer and was unhappy to see it was his own
gloating face Chris had painted on the Christ.

Ayutu let the card lie. He would not touch the ugly

thing again. “What does it mean?”

“You will change the world, my boy, or at least how

the universe and world are seen. With you, we will leave
the old behind and step into a new understanding of the
universe.”

Ayutu did not see how the distressing painting before

him could have such a positive meaning. He drank. “Thank
you, Professor." He rose without the card.

Chris, not wanting to deal with the scene Nick was

about to cause, sat down. He ghosted his fingers over the
backs of the card, which showed only the schloss, feeling
for the one that drew him. He turned over the one that
seemed to prickle under his fingertips.

Trump fifteen. The Devil. Morgenstern brooded,

broken wings and all, on an iron throne in an odd cross
between the styles of Doré and Rosetti. Chris smiled shyly
up at his teacher while the others gasped.

Morgenstern simply nodded. “It is no surprise to me.

None of the others loved me as you do. Do not drink, little

one, for there will be no parting. You will be this class’s
payment for their schooling. Thirteen enter, but only twelve
leave.”

A great gasp went up from the others. They had all

expected their souls to be demanded. Chris said nothing,
just stared at the card. Finally, he went to sit with the
others.

The other five drew their cards in subdued silence.

There was no chance of damnation now. The sacrifice had
been chosen. They felt guilty in their relief. Faki drew the
Ace of Wands and recoiled from the spirit hand that looked
about to club the viewer instead of merely passing the
baton.

“Take the staff and walk the new path you will chart

for us,” Morgenstern said gently. Faki kept the card, drank
and left to sit.

Li drew Temperance, to find his own face staring back

as he poured liquid from a test-tube to a beaker.
Morgenstern merely smiled. “Does it need explanation,
little chemist? Thesis and antithesis to make synthesis.
Alchemy made scientific.”

“Thank you, professor." Li kissed his cheek, shot a

smile at Chris, drank and waited, staring at the card.

“And now we are three.”
Malcolm drew the Queen of Swords, her face set in

cruel lines, her beckoning hand bloody from her sword, the
angel on her throne a tormented demon. “She is knowledge
and computers. What more do you see, Professor?”

“Only that, my boy. Beware of too much knowledge

and aloofness." He smiled when Malcolm kissed his cheek
and drank. He offered the deck out to the next.

Ignacio took his card and scowled at the Four of

Swords. Three swords hung above the Knight’s Tomb, but
the fourth impaled the effigy instead of decorating the side.
He gave Chris an exasperated look.

“You have learned much. Now, a time of rest before

you go forth to ignite the world with your new theories,
Ignacio.”

“Thank you, Professor." Ignacio offered a handshake

before taking the card and a drink.

“Mr. Admire?" The professor offered him the denuded

deck.

Nick had hung back, wanting to talk to Chris. Now, he

sat down, tossed the professor a half-smile and pocketed
Ayutu’s Judgment card. When he drew his own card, the
King of Wands looked back at him. He gazed on a vital
redheaded man seemingly in control of all he surveyed and
then he noticed the king was dead, his neck broken. The
lions on the pillar behind him ravened and devoured, with
no regal bearing at all. The salamander at his feet had
ignited his salamander-patterned cloak. A small purse hung
about his neck on a noose of rope.

Morgenstern smiled at him. “Alexander. Caesar.

Charlemagne. Henry V. Washington. Robespierre. Vladimir
Ilyich Ulyanov, called Lenin. All of them found this card,
Nicholas. It is a sign of greatness. But mind the tyranny and
jealousy." He shot a glance at Chris’s hands. Nick had the
grace to look ashamed. “I think you will do well enough for
yourself, President Admire.”

Nick leaned over and kissed him, long and slow.

“Thank you." He beckoned Chris over and kissed him too.
“Just one last one." He drank the cup to the dregs, pocketed
the card and rose.

Lilian beckoned them all from the doorway. “It is time,

my boys." The men left, only a few casting short, backward
glances at Chris.

Chris simply looked at Professor Morgenstern,

frightened, yet pleased with the choice he made.
Morgenstern stood up, broken wings flexing unconsciously,
and put the deck into a drawer of the table.

“One last mortal pleasure before we make the

transition to Hell. Anything you desire, this one last time.”

"Just you," Chris whispered, slipping his hand into the

professor's own. He was quiet on the way to Morgenstern's
bedroom, nervous but still trusting. His teacher had never
steered him wrong yet, devil or no. He couldn't stop the
nagging voice that said things were all about to change.

Morgenstern had turned back into his human form on

the way to the room. Chris was thankful. Even as often as
he'd seen the true form, he couldn't help but be intimidated
by it. Now the professor was simply the beautiful man he'd
fallen in love with seven years ago.

Chris took control of the entire encounter, the first time

he'd ever dared to do so. Undressing and climbing on top of
Morgenstern earned him an amused cocked eyebrow and
chuckle. The artist blushed. His own boldness surprised
even him. "I want to ride you," he offered as an
explanation.

"If you'd like that, I would enjoy it." Morgenstern's

eyes closed briefly and he sighed when Chris bent
gracefully to kiss his neck. This one had always been
fearless and unwavering no matter what was thrown his
way. Chris had known almost from the beginning who his
teacher was and came willingly anyway. Morgenstern was
glad to deny heaven the chance to have him.

"I want it." Again, the absolute certainty colored

Chris's words. The same certainty that he had, knowing
which card had belonged to him. It made sense. Almost if
he had been predestined from birth.

Morgenstern smiled as if knowing his very thoughts.

"Prepare us then. I think I should like to watch."

Chris grabbed the lube, conveniently set out on the

nightstand table. He took his time, lubing Morgenstern
well. Most men would kill to have a cock the size of the
professor’s. "So beautiful," he murmured, using slow but
firm strokes, slicking him all the way to the base.

"Let me?" the professor asked when his artist turned to

preparing himself. His boy was always unfailingly tight. He

directed Chris to turn around, on knees and elbows above
him. He craned his neck, running his tongue up the cleft.

"All yours now," Chris moaned as Morgenstern worked

him with long, well-lubed fingers. The professor hooked
them forward to stroke his prostate as a knowing reply to
that statement.

Morgenstern chucked as Chris gasped and squirmed

from the stimulation. "Feels good, doesn't it, little one?" At
Chris's moaned agreement, the professor added a third,
slowly and carefully.

Chris's back arched, the third finger burning as it

stretched him. Determined, he pushed back through the
pain, fucking himself on the professor's hand. He heard
Morgenstern's fond laugh come from behind him. "If they
feel that good, imagine how my cock will be."

"I'm ready for it," Chris gasped, still moving on those

long, clever fingers, letting them open him up.

"Then take it, little one," Morgenstern removed his

fingers slowly, finishing with one more lick along his boy's
perineum. Chris always made sure to be sweet and clean
for him.

Chris turned back around, grabbing his professor's cock

in one hand and directing him in as he sat back on him.

Morgenstern smiled the entire time, watching the range

of expressions on his artist's face: the small grimace of pain
when the head pressed in, opening Chris further, the
pleasure that relaxed him even further as Morgenstern
moved past his prostate and finally the frustration when
Chris seemed unable to take any more.

"Do you need help, little one? You're so sweetly tight

this evening."

Chris gnawed on his lip, reddening it with his teeth.

"No, I know you fit."

Morgenstern rested his hands on Chris' hips, not

forcing, only guiding him. Ever so slowly, his boy settled
back, taking him in fully. A low groan escaped Chris's lips

and a tremble passed through the strong, lithe body atop the
fallen angel.

Morgenstern touched his face, gentle. "Dear boy. My

little one. None has loved me so in centuries."

"Adore you," Chris agreed, burying his head against

the professor's shoulder, tasting his skin and again silencing
the voice that said soon he would only taste fire and sulfur.

"I know, sweetness, I know." Morgenstern directed

him back upward, playing with Chris' nipples until they
peaked under his fingers and his boy was squirming wildly
in pleasure above him. "You always do like that." He
continued to pinch and roll them, hand occasionally
straying down, only grazing Chris' cock.

Chris leaned back, rapidly going incoherent. The

professor's angle was perfect and he took full advantage of
it until his body demanded more. He leaned back down,
pulling at Morgenstern's arm to roll them both over. Once
on his back, he wrapped his legs tightly around his teacher
and pleaded for a pounding. “All of it. All of you,” he
gasped.

Morgenstern smiled wickedly "Wings and all, little

one?"

"Everything," Chris demanded.
With a shudder, the professor was gone, manifesting

fully into the Lucifer Chris had only imagined in his
wildest dreams. Not the broken angel Lucifiel, but the true
Master of Hell. Chris’s eyes grew huge taking in the fangs
and horns of his new master. The demon bent forward,
kissing him open-mouthed with a rough, forked tongue.
Chris opened his mouth, accepting the invasion, tasting this
new incarnation.

The demon moved slowly, deeply, speeding up

gradually until he was giving Chris the pounding he had
asked for. The giant bat-wings fanned down on the
outstroke, up on the instroke and the room reeked of sulfur.

Morgenstern cried out in climax and made the

translation between planes. Chris felt the shift, as reality
went out of joint, and he felt all his insides lurch about two
feet to the left of where he was. He moaned, his eyes closed
very tightly.

Morgenstern slipped out of him and rose without

another touch. “Open your eyes and welcome to Hell.”

Chris opened his eyes slowly. Nothing had changed. It

was still the professor’s bedroom, down to the small scratch
on the headboard. He blinked a few times, confused.

Morgenstern, now in his winged form, simply laughed.

“You didn't listen to your roommate, did you? Hell is
simply the absence of God.”

Chris got up and looked out the window. The landscape

was the same bare rock of the mountains around the
schloss, except Okeleke’s beloved roses were missing. “No
fire?” he asked.

“No fire. Just your rooms, here, for eternity, with me.

Some say that's curse enough.”

Chris smiled and reached up for a kiss from his fallen

angel. “I can do this.”

“Of course, little love. As one of my favorite students

said: ‘The mind is its own place, and in it self/Can make a
Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.’”

Talk Like A Pirate Day

I: Friday

David glanced over at Robin, who dozed against the

window of their battered old lake truck. As was his habit,
David checked his lover's lip color and his fingernails. All
healthy pink, without the cyanotic blue that heralded
another heart attack.

Robin said he worried too much. But David knew

better. He had nearly lost his lover to a myocardial
infarction three years before, when Robin was only thirty-
seven. Robin's family all had bad hearts, but David wanted
to keep his man as long as possible.

Robin woke up as his head bounced off the window

when David hit a rut in the graded, unpaved lake-road. He
looked out at the large rocks in the ditch and at the red
earth banks leading up to forest. “How long have I been
asleep?”

“Since about Cole Camp. Sorry about the bump.”
“It's all right. I must have needed the nap." He braced

as the truck hit another rut and bounced off a rock. The
woods had not yet turned their colors, but only showed the
first hints of the fiery oranges and yellows. The sumac
burned red amid the fading green.

David glanced over at him again. Robin grinned and

patted David's hand. “I'm not dead yet.”

David returned it and said “Of course not. I've been

listening to your stomach gurgle from the chili dogs in
Windsor. Onions were not the wisest choice, nor was the
chocolate malt.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. It's veggies all

week. I'll be good. But it was worth it. Their drive-in still

makes the best chili dogs this side of the Varsity.”

“You say that every time we stop there. Perhaps not

vegetables all week,” David relented. “I was hoping for
some nice fresh bluegill or bass this weekend." The lake
was always well stocked. “Fish is good for you.”

“Yum. And nice long walks in the woods to get my

exercise in.”

“Of course. No spelunking though.”
Robin made a face. “All right, only into the outer

chamber of that cave up behind the cabin. Do we have to
put the boat away for winter yet?”

“Not yet. Next month." David smiled. “I would love to

take you out on the Dragon, in the sunset, with the trees all
at their peak color.”

Robin laughed softly. “Just like we do every fall. But

the Dragon? The boat's called Pegasus.”

“It was an ad campaign years ago, before I met you.

They call the lake the Magic Dragon. It didn't fly because
Missouri is too full of folks who think dragons are evil and
not enticing. I was thinking of it as you slept.”

“And why be it called the Magic Dragon? A sea

monster be dwellin' within?" Robin, fully awake, was
exhibiting his usual playfulness and demonstrating an
execrable sea-dog vocabulary. David was constantly
amazed that a man with a twelve-prescription life and a job
as a maintenance supervisor was so perpetually cheerful
and boyish.

“The shape of it. Look on the map.”
Robin traced the shape of the lake on the map, looking

disappointed. “I was hoping for the monster.”

“I'm sure you're monster enough, at least to infest our

small cove.”

“Oh, aye. I'm monster enough for you. Yarr." Robin

grinned again, his dark eyes flashing above high
cheekbones. “You know tomorrow is Talk Like a Pirate
Day.”

David dodged a large rock that was half-blocking his

lane. “Yo-ho-ho,” he said sarcastically. “So, are you going
to board the Pegasus, take me hostage, haul me back to
your hidden cave and have your wicked, rum-soaked,
sodomitic, lash-ridden way with me?" His brown eyes
twinkled and he winked.

“If you're willing to be plundered there'll be no need

for lashes." Robin's voice was already broadening out to
something that was a bizarre cross between every bad
pirate accent and every bad London accent David had ever
heard.

David shot him a pout. “Not even a few? Not even to

one who likes a bit of warmth on the backside before the
warmth of contact?”

“I'm not a cruel captain. I'd be usin' a hand or paddle

for that sweet arse, not a lash.”

David was already getting hard just from the tease. He

turned onto the back road that led to the cabin. “And for
what sort of infraction might I get such?" He saw Robin
glance at his crotch and smile.

“Failin' to hand over your purse and the key to your

treasure chest, of course." Robin stroked his thin mustache.

David laughed as he parked the truck near the cabin.

He leaned across the seat. “As I have no key and my purse
is flat...”

Robin nibbled at his lip. “I'll not be leavin' without

satisfaction.”

David kissed him, lingering as he had longed to do for

hours since leaving Windsor, even with the onions.
Watching Robin eat the chili dog had been pure torture--his
firm lips closing around the bun and meat in a near-parody
of a perfect blow-job-- and now David was hard again from
his lover's teasing.

“Let's get unloaded and then we can take it to the water

tomorrow, Captain.”

Robin climbed out of the truck and picked up the

suitcases, leaving the heavier food box for David. He
unlocked the sliding glass doors of the cabin and opened
them. David staggered past him with the wooden box that
protected their groceries in the open truck bed.

David put the refrigerated things away and Robin set

the clothes in the bedroom. He snuck up behind David and
wrapped his arms around David's waist.

“I love you.”
David smiled. “And you know I never tire of hearing

that." He looked out. “You know, we have just time for a
sunset cruise before unpacking.”

“Or we could save the boat and go for a sunset swim,”

Robin suggested.

David smiled. Robin had learned to swim in PT after

his heart attack and preferred it to most other types of
exercise. “Our trunks are in the bottom drawer as always."
He scooted the box under the counter and went for the
bureau.

Robin got there first and dangled his trunks just out of

reach, as he unbuttoned his shirt. David decided to fight
dirty. He leaned in and licked Robin's nipples, brown on the
smooth chest.

Robin shivered. He had very sensitive nipples and

David never hesitated to press his advantage. David closed
his teeth, just enough that Robin would feel them
threatening the tender tip.

“Take it then, old man,” Robin flounced, giving his

best snarky-queen-in-high-dudgeon act as he flung the
swim trunks at David with a gratuitous flick of his wrist.
He stripped out of his clothes and was into the skimpy
yellow suit with obscene looking cherries all over it before
David finished getting out of his sneakers. “Race you to the
water.”

David stripped faster and chased Robin to the shore,

laughing. He caught his lover in the knee-deep water not
far from the dock. Robin rewarded him with a kiss and

David took seconds.

“You keep me young,” he sighed, holding Robin close

and getting them into chest deep-water. He stroked the
erection he could feel in the ridiculous cherry trunks. He
fished his own cock out and pressed them together.

Robin said nothing, just fastened his mouth on David's

and let his lover stroke them as the sunset turned the water
golden and pink and purple and then black. The stars came
out and they still bobbed, not swimming, just holding
together near the dock. David felt Robin shiver as the
water cooled.

“Back inside and let's have a snack and bed. There will

be plenty of time to play tomorrow and Sunday.”

Robin nodded and David led him back up to the house,

both of them bundled in one large beach towel.

II: Saturday

David put the oatmeal on the table, watching the sun

rise over the lake. Robin would sleep for another hour, if
left to himself and then grumble about sleeping the day
away. He went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the
bed, leaning over to kiss Robin.

“Rise and shine, Captain. Your breakfast be ready.”
“Aye,” Robin grumbled. He opened one eye and

staggered into the kitchen before flopping into the chair. He
dumped half a cup of skim milk over the oatmeal and
growled when he hit a walnut on the first bite. “Just isn't
the same without cream.”

David sprinkled two teaspoons of non-dairy creamer

over Robin's oatmeal and settled in for his own bowl. “I
thought we might get some fishing in the morning. And
then I'll take the Pegasus out this afternoon, since stowing
away would be much easier in the cruiser than the
rowboat."

Robin looked up from the oatmeal, very puzzled.

David caught the look.

“Or did we intend to start with me already your

prisoner and depart from the front porch for the cave? I
thought that would be a bit anti-climactic.”

“Should be plenty climactic,” Robin grinned as he

spooned up the last bite. “I just didn't think much about it.
Stowing away it is." He leaned over for an unpirate-like
kiss.

“Ah darling. You tempt me to play now and fish for

dinner this evening." David made a fast decision. “Shall we
take it to the waters, captain?”

“Aye." Robin went into the bedroom and came out

wearing what he could put together, a tight pair of black
jeans, a loose black shirt left open and wrapped and a piece
of cloth--that looked suspiciously like Robin's least favorite
sheet--tied as a sash and headscarf. David was surprised by

the cuffed sea boots. No wonder the suitcases had been
heavy. “I planned ahead, just a little." He jangled his
necklaces with a be-ringed hand. David smiled, recognizing
several items from the bubble-gum machine at the grocery
store.

Robin stole a kiss and headed for the boat. David

cleared away the breakfast things, went to the bedroom for
a minute. Robin had laid out a loose black shirt and tight
black jeans for him. A pair of boots sat beside the bed. He'd
used to wear them to kink clubs before Robin had gotten
sick, but hadn't seen them in years. Robin had really
planned ahead and dug a lot. A scrawled note read, “Look
good enough to be plundered.”

David laughed and changed clothes, giving Robin time

to hide properly. Once dressed, he strode down to the dock
and cast off the little cabin cruiser from its moorings. He
checked the life-jackets and first-aid kit, then putted out
into the Lake.

About ten minutes later, he felt a poke in the small of

his back. Plastic, pointy... David grinned. A toy sword. He
cut the engine and raised his hands.

“Your purse and your treasure, mate, and I'll not harm

ye,” Robin growled in his ear.

“My treasure is ashore and my purse is quite flat,”

David responded.

“Ashore? How far of a sail?" Robin's breath was hot on

his neck and David was aroused already.

“Not,” he gasped, “not far.”
“Set course." Robin jabbed him lightly with the plastic

sword again. David flinched as drew in a sharp breath.

“Aye, Captain. Just don't hurt me. I'm an old man but I

like living.”

“You have me word.”
David turned the engine back on and headed back to

the dock at a sedate ten miles per hour. He was quite hard
and used the console to conceal this as he pretended to

tremble in fear. He smiled faintly, anticipating the next
move in this bit of play.

When they drew near the dock, he turned off the engine

and used the paddle to maneuver them in closer. He hopped
out and tied the boat off to its mooring place. He rose and
looked for Robin. Not seeing him, David stood up and
turned toward the cabin.

“You wouldn't be thinkin' of leaving me so soon, now,”

Robin drawled in his ear, pressing a toy flintlock to the
base of his skull with his left hand while the right held the
sword in David's back.

“Never." David let Robin march him up the dock,

across the yard and along the path behind the cabin. He
kept his hands raised and well apart. He could only imagine
what the Ladds and Sanders would be telling each other
over dinner. He led the way into the dry cave in the hillside
behind the house.

Years ago, he'd gone to some small trouble and expense

to have the cave cleared out and cleaned up. Now it was a
favorite hide-away. There were days when he hid out up
here, unable to deal with Robin's illness or his own
responsibility. It seemed an hour of lying on the well-
scoured stone shelf grounded him and left him better able
to cope.

“Where's the treasure?” Robin demanded.
“I lied to save my skin,” David confessed.
Robin sauntered around in front of him and gave his

best menacing look, a dark glower that made David's
stomach flip and his balls ache. “And why do you think it's
saved now?”

David shrugged. “At least I won't be keelhauled.”
“I won't leave without satisfaction.”
David shivered as Robin ran the point of the sword

down his chest. “I have nothing, my lord,” he pleaded,
trying to sound frightened.

“Your clothes." Robin emphasized this by catching the

sleeve of David's shirt with the sword-point. “Remove
them.”

David stripped very slowly, with a great show of

reluctance. When he got his pants off there was no way to
hide that he was very hard and starting to leak a little, the
clear droplets welling up and slipping under the retracted
foreskin and down the length of his cock. He caught Robin
eying him and the tip of Robin's tongue poking out to
moisten his lips and smiled privately.

Robin folded the clothes and moved them out of his

reach. “They're good cloth. They will last me for a few
seasons. But I'm still not satisfied.”

David tried to look frightened. “I have nothing else.”
In answer, Robin unzipped his fly and David caught a

glimpse of skin. He went to his knees, carefully, and
breathed into the gap, then inhaled, taking in the clean
smell that was purely Robin. “Shall I satisfy you so?”

Robin rubbed the barrel of the toy flintlock down down

his cheek, coming to rest just under his jaw. “You'd better,
mate.”

David slipped his tongue into Robin's pants and curled

it around his cock, teasing him out of his pants by slow
degrees. He heard Robin's breathing quicken and stole a
surreptitious glance at Robin's fingernails. All pink and all
right. He licked Robin's cock slowly, teasing a while before
taking him in.

“Be really good and I won't take you back and keelhaul

you still." After a minute or so of David making it slow and
wet with plenty of tongue and suction, Robin nudged him
with the toy gun.

“Turn around.”
David turned and waited, still on his knees. He heard

the lube cap pop open—Robin must have stuffed it in a
pocket--and then Robin's fingers being sloppy. They had
forgone condoms six years ago, after being monogamous
for years. The slurpy, gooshy sounds of the lubricant turned

him on more, as did Robin's fingers wiping the extra lube
along the crack of his ass and then shoving him down onto
his hands as well as his knees.

He felt Robin go to his knees and then gasped when

Robin pushed in, a little roughly.

“Please, don't hurt me,” David begged, although Robin

was nowhere near his pain threshold.

“And why not? You deserve it,” Robin sneered. He

emphasized it with a harder thrust and David moaned as his
cock rubbed deep against David's prostate.

“Yes, for being a wanton old liar with no honor,” he

suggested.

Robin swatted his bottom. “No honor now. Nothing but

a port whore."

David shoved back a little harder, since Robin was

moving almost fast enough now. Robin took that cue and
pounded him hard. David moaned under the treatment,
coming with a small cry onto the sandy floor of the cave.
Robin came not long after and pulled out.

He sounded a little breathless as he added, “And I'll

take your ship.”

“I would expect nothing less.”
“I'll leave you here, naked. And throw your pistol with

one shot out to you as I sail off,” Robin threatened.

David straightened up. “That's a bit harsh, don't you

think? Perhaps I could persuade you to take me along?”

Robin was dressing and shook out the billowy sleeves

of his shirt. He breathed on one skull ring, then polished it
on the opposite sleeve as if he weren't listening. “How are
you going to do that?” he finally asked.

“Mmmm." David, still naked, came to him and licked

his neck seductively before whispering,

“By promising to suck you awake every morning, by

offering to let you fuck me before sleep every night." He
licked Robin again and saw a light shudder of arousal.
“And by applying my tongue all over your body.”

Robin gave a wicked chuckle. “A cabin boy?”
David rolled his eyes. “Please, I'm far too old to be a

boy. Call me a look-out or a cook.”

Robin laughed and seized David's hair. “No. You'll be

my boy. The crew will know." He kissed David's mouth and
bit at his throat.

David pretended to think. “And would they be having a

go at me as well?" He put plenty of mock-trepidation into
his voice.

Robin shook his head and gathered David's clothes.

“No. My boy. My cabin.”

David nodded agreement. “All right. Anything you say,

Captain." He took his clothes when

Robin offered them, only to hesitate. “You could march

me aboard naked and reinforce that status.”

Robin laughed again. “If they saw that cock, they'd

mutiny and then they'd be drawing lots to see who gets it."
He kissed David. “My boy.”

David dressed and then offered his hands to be bound.

Robin cast about looking for a rope and finally took off his
waist sash, using that to bind them, since he'd clearly
forgotten the rope.

David followed the gentle tugs on the sash, but leaned

toward the cabin. Robin took the cue and led them there.
He followed, watching Robin for any signs of fatigue.

Once inside, David escaped the knots to kiss Robin

sweetly. “I do so enjoy you." He grasped Robin's hands
and checked them for coolness. “Sit down now, darling
one.”

Robin sat on the couch, grinning at the attention. David

brought him a glass of water and loosened his shirt. He
joined Robin on the couch, sliding a protective arm around
him.

Robin kissed David's cheek and let out a very soft,

“Arrr.”

David chuckled. “My darling boy." He kissed Robin's

hair. “Sweet Robin, I shall have to have a monk's habit and
you a suit of Lincoln green." Robin set the empty glass
aside and nuzzled his neck, sending shivers over David.
“You were quite the scalawag. Are you feeling well?" He
kissed Robin's temple, checking the temperature of his
face. He let his lips rest there, taking a fast pulse reading.

“Perfect,” Robin smiled.
Satisfied his lover would live through lunch and maybe

even dinner, David cuddled him. “Did I do all right? I must
confess, I stopped playing pirates... oh, it must be forty
years ago now,”

Robin licked his neck. “You make a lovely captured

cabin boy.”

“So, tell me darling, all the wicked things you would

set your creaky old cabin boy to doing?” David teased.

Robin got a roguish look. “Some nights I'd tie you to

my bed and have you until you couldn't take anymore.”

David agreed. “Until I'd come my balls dry and was

begging you to stop. Upon which, you would spank me for
my impertinence.”

Robin gave a quiet sigh. “If only I could.”
David stroked his hair. “I know." Unwilling to let the

game end on such a note, he continued the fantasy. “Or
how about the night you set me to licking you?" He licked
Robin's neck and Robin laughed.

“Could start that now.”
David nibbled his ear. “Mmm, your neck and face,

your chest, your cock, your sweet ass.”

“All of me." Robin made as if to push him down to

start the licking.

David moved out of reach. “Yes. But not now. You

mustn't overdo. So, we shall have a quiet afternoon and
evening to compensate for our eventful morning.”

“How quiet?”
“You will sit on the sofa and tell me delightful stories

of your piratical wickedness as I make lunch. Then we shall

go out and fish for dinner. After dinner, there will be a
movie. And then, we shall go to bed and I shall have my
very placid revenge.”

“Oh... good." Robin smiled. “I like that plan.”
“Lunch can be either seagull and barnacle puffs or

chains and moldy bread, the Captain's choice.”

Robin made a face. “Is there a third choice?”
“Only the cannon balls I was saving for dessert or the

slumgullion which I was holding against failure to catch
dinner. What will it be, my Captain?”

“I think...McDonald's.”
“Hush. The nearest is in Camdenton and you have

exerted yourself quite enough. I say seagull and barnacle
puffs." David got up with a last kiss and took the pre-made
creampuffs from the freezer. As they baked, he put together
a delicate chicken and mushroom sauce.

Robin pretended to be disgusted at the look of the food.

David coaxed him to eat. He took a bite of the puff and
kissed Robin, passing it across as he did.

“Good, yes?”
Robin smiled and tucked in. “It's always good. I just

wanted you to do that. It's sexy.”

“Brat." David rolled his eyes.
“Oh come, that's no way to talk to your captain.”
“You'll be dishwasher, second-class if you don't catch

anything.”

They finished eating, watching clouds roll in over the

lake. David noticed the whitecaps starting out in the
middle. By the time he'd washed the dishes, rain was
falling in that steady gray way that can run for hours.

Robin went back to sit on the couch and David

puttered, checking the picture window over the dining table
for air leaks that needed caulking. He found two.

“Cabin boy!” Robin snapped his fingers at David who

nearly dropped the caulk gun he was using. “Fetch me rum,
boy." When David took a moment to set down the caulk

and put the kettle on, Robin snapped again. “Arr. Haste, lad
or I'll think up something hideous to do to your lovely arse.
I am Captain Robin Savage, after all.”

David fought not to laugh as the kettle heated. “I hear

and obey, Captain,” he said pouring the water over herbal
teabags and then bringing one of the mugs to Robin.
Regular tea was bad enough and rum was strictly off of
Robin's permitted food list.

“Ah, Chinese rum. 'Twill do, 'twill do." He sipped at

the tea. David went back to preparing the cabin for winter
by checking the pipe insulation. Thunder rolled overhead
and the rain pounded harder on the patio.

“Are the hatches battened down, boy? Storm's blowing

harder.”

“Aye. Shall I lay a fire, Captain?”
”Aye." Robin sipped his tea and played with the plastic

jewelry while David got a small fire going in the natural
stone fireplace they'd built by hand, years ago.

He came to stand beside the couch. “What else does

my captain require of me?” Robin beckoned him closer and
he sat back on the edge of the couch.

“Am I the first captain you've served, lad?”
David laughed softly. “I'm hardly a lad. There's more

gray in my hair than yours, Captain. But indeed, you are the
first.”

“Ah good. So I get to train you in my ways. Every

morning, I want you attending.”

David nodded and slipped off the couch to kneel on the

thick carpet and wrap his arms around Robin's waist. “Aye,
I am willing. Aiding your dressing and all.”

“And...before the dressing." David loved the way

Robin teased, drawing out the sentence.

He bent to kiss Robin. “Like this, Captain?” he

whispered, brushing his lips over Robin's cheek and to his
mouth. He lingered there and Robin took over, making the
kiss long enough that David's knees creaked alarmingly

before the end.

Robin gave him a pleased smile. “Ah yes. And a bit

lower is good, lad.”

David kissed his neck and brushed his shirt open, to

lick at his smooth chest and nipples. He climbed back on
the sofa and kissed the scar from Robin's surgery. “Of
course.”

“Mad John O'Malley, 'twas, that gave me that.”
David looked up, making his eyes big and full of

worry, while trying not to laugh. Dr. O'Malley was Robin's
cardiologist. “Was it a duel?”

“Nay, a great battle aboard me ship. Mad John thought

he could take me and raised a third o' the crew's hand
against me. Well, lad, it didn't work fer Satan and it didn't
work for Mad John, neither. Me men, the good and true
ones, they fought, but Mad John came for me as I knew he
would. Oh it were grand, harrying each other up and down
the deck, along the ratlines. But my heart was never his
prize that day, close though he came.”

David sighed in relief and laid his head on Robin's

chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Ah good. For I did intend
to make it mine." He kissed the scar again and rolled onto
his belly on the couch before peeling the rest of Robin's
shirt open.

He glanced up and saw Robin had folded his arms

behind his head and was relaxing, smirking down at him.
David opened Robin's tight black pants and kissed the head
of his cock.

“That's right,” Robin sighed happily. The soft, happy

sounds continued as David sucked him, making it slow and
gentle, taking his time to taste and explore. Robin came
much more quickly than usual for his second round. He
stroked David's hair. “Certain that I'm the first Captain?”

David licked along the length of his cock and gave him

an impish grin. “My first Captain, not my first lover. I am
not young, Captain Savage. There have been many men,

but you are the handsomest.”

Robin caught him by his shirt-front and hauled him up

for a kiss. “You know how to keep in your Captain's good
graces, then.”

David pecked his cheek and then went to stoke the fire

and make more tea. They cuddled, watching the gray rain
fall on the dark lake until night fell.

III: Sunday

David woke early and, out of habit, turned on the radio

as he made breakfast. Oat and raisin muffins this morning,
since Robin wouldn't eat oatmeal more than three times a
week. He shook the premixed dry ingredients in their
zipper bag, since the flax seed and wheat germ had settled
to the bottom, then dumped them into a bowl.

He watched the sun sparkle on the lake as he stirred

and picked out the first red sumacs on the far shore. Next
visit, they would have to shelter the Pegasus away for the
winter, check the roof and generally finish the other chores
for getting the cabin ready. He hoped the first frost would
come by then and the wild persimmons down the slope
would be edible.

They'd be down a couple times in the winter. They

always spent Christmas here, by themselves, with gifts and
a fire.

“One more Christmas," David whispered, to himself or

God or the Dragon, whoever might be listening. “Let a
selfish old man keep his beautiful lover for one more
Christmas.”

He wasn't entirely aware he was humming along with

the men's gospel quartet from Sunrise Beach as he mixed in
the milk and eggs, until Robin came out and groaned.

“Sunday already?”
David realized then that the low drone of the news had

turned into the Sunday morning service from Church of the
Air. He clicked it off. “Sorry, love.”

“It's okay. I didn't know you knew any hymns." Robin

poured himself a glass of juice as David spooned the batter
out into the muffin pan.

“I had a proper Lutheran upbringing.” David looked

affronted as he popped the muffins into the oven. “I know
all the words to every verse of A Mighty Fortress is Our
God. Now, you've just time for a shower before they're

done." When Robin opened his mouth, David cut him off.
“I've had mine already and we'll burn the muffins if I join
you.”

Robin grumbled and ducked in to the bathroom. David

began packing while the muffins baked. Robin came out,
wrapped in his bathrobe, and rescued the muffins, which
had just browned in preparation to burn.

“Thank you, darling. I got all tangled up in packing."

David came out and took his chair.

“I wish we didn't have to go home and go back to

work. I wish we could live down here all the time." Robin
spread the cholesterol-free margarine over the muffin.

“I know." David kissed him.
“I could be a wicked pirate all the time and you my

devoted cabin boy.”

“My silly darling,” David said, sipping his tea, “we are

not twelve any longer.”

“I know. But it's fun to play sometimes." Robin

polished off a third muffin. David was pleased to see the
good appetite. “Who wants to be a stuffy old working stiff,
when it's so easy to be a pirate?”

David broadened his Missouri no-accent into

something appallingly faux British. “Aye, and rope-dancin'
outside the gate is how ye'll end, mark me, Cap'n. And me
alongside you.”

“Aye, but I lived a good life, mate. And that's all that

counts.”

Unnerved by the tack this had taken, David cleared up

the breakfast things. He reverted back to his normal tones
and said, “We'll come down over Columbus Day weekend
and put the Pegasus away. Then we can spend Christmas
and New Year's week here.”

Robin nodded. “I'd like that." He put the margarine

away and wiped down the table. “What do you want for
Christmas?”

“You,” David said without thinking. He turned, a

horrified look on his face.

Robin just grinned at him. “Good thing you already got

me because I'm not available in stores." Robin lifted the
food-box to the table. “Are the suitcases done? If we're all
packed, we can catch a last swim before we go home.”

David nodded and started emptying the cabinets of the

few supplies they'd brought. About an hour and a half later,
when all that remained to be done was load the perishables
into the cooler and throw it in the truck, they headed for the
water, the September sun warm on their skin.

They lapped the cove, from the Sanders to the Ross

dock and back to their own. As they climbed out to rest in
the sun, Robin leaned over and kissed David. “One last sail
of the summer?”

David nodded. “Stay put." He ran up to the house and

grabbed a couple of shirts they left at the lake for this sort
of thing. He handed one to Robin and slipped the other on
without fastening it.

They pulled away from the dock in the Pegasus. Once

out of the cove, David opened the throttle. Robin clung to
his seat, laughing as they zipped out through the deeper
water, leaving a wide wake.

“My ship, lad, and I'll take the helm,” Robin said,

standing up. David relinquished the controls and Robin
took them on a whirlwind tour of the surrounding region.

“Careful or we'll end up out at Sunrise Beach or

Hurricane Deck,” David laughed.

“Arr, I were trying for Climax Springs, meself,” Robin

growled as he shifted the engine down to an idling speed
and eased back into the slip on their own covered dock.
David moored the boat and checked the plugs and drains.

Robin wobbled down the gangway of the dock

imitating a famous movie pirate and David laughed.

“Time to go." He caught Robin in his arms and they

looked at the lake for a long moment.

They finished the loading, locked the cabin and headed

home over the rutted dirt lake roads.

David stole a look at Robin, already dozing against the

window again and then one in the mirror at the lake.

“One more Christmas, please,” he whispered, not

liking the pallor of Robin's hands. “Just one.”

Robin slept on, leaving little breath prints on the

window.

Paying Forfeits

“Bored, sweet boy?” William looked at Sam over the

table.

“Never,” Sam protested, setting down his cards and

moving his peg.

“Of course you are. It’s a beautiful spring Friday. All

the boys your age are out walking with their lovers, going
to concerts, dining al fresco. And here you are, playing
cribbage.”

“I like cribbage. I don’t like open-air concerts or eating

on the sidewalk where every passerby gawks and every bug
in town finds my food." He shot William a sharp look. “Or
are you bored? Is having a boy-toy not quite what you
expected?”

William reached over and stroked his young lover’s

face. Sam was barely thirty and quite lovely. His hand
drifted from the heart-shaped face to the dark curls. Sam
gave him one green-eyed wink. William couldn’t resist and
leaned across the table to kiss him.

“Ah sweet. What do you see in an old man like me?”
“Experience." Sam was blunt as he kissed William,

stroking along the edge of his lover's neatly clipped beard.
“The empty-headed club-bois who can’t think past their
next high or next designer label and the workaholic queers
whose bank-statement is their self-image don’t understand
balance. With guys my age, it’s all work or all play. You
have balance and have forgotten more about good sex than
they’ll ever learn." He ran his hand over William’s salt and
pepper hair. “Besides. Fifty isn’t old. It’s perfect.”

“Flatterer,” William said. He smiled and stole another

kiss.

“Flatterer who just beat you. Cribbage." Sam laid down

the end of his cards and pegged around to the end of the
board.

“You little stinker. I’m glad we had no money on this.”
Sam gave him a wicked smile. “No money, but I think I

should get a prize." He got up to straddle William’s lap. He
pulled his shirt off. “Maybe,” he said, kissing along his
lover’s jaw, “maybe next time...”

William pulled Sam in closer, letting him feel his

arousal through his light wool pants. The idea of being
Sam’s prize appealed to him and to his cock. He pressed
up, hard, against the equally hard ridge in Sam’s Dockers.

“Maybe next time what?”
“Maybe next time we should make it really interesting.

Loser gets a piercing of the winner’s choice. Within
reason." Sam was working William’s shirt buttons.

William kissed him in agreement and tweaked his hard

little nipples. “You’re going to be gorgeous with a pair of
silver rings." Sam gasped most satisfyingly.

“Oh yeah." He sucked at William’s earlobe. “I think a

small diamond stud would suit you.”

William kissed Sam hard, feeling the wet silk of his

mouth, sucking his tongue. “Your prize tonight, lover.”

Sam opened William’s pants and stroked him slowly.

He collected the dampness at the head and William licked
his fingers clean. “My prize: the taste of your big, uncut
dick. Then the feel of your sweet, tight ass around my cock.
Such a slut under those fancy shirts and suspenders.”

“Slut yourself,” William hissed. “And with a dirty

mouth to match your dirty mind." He nibbled at Sam’s neck
before sucking his nipples. Sam squirmed and William
smiled up at him. He protested only briefly as Sam slid off
his lap and quieted quickly when Sam began sucking him.

Sam’s tongue slid down the length of his shaft, then

swiped under his foreskin and swirled around the head.
Sam pulled off until he was just sucking the head, then
swallowed as much as he could. He flickered his tongue

over the underside and nibbled on the skin.

William caught his breath and came hard. Sam always

did that to him, driving him to almost instantaneous
orgasm. He couldn’t take that talented tongue. When Sam
let him up, he stood and unfastened his pants.

“Bend me over the table and have your wicked way

with me,” William said.

Sam grinned. “Better than any concert or sidewalk

dinner." With no hesitation, he grasped the back of
William’s neck and shoved him down onto the table,
scattering cards and cribbage pegs. He slicked himself fast
with the lube from the drawer of the table and pressed in,
almost begging for William’s body.

Sam felt the warmth of his lover under him, hotter than

the late spring night. He tried to stretch it, taking the thrusts
nice and slow to prolong the pleasure, but William felt so
good that, within moments, he was humping like a dog,
wanting only release.

“Slut,” he teased when William rose to meet him. “Like

it hard, do you?" William said nothing, just panted, as Sam
tore into him. “Oh lover,” Sam sighed, coming hard and
dropping down to kiss William’s back.

“Please, dear boy, this is getting quite uncomfortable,”

came William’s muffled voice.

Despite wanting to stay inside as long as he could, Sam

pulled out and stood back. After a moment, he wrapped his
arms around William’s waist to help him stand up.

“Ah, thank you." William turned much faster than Sam

had expected and seized him for a hard, passionate kiss. His
tongue forced its way into Sam’s mouth, meeting no
resistance, welcomed by deep moans of pleasure. “I do love
you, sweet.”

“William,” Sam whispered. “So, a new game next

Friday?”

“Surprise me." William’s smile was wicked. “And, the

following Friday, I shall surprise you. And all through the
long, steamy summer, we shall see if we can conjure more
heat inside the walls than out of them." He yanked Sam’s
tie, pulling him closer. “Stay tonight." It wasn’t an
invitation, simply an order.

Sam just nodded. He liked it when William got butch.

***

Sam turned up at the door of the big house on Friday

evening after work, a most unusual game clutched under
his arm. He spread it out on the table and William looked at
the map of the Solar System, confused.

“Solarquest?”
“Yeah. It’s like Monopoly with the Solar System. You

can buy planets and moons, but you have to have fuel to get
there." Sam dealt out the money and set up the fuel chart.

William read the directions and settled himself in to

play. It was only slightly more exciting than regular
Monopoly, a game he loathed. He managed to buy most of
Jupiter’s moons, Mars and its moons, Venus and most of
the fueling stations. Sam had half of Saturn’s moons, four
science stations and ran out of fuel on Venus, where he
couldn’t pay the 1400 fedron docking fee.

“I give." Sam started putting the game away. “Looks

like I’m getting punctured.”

William smiled. “There is a body artist open until

midnight and not far from here. Finish and we will go. I
made the appointment for eleven. I told him I didn’t know
if it would be one earlobe or two nipples.”

“Now? Tonight? You mean, we’re not doing this

tomorrow?" Sam paused as he gathered his jacket, his eyes
full of fear. He’d hoped for a reprieve.

“Now. I want to see silver rings in your lovely dark

nipples before the day is out." William tangled his hand in
Sam’s curls and pulled him in, tipping his face up. “My

sexy prize. I get to watch you become even more
beautiful." He kissed Sam but Sam was shaking too much
to enjoy it. “The quicker we do it, the less scared you’ll
be.”

“All right." Sam dropped his jacket from his shaking

hands and bent to pick it up.

William caught him by the shoulders. “Sam, lover, you

don’t have to. We don’t have to play forfeits. I thought you
wanted it.”

Sam shivered a little. “I do. I’m just..." He knew he

looked embarrassed. “I have a real problem with needles."
He opened his shirt. The light dusting of curly black hair on
his chest only accented the dark tan nipples on the olive
skin.

William bent in and licked one, slowly teasing it erect.

He blew over it briefly. “So pretty. Prettier still with a
ring.”

Sam nodded. “Let’s do it. But if I pass out, you get to

carry me home.”

“A deal." William moved over to the bar. He poured

Sam a single finger of whiskey. “Some liquid courage for
my brave boy. Not enough that Rick will say no because
you are drunk.”

Sam drank it off. It glowed in his chest and he felt

more relaxed. He kissed William again and they left.

Sam was shaking hard when they returned. Contrary to

his fears, he hadn’t fainted, but he’d been paler than his
shirt since the first needle went in .

“You’re practically in shock, my boy." William sat him

down on the couch and covered him with a throw before
sitting next to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not." Sam snuggled into William’s side. “They’re

gorgeous. I just can’t take needles. You shoulda seen me
when I had to take allergy shots as a kid.”

Once he was steadier, the result of another drink and a

bit more cuddling, William helped him to bed. “Stay the
weekend, if you like, lover."

Sam did.

The next week, William brought out the chess board.

Sam beamed. He loved chess and William’s set, with its
large, cool marble pieces was his favorite. He stroked the
smooth ball atop the pawn suggestively. It was almost two
inches in diameter. The kings were ten inches tall. Their
heaviness added gravitas to the game, making him feel as if
he were playing for something important, like his own life
or the outcome of a war.

“Don’t tease, my boy. Not unless you’d like to see if

the bishop fits up your darling ass.”

Sam’s eyes got wide. “Are you sure you’re not a mind

reader? I was going to toss that out as my forfeit.”

William laughed. “I know the way you think, lover and

I watched you size up each piece, taking in the shape of the
top. Done. And mine shall be...the same I think." He ran
two fingers down the the top of the bishop, catching them
for just an instant on the disk below the miter. He concealed
two pawns behind his back.

Sam picked white, moved first and the game was on.

They battled to and fro, long minutes elapsing between
moves as they thought out gambits and strategy.

Sam castled, bringing his rook into play. He took the

attack, reducing William’s forces by taking bishops and the
queen. He grinned as William tipped over his king in
acknowledgment of the checkmate.

Sam leaned across the board and kissed William hard.

“I’ll clear up the game. You go get ready." He bounced the
black bishop in his hand, its solid weight arousing him. He
followed in an hour. An hour of sweet torment for him. He
polished every chess piece, except the black bishop and
queen, fitted it into its velvet-lined socket and closed the
case. Then he waited, anticipating, imagining how his lover

would look.

They’d met over chess three years before. William had

been captain of the Gay and Lesbian Community Center’s
chess team. Sam, new in town, had signed up to be on the
team for the Gaymes in October. He wasn’t butch enough
to join the lesbian softball team and he loathed swimming.
Chess and darts were his favorites and he’d been drawn to
the angular, handsome captain of the chess team.

Team practices had given way to private sessions that

had lasted until the Center’s closing time and continued at
the coffee shop around the corner. After the Gaymes,
William had invited Sam over. After seeing William’s
mansion, Sam was ashamed to invite him back to his loft.

William had said nothing when he did, just taken up

residence on the second-hand straight back chair as if it
were the most comfortable in the world and chatted
cheerfully as Sam had cooked. He had laughed when Sam’s
ancient futon gave way under their lovemaking, but there
had been a new futon delivered three days later, with his
compliments.

Sam caressed the black bishop, imagining it going into

William, the cold dark marble, the warm smooth flesh. He
loved William. Loved him like he’d never expected to
really love someone. Loved him like he’d been told men
couldn’t love others. Anything his lover wanted, he’d do
and be.

William had been busy. The sheets were now a black

and white checkered pattern and William waited naked on
them, lying on his stomach, reading a chess problem book.
Sam smiled.

“Ready?" Sam held up the queen and ran a finger over

the little spikes of her crown. “Maybe we should see if all
of them fit in you.”

William closed his book and stared. Sam laughed at his

expression and set the queen on the dresser. He came to sit
on the bedside, bishop still in hand. Sam leaned in for a

kiss.

“You are naughty, my boy." William whispered, licking

the tip of the bishop Sam held before him.

“You love it. I wasn’t sure if your eyes were going to

fall out of your head before you begged me to do it or if
you were going to faint at the idea.”

“A gentleman never faints, Samuel,” William said

sternly. “Haven’t I taught you that?”

Sam nodded and kissed William again, tasting deep and

running a hand over his back and ass. He teased William’s
opening with one finger, then bent to kiss it, running his
tongue over it. “I want to do it with no lube. It’s really
smooth.”

William shivered. “You won. It’s your prize." He felt

the small knob at the top of the bishop press against his
hole and relaxed. It slipped in, hard and cold.

Sam kissed his neck. “You’re doing fine." He pushed a

little and the smooth marble sides of the bishop eased in,
barely catching. He leaned down and rimmed William just
a little more, feeling cool marble and warm skin under his
tongue, moaning a little with the sexy contrast. The spit
made the rest of the passage easier. He eased the bishop in
until William’s ass clamped around the narrower part of the
chess piece.

William lay quietly, breathing evenly. It was different,

but not unpleasant. The weight of the stone was arousing.
In his youth, he’d been most indiscreet, indulging in every
underground party and cruising the parks. He’d taken much
larger, much rougher things than a simple polished chess
piece, with even less lubrication than Sam’s tongue had
afforded him.

Sam kissed William. “So sexy." They lay together,

kissing and touching for a moment, then Sam slid up,
keeping an eye on the bishop. A trip to the emergency room

to have a chess-piece removed would put a real damper on
their fun. “Suck me.”

William’s mouth closed over him, the strong tongue

teasing and flickering everywhere. Sam never could take
too much of William’s cock-sucking. His lover was
amazing, taking him to the root with little sighs of pleasure.
As usual, he came far too soon, tipped into ecstasy when he
was wanting to savor the build. William swallowed around
him and kept sucking. Sam moaned, getting hard almost
instantly again.

Sam withdrew and pulled the bishop from William’s

ass. He kissed the slightly stretched opening and then
slipped on his condom and lubed himself. He slid in with
almost no resistance and William sighed beneath him.

“My very dear boy." William turned a little for a kiss

and Sam obliged.

“Such a good fuck,” Sam said, kissing his neck. “I

could stay up your ass all night. Or maybe just let you suck
me until I dropped." He thrust hard and wildly, trying to
make the point. Since it was his night, he doubted William
would slow him.

He was right. William alternately rose to meet his

thrusts and then ground into the sheets, trying for his own
orgasm. Sam swatted him. “Stop that. I’ll bring you off."
William stopped and just met Sam’s pounding.

True to his word, once he’d finished, Sam rolled

William onto his side and reinserted the bishop. He sucked
William, working the bishop and listening to his lover
breathe hard. Only a deeper intake of breath heralded
William’s orgasm.

***

Friday game nights ran through the summer and as

August drew on, William had a new idea.

“Sam, dearest Samuel, rather than simply visiting all

weekend, why don’t you move in? It’s not as if I’m
cramped for space." William gestured around at the
antebellum mansion, retrofitted with all the modern
conveniences.

Sam smiled. “I’d love to. Let me give notice on my

loft." William came to him and stroked his hair and face.
Sam hesitated, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “I want my
own bedroom. I mean, I’ll share yours a lot, but there will
be times when I need to lock myself away and work.”

“Of course. You may have any of the other four."

William kissed him. “Were you a woman, and I other than I
am, I would propose on bended knee. Instead, let us live,
discreetly, in sin. Martin and Andreas will help you move.
Staying tonight, my dear?" He led Sam into the upper hall
to choose his room.

“Sure." Sam chose the bedroom nearest William’s own.

“My desk should fit perfectly in here." He looked it over.
“Could I have it repainted? Eggshell’s a good neutral, but I
like a cream better." Sam set his overnight bag in the closet
and hung the two changes of clothes up.

“Anything at all that you like. Just tell the staff."

William winked. “I trust there will be no polka dot curtains,
though.”

Sam laughed, came in close and kissed William. “Dark

green, I’m thinking." He’d learned a long time ago the
older man was a switch with strong bottom tendencies. He
teased a moment at William’s lips before entering. “Your
bed tonight, old man. And every night until I get settled and
unless one of us is keeping weird hours.”

“Oh indeed. I agree." William surprised him with a

serious kiss of his own.

***

One Sunday evening in mid-March, William hung up

the phone. Sam looked up from his chess problem. Life had

been very comfortable and pleasant in the months since
he’d moved in. He liked living with his lover. He liked the
almost-married feeling. And he loved William more than
anything. Now, the frown on William’s face said things
might be getting complicated.

“Bad news?”
William considered. The news, technically, was mixed,

but it would mean an adjustment in their household. “The
son of a very old and dear friend has found himself
enmeshed in a scandal. His father asked me to harbor him
until it blows over. How do you feel about a house guest?’

Sam shrugged. “I’m one. Why would I protest?" He

gave a wry grin and came to where William sat. “Kept man
and all that. What do I care if you want a harem of virile
young things?" He nibbled William’s neck and turned up
the stereo where the 1812 Overture was playing softly.

William reached up and tousled his curls. “Sweet boy.

He’ll be arriving Wednesday." He smiled as the music got
louder. “Tchaikovsky should not be played quietly.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up. “But that...That’s puppy

week. He’ll freak out, or something." He had been looking
forward to this rather extreme forfeit since he’d dreamed it
up and managed to lose a round on the antique Parcheesi
board.

“I’ll explain everything. He’ll be fine." William

reassured Sam with a kiss. “And on Friday, he can put in
his own forfeit.”

“Is he cute?” Sam grinned.
“Very. Has been since infancy. He’s a good boy, but his

indiscretions have brought problems to the family image.
Joseph didn’t give me all the details, but young Billy is
quite gay. He left no doubt about that. To have the scion of
Birmingham’s most prominent family be openly and
incautiously queer; well it simply won’t do, not at all.”

“So the naughty boy gets sent to live with his wicked

old namesake to be taught discretion while giving the

appearance of managing a distant branch of the family
business." Sam knew how southern family and sexual
politics worked.

“Precisely. As I am also the boy’s godfather–oh don’t

laugh, sweetness–it is quite seemly. I shall put him to work
as a grounds keeper. You may continue telecommuting.”

Sam stifled the last of his giggles. William was so

decidedly nonreligious he could not see the man standing
up with a young couple and promising to take care of their
child. He bent forward for a kiss. “I love you. You’re a
good man for taking him in."

William ran his hands up under Sam’s shirt and toyed

with the rings. “I do enjoy our games. I hope Billy will as
well.”

“Nasty old queen,” Sam whispered. “Debauching the

youth of our gay community. Turning them all into filthy
perverts.”

“Oh indeed." William pulled Sam onto his lap and

worked one hand into his pants. He stroked slowly until
Sam came erect under his hands. “I seem to be doing quite
well with you.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sam agreed, from where he was

opening William’s shirt to suck his neck and nipples,
knowing those things drove the older man crazy. He lost
track of what he was doing when William opened his pants
and ran teasing fingers all over his freed cock.

Sam laid his head on William’s shoulder and let him

indulge. He’d heard rumors that William had been a concert
pianist once and other gossip that he’d played in much less
reputable venues than Carnegie Hall. The sprightly
movement of the long fingers seemed to back this up as
they traced the scales and arpeggios of the overture along
the shaft of his cock, never touching the head until the last
instant. They built him up a crescendo of orgasm and then
just before climax trailed away into a fugue.

Sam whimpered and then William’s strokes were long

and hard as the kettledrums and cannons roared from the
stereo. Sam couldn’t stifle the yell as he came. He rested
limp in William’s arms, watching his lover lick his fingers
clean.

“Love you,” Sam whispered.
William kissed him. “I love you, my sweet Samuel.

And our guest will not change this.”

***

Billy arrived Wednesday night. His father’s chauffeur

dropped his bags on the doorstep with palpable contempt
and left without a word. William greeted him alone, having
left Sam to finish up some work in his office.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid Demetrius never did approve of

me,” William said, watching the car disappear. He turned to
Billy with a smile. “Hello, my boy.”

“Thanks for taking me in, Mister William." Billy

offered his hand and an easy, slow smile. He had perhaps
taken too much after his southern belle mother, all long
legs, blond hair and blue eyes. The set of cheek dimples
that were always cute in childhood were now decidedly
sexy in the grown man.

He looked the house over and around. “I think it’s

bigger’n Daddy’s place." When William nodded, he gave a
low whistle. “Just you here all by yourself?”

William smiled. “Myself, a staff of twelve and my

lover. Now you as well. You’re welcome to stay as long as
you need, son.”

“Lover?” Billy’s eyes went wide. “Not a wife?”
William’s smile broadened. “Dear boy, you’ve known

me all your life. I changed diapers on you, much to your
nanny’s dismay. When have I ever given you any reason to
think I was heterosexual?" He led Billy into the house. “My
lover is a young man, Sam, who runs his own stock
brokerage. He telecommutes from here half the time and

has an office in town.”

William took Billy on a tour of the whole place: the

common areas of the house, the living quarters and the
grounds. As they walked to the stables, he explained the
games and their forfeit system. “You are welcome to join
us." Billy looked skeptical about the idea and hemmed and
hawed.

In the shadows of the rose arbor, William bent close

and kissed Billy in such a way calculated to make Billy
decide that what his godfather didn’t know about kissing
hadn’t been invented. William enjoyed kissing to no end
and was very good at it. He’d never understood men who
didn’t like it.

“Yeah, I’ll play. I think it’ll be fun." Billy swallowed

hard, realizing he’d just admitted he liked men, a terrible
stain in his family’s eyes. To cover his confusion, he looked
over the eight horses in the stable, then looked back at
William, delighted as a child. “Can I ride?”

William gave him a wicked smile. “Only if you do so

naked and allow me to watch. Would you like to take care
of the horses?”

Billy nodded. “I’m crazy about horses.”
“Lovely. I’ll introduce you to the stablemaster in the

morning. For now, we need to get back to the house. This
week, Sam is being my puppy and it’s almost time to walk
him. Come meet him.”

“Puppy?" Billy looked a little nervous. “That’s kinda

kinky, isn’t it?”

“No, dear. It’s very kinky. And we’re having great fun."

William pushed open the door and Sam crawled to him,
collared and naked, with a leash in his mouth. William
squatted down and petted him, tousling his hair and
speaking in the voice people used with dogs. “You’re a
good boy, aren’t you? Such a good puppy. Are you ready
for walkies?" He clipped the leash onto Sam’s collar then
turned to Billy. “Billy, dear one, would you like to walk the

puppy?”

Billy just gawked a little more. He hadn’t expected

being sent to live with his godfather would be anything but
boring, from his memories of visits as a child. In those
days, he’d wandered the old house and pestered the
servants until William or his father finished their business
dealing and took him to do something. Kinky sex games
were not something he associated with his godfather. He
grinned hugely and held his hand out for the leash. “Pretty
puppy.”

William handed it over. “Play nicely with the puppy.

Right now, he needs to be walked and tomorrow you’ll
have to feed him, too. If you take good care of him, we can
keep him." He tousled Sam’s curls again. “At least until
next game day." He held Sam’s face in his hands and was
almost rubbing Sam’s nose with his own, using the doggie-
talk voice again. “And you won't lose again, will you,
puppy?”

Billy bit his lip, trying not laugh. Sam licked William’s

nose and then crawled over to sniff Billy and lick his hand.

“Come on, puppy." Billy tugged the leash and led Sam

out the back door. Sam did most of the leading, tugging at
his leash to get Billy to take him where he wanted to go. He
sniffed around, generally acting dog-like, then lifted one
leg and peed on a tree.

***

At that, Billy had already moved into the land of

Freaked Out and picked out a nice apartment with a view.
He muttered, “Good boy,” not really feeling it.

Sam looked up hopefully, with a small whine. He

bumped his head against Billy’s hand to be petted. Billy
petted him and led him back to the house.

“Did you have a nice walk? You know, Billy, you can

indulge on our doggy. He is, like all males, a horndog. But

tonight, let’s get you settled in your room and I’ll teach you
how to care for him tomorrow. You’ll have to do it alone
Friday, since I have a meeting in town that is sure to take
most of the day.”

“Okay." Billy wanted to ask where Sam slept while he

was a puppy, but didn’t have to. Sam curled up in a ball on
a rug at the foot of the master bed. William led Billy to a
bedroom that was bigger than his last three apartments.

Billy let out a low whistle. “Looks like my room back

home."

William smiled. “Do you remember visiting me with

your father that one time?”

Billy nodded. He’d been four, maybe five. William had

done the bedroom to his request and had it ready between
breakfast and dinner time. He couldn’t believe William had
kept the room done, just for him, for twenty years.

“There are a few more adult amenities now. And I took

the liberty of substituting stripes for the cowboy print
sheets.”

Billy laughed, remembering his delight at the cowboy

sheets when he was little. “You think of everything." He
looked at William a little shyly. “This is all freaking me
out. I mean, you’re my second dad or my favorite uncle. It
feels weird. Right, just weird.”

William took Billy gently in his arms. “Dear boy. My

own sweet namesake. I do not wish to make you
uncomfortable or unhappy during your stay. If my
attentions, or those of my Sam ever bother you, speak up.
There will be no repercussions.”

Billy wrapped his arms around William’s neck and

kissed him hard. “Why’d you quit coming to see us? I
needed you when I was fourteen and figuring out that I
didn’t like girls.”

William looked pained. “Fear. Plain, simple fear. Fear

of how beautiful you were as a youth. Fear of myself. Our
relationship would have turned most improper very quickly.

I read too much of the classics, you see, and not nearly
enough of Alabama law or their Bible. You would have
been my eromenos, my paidika. Joseph would have killed
me for it and then had me arrested for statutory rape.”

Billy was sure he didn’t understand all that. But he

knew William would teach him. “Yeah, I’d have pounced
all over you when I was fifteen and horny as hell.”

William smiled. “Ah, the Spartan model, where the

youth chose his man.”

Billy shrugged. He had no idea at all now. “It was

murder growing up queer in one of Birmingham’s Most
Prominent Families."

William heard the sarcasm. “I have no doubt." He led

Billy to sit on the window seat. “What brings you to me?
Your father spoke of a scandal they were trying to keep
from the papers.”

This, he understood. He flashed his dimples at William.

“I’m a scandal. I didn’t even finish high school, let alone
go on to college and law school. Dad never forgave me for
dropping out of the swank boarding high school and getting
a GED. I went to work.”

“Work is nothing to be ashamed of. Just because your

father and I chose to acquire our fortunes without the virtue
of hard work, preferring instead to be clever and bend the
law into pretzels, doesn’t mean work is shameful.”

“I was gutting chickens on a Tyson assembly line,”

Billy confessed.

“Someone must. Go on. That’s surely not enough to

make Joseph send you to me.”

Billy grinned. “I got caught by a little blonde bitch of a

secretary with the mayor’s mouth on my dick. She was
madder about his cheating on her than she was about the
gay.”

“Of course. Never mind that he has a wife as well.”
“So Dad covered it up, bought off the political

opposition and gave the mayor such a tongue-lashing that I

thought he’d be bleeding out the ears." Billy lowered his
voice a little into a near-perfect mockery of his father.
“What were you thinking, Jake, getting caught like that in
election year? We’ll have all we can to do make sure
Henderson doesn’t use this against you!”

William laughed. “That is Joseph indeed. And so you

were quickly packed off to your dear old queen of a
godfather to be taught how to properly be a discreet
homosexual in the upper class society of the New South.”

“Pretty much.”
William stood. “Very well then. I shall civilize you into

genteel southern faggotry. We’ll see about a college degree
and other practical things. But tonight, get some sleep. I
suggest the Jacuzzi before bed. Five hours in a car, even a
limousine, is quite uncomfortable." He kissed Billy and left
the room.

***

Billy spent Thursday getting oriented. William took the

day and spent it with him, showing him the place,
explaining their way of life. He went through Billy’s
clothes, systematically sorting them into acceptable for
work and those unacceptable for any purpose.

“No hope for it. I’ll have to take you shopping. Or have

Sam take you on the computer." William made a face and
Billy remembered his godfather hated shopping for any
reason.

The day passed very quickly as Billy acclimated. “The

most important thing you must remember is that you may
do anything, but you must never speak of it in public,”
William reminded him. He tousled Sam’s curls where his
lover was curled at his feet.

After dinner, William left Sam in Billy's care for an

hour. He returned in full formal wear. “Now, you have care
of the puppy for the evening. I have a late engagement." He

drew on his gloves. “Come here, sweetness and give me a
kiss.”

“You look amazing." Billy kissed his cheek, trying

hard not to think of where else he’d like to kiss William.

“Thank you. It's going to be quite tedious, I fear. One

should always look amazing when one is bored stiff. Opera.
I loathe opera. Fat women screeching in Italian.”

Billy grinned. “I hate it, too. Good luck?”
“Thank you, dear. Enjoy the puppy." William leaned

down to pet Sam, his reluctance to leave visible in every
movement. “You be a good puppy." Sam licked his nose.

The evening went by quietly. Billy figured out how to

work the elaborate entertainment center and Sam curled up
on the floor at his feet. Billy reached down and patted him
occasionally and they watched an action movie together.

Billy paused it about half-way through to raid the

kitchen for a snack. When he came back with some
chocolate and a bag of chips, Sam looked at him with big,
hopeful eyes. Billy set a napkin on the floor and poured out
some chips.

“Sorry, boy. Chocolate’s bad for puppies.”
Sam stuck his tongue out in the guise of licking the

crumbs off his face and Billy laughed.

After the movie, Billy’s hand got heavier. He played in

Sam’s hair, stroked his neck and felt the studded red leather
collar. He jingled the bone-shaped ID tags. He ran a hands
down Sam’s back and felt his ass.

“Up on the coffee table, puppy." Sam looked at him

and whined. Billy swatted his nose with a rolled-up paper
towel. “You’re a naughty puppy. Don’t mind. A
complaining crier, too,” he added when Sam whined again.

Sam crawled up on the coffee table, staying on all

fours. The antique teak-wood chest was unlikely to break
under his weight. He waited, whimpering.

“Good boy,” Billy said, petting him. “You’re a good

puppy, Sam." Billy petted his hair and back and then

reached around to stroke Sam’s already hard cock. “Mr.
William said I could do anything to his puppy I wanted."
He unzipped and stood in front of Sam. Sam licked at his
cock, a long, tasting stroke. “You’re such a good puppy.”

Sam looked a little nervous up on the coffee table and

he gave a low questioning whine before licking him again.
Billy petted him, reassuring him.

“You’re a good puppy. Yes, you are. And ol’ Billy’s

going to have himself a spot of bestiality before Mister
William gets home." He chuckled and petted Sam’s back,
like he would a dog, running a hand down Sam’s flank.

Sam wriggled, like a happy puppy, only to still as he

felt Billy’s fingers sliding into him with lubricant. He
whined more and raised his ass higher. He heard the rip of
foil and smelled more lube being used. He yipped as Billy
slid into him.

“Yeah, good doggie, just like that." Billy moved

slowly, getting a feel for Sam. They got a nice rhythm
going, one punctuated by occasional whimpers and “good
dogs.”

“Bad dog!" William’s voice from the doorway startled

them both. Sam could feel his mouth hanging open and
knew how they must look, caught in the act on top of the
coffee table, but Billy never stopped fucking him. “Billy,
he’s not to be on the furniture.”

Sam just panted. He wasn’t going to stop. When Billy

slammed in hard with a rebel yell, Sam dared a glance over
at William, who was glaring at them both from the
doorway, his arms across his chest, top hat and opera cloak
still on.

Billy pulled out and stripped off the condom, then

helped Sam off the table. Sam hadn’t come and, dog-like,
he sat, trying to lick himself, with less success than the
average terrier.

“Naughty puppies who get on the furniture are

punished. And naughty boys who encourage puppies to

develop bad habits are punished, too.”

Billy tried to look ashamed but Sam could see he

wasn’t having any luck. The well-fucked smirk could not
be hidden.

William never stopped scowling. “You will put the

puppy in his kennel in the back yard. Then you will come
back to my bedroom." He tossed Billy the leash.

Billy bent down and clipped the leash to Sam’s collar,

leading him out the back to a large dog kennel. He could
see there was a shelter inside, with a blanket visible in the
doorway. “Sorry, puppy,” he said, when Sam licked his
face.

Sam leaned in and whispered , “It’s okay. I love it." He

sat in the kennel and made his big green eyes as sad as he
could. Billy petted him one last time and then went inside.

William waited in the bedroom, still fully dressed

down to the gloves. He glowered at Billy, going for the
strict headmaster look. Billy shuffled his feet and wouldn’t
look up. William remembered seeing that same look when
Billy had been caught stealing rolls before dinner when he
was ten.

“And what shall I do with you?” he asked, just as he

had on that occasion as well.

Billy had to clear his throat twice before he managed,

“Punish me, sir?" William had never spanked him as a
child. His father had preferred a belt, but just a look of stern
disappointment from his godfather had always been enough
to make him mend his ways.

“Obviously. I think a simple bare spanking will do.

There will be no need to make you sleep on the floor." He
seated himself on the cedar chest and stripped off his
gloves very deliberately. “Bare your naughty bottom and
bring it here.”

Billy dropped his jeans and bent over William’s lap.

William made no secret of how hard he was. He delivered a
dozen sharp blows, leaving scarlet handprints on Billy’s flat

ass. He felt Billy getting hard against his leg.

“If you come on my formal pants, I shall not only make

you lick them clean, you will pay for the dry cleaning as
well." He added an extra swat as a warning and urged Billy
off his lap. “Now, thank me properly for your punishment."
He unzipped his fly and pulled his evening gloves back on.
The only skin visible was his face and the bare cock that
jutted out from the formal black pants.

Billy stared for a minute at the sheer hotness of the

scene, then went to his knees slowly, his ass on fire from
the spanking. He licked at the long, thick cock in front of
him, unsure how he’d ever get it in his mouth.

“Good boy." William stroked his hair. He glanced at

the mirror, very aroused by what he saw. A tall, older man,
obviously wealthy, in the evening clothes, being sucked by
the scruffy, unshaven young man wearing only a ratty t-
shirt. He moaned as Billy took the whole head into his
mouth. “Oh, splendid.”

Billy wasn’t used to doing the sucking, but he knew

what he liked and tried to repeat it all over William’s cock.
It filled his mouth and left him with little room to work, but
he licked and sucked, feeling the different types of skin
with his tongue, the bulgy foreskin, the slickness of the
hidden head, the taut vee beneath when full erection pulled
foreskin back. He loved the taste, the clean skin, with just a
hint of William’s soap and musk.

Above him, he could hear William moaning and feel

the long hands on his hair, so he knew he was doing a good
job. He took as much as he could and then moved, as if
letting William fuck his mouth.

Billy decided he wasn’t so crazy about the come. It was

bland and a little salty and it burned on the way down. He
shot big blue eyes and dimples at his godfather, who
opened his own eyes and smiled down. “Did I do all right?
Never swallowed before.”

William’s smile grew larger. “You were fine, my boy.

And, as with everything, you will improve with practice."
He dabbed at an errant drop with his scented handkerchief.
Billy watched the gloved hands in the mirror, harder than
ever at this.

Billy looked back up at William. “When do I let puppy

out? He can’t be comfortable in that little bitty dog igloo."
Billy shuddered.

“In the morning. He spends tonight in the kennel

because he was a bad dog. He’s not claustrophobic as you
are, my dear.”

“Yes, sir.”
William pulled him to his feet and kissed him, very

gentle. “And you've had your punishment and are
forgiven.”

Billy gave a half-smile. “Do I get your bed tonight? Or

do I get made to sleep alone too?" He shed the t-shirt and
stood naked. He saw William looking him over as he
stripped down, too. William drew it out, hanging each piece
of his evening suit carefully away and setting aside the
gloves and handkerchief to be cleaned.

“My bed, please." Once in it, William wrapped himself

around Billy, holding him. “My very dear boy.”

Billy lay quietly, waiting until William’s breathing

went slow and regular. He slid a hand down to stroke his
cock, not having gotten off from giving the blow-job. He
jumped when William smacked his hand.

“Not on the sheets, my boy. That's what puppy is for.”
Billy, chastened, moved his hand away and curled up in

William’s arms. The whole thing was like some bizarre
power trip. He wasn’t sure he liked it yet. It was hot, but
still a little freaky. He slept hard and woke to bright sun
streaming in through the sheer curtains.

William was already up and had made breakfast

himself: an omelet for Billy and a bowl of what looked like
dog chow for Sam. He was fully dressed and sipping at a
cup of coffee as he cooked.

“You really gonna make him eat that?” Billy asked.
“It’s perfectly nutritious." William set down a bowl of

water for Sam and poured Billy some coffee. “It’s what the
zoo feeds the other primates. He’s been eating it all week.
Go bring the puppy in. Feed and walk him. I’ll see you
tonight." William took a quick kiss and left for work.

Sam was stretching in the kennel when Billy came out.

He bounced a little and then picked up the leash in his
mouth and sat looking hopeful as Billy opened the gate.

“Please tell me you feel ridiculous,” Billy sighed as he

led Sam in the house. He watched as Sam buried his face in
the bowl, eating as if he were actually hungry and enjoying
the food. With a shake of his head, he started on his own
omelet.

Once he’d finished, Sam carried his bowl to the

dishwasher in his teeth. Billy loaded it in. Sam dropped the
leash at his feet.

“Not ridiculous at all. I'm actually having fun. Will you

please put me on that leash and walk me? I really have to
pee and I'm not supposed to go in the bathroom." Sam
sounded a little desperate. “And if I puddle on the carpet...”
He gave a low whistle.

Billy clipped the leash to his collar post-haste and took

Sam out for his walk. He was prepared for it when Sam
peed on the tree again. But when he vanished under a spirea
bush for a few minutes, Billy just stared. Sam crawled out
and pulled toward the hose on the side of the house.

Feeling Billy’s resistance on his leash, Sam sat down

like a human. “Billy, are you okay? Are you all freaked out
by this?”

Billy nodded. “Just a little. If he asked me to do it, it

wouldn't happen.”

“He didn’t ask me to. It was my idea. This is my kink.

Hose me off and I’ll explain how it all works.”

Billy turned on the hose and made sure Sam was

thoroughly cleaned. He could deal, knowing it was Sam’s

idea.

They lazed on the new spring grass. “All right: every

Friday night is game night,” Sam explained. “The players
each make a bet. They put in one thing they are willing to
do if they lose. They also put in one they want if they win.
The dog was my idea, like I said. William just wanted to go
skinny dipping and make love in the back pasture lake. But
we looked them over and decided on puppy week." Sam
toyed with his nipple rings. “These were one forfeit. Loser
got pierced. I love ‘em. Always wanted a set but never had
the nerve to do it. You'll kick in your forfeit tonight.”

Billy took a deep breath as if to protest he wasn’t that

kinky. Instead, he licked one of Sam’s dark nipples and
flicked the ring around with his tongue, making Sam laugh.

Sam reassured him. “It's okay; it doesn't have to be big.

You might say, a blow job each if you lose, you get to fuck
us any way you want if you win. That would be fine."
When Billy nodded, Sam rolled over and licked him.
“Now, no more talking from me. I’m your puppy all day.”

“No problem." Billy was surprised to find he actually

meant it. The rest of the day passed quietly. Tempted
though he was to start a game of fetch, Sam knew Billy was
about at the end of his rope when it came to the whole
puppy game. So he curled up at Billy’s feet while Billy
practiced his guitar and then had a nap while he surfed the
internet. Billy bent down and petted him now and then.
Sam woke up when William shut the door hard.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked Billy. Sam

bounced over to be petted. “Who's a good puppy?" William
tousled Sam’s hair. “Such a good boy." Sam licked his face
and William looked at Billy. “Was he a good dog? Did you
have him lick you?”

Unused to such frank inquiries about his sex life, Billy

hesitated. “No. He didn't lick me.”

William gave him an odd look. “Why ever not?”
“I thought you'd want to watch.”

William smiled and with a last pat for Sam, stood up.

“So very thoughtful." He kissed Billy lightly. “You could
have had him do anything you wanted, I wouldn't mind.
Neither would he." Neither man noticed Sam scowl at the
floor at this offer.

“Now he can do it. C'mere puppy.”
Sam crawled over, not quite as bouncy as he had been

for William. He sniffed at Billy’s crotch.

“May I assist?” William asked, sliding in behind Billy

and wrapping his arms around him.

Billy caught his breath at the suggestion. “Yes,

please?”

William kissed the side of Billy’s neck, making the

young man shiver. He reached out and petted Sam. “Good
boys." He unzipped Billy’s jeans and drew out his cock,
stroking it and then offering it. “Here, pup.”

Sam licked the cock with long, full tongue laps, like a

dog would. Long and slow, he licked it all over and then
did a very human swirl around the head. Billy groaned.
Encouraged by the sound and by William’s fingers stroking
his jaw, Sam took the whole cock into his mouth and
moved on to a real blow job instead of the puppy teasing.

William supported Billy, holding him up from behind.

He made no secret of how aroused he was and the
occasional thrust of his hips against Billy’s only shoved
Billy’s cock deeper into Sam’s mouth. He held Billy’s cock
in one hand, his other playing over the smooth skin inside
Billy’s shirt, teasing his ribs, rolling his hard nipples and
generally arousing him more.

“Sexy boys,” he said. He leaned forward and

whispered to Billy, “I hope you’ve been giving some
thoughts to your forfeit and prize for the week." He took
Billy’s moan as an affirmative and ground against him.
“May I fuck you?”

Sam swallowed hard, wanting to bring Billy off before

William got to fucking. He had said he was okay with all of

this, but he was finding that more and more, he wanted
William’s touch on him and not on Billy. He squashed the
jealousy. It wasn’t right of him to be so possessive.

“Yes,” Billy sighed.
William’s hands undid Billy’s pants so deftly that Sam

never had to stop sucking. The jeans fell in a puddle around
Billy’s ankles.

“Naughty boy." William swatted Billy’s bare bottom,

emphasizing the lack of underwear. He covered and
lubricated himself and Billy before sliding in as gently as
he could.

Sam felt Billy’s balls draw up tight and listened to the

moans that sounded almost pained. William was very well
hung and could be intimidating the first time or the fourth
or the twentieth. He sucked a little harder, empathizing and
trying to distract Billy from what he knew would feel like a
telephone pole going up his ass.

“You're fine, aren't you?" William whispered, kissing

Billy’s neck as he moved gently. “Come when you want
and I'll do the same.”

“More than fine... Oh Christ...” Billy moaned,

incoherent. William moved slowly, with a steady motion
that was driving him out of his head with need. Billy came
with a shout. William gave a soft chuckle and Sam
swallowed around Billy, drawing a secondary spurt from
him.

Sam settled back on his haunches to watch, his own

cock still hard between his thighs. William wrapped one
arm around Billy, holding him up and then pounded at him
to finish himself. Billy’s eyes grew huge and Sam knew
just how easily William could hurt him with that cock. He
squelched the vicious thought that he’d like to see that, see
William bend the intruder over and fuck his ass with little
lube and less remorse until Billy bled. Such thoughts were
unworthy of him. Billy had been nothing but sweet and he
had no business being nasty about it.

Billy reached out to touch Sam’s hair. Sam shoved his

jealousy way down and rose to meet the patting.

“He's a very good puppy, isn't he?” William asked

softly.

“I love this puppy." Billy emphasized this with an extra

pat. Sam licked at his hand, his big eyes adoring.

“As do I. Welcome to the family, dear boy. Are you

better with the games now?”

“As long as he likes it, hey... Who am I to gripe?" He

looked down at Sam and noticed the hard-on.

“And when you win the games, we will pay the forfeits

to you just as eagerly.”

Sam was surprised when Billy squirmed out of

William’s arms and dropped down to sit with him. “Yeah, I
could get used to this." He kissed Sam and rubbed his hand
over the head of his cock. “I think puppy deserves a treat
before game night starts." He pushed Sam back and lay
down to suck his cock.

Sam, deprived of direct sex that was for his pleasure

alone for the whole of puppy week, caught his breath. Billy
wasn’t bad. His eagerness made up for his inexperience and
Sam was coming after only a few licks.

Billy came back up and kissed him. “You’ve been a

good puppy. But I can’t wait to really meet Sam." William
smiled at his boys and went to set up the game table.

***

Sam finished his ascot in the mirror and glanced out at

the rainy May Saturday. It had been two months of sharing
his lover with another man. After the initial shock of puppy
week, Billy had come around. He still wasn’t sure he liked
the arrangement. He knew he liked Billy though. Billy
liked him.

Billy liked uniforms, too. He’d been in positive

raptures over the 28th Alabama infantryman’s uniform that

William had gotten him. And Billy had won the game of
gin rummy so very thoroughly that Sam knew he had to be
cheating. Sam buttoned his vest and drew on his gloves.
Now the scruffy private was all set to have a go at a pair of
Yankee bankers.

They met in the parlor. Sam hid a scowl as William

held Billy at arms-length, looking him over. Sam promised
himself a little extra meditation time to burn off the
jealousy.

“You are indeed a son of your fathers,” William said,

kissing him lightly. “So very handsome.”

Sam caught the reproduction abolitionist tract that

fluttered out of William’s pocket. “Let me get your cravat
pin, lover." He set the large diamond stickpin in the middle
of the fiendishly complicated neckwear. He set William’s
top hat on. “The two of you look great.”

Billy kissed him. “Barge in on us in about five minutes.

This is going to be real fun." He kissed Sam again. “God,
you’re cute.”

Sam watched and listened through the French doors of

the parlor.

Billy’s smile turned predatory very quickly and he

drew the reproduction Colt pistol as William backed away.
William froze and his hands went up very slowly.

“Anything you want, just don’t shoot me. I have a

rather extensive fortune." He tried to sound nervous, but
couldn’t hide his excitement.

Billy smirked. “Ain’t what I want." He shoved William

into the window seat and tied his hands behind his back. He
gave a low chuckle as he licked the back of William’s neck.

Sam watched William’s eyes get big and saw his

breathing quicken. “Don't hurt me, please?" Billy gave his
bound arms a twisting jerk, bringing them up into the
middle of his back. William yelled in pain. “Barbarian." All
the cooperation went out of him. He spat over his shoulder.
“You pathetic feudal lords are going to lose and we're going

to cheer. Sherman is going to grind you down so far into
the dirt you'll be blacker than the Negroes you enslave.”

Billy just laughed. “Tonight, I'm going to cheer while

fucking you through the floor.”

“Rebel trash.”
Sam decided that was his cue. He entered the room,

reading. “Father, I need–,” he dropped the book. “What are
you doing in here, you southern trash?”

William kept one eye on the pistol that swung round to

cover Sam. It was a reproduction and only shot blanks, but
even blanks could be lethal at close range. “Don't
antagonize him, son. He’s like a rabid dog. Speak calmly
and get out when you can.”

Billy beckoned Sam into the room. “Come here, boy."

Sam entered, keeping a wary eye on the pistol. He raised
his hands, gingerly. “Have a seat, right here by Daddy.”

Sam drew a breath and tried his most imploring look

on Billy. He could see it melting Billy as he gave it “Are
you going to kill us?”

William snarled, “Well, speak up, rebel. Your better has

asked you a question.”

“Father!” Sam cried as Billy slapped William across

the face.

“I ain’t gonna kill you, boy. But for that comment, I’m

going to have him." He started tying Sam’s hands well.

Sam looked at William reproachfully. “Father, you

antagonized him.”

“He’s malarial swamp scum, barely worthy of our

notice. Only the gun in his hand makes him a man." He
scowled at Billy. “If you harm him, I will make you very,
very sorry, not only now, but after the war, no matter how it
ends. Governments come and go, but banks are forever.”

Sam didn’t squirm as Billy tied his hands in front of

him. He brushed a light kiss over Billy’s ear when it came
in range.

Billy yanked William off the bench and slung him

down on the large banking table that had been moved in for
just that purpose. William laughed nastily.

“Tired of the camp followers?" He kicked back, not

connecting with anything. “Is it true all southern women
are sallow, pox-rotted whores?”

Billy put his pistol to William’s temple. “Stop yer

yammering.”

Sam gasped in horror. “Please.”
“Yes, of course. That would be the reaction of a

barbarian like you: Blow my brains out, make a dreadful
mess.”

“When I finish with you, I'll do the same to your wife

and leave your boy here an orphan." He smirked in Sam’s
direction. “Oldest damn orphan I ever saw. Maybe I should
take him along, out of Christian charity. I’d take good care
of your boy,” he sneered in William’s ear.

“You were never a Christian and you can’t spell

charity.”

“Father, please,” Sam begged. “Give him anything he

wants, money, silver, anything!”

“Do shut up, boy. We’re Meiers. We don’t beg. And we

don’t bargain with our lessers.”

Billy bit his ear, never moving the pistol. “You better

beg. Beg real pretty and I’ll even use some spit. Your boy’s
spit." He looked Sam over. “He’s real pretty, old man. You
ever fuck him? Make him get down on his knees for you
like a yellow whore? If you haven’t, I know you think
about it.”

“How dare you?” William snapped, but he rose almost

involuntarily to meet the caress Billy played over his back
and ass.

Billy set the gun down and yanked William’s pants

down. He picked it back up and pressed it at the base of
William’s skull as he worked an unlubricated finger in.
Sam listened as William breathed hard against the invasion.

“Meiers don’t beg, you southern filth,” William

repeated, his voice sounding a little shaky as Billy kept
fingering him.

Billy licked his ear. “You will when I’m done. You’re

gonna be like every other bitch I ever fucked, begging for
more.”

William laughed. “I wouldn’t beg for that limp shaft

that is surely no larger than the finger you’ve abused me
with.”

Billy smacked his ass and went to where Sam sat.

“Lick me, boy. Get me real nice and hard for your daddy."

“Do it, Samuel. Show this rebel how a proper man

behaves in the face of an animal attack.”

Sam licked out, flickering his tongue over Billy’s

already hard cock. He took it in, sucking enthusiastically.
He knew it was out of character, but he loved the way Billy
looked when he was being sucked.

“Yeah, boy, watch your daddy start begging me before

I'm halfway done with him. You suck better’n a two dollar
whore. Hey, rich daddy, your boy likes my cock.”

Sam looked up with the biggest, most soulful eyes he

could manage. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you
want.”

“Son. Dignity! Don't grovel. This lowlife doesn't

deserve it.”

Billy patted Sam’s curls then slipped the condom on

and lubricated it very well. “It’s time, old man." He
slammed into William, pumping him fast and hard. Sam
watched for a few moments, worrying that both of them
were getting too far into their parts. He looked away,
closing his eyes, jealousy too much to bear.

“You call that a prick?” William sneered. “I've seen

larger on dead mice.”

“Big enough,” Billy grunted and came with a sigh.

“Stretched your tight Yankee ass just fine." As he’d gotten
more into it, his accent had deepened and the last word was
almost, but not quite “fahn." He hauled William off the

table and turned him to face Sam. “Look here, boy. He
liked it enough to get hard." He marched William over.
“Suck him off, boy. Use your tongue like you did for me.”

“Oh, Samuel." William looked genuinely distressed at

the prospect and the reluctance on Sam’s face.

Sam took him in and the reluctance and distress both

vanished. Sam snuck a glance at the mirror and the sight
left him aching with desire. Billy, rough and violent-
looking in his uniform, holding the bound and disheveled
William, the pistol pointed at William’s temple. He saw
himself, bound but completely composed, sucking cock. It
was a sexy fantasy picture and he stored it up to have an
artist friend draw later.

William was not immune to the sight either, it seemed.

He came very suddenly after a glance in the mirror and
Sam swallowed, licking at him as he withdrew.

“We’ve done everything you wanted. Let us go,

please?" Sam asked.

“Damn. You boys could get a rise out of a statue. I’m

raring to go again. Your turn, sonny boy. On your back on
the table. Gonna fuck you like the girl you are." Billy
helped William sit down on the bench and then pulled Sam
to his feet.

Sam let Billy help him onto the table. “Don’t hurt me.

I’ll be good.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be a real good girl, aren’t you?"

Billy undid Sam’s pants. “You little slut. You want this." He
stroked Sam’s cock. “Hey, daddy. Your boy’s all hard. He
wants me." He licked the head of Sam’s cock then went to
where William sat. “You’re gonna suck him better’n the
best whore you ever had. If you do him real good, I won’t
shove my gun up his cute little ass and blow his guts out.”

William shivered under the crude threats, looking

convincingly broken. “Yes. Yes, anything you want. Just
don’t hurt him."

Billy pulled him up by one arm deposited him in front

of Sam. “Your little boy’s got a real pretty cock, rich man.
Put that nasty mouth of yours to it. Suck him like you
dream about.”

Sam groaned under the touch of William’s mouth. He

loved it when William went down on him. And today,
William was giving quite the show, for both him and Billy.
Lots of long slow tongue-work, followed by sudden
plunges where he swallowed all of Sam’s cock and worked
his throat around it.

“Rich old cocksucker,” Billy sneered. “Shoulda made

you do me.”

William sucked hard and Sam came equally hard, his

balls tight, his whole body shuddering. Billy laughed and
shoved William back to the bench, laughing harder when
William unconsciously flicked his tongue out to catch an
errant drop.

“That’s keeping it in the family,” he laughed, then

slipped on his condom and lubed up before shoving Sam
onto his back and pulling his legs up. Sam was relaxed in
the aftermath of orgasm and Billy slid in without any
resistance.

Sam looped his bound hands over Billy’s neck and

pulled him in, kissing him. The only way to fight the
jealousy was simply to integrate Billy into their games and
sex lives as quickly as possible. He bucked up to meet
Billy’s thrusts and wrapped his legs around Billy’s waist.

“Little slut. You’re loving it. Good old rebel ramrod up

your tight Yankee ass." Billy pounded away.

“Keep me,” Sam whispered. “I don’t want to be a

banker. I want to come with you. Make me your camp wife,
like other men do." He groaned under a very deep thrust.
“Just do this to me often.”

“You’re such a girl. Yeah, I think I will." He looked at

William. “Hear that? I’m taking your boy with me, my own
prisoner of war. Make him cook and wash for me, fuck him
like he’s my wife." Billy slammed hard a couple more

times and came, his rebel yell loud in the room. “I done had
me a fine afternoon." He pulled out and disposed of the
condom before fastening up. “Maybe I’ll see you again,
daddy." He helped Sam off the table and fastened him up
before looping an extra length of rope around his wrists and
leading him out.

In the next room, Billy pulled Sam into his arms and

kissed him before untying him. “That was really fun. I gotta
go let William loose.”

“So sexy,” Sam whispered, pushing Billy’s forage cap

up so he could get a better kiss. “You really enjoyed it,
huh?”

“Oh yeah." Billy stole a last quick kiss and went to cut

William’s ropes. William joined them.

He kissed Billy and then Sam. “Dear boys. So very

entertaining. Thank you, lovers." He kissed them each
again. “I don't know when I've had such fun being a
bastard.”

“Anytime." Billy sounded far too earnest.
“Oh yes,” Sam added. He smirked a little at William.

“Any time...’daddy.’” He giggled, ruining the sarcasm.

“Brat." William swatted him lightly. “I do love you

both, but I am quite fashed. Who wants to join me in the
Jacuzzi in my bath?”

Both the young men grinned at each other. Together

they started stripping William and themselves, kissing
indiscriminately.

“So very handsome in uniform. We shall have to get

you one with boots that you can force me to polish. Now
there’s a thought." William smiled at Sam in the midst of
helping him out of his waistcoat. “The old man put to the
service of the dashing young cavaliers."

Sam’s mouth went dry and he followed without another

word into the Jacuzzi. William knew about his boot fetish
and the idea of kissing Billy, who in his mental picture now
dripped with lace and velvet, while William polished their

boots, was making him hard even after the sex.

***

Spring faded into the hot Memphis summer. The air lay

dead in the city and Sam went to his office as little as
possible. He preferred to spend the days, and nights, at the
old house, built to catch the coolest breezes from the river.
William almost never found it necessary to turn the air
conditioning on until it grew truly humid.

Lately, he’d taken to using it, since the three of them in

his bed made it too warm. He and Billy had both been
sleeping there for weeks and Sam found his jealousy was
slowly dissipating. He liked the kid, but there was still a
part of him that resented Billy. It was the part that made
him too rough when he was on top and made him goad
Billy into extra roughness when he was on the bottom. It
was the nasty part that was tempted to interfere with Billy’s
studies, distracting him from them until he failed out, so
that he could point to this and tell William that Billy wasn’t
worth the effort. He squelched this part ferociously.

Billy was working very hard for that diploma and Sam,

far from hindering, had been helping as much as he could.
He found laboring over a page of algebra with Billy helped
him with the jealousy as well. Billy hated math and Sam
found it a great shared triumph each time they got an axiom
into him well enough that he could apply it unconsciously.

One cool June evening, the air washed clean and fresh

after a day of rain, Sam leaned on the brick wall of the
stable, feeling a little ridiculous. The tight leather pants he
wore left nothing to his imagination and the sheer mesh
shirt just screamed an invitation. The final touch was the
dab of eyeliner William had insisted on and the fact his
cock was out of his pants. He knew William was
somewhere, watching.

Sam shrank back into the shadows as Billy strutted by,

his police uniform dark in the gathering dusk. He had no
such luck.

“Well, well, well. Looks like I got me a pretty little rent

boy pissing in an alley. You too good to go into a bar, pretty
boy? Or you just been thrown out of them all?" Billy closed
in on him, trapping him against the wall. “Bad, bad boy.”

Sam jumped, although he’d been expecting this. He

lowered his head, trying to look crestfallen and penitent.
“I’m naughty. But when ya gotta go, you gotta go.”

Billy shook his head, looking almost sad. “I'm going to

have to take you in.”

Sam clutched at his uniform blouse, frantic. “Please,

officer, is there anything I can do?”

Billy looked thoughtful then knocked his hands away.

“Hands behind your back.”

Sam obeyed instantly. “Please? I'll do anything,” he

begged as Billy handcuffed him then spun him around to
play with his defenseless cock. “You're not going to take
me in bare?” he asked, pushing up into Billy’s hand. “Bad
cop, no doughnut. Taking advantage of a boy trapped in an
alley."

Billy nuzzled his neck and jacked his cock. “Naughty

boy is going to suck me off.”

Sam smiled. “Yes, officer. What else can I do for you,

sir?”

Billy let go of his cock and pushed him to his knees.

Sam met this with a look of fake fear. “ If you do good, I'll
let you know." He slowly opened the trousers, slightly
impeded by Sam licking the fly and his fingers, and
dropped them to mid-thigh, showing that he wore no
underwear.

Sam teased, giving playful little licks all over his cock.

He sucked at Billy’s balls and then flicked up along the
underside.

“Naughty boy. Start sucking." Billy tangled his hand in

Sam’s hair to emphasize his point.

Sam took in just the head and swirled his tongue a lot.

He put up only token resistance as Billy pushed him down
more. There was no roughness in the pushing and Sam was
getting very hard from it. He took just half the cock, letting
his teeth barely graze the head, and smiled as Billy gave a
moan low in his throat. Finally Sam took it all, pressing his
lips against Billy’s body and opening his throat to swallow
around the head. Billy pulled his hair a little when he came
and Sam swallowed.

Billy pushed him away, leaving Sam sprawling on the

ground. He smirked at Sam, wetting his lips at the sight the
first pale beads of pre-come on Sam’s hard cock. He
fingered the nightstick at his side.

Sam gave him the big pleading eyes and struggled back

up to his knees. “Have I been that bad, officer?" He leaned
in and licked the end of the nightstick, trying to placate
Billy.

“Oh yeah." Billy slid his hand down the stick and held

it to Sam’s lips like a cock. “Suck it and I won’t bust you
for solicitation this time, too.”

Sam, harder than ever now, opened for him and took a

couple of inches of the hard wood into his mouth. He
fellated the nightstick, cribbing heavily from porn to give
quite a show, all moans and head bobbing that would be
almost worthless in a real blowjob.

Billy let him suck for a couple of minutes and then

said, “Turn around.”

Sam did. “Please, officer,” he begged. “Please, not like

last time.”

“Hush. You enjoy this. Otherwise you wouldn’t keep

getting caught.”

“Vicious bastard." There was no venom in Sam’s voice.

He listened to Billy open a tube of lube and the sloppy
sounds of Billy’s hand on the nightstick were only making
him hotter. He wondered how far up he could take it. “I
hate you.”

“That's Officer Bastard to you." Sam could hear the

smirk that hadn’t left.

“Must be slim pickings if you're having to pork your

busts, Officer 'Vark." Sam was pretty sure Billy wouldn’t
know that “vark” came from “aardvark” and was a fancy
way of calling him a pig.

Billy shoved him forward, onto one shoulder so his ass

was in the air. “Only the pretty ones.”

“Come on then,” Sam said as he felt the blunt tip of the

nightstick press against him. “Come on piggy, pork me."
He gasped a little as it entered and then caught his breath.
“Soooooeeeee!”

“Ain’t stopping until you shut up, boy." Billy kept

easing the nightstick into Sam, his hand about eight inches
down the wood. “Think you can take it all, just keep
running that cocksucking mouth.”

“Is it true pigs have a corkscrew shaped cock?" Sam

couldn’t get the leverage or he’d have sneered over his
shoulder.

“I wouldn’t know. You been fucking a lot of ‘em? You

asking for this?”

Sam yelped as Billy twisted the nightstick. It felt huge,

but he was pretty sure he didn’t have more than about four
inches in him. He wiggled his ass, pressing back onto the
nightstick. “Fuck yeah." Billy kept turning it, screwing it
into his body. He felt Billy’s hand at his ass and just rocked
on the stick, loving it.

“That's right. Fuck yourself on it. Who's the pig now,

slut boy?”

Sam rode it, shifting to get the right angle. It grazed his

prostate and he saw stars that complimented the way his
whole spine was lighting up from the pleasure. “Fuck me,
Officer." He knew Billy, for all his rough talk, would take
good care of him, never let it get too deep. The twisting and
thrusting combination was bringing him close. “Please,
Officer, may I come?" Sam rode the nightstick a little

harder.

Billy hesitated for so long that Sam was afraid he’d say

no. “Yes. You may.”

Sam shot hard with a deep grunt. He shuddered around

the nightstick and shot a second time. Then he put his head
on the ground and waited. Billy pulled the nightstick out of
his ass, slowly and gently, then unlocked his handcuffs. He
helped Sam to his feet and kissed him.

“Very fucking sexy.”
Sam kissed him back. “You’re such a bad cop.

Sodomizing little streetwalkers with your baton.”

Billy laughed. “I coulda run you in for interrogation.

William and me playing good cop-bad cop on you could be
a lot of fun." He kissed Sam again.

William emerged from where he’d been watching. He

looked very sated as if he’d been the one having the sex.
His clothes were neat and unrumpled. If he’d been
masturbating, there was no indication of it. “Indeed, but
which is the good cop and which is the bad?" He kissed
Sam and then Billy. “I think we need to play that game
again sometime soon. And I like your embellishment.”

Sam kissed his neck. “Yeah, I think so.”
Billy kissed Sam. “I think we’re both bad cops and

switch off faking the good cop part. I think we both get
bribes from the naughty little streetwalker.”

“Yeah,” Sam grinned as they headed into the house. “I

think so.”

***

Billy had lost, really most sincerely lost, at the Facts in

Five game. His incomplete education left him at a distinct
disadvantage for filling in the grid with five letters and five
categories in five minutes. Even when they made it easy--
and he ground his teeth over that little concession--what the
hell kind of color was “cerise?”

William had won for a change. Billy was learning that

while the old man had a taste for kink, it was Sam who was
really pervy. William had requested a simple three-way,
with Billy in the middle. It was going to be interesting.

He swallowed hard and went to the bedroom. William

and Sam lay on the bed, kissing slowly, the way lovers with
all the time in the world did. Billy felt like an intruder until
William reached out to him and drew him into the kiss.

“Hand and knees dear boy. I think the puppy is over-

eager,” William whispered once they were all aroused.
Billy shot a quick grin at Sam and went to his hands and
knees. William sat back on his own knees in front of him.
“Sweetness.”

Sam gave a mock-growl and nipped at Billy’s neck.

“You okay with this?”

Billy looked up from where he was kissing William.

“Wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t.”

“Ready then?" Without waiting for an answer, Sam

mounted him with a low snarl, his fingernails rough on
Billy’s back. He thrust hard, ramming and shoving.

Billy moaned into the kisses and gasped when William

released his mouth. “Dear one, would you like me to keep
kissing, or would you like to suck me?”

Billy was panting under Sam’s onslaught, barely able

to think. “Suck,” he rasped between pants.

William guided Billy’s head to his waiting cock. “Go

easy, sweet. No need to choke.”

“So...good!” Sam shouted from behind Billy,

punctuating it with more thrusts. “So fucking hot!"

Billy, very distracted by Sam--and almost shocked at

the vulgarity since neither man swore a great deal--did his
best to take in all he could of William. As Sam humped at
him, harder and faster, almost like a dog, he managed a
couple more inches. William held his head steady, so he
wouldn’t choke, and whispered sweet reassurances. He
fought to get another half-inch down his throat.

“Don't force it, love. You're fine,” William reassured

him, stroking his cheek and brushing his hair out of his
eyes.

Sam gave a low growl and dragged William over

Billy’s back for a kiss. Billy gagged as the motion drove
William’s cock deeper into his mouth. He heard William
moaning above him and felt his long fingers tightening in
his hair.

“Puppy! And you’re my...bitch!” Sam gasped,

pounding at him, brutally hard, for four strokes to
emphasize the major words. “Mine!” he shouted, the sound
raw and primal to Billy’s ears, slamming in as he came.
Sam held perfectly still and Billy tensed around him. These
two amazing men were getting to him in ways he’d never
dreamed of back in his chicken-gutting days.

Sam relaxed some and let William go, much to Billy’s

relief. William settled back, letting Billy have some
breathing room. Sam ran his hand along Billy’s side and
then down under him to stoke his cock.

Billy moaned around William’s cock and rocked into

Sam’s hand, wondering if he could come before Sam went
soft and came out. He kept sucking, watching as William
looked straight up at the ceiling. Both of William’s hands
cupped the sides of his head and he flicked his tongue hard
across the bottom of William’s cock.

He grunted as he came, his jaw slackening. William

didn’t seem to notice. After a second, Billy recovered and
licked him again. This time, William stiffened and closed
his eyes.

Knowing the warning signs, Billy pulled away and

took the load of come in his face, letting it spatter across
his cheeks. Behind him, Sam fell out and gasped at the
sight.

William opened his eyes. “Oh my boy. I'm sorry."

William pulled Billy to kneel up with him and licked at his
face, cleaning away the white splashes.

Billy looked smug and his smile got even wider when

Sam wrapped his arms around him from behind and bent
around to catch the splashes at the edge of his face. “Way I
wanted it.”

William murmured through the licks, “My hang-up

then. I hate when men do that." He kissed Billy when he
finished cleaning his face.

Sam planted a light kiss between Billy’s shoulder

blades and then did something very awkward. Billy had to
look down and see what was going on. Sam had squirmed
in between his legs and was cleaning up the sheets where
Billy had come earlier. He paused, caught Billy’s eye and
then licked at Billy’s balls before returning to his work.

Then and there, Billy decided he was going to learn to

swallow.

***

August lay heavy over the country and in Memphis

there was no air, only a sensation like being muffled in a
hot wet wool blanket. They stayed indoors, lazy even under
the air conditioning, the humidity sapping them all. None
could manage much enthusiasm for outdoor games. Even
the mental exertion of The Stock Market Game seemed too
much and they resorted to race games and Blood Bowl.
Billy was very partial to the football parody and liked
arming his troll team with chainsaws.

Instead, there were easy threesomes on the great bed in

William’s room, slow lovemaking on the sofas and many
evenings spent doing nothing more taxing than eating ice
cream in front of an old movie. Billy had known there was
an entire gay subculture, but what he hadn’t realized was
that there were cultures with that subculture. He didn’t
mind the old movies, but he didn’t really understand why
Joan Crawford and Bette Davis and Judy Garland. He’d
rather have watched something with good-looking men,

preferably in various states of undress, and lots of
explosions.

William filled in the gaps in his godson’s cultural

education with movies and brief history lessons. Sam had a
more practical way of educating Billy in things other than
math. The leathermen, bears and twinks at the Pumping
Station had been enlightening. He’d protested when Sam
had signed them up for the partner darts tournament, but
had played. They hadn’t won, but it was fun.

“Older queens like William tend to be either very

secretive and stand-offish or they’re into community
service if they’re out,” Sam explained on the drive home.
“William’s gone more stand-offish since I moved in. We
met doing the community thing. I’m not much for the bar
scene, but I do enjoy some socializing. You’ll have to be
more cautious because of your family.”

Billy just soaked it all in. The horses absorbed hours

out of his day. The two community college classes he was
taking, very basic courses that would transfer to a
university, took the rest. William had insisted he get a
degree of some sort, any sort. Right now, he was just
working on general education credits.

“It simply wouldn’t do for your father’s only son to not

be educated." William had remained firm on that point
from the start.

Billy sighed and went back to scribbling at an essay he

was writing for basic composition. He’d rather work than
study, even if work was gutting chickens or shoveling
horseshit. If it wasn’t for Sam, he’d be getting nowhere
with the math.

***

September brought a welcome relief from the

mugginess and toward the end of the month, Sam won a
round of Dragonmaster–the cards and plastic gems

confusing the other two--and requested an outdoor scene.
Billy spent the week taking extra care of the horses and
hoping Saturday didn’t get too weird, as costume pieces
had tended to do.

“If we are to play this, let us do it by the book."

William flipped his own lacy cuff out of the way and
showed Billy how to properly hold the flintlock pistol.
“You don’t say ‘stick ‘em up’ or ‘reach for the sky.’ Say
‘stand and deliver’ instead.”

“Stand and deliver. Got it.”
William dropped into a full accent. “Aye, now, into the

woods withee." He watched as Billy clumped off in the
thigh boots, the red heels making his gait awkward. The
claret velvet coat and the lace made the young man even
sexier. He adjusted his own powdered wig and riding
clothes as he walked to where Sam was waiting, already
astride a dapple gray. His own bay mare whickered at him.

“Those boots make his ass so tempting,” Sam sighed,

watching as Billy disappeared into the trees.

“So, we indulge your harpaxophilia, lover.”
“My what?”
“Your taste for rogues, especially highwaymen."

William swung into the saddle. “We are fortunate young
Billy is here. I fear I would hardly cut so fine a figure.”

“Handsome old liar,” Sam said, wheeling his gray

around and kissing William from the saddle. “You’d look
fine. You look very hot now. Lace suits you.”

William shot his cuffs and smiled. “Shall we go then?"

They clip-clopped off along the bridle path, talking of
nothing much.

At a branch in the path, Billy stepped in front of them,

making them rein up short. He glared through the black
velvet mask and leveled his chargers.

“Stand and deliver,” he ordered.
William’s chin went up. He dug in his purse and threw

a few small coins in the dirt at Billy’s feet. “Toll enough to
pass such a road." He made to ride on. “Come, Samuel.”

Billy grabbed the reins. “Not so fast, my fine

gentlemen,” he said getting into the spirit of it. “Your
purses and your honor. Dismount.”

Sam eyed him frankly as he swung down. William took

a rather ostentatious pinch of snuff and dismissed him at a
glance

“I will be speaking to the sheriff. What is the realm

coming to that a man can’t ride from town to town without
being set upon by thugs and raiders?”

Sam had moved closer and now reached out to touch

the mask. “Are you horribly scarred? Are you hideous?” he
whispered. “Do you have the desires of a man still?”

“Aye." Billy seized him and kissed him fiercely. When

Sam melted under his mouth, he laughed. “Little Lordling.
You’re no better than me.”

“Common filth. He was born better than you." William

shrugged. “Very well, have his honor, if you like, if that is
what it will take to get us on our way.”

“We’ll see how much better he is when I have him ass-

up in the dirt begging for more and harder.”

Sam, his hand half inside the lacy front of Billy’s shirt,

looked up. “Hold. I did not say aye to this.”

William took in their position. “Lover mine, if we

waited for you to say aye, he'd be fucking you already."
Billy laughed as William dismounted and moved in, his
head canted with curiosity. “I would watch him have you. It
will amuse me.”

Sam stroked Billy’s mask again. “Do not hurt me? I

won't resist,” he promised.

William drew Sam close and kissed him before shoving

him at Billy. “Have him. Take him that we may pass.”

Billy caught Sam by his collar and Sam swallowed

hard. “Please?” he begged softly.

“I won't hurt you, boy." Billy kept a grip on the collar

and used his free hand to stroke the side of Sam’s face.

“What will you have of me?" Sam’s own hands

touched Billy’s face and coat, stroking the long hair caught
into a pony-tail and tied with a black velvet ribbon.

“Your mouth first.”
William caught Sam’s faked look of revulsion. “Do it,

Samuel.”

Sam went to his knees, giving a show of reluctance. He

unlaced the front of Billy’s pants and startled himself as he
realized the reluctance wasn’t all for show. He wasn’t in the
mood to suck cock. He wasn’t really in the mood for Billy
at all. He just wanted to make love to William, smell the
snuff and cologne, feel the lace and velvet under his
fingers. His hands were very slow as he worked at Billy’s
pants.

“Hurry up, boy, or I will hurt you.”
Sam looked up and took a slow, clumsy lick of his

cock, pretending to be unskilled. He sucked the whole thing
in, using what he knew would be too much suction.

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” William said. “I'm fond

of the boy.”

Billy smacked Sam lightly. “Easy." He looked at

William. “I have no idea why. He can’t suck for shit.”

Sam, unhappy to be doing the blow-job and furious

from the smack, let that comment push him over. He bit
Billy, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to draw
blood. Billy yelled and yanked his cock away. He drew
back his fist for real.

“Now you're going to get it.”
Sam got to his feet, determined not to be hit. He spat in

the dirt at Billy’s feet, a gesture of contempt. “If you
weren't such a revolting sodomite, you wouldn't have
gotten bit." He spat at William’s feet too. “And I'm not
yours to give away like a cravat or a pair of boots.”

Billy, unsure how this scene was supposed to go, but

suspecting Sam had just rewritten the script, shot a helpless

look at William.

“Do behave, lover,” William pleaded. He looked over

at Billy. “Shall I take his place for you?”

Billy let his fist uncurl. “No. He's just got to be

smarter." He smacked Sam again.

Sam considered storming off from that, but he had an

idea. “Smarter than you are, bandit. I'm not the one out in
the woods, getting cold and going hungry.”

Billy looked him over. “Kneel. And put your mouth to

better use.”

Sam folded his arms. “No.”
“Samuel...” William warned.
Sam closed the distance to Billy. “Better use, you're

saying?" He kissed Billy, long and deep and hard. “That's
the kind of use I like.”

He took advantage of Billy’s momentary shock at how

fast he’d changed and shoved the young man against a big
oak tree. He pinned Billy there, kissing him for a long time,
and then flipped them around so it was his own back
pressing against the tree. He gave Billy a wicked smile.
“Think you can manage?”

Billy shook his head, confused. “What are you doing,

boy?”

Sam smiled again, guileless innocence in every line of

his face. “Paying your toll, of course. In my own fashion."
He pressed against Billy, hard now through his own tight
pants, and smiled when Billy gave a soft whimper. “Have
me, but my mouth moves no lower than your throat.”

William watched and Sam heard a small moan from

him as well. He ignored it and kissed Billy again. His
fingers trailed over the mask again.

“Are you handsome?” he asked “Do you want me?"

He slid his hand between them, running it along the very
visible shaft in Billy’s tight breeches. He kissed Billy again,
hard and deep. “Take. Let me pay your toll.”

Under guise of getting them both undressed, he

managed to get a condom onto Billy and lube him. Sam
turned to face the tree, his gray pants at his knees. He rested
one arm against the trunk and spread his feet.

Billy had apparently recovered from the turn-around,

because he pressed close and nipped Sam’s ear. “Aye,” was
all he said and shoved in, pushing Sam against the tree.
“Feels good, Lord Yummybutt." They were quiet as they
screwed, only hard breathing and the sloppy sounds of sex
breaking the tree-green silence. Sam stole a look at
William, who was leaning against another tree,
masturbating as he watched them.

Sam blew him a kiss and moaned as Billy went

particularly deep. Billy’s mouth on his neck and the feel of
the mask on the side of his face were making him crazy and
he came with a small cry.

Billy laughed and they both watched William. “Lord

Sextoy likes what I’m doing,” he whispered to Sam.
“Paying tolls should not be a hardship." A low grunt
marked his climax and he stood for a while, pinning Sam to
the tree. “I think your lover needs some help, pretty thing.”

He let go of Sam and pulled away. Sam reluctantly

moved away from the support of the tree and saw William
still stroking himself. Billy gestured with the flintlock.

“Go ahead and give me a show.”
This was much more what Sam really wanted and he

went down on William without delay or protest. Billy
moved in beside them and Sam glanced up to see him
kissing William. Yes, this was exactly how it should be.
Despite his temper earlier, he was much more at peace. He
felt Billy’s hand in his hair and relaxed more. So perfect.
He swallowed when William came, a small gasp escaping
him.

“Stand and deliver, indeed,” Sam whispered, sliding up

to kiss both men. “I would hope I delivered adequately?”

Billy laughed, kissed him and swung up onto his horse.

He reached a hand down and pulled Sam up to sit in front

of him. His arms were warm around Sam’s waist and the
mask was soft and sexy against the side of his face when
Billy kissed his neck. Billy caught his revived erection and
snickered.

“Here I thought only western saddles had horns." He

rode them double back to the stable, William trailing
behind them. Billy kissed and whispered dirty sexy things
in Sam’s ear until Sam pulled him into the haymow, once
the currying was done.

“My turn to exact my toll, you scoundrel,” he laughed,

opening the lacy shirt and tight breeches. “You are so
fucking hot like this. I was practically coming just watching
you walk into the woods." He dove in for a long hard kiss.

“Don’t hurt me, my lord. I’m at your mercy,” Billy

said, but spoiled the pleading with a laugh.

“Lord Yummybutt has no mercy, rogue. None for

blackguards and knaves." He flicked a tongue over Billy’s
nipple. “There will be,” he flicked his tongue again, “lashes
and blows and battering with strong iron.”

“Promises, promises. The promises of the high are a

handful of dead leaves in the purse of the low." William
was watching from the stable, but came in to join them.

“I’ll settle up with you, lover, once I’ve taught this

rapscallion his lesson." Sam went back to kissing Billy.

“Of course. Repetition is everything in learning."

William made himself comfortable on Billy’s other side
and settled in for the show.

***

Sam gloated after winning a hard fought round of

Hotels. “My turn. You two have been on top for weeks!"
He gave a sly gin. “But...I can do being at your mercy.
Cowboys, was it?" He checked the list of forfeits.

“Yeehaw!" Billy gave a very wide grin. As entertaining

as Sam’s idea of cock sundaes sounded, cowboys would be

much more fun.

“We have the costuming and the horses. What else?"

William was making notes.

“Not like we need the horses,” Sam smirked. “Not

when both of you are hung like them." He laughed as Billy
grabbed his crotch and smirked. “So, ranchers? Sheriffs and
outlaws?”

Billy winked. “Sheep herders?”
To both young men’s surprise, William razzed him. The

sound, from one so elegant and proper, startled them both.
Billy stared and Sam giggled.

“So, no sheep.”
William looked up from his notes. “Samuel, would you

like to be the new Sheriff who is taking on not only the
corrupt rich man, but his hired gunslinger as well? Billy?
Does this work?”

“Oh Hell, yeah,” both younger men said in unison.

They looked at each other and laughed.

The play date arrived and after all the preparation,

William presented them with the costuming. He watched
Sam set the star on his chest and passed Billy a gunbelt.
“That is loaded with blanks. Do not shoot directly at
anyone. They can still kill." He knotted his own, very
flashy cravat. He stole a kiss from Sam and then set Billy’s
hat on his head. “My bad boy." He kissed Billy. “I want you
to go to town and rid us of the new sheriff that has come to
make our lives miserable.”

Sam darted out to be in the mock-up of the Sheriff’s

office before Billy arrived. Billy swaggered in, his
movements lazy and his hat tipped low. He leaned casually
in the doorway, smirking at Sam.

“Good afternoon and what can I help you with today,

neighbor?”

“I'm here to escort you out of town, Sheriff. Something

you need to see out there. You like pryin' into things that
ain’t your business. So I got something that is.”

“Oh really?”
“If you're smart, you'll grab your hat, take off that

badge and follow me.”

Sam grabbed his hat but did not take off the badge.

“I'm coming." Billy stared at the badge. “No. It goes where
I do." He followed Billy out to where a buckboard was
waiting. Billy turned, slamming him into the wall then
yanking his wrists around to lock them in iron shackles. He
shoved Sam into the wagon and headed out.

William was waiting out in a sandy area, looking quit

comfortable in a rocking chair. He smiled as Billy drove up
and stopped the wagon with a clatter. “Ah, my boy, what
present do you have for me?”

Billy hauled Sam out of the wagon and threw him to

the ground in front of William. He ripped the star off Sam’s
chest. “The former Sheriff.”

“The late Sheriff, perhaps?” William asked with a

wicked smile.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Sam bristled.
“You ain't got nothing to say." Billy spun the gun

around one finger and ran it down the side of his face.

“Be very, very good and we'll see about making it not

late,” William offered.

Sam looked at the ground, pretending to be scared. “I'll

be good.”

William got even more comfortable. “Splendid." He

nodded to Billy. “Dear one, I know your tastes, please feel
free." His smile turned ugly, sending a shiver through Sam.
“Have at him. You know I like to watch.”

Sam scrabbled backward as Billy approached him,

grinning. His tied hands hampered him and he fell on his
butt. Billy laughed and loomed over him, then got down
beside him to rip at his clothes. Sam started to kick at him
and then subsided.

“Oh dear. He's going to be trouble. Perhaps we should

manacle him in front and make him dig his own grave? Just

as a reminder to be good.”

Billy had Sam stripped to his boots. “Good idea." He

unlocked one wrist and brought Sam’s hands around to the
front. He took the shovel from William and thrust it at Sam.

Sam trembled a little and took the shovel. William

indicated a sandy patch where the digging would be easy.
He dug, throwing shovelfuls of dirt into a large pile. Every
now and then he glanced up to see Billy idly playing with
his gun and watching him. He couldn’t stop the hard-on
from an idle thought.

“Itchy trigger, my boy?” William asked. “Perhaps you

should let me assuage it." Sam looked up from his digging
in time to see William stoke Billy’s revolver suggestively.
At the next glance, he saw that William had undone Billy’s
and was sucking his cock while they watched him dig.
Sam, distracted by the blow job, slowed down a bit

“Keep digging!" Billy snapped.
“I can do it better,” Sam taunted.
“Mmmm... doubtful." Billy stoked William’s hair.
William licked his way to the end of the cock and

paused long enough to say “Dig, dead man,” before going
back to his sucking. Billy sprawled back and William
tipped his head, making sure Sam got a better view.

Sam dug a while longer before he gave it up. He

climbed out of the hole, went to his knees and kissed
William around Billy’s cock. This action drew a smile from
William and a needy groan from Billy.

“Bribe him, sheriff,” William offered, moving off after

a second kiss.

Sam ran his tongue all over Billy’s cock and then

sucked him in, swirling and moaning, putting on a good
show.

Billy snickered. “You must really want to live.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Sam agreed, swallowing Billy all the

way down and holding him there almost half a minute.
When Billy brushed the gun over his hair, he shuddered and

licked his way off Billy’s cock. With half-lidded eyes and a
sly smile, he ran his tongue along the barrel of the gun.

Billy met this with a big smile. “Suck it, boy.”
Sam fellated the gun with almost the same skill as he’d

used on Billy’s cock. He never let the fear leave his face.
He hated the taste of the metal, but the whole scene was
turning him on beyond belief.

“The Sheriff sucks like a ten-dollar Mexican whore,”

William sneered.

Billy just laughed. “Back to the cock, boy.”
Sam went, his efforts redoubled now, pleased to be off

the gun. He didn’t like to think Billy would be tempted to
pull the trigger while they played. He knew he would have
had to fight not to do so.

Billy moaned under the renewed attention and William

silenced him with a kiss. “I want to watch you fuck him,
there in his own grave,” William said softly.

Sam spat Billy’s cock out like a piece of horehound

candy that had gone too charcoal. “You are a sick old
buzzard.”

William tsked. “That’s no way to talk to the man who

holds your life in his hands, Sheriff.”

Billy nudged Sam with the gun again, steering him to

the open pit. “I think I will." Sam put up no resistance, even
when Billy ordered, “In the grave, hands and knees.”

Sam went to his hands and knees in the four-foot deep

hole and had to stop himself from pushing back when Billy
knelt behind him, rubbing the gunbelt into his ass. He’d
already lubed, expecting no foreplay. He watched a drop of
pre-come drip off the end of his dick and land in the sand
underneath him.

“Mount him, dear stallion,” came William’s order.
Billy, to Sam’s surprise, did use a condom and some

extra lubricant. He lifted Sam’s face by the hair so William
could watch. Sam gave a good show of being hurt and
unwilling. He felt his cock getting harder and harder, his

balls drawing up tight as orgasm approached.

William had opened his fly and was stroking himself as

he watched. Billy rode him harder and he yelled a little.

“That's right. Scream, boy.”
“Please,” Sam gasped. “Please, you're hurting me." He

yelled again as Billy rammed in even harder. This time, he
couldn’t help himself and bucked up to meet the thrust.

“I do so love watching you work,” William sighed as

he came.

“Maybe I'll get a raise. What do you think, boy?" Billy

gasped the words, close to climax himself.

Sam caught his breath. “I think,” he said, bucking Billy

off and pinning him down, only to point his own gun at
him, “you are going to lose your job.”

William laughed from his chair. “Ah, he has spirit!" He

glared at Billy. “If you let him fuck you, my boy, you're
fired and I'll hire him in your place.”

Sam shot his lover a wicked look. “I think I might. And

you're next, old man.”

“Ain't gonna happen." Billy made a grab for the gun.
“Ah ah!” Sam cocked it warningly. “Don’t try anything

stupid, you stinking piece of guano. Be a shame if it went
off and ruined your pretty face. Now drop ‘em." Billy
obediently put his hands to his sides and went very still. “I
meant your pants, moron. I'm going to fuck you raw, until
you wish I'd just covered you in honey and buried you alive
on an ant hill.”

Billy carefully lowered his pants the rest of the way, his

eyes never leaving the gun that Sam held bare inches from
his nose.

Sam smiled, quite nastily. “You see, one doesn't get to

be Sheriff by being a sweet innocent babe in the woods.
I’m the meanest, nastiest hombre in three territories.”

William was still laughing, both at the scene before

him and at Sam talking western-tough. He shut up when
Sam shot at him. The pellets of the blank thwacked into the

dust beside his boots. Both William and Billy jumped.

“I'll settle up with you soon enough, you buzzard." He

motioned Billy out of the hole. “Go tie him down." Sam
spun the gun on his finger. “Do a really good job and I
won't fuck you with the Colt.”

As Billy tied him down, William stole a kiss and

whispered, “Are you all right with this?”

Billy kissed his ear as he bound his hands. “Just fine.

He’s cute when he’s being tough.”

Once William was secured, Sam beckoned Billy back.

“On your belly in the grave." Billy lay down in the sandy
dirt and gasped a little when Sam, condomed and well-
lubed, slammed into him. Sam rode him long and hard,
slapping his ass occasionally, and Billy yelled at
particularly hard ones.

Sam just laughed. “Oh and my ass? Saddle leather, I

never even felt you." He shoved deep and shuddered,
coming. He nipped Billy’s neck “You're a sweet ride. I
really hate to do this." He pulled out and flipped Billy onto
his back.

Billy’s yells turned to screams when Sam manacled his

hands in front and started shoveling dirt over his legs. He
kicked and thrashed, trying to keep his legs free, but Sam
shoveled fast and got him buried. He screamed louder when
Sam worked his way up his body, burying him completely
except for his face.

“Bribe me,” Sam sneered as he pulled his clothes back

on.

Billy’s eyes were wide and not all the fear was fake.

“I'll work for you.”

“Oh yeah?" Sam hunkered down near the head of the

grave and picked up a raw board. “What’s your name,
outlaw?" He busied himself carving the words “Died,
1888" in the board with his pocketknife.

William just watched, horrified. Billy said nothing else,

fear stopping his mouth. He screamed when Sam nudged

some dirt onto his face.

“I can just bury you anonymously, you know.”
“Stop it,” William snapped, trying to salvage the scene

that was spinning wildly out of control. “I’m the one you
want. Why are you torturing him?”

Sam spat at William. “Because I’m the meanest son of

a bitch in four states." He looked down at Billy and saw the
very real distress. “And because I can.”

Billy knew Sam had seen and the fact that Sam was

making no move to do anything other than keep going
scared him even more.

Sam swaggered over to where William sat and

presented his crotch to his lover’s face. “Suck me old man,
just like you did him. Do real good and I might dig him
out.”

Billy breathed a little easier and William hastened to

suck Sam deep, playing his tongue along the hardening
cock.

“Rich old cocksucker. You quit shoveling shit my way

and I won't stand up in Sunday meetin' and tell 'em all how
you suck better'n a–what was it? Oh yeah, a ten dollar
Mexican whore.”

William kept sucking, but Sam was taking a while to

come this round. William shot a desperate look at Billy,
who was calming down slowly. Finally Sam came. He
holstered the Colt, zipped his jeans and bent to pick up his
badge.

“Good man. Now, I'm gonna loosen your left hand. If

you work real hard you can get free and unbury your boy
there." He set his hat back on his head. “And remember,
when you fuck with me, you're fucking with the best...” he
paused and patted William’s cheek condescendingly,
“cocksucker." He mounted the tied horse and rode off.

William worked at the knots. Sam had actually cut both

wrists free to make it even easier. He picked up the shovel
and unburied Billy, drawing him up, out of the grave and

into a tight embrace.

“Oh my boy. Are you all right?”
Billy twisted out of the hug and snapped, “Fine,” as he

reached for his clothes.

“No, you're not. You're furious and frightened. It was

Samuel’s turn to be on top and you were fine for a while.
Where did the scene go bad?”

Billy took a deep breath. “When he fucking buried

me.”

“Oh, dear. Your claustrophobia.”
“Yeah.”
William looked at the ground and scuffed the toe of his

boot through the dust. “I should have stopped Joseph from
locking you in the closet the first time I saw him do it.
That’s no way to raise a child.”

“I was a hellraiser from day one. I musta deserved it.”
William drew him in close. “There were better forms of

discipline and I should have said something. But one does
not interfere with child-rearing unless there is blatant
abuse. I encouraged some of your misbehavior as well. I
remember you stealing jam from the pantry. Rather than
snitching, I stole the crackers and we had snacks in the
garden house.”

Billy smiled for the first time in a while. “I remember

that.”

“You were a scamp. Your nan understood that, but

Joseph never did. Stern old fart. And he was no better
himself as a boy.”

They walked back toward the house, leading the

horses. “I loved it when you visited. Or when we came
here,” Billy said.

“I enjoyed visiting,” William smiled. “As you got older

and became so good looking, I visited less. My thoughts
were entirely inappropriate before you were sixteen.”

Billy rubbed his arm. “I could have used you around

thirteen...”

“Oh, lord, no." William said no more, but looked a

little distressed.

“You stayed away a lot after that birthday party,” Billy

said.

“My absence never meant I didn't love you." William’s

voice was soft as they unhitched the horses and stored the
props.

“Yeah, I get that. I wouldn't be here now if you didn’t.”
“I was afraid of harming you. Afraid of confusing you.

Afraid of my own desires. And terrified my oldest friend
would accuse me of making his son queer.”

“He probably blames you anyway, even if he won’t say

it. He's that kind of man. And you’re not scared now.”

“No, for now you are a man and know your own

mind." William held him close and almost clung for a
moment. “Now that we know how badly you're
claustrophobic, we will set it as a hard limit and we will be
more careful how we play. Let us see how our Sam is
doing. Being the brute takes a great deal out of him.”

Sam sat in the front room, stripped to his shorts, the

cowboy clothes in a heap out of his line of sight. He was
shaking. William sat beside him and held him. Billy sat
down on the other side and added to the cuddle.

“Darling boy,” William said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Next time..." He took a breath to calm the shakiness in

his voice. “Next time it's cock sundaes with whipped cream
and cherries. None of this costume shit." He looked at
Billy. “I know you like it, but I don't like that side of me
you saw today.”

Billy gave him a quick kiss. “I know. It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. You were scared to death and I kept going.

I liked that you were scared.”

Billy kissed him and both of them sputtered at the dirt

getting into their mouths. “Sorry, cutie. I need a shower.”

“Shower quickly, my boy and come to bed. Our Sam

needs a three-way cuddle,” William decreed.

Sam slowly stopped shaking in William’s arms. They

moved to the bed and he was talking about sundaes when
Billy made it back.

“So, caramel or chocolate?” he asked, teasing one of

William’s nipples with his tongue.

“Caramel, always,” Billy said from the door, toweling

his hair.

“I'm a pineapple man myself,” William said.
“Perverts, both of you." Sam snuggled in closer. “Hot

fudge for me. All right, warm fudge." Billy curled into his
back and he rested, safe and warm between the men he
loved.

***

Sam soaked in his Jacuzzi after a long day. He hated

dealing with irate clients. It wasn’t his fault the stock of the
regional retailer now resembled wallpaper more than a nest
egg. The stock market was as pure of a gamble as going
down to Tunica and dropping a quarter in a slot machine.

He relaxed, not thinking of the client and trying not to

think about Billy. William had doubtless spent the day
alternately civilizing him and fucking him. He liked Billy
well enough. He just hated sharing William when he wasn’t
there to enjoy it. Maybe it was the games. He’d been on the
bottom most of the time since the cowboy scene and maybe
a change of pace was in order.

Sam opened his eyes as Billy slipped through the door

of the bathroom. He stripped naked and slipped into the
Jacuzzi without an invitation.

“You okay, Sam?" He slid closer and kissed Sam’s

neck.

“Just tired." Sam knew Billy really did like him and

enjoyed the sex. He’d never expected to live in a menage a
trois and wasn’t sure he liked it.

Billy made himself comfortable and opened one arm.

Sam looked for a moment and then decided there was no
time like the present to continue work on his jealousy issue.
He sloshed over and let Billy cuddle him.

“Need your help, Sam. I want to look good for this

shindig tomorrow, but I want to surprise Mr. William.”

Sam chuckled at how easily Billy slipped into the semi-

formal child’s address of their mutual lover. Old habits died
as hard as his jealousy, it seemed. “A make over? Is that
what you want?”

“Well, just a little help. No mud masks or handing me

over to the Fab Five. I’d just fuck one of ‘em over the
haircut chair anyway.”

Sam laughed at that. “You lack the requisite

straightness." He kissed Billy’s mouth. “First thing, the
scruff goes. You either wear a real beard like William, or
you shave as I do. The shadow suits no one but Indiana
Jones and since you’ve been in the lap of luxury and not
crawling through the brush for a week–“

“I get it." Billy hummed a couple bars of the theme

music and gave him a one-sided smile.

Sam ran his fingers through Billy’s long straight blond

hair. “Hair cut. I’ll take you to my barber tomorrow." Sam
grinned. “Our one concession to the macho: barber, not
stylist.”

“I like it long,” Billy protested.
“We can leave it long. He’ll just give it some shape and

take you from cute but scruffy into gorgeous." Sam felt
Billy’s cock waking up just from the touching they were
doing. “William will probably have your clothes all picked
out.”

At that moment, William appeared. “Dinner in ten

minutes, water babies." He disappeared just as quickly.

Sam kissed Billy and patted the head of his cock. “Save

it for later. We’re double teaming him.”

“He’ll love it.”
The bad part was, Sam knew Billy was right. And he

got to watch Billy in action over dinner. Billy was on his
good manners, but he used every ounce of that Southern
charm he’d cultivated on William.

Finally, as he grinned over the table, William literally

threw his hands up in despair. “Not the dimples. I can resist
anything but the dimples.”

Sam grinned and Billy laughed. “You don't know how

much trouble those have gotten me out of.”

“I am willing to make guesses." Sam could make a few

as well. He felt pretty helpless when Billy started with the
charm too. “I recall you using them before you could read."
William smiled at the memory.

Billy flashed them again, this time at Sam. “Oh, yeah. I

learned they worked as a toddler, I think.”

“Some time around then, as I recall. Joseph was

impervious, but your mother was not. And you had me and
your nana wrapped around your finger by the time you
could walk."

Sam watched as Billy gave one of the special grins, one

Sam knew had gotten him out of trouble for twenty years
and made grown-ups fall all over themselves. William was
no exception here and melted into a sweet kiss, unable to
hold out against Billy’s charm.

They parted and William laughed. “I nearly told you I

would not be so easily gotten around. But you know
better.”

“I won't abuse it. Scout's honor.”
The innocent look made Sam laugh. “You were never a

scout and you spell honor 'o-n h-e-r'.” He took a kiss of
Billy’s mouth before William could stop laughing. The
jealousy was getting to him again, so time to integrate Billy
more and make sure he wasn’t left out.

“And I know exactly how much you abuse it,” William

added as they rose from the table. When the opportunity
availed, he swatted Billy. Billy yelped.

“Faker,” Sam laughed, kissing him again.

“Yep,” Billy agreed.
“I wonder if we could make you yell so loudly with

pleasure,” William suggested, leading the way to the
bedroom. The servants would handle the dishes.

“I'm sure between the both of you, you can do that."

Billy hadn’t let go of Sam. “Sweetcheeks had a bad day,
maybe we should take care of him first?”

Sam remembered then why he couldn’t hate Billy. He

loved the kid; it was just the intrusion that wore at him. He
nuzzled at the side of Billy’s neck. “I want to watch you
fuck him. He's been in charge of all our encounters, doing
all the watching and controlling. Arrogant old bastard needs
taking down a peg." He caught William stifling a laugh at
his tough talk. “It isn’t you I want to hear yelling.”

Billy nodded and started on William’s clothes. “I’ll

gladly fuck him.”

Sam kissed the back of Billy’s neck and all over

William’s face. “Tie him out and be brutal, lover. I want
him screaming." He matched Billy’s evil grin.

William rolled his eyes. “Oh, really. Well, when the

children are set on playing...”

Billy smirked. “I think you'll enjoy it well enough.”
Between them, Sam and Billy stripped William out of

his suit, kissing him and each other, generally pleasuring
everyone. Sam nuzzled Billy and licked his neck.

“That's right, boy. Get me hard.”
Sam laughed. “Only if you return the favor." He kissed

Billy again, sucking at his tongue until Billy moaned with
desire.

“I'll give you whatever you want.”
Sam’s grin was wicked. “Open ended promises are

such fun." He dropped to his knees. Billy was already half
hard and three good licks and some tongue-work under the
foreskin had him ready for action. “Fuck him dressed,”
Sam whispered. “All your clothes, none of his. I want to
watch.”

Billy shot William a grin. “Hear that, old man?”
William lounged naked on the bed, watching the young

men. “Oh, I hear.”

Using William’s discarded necktie, Sam tied his wrists

to the headboard. He bent in and kissed William. “Love
you. I just want to be bad tonight." William gave him a
wink and kissed him back. Sam went and sucked Billy,
sloppily, with lots of spit and slurping. “No lube for him.
Just spit. Enjoy it. Your first time raw.”

Billy shuddered at the enormity of that and watched

Sam lick William’s ass, getting it wet, too. William smiled
up at him and nodded. Sam gave him a nudge as he rose.
“Go on. Before you dry out." He pulled William’s legs back
and held them next to his chest, letting Billy have a better
shot. William groaned, sounding very uncomfortable.

“What's the matter, old man? Don't like being on the

bottom?” Billy asked as he pressed in. The tight heat, skin
feeling much better than latex, left him breathless.

“Not as limber as I was,” William managed. Billy said

nothing, but pressed deeper and deeper, wanting full
contact.

Sam watched avidly. “Oh, yeah. Oh, wow, I can't

believe how much you're stretching him." He bent over
William and kissed Billy. “So sexy. Do him harder." He
laughed as William let out a soft, very filthy profanity.

illy kissed Sam back and started pounding. He made

sure Sam had a good view. William came, all over his
stomach. Sam moaned, watching this, sounding like he was
the one getting fucked. He stroked his own cock, his eyes
never leaving the junction of the two bodies.

Billy kept going and Sam came all over William’s face,

not noticing how his lover flinched away from it. “Oh,
God. So sexy." Billy came with a groan.

“Do let go of my legs, Samuel, or I won't be walking

tomorrow,” William put in. “And I can’t feel my thumbs,
gentlemen.”

Sam made haste to get the knots out. Lower, Billy

slipped out his tongue, by slow degrees and lapped at the
semen on William’s belly and face. Before Sam had the last
knot undone, he was licking hard, getting William clean.

“Thank you, my dear ones,” William said, drawing

both of them into an embrace. “But Samuel, if you ever do
that again, it will be primate chow for a month." He
punctuated this with a hard swat, not at all playful or sexy
on Sam’s khaki-covered butt.

Sam kissed him. “I won’t. I’m sorry. I got carried

away.”

“Forgiven." William kissed him and then Billy. “And

both of you are overdressed for sleeping.”

***

Billy was headed into the living room, when he heard

raised voices. Eavesdropping being the way he’d always
gained most of his information, he listened, straining to
hear over the drumming of the November rain.

“You fucking let him top me again. Hell, you fucking

ordered him to!” Sam shouted. He’d never heard Sam
swear out of scene.

“Samuel, please–“ William sounded placating.
“Please nothing! You fucking well promised, William!

You promised me you wouldn’t do that again and more
important, you promised you wouldn’t take him to bed
when I wasn’t around to join you!"

Billy winced. He had taken his godfather to bed on

Halloween, one of the evenings Sam had stayed late in the
city. There were a lot more nights Sam was staying late in
the city in the last couple months. He knew Sam loved him,
but he hadn’t quite figured out the tension between them.
William said three could work, if they were the right three.
Lately, Billy had begun to have his doubts.

“Sam, no. There is no reason whatsoever for this

childish possessiveness. You are being quite irrational!"
William’s voice was louder and more irritated than Billy
had ever heard it, even when he had broken an antique
vase.

Sam gave a mirthless laugh. “Irrational? You call being

mad that you're dumping me for something that's damn
near incest irrational?" Sam laughed again and Billy’s skin
crawled. “This is a new and fun definition of the word. I
love you, old man. And I gave up all my independence for
you. I love you. And, God help me, I love him too. But I
can't live like this, scared to death you're going to throw me
out because he’s a better fuck. Or because I’m too twisty.”

William sounded placating now. “Sam, love, never.

You will always have a home here. I love both of you. You
are my lover and were it legal, my husband." Billy backed
away from the door, considering his options. “And I am
tired of this discussion." Billy flinched at what he thought
of as William’s Chairman of the Board voice. “You are
staying. He is staying and both of you will remain in my
bed. And you, Samuel, will be in therapy tomorrow to deal
with your pettiness.”

The sneer in Sam’s voice was quite audible. “Yeah.

You know, there's a reason why "therapist" breaks down
into "the rapist,” William.”

Billy listened no longer and went to pack his things.
He was unsurprised when William intercepted him in

the hall, one suitcase in hand, about to slip into the rainy
autumn night.

“And where are you going?”
“Back home." Billy had always been a convincing liar

and he hoped he could manage it this time.

William raised his eyebrows. “Without a good-bye or a

thank you?”

Billy shrugged. “I was going to call from the bus

station.”

William’s face was stern. “Then all I have taught you

has gone unlearned, if you have not mastered basic
manners.”

Billy looked at the parquet floor of the entrance hall. “I

didn't come to cause trouble.”

“No. And you have not, my boy.”
“Sure sounded like it when Sam was raising the roof.”
William cleared his throat. “Samuel's issues are his

own. And if I have failed to teach you to stand on your feet,
smile and be polite even when your heart is breaking, even
when you want to kill or die or weep, then I have been
remiss."

“You got a good thing. And he needs to be your only

priority.”

William kissed him, sweetly, without demands. “Have

you alerted your father of your arrival?" Seeing the small
shake of Billy’s head, he asked softly, “Or are you going
home?" Billy felt his face fall. “From the guilty look, I
would say not. Come back inside and plan ahead. Have you
learned nothing at all in the time you've been here?"
William rolled his eyes.

“Guess not." Billy set his case down and went back to

the living room. He shot a glance at Sam, who wandered in
and sat beside him.

“So you heard an argument and you are running

away?”

Billy nodded. William always could see right through

him, just like his dad. Even worse than his dad, in some
ways, because William knew how his mind worked and
Joseph had never taken the time to learn.

“No you aren’t,” Sam said. “That’s nonsense. You

think you'd never heard a married couple fight before.”

Billy shrugged. “Most married couples don't have the

pressure of a third in bed with them.”

Sam leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I lose my temper

fast, Billy. But I get it back easy. It's an Italian thing. You
should hear when Mama forgets the bread on the dinner

table.”

Billy shook his head. “It sounded more serious than

just a temper flare. I'm causing a problem. A real problem.”

Sam laid a finger on his lips. “No, I'm having a

jealousy problem. And you don't need to go running out
into the night because of my problem.”

“Exactly. Let's at least plan your departure,” William

suggested. Billy nodded at the wisdom in that. “And let us
do it in the morning. The buses have stopped running.”

Billy reached for his bags to take them back to his

room. William swept him into his arms. “My beloved boy,
my only family. Stay?”

Sam wrapped his arms around both of them and kissed

the back of Billy’s neck. “Stay.”

“Maybe." Billy hesitated.
Sam whispered, “Look, my problems are my problems

and I'll work them out. But I don’t need to be doing it on
your fears. William told me about the claustrophobia.”

Billy looked from one man to the other and saw

nothing but love on their faces. “I'm sorry, Sam. I really
didn’t mean to be a pest.”

“It's okay." Sam kissed his neck. “Really. I said I was

okay with you coming. I said I was okay with you in the
games. Now I need to live up to that.”

“Stay with us, my boy." William kissed Sam and then

Billy.

Billy nodded as they took him back to William’s

bedroom. “Yeah. I think I will.”

“So, this Friday, Arkham Horror or Public Assistance?”

Sam asked as they stripped for bed.

Hunger for the Edge

He walked the streets, his cane tapping before him, ears

and nose bringing him the night. The cars passed, their
airstreams telling him their position. He paused at a cross-
walk, listening to the box click over, and then crossed the
street. He remembered cars from before he went to sleep.

His cane warned him of the curb. He could smell the

people: the whores, their perfume over the deeper scents of
drugs and disease, one of the latter new in the time he'd
been gone; the loiterers, beer and whiskey, cigarettes and
crystal; the druggies dying of despair and the substances in
their veins; the thrill-seekers, soap and shampoo and
temperature controlled air from their workplaces. And
through it all the smell of sex and desire. He needed
tonight, needed as he had not in years. Needed as he always
did upon awakening.

His ears led him to the clubs. The steady techno beat

went right through him, making him most uncomfortable as
it jarred the fluids that had once been internal organs. He
breathed deeply; smoke and sex, alcohol and other less-
legal intoxicants filled the night. Male and female, all
female... ah, the one he was seeking: a melange of
testosterone, male sweat, low voices and a grinding dance
beat.

The line smelled of anticipation and need, the

murmured conversations a distraction. He did not join it.
Toward the end, a more promising draft drew his attention.
A whiff of garbage and over it, the high smell of sex
recently accomplished. The man smelled clean, slumming
by having quick sex in an alley. He heard the little sounds
of the zipper, of cloth on cloth. He collapsed his cane and
waited at the end of the alley.

He knew what they would see when they emerged: a

young black man, all in blue that matched his startling eyes.
He had always liked blue: the skies over New Orleans, the
dresses of the wealthy mulatto women, the uniforms of the
French army, the brave feathers and tatty finery of Jean
Lafitte and his crew. The men in the alley would learn soon
enough that he was blind, just as he had upon this
awakening. With luck, neither would figure out his
condition.

***

The little redhead twink was a good cocksucker, but

Zach was bored. Bored with his life. Bored with the nightly
tricking. Bored with his yuppie life, his yuppie job and his
social climbing parents who, when they couldn't use his
success, used his gayness as their entrée into better circles.
He wanted something more, but he didn't know what else
there could be.

He came and zipped up so fast he almost caught the

twink's lips in his jeans. When the twink stood and looked
him over, his response was a shrug. He turned his back and
stepped around the piles of trash as he left.

The young black man leaning against the wall was cute

enough, but he didn't want another trick. He passed by, but
a slim hand shot out and grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Please, can you tell me where I am?" The young

man's voice was slightly accented, almost musical.

"You're outside Egypt. What are you, blind?" Zach had

no time for beggars or foreigners.

"As a matter of fact, yes." This was accompanied by a

sweet smile and the appearance of a white cane.

Zach looked more closely and realized the man's odd

blue eyes did not focus. They tracked some as he spoke, but
they never seemed to settle on him.

"You're at 45th Street and Euclid. You want me to call

you a cab? This isn't a good neighborhood."

He smiled again, making Zach swallow, wanting to

taste that lovely white smile. "I'd much rather you helped
me into the club? It has been a long time since I danced."

"Can you dance?"
"Most assuredly. I must, however, have some small

assistance in reaching dance floor and the bar."

Zach's eyes narrowed. "Are you asking me to be your

date?"

His laugh was as musical as his speech. "Not at all.

Merely that you aid me in getting a drink and finding the
dance floor." He ran his hand up his prey's arm. "I'd be
very grateful."

Zach thought about it. He was curious to see what the

blind man could do on the dance floor. He shrugged.
"Come on then. I'm Zach."

"Adrien." His accent was charming, southern of some

sort. He tucked his hand into Zach's offered elbow and felt
ahead with his cane.

Adrien was a wine-drinker, to Zach's amusement and

wasn't bad on the dance floor. He stayed in one spot,
moving barely three steps in any direction, doing
something that looked like the bastard child of the hustle
and the cha-cha.

After an hour or so, Adrien's entertainment value had

worn off...at least here at Egypt. Zach caught his arm and
steered him back to the bar. "You want to go home?"

Adrien wasn't even breathing hard. "Certainly. Yours, I

must insist. My own is unfit for visitors."

"Slob, huh? Bad as any straight boy." Zach led him out

and to his Jaguar. He opened the door. "Watch your head."

Adrien was quiet on the drive back to the apartment.

Zach was parking the Jag when Adrien turned his face to
him and smiled. "I had a very good time tonight. I haven't
had one for far too long."

"We'll have to fix that." Zach shut down and got out,

pleased to see Adrien had managed to get himself out.
"Elevator's over here." He punched the floor and helped
Adrien into his apartment, getting him settled on the sofa.

"Come here. Let me feel you." Adrien said, urgently.
Zach walked over, standing close to the couch. He did

not flinch when Adrien touched his face, lightly, rapidly,
taking in each of his features, "reading" it as he had seen
the blind do before.

"So very handsome." Adrien smiled and his hands

continued their exploration of his shoulders, drifting down
to his arms and chest. "Pretty." His smile was very white
against his dark skin.

As his hands worked their way down to Zach's crotch,

he smiled up and cupped it. "Lovely."

Very few could use the term without a trace of sarcasm.

Zach chuckled. "Yeah... you found the best part."

"It all seems very nice to me." Adrien looked up at him

quizzically. "Do you kiss? So many men don't."

In answer, Zach leaned down, lifted his chin and tasted

his mouth. The full lips were cool, but Adrien was sensual
and talented. He explored Zach's mouth with amazing
thoroughness, leaving Zach both aroused and invaded.

"I haven't been kissed like that in a very long time,"

Adrien whispered as they parted.

"That was just a warmup."
"Really?" Adrien smiled. "I may have to let strange

men take me home more often if that is the norm."

"That can be arranged." Zach knew Adrien couldn't

see the half-smile on his face. The slim fingers traced over
it and he kissed them as they passed.

"Now that you have the poor helpless blind boy

home..." Adrien trailed off as he pressed against Zach,
letting him feel that he was very hard. He wasn't average
sized all over, by the feel of things, either. Zach drew back
a little. "My apologies. A side effect." He kissed Zach
again.

"Side effect of what? Viagra?"
Adrien laughed. "Close enough. Of a medical

condition."

"Lot of men would kill for that kind of side effect."

Zach started unfastening Adrien's shirt without asking.

"Ah, very butch of you." Adrien gave himself over to

his hands. "I like my men macho."

"Versatile, for the right man." Zach refused to make

the requisite Village People joke. It was almost unfair.

"I, too, am flexible." He took a deep breath. "You

smell good."

"I knew that expensive cologne was good for

something." Zach tugged at his hands. "Come on, let's take
this to bed."

"Not the cologne. You. You're clean. You're healthy."

Adrien couldn't resist licking his lips. "You smelled
absolutely appetizing."

"And you're just pushing all the right buttons." Zach

was busily undoing his own in the fly of his jeans.

Adrien looked up at him just a moment. Softly he

asked, "Why did you stop for a man who clutched your
shirt?"

"Blue's my favorite color."
Adrien laughed. "It's every man's favorite."
Zach shrugged, stepping out of his jeans. "Not always.

Last week my favorite was black."

Adrien's hand ran lightly over Zach's bare arm and

shoulder. "And that I have as well."

"Noticed." Zach sat down on the edge of the bed and

helped Adrien out of the rest of his clothing.

"So I am your favorite all the way around?" He licked

Zach's collarbone and up his neck.

"I reserve judgment on that until I've had you."
As he tasted and felt the warm bare skin beside him,

Adrien added, "I expect a verdict will be forthcoming
soon."

Zach reached down to run a finger up the length of

Adrien's cock, which was still hard. "However did you
guess?" He growled low in his throat when Adrien sucked
at one nipple. He moved around, onto his knees behind
Adrien. He wrapped one arm around the slim, dark body
and began long, slow strokes. "Impressive."

"So nice to have your approval." Adrien leaned back

into Zach's arms, pressing back and feeling his erection as
well. "I am not unimpressed myself."

With a gentle nip at Adrien's shoulder, Zach let go and

laid back on the bed. "Just wait. Joining me?"

Adrien felt his way around the mattress and got

situated beside him. He ran a line of kisses up Zach's arm,
loving the taste and the warmth of the skin, the feel of the
hard muscles beneath it.

When he found Zach's mouth, he gave another one of

those deep, searing kisses that made Zach even harder. He
lingered as long as Zach allowed, tasting him, enjoying the
subtle differences in his flavor, the cigarettes a top note, the
deeper taste of alcohol that had gotten into his bloodstream
and under it all the taste of Zach.

Eventually, he nibbled his way down Zach's chin to

lick at his neck again and then slid down, tasting his chest,
to suck at the other nipple. His hand went to Zach's erect
cock and stroked lightly.

"Beautiful body."
"Not so bad yourself." The slow play was starting to

wear on Zach and he wondered if he'd hooked up with a bi-
curious virgin. He decided to take a direct approach. "Want
to fuck me?"

Adrien shrugged. "If you would like that." His smile

was very white in his face as he licked his lips. "I'd rather
taste you some more first." He punctuated the statement by
going down on Zach, very suddenly, wrenching a moan
from his partner who was taken aback by the speed. Adrien
swallowed him to the root, plenty of suction and his strong

tongue a velvety caress against Zach's cock. After a
moment, he eased off, teasing with the tip of his tongue,
taking small licks followed by long strokes.

"Fuck..." Zach breathed. "You have the best mouth."
Adrien went back to the deep suction. He worked his

way down Zach's length to bury his nose in the musky
curls, his tongue going out to flicker over Zach's balls. That
maneuver sent Zach into pure speechless sex noises after an
initial "oh fuck."

He pulled away to suck at the head, just the head, his

tongue moving in fanciful scrollwork, a veritable oriental
carpet of licks. Zach gasped and came without even a
warning, something he hadn't done since he was a teenager
and hard in his pants at every sexy thought that crossed his
mind.

Adrien drew away, smiled and swallowed

ostentatiously. "You taste good."

Zach relaxed on his back, stretching his arms up and

behind his head. Adrien licked his way up the toned body,
long slow strokes that only seemed to feed Zach's arousal
instead of bringing him down.

"I would be more than pleased to ravish you, lovely

man." Adrien kissed him again, letting Zach get lost in the
intensity, the need.

"Good," Zach managed when he came up for air. He

stretched over and snagged a condom from the bedside
table, a move as second nature to him as putting his socks
on before his shoes.

Adrien's response threw him. He looked puzzled and

sniffed. "What is it that you rattle so? It smells...industrial."
That was the best word he could think of.

Zach sounded amused as he ripped the packet open.

"Little latex raincoat?" With a deft one- handed roll, he slid
it over Adrien's cock and then reached for the lube.

Adrien shifted his hips and touched it lightly.

"Strange."

More uneasy now, Zach snapped, "Don't care how hot

you are, you're not getting it raw."

Adrien just sounded amused. "A French letter is now

required between men. Very well, I would not get you with
a yellow baby."

"A kid I could deal with. Kick it out in 18 years. Dying,

however is not on my to-do list right now."

Adrien laughed softly. "Eighteen. You would coddle.

The child could work for six years before that."

"Just call me a big softie."
"Grease? Oil, something?" Adrien touched the condom

again, his erection never flagging. "This will not enter
easily and I would not hurt you."

Zach had already picked it up from the nightstand.

"This do?" he asked, pouring a fair amount into Adrien's
palm.

Adrien brought it up and sniffed it a bit. He tested the

slickness and then began using it on the condom.
"Admirably." He used the hand not currently covered in
lubricant to feel for Zach's ass. Upon finding it, he slid a
slick finger into it, testing the resistance and ease of entry.
"Very nice."

Zach murmured, "Make it good. Don't do this often."
Adrien entered him gently, easing in. "It has been a

long time for me as well." He moved a little, a very small
soft motion. When he was all the way in, Zach relaxed a
little. Adrien felt the change. "Is all well?"

"Yeah... it's good." Zach kept his breathing slow and

careful.

Adrien continued the slow movements. "Speak if more

is required."

"More," Zach demanded, grabbing his thighs.
Adrien sped up, his thrusts hard but no faster. "Is this

good?"

"Oh yeah... so fucking good... " Zach dug his fingers

into Adrien's thighs to make him speed up a little.

"Very nice indeed." Adrien read the signal right and

moved faster. He was very quiet, soft moans and sighs, no
vulgarity such as Zach was lavishing on him in praise. It
took a very long time, but at last he thrust deep, shaking
with a guttural groan.

Zach hadn't managed a second orgasm, but he was very

close. Adrien, never softening or withdrawing, reached
around and felt how hard he was. He stroked Zach gently,
clever fingers working from root to tip, encouraging him to
spill.

The added attention pushed Zach over. Adrien swiped

his fingers through the semen and licked them clean.

Zach grinned watching him. "Hungry, huh?"
Adrien gave him a wicked smile. "Starved. I haven't

had a good meal since... Do you know I've lost recollection
of the last one?"

Zach stretched sleepily. "I'll have to fix that once I can

move again."

Adrien shook his head. He was still inside and had not

gone soft. He gave a couple pumps for good measure. "No
need. I'll see to it."

"Don't you ever get soft?" Zach squirmed, starting to

get uncomfortable as he absorbed the lube.

"Never." Adrien withdrew anyway, stripping off the

condom. He looked a bit puzzled as to where to put it and
Zach took it, even more disconcerted that it was empty.
Adrien scratched himself luxuriously, pure sensuality as he
stretched.

Zach pitched the empty condom. His eyes were narrow

as he appraised Adrien. "Who are you?"

"Adrien Carriere. The little dark one. Obvious, no?"

The odd accent was thicker as he pronounced his name.

"What are you?" Nothing about this trick was adding

up.

"I am a Creole of Color, mulatto to be precise. That too

is obvious."

"That term hasn't been used in generations." Zach

reached for his pants.

Adrien looked puzzled. "I heard it often enough in

Louisiana. What of you, beautiful, sensual one? Zach.
Zickety zackety zap. Have you a real name? Zachariah?
Zachary? Zaccheus?" He gave a teasing smile. "Although
you are not wee by any means."

"Zachary is my legal name. What do you like to eat?"
"I am on a restricted diet. I will see to it when I leave."

He turned and began gathering his clothing. "Dear Zach,
where have you put my other shoe?"

Zach sat up quickly, catching his arm. "Want you

again."

Adrien turned his direction, the odd blue eyes not

focusing on him. "I will meet you at Egypt tomorrow
night."

Zach handed him the shoe. It would do.
"And I will have dinner first so I need not rush off so

rudely."

"I'll be looking for you." Zach stroked his arm slowly.
Adrien gave another of those deep, slow kisses, his

mouth still too cool. Zach was almost hard again when he
pulled away. "I will be there." With a final smile, he found
his cane and his way to the door.

Zach didn't sleep that night.

The next night, Adrien was loitering against the wall

outside of Egypt. He was well-fed, warm and content
looking. His shirt was a silvery blue which made his eyes
look almost gray He was patient. He'd been there for most
of the evening, listening to the crowd, smelling them,
enjoying being among people once more.

Zach came late, held up at work. He caught a glimpse

of dusky skin and a silvery blue shirt as he walked up, very
quietly, behind his evening's appointment.

Adrien turned and smiled. "Zach."

"Didn't think I made any noise," Zach grumbled.
"You didn't. I smelled you. So it is you who are rude

tonight?"

"Rude? How so?"
"Approaching a blind man from behind is not wise, nor

is it polite." Adrien's tone was mildly chiding but nothing
in it said Zach wouldn't be getting laid.

"I apologize. But since you smelled me, I don't think

I've put you out any."

"Not at all." Adrien wrapped an arm around his waist.

Unlike last night, he was warm, feeling almost flushed.

"Did you eat?" Zach asked, stroking his face, feeling

the unusual warmth in it.

"I ate. I may stay as long as you like." Adrien smiled

and pressed up into Zach's hand.

"Coming home with me?" Zach asked, gently starting

toward the car without disengaging from Adrien.

"If you like, I'd be quite happy to."
Zach led him to the Jag and watched as Adrien groped

around the edges of the door, not quite able to find the
handle. Finally, Zach opened the door.

"Ah, thank you." Adrien slid in gracefully, settling

himself in the low-slung seat.

As he walked around to his own side of the car, Zach

drew a small knife from his pocket. He winced as he made
a shallow cut, just deep enough to bleed freely, across his
arm before getting in.

Adrien sniffed audibly. "You're bleeding."
"Am I?"
"You are, I can smell it. It's just a small cut. Are you all

right?" Adrien sounded very worried. "Did you catch
yourself on the car?"

"I'm fine. Do you like the smell?" Zach put his plan

into action.

Adrien drew back a little, eyebrows furrowed over

sightless eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm on to you." Diplomacy, to Zach, had always been

a mealy mouthed way of avoiding the truth.

"I did intend to have you on me tonight, yes." Adrien

tried to change the subject.

"I intend far more."
"Indeed?"
"I stayed awake all last night putting this together:

empty condom, eternal boner, too good sense of smell.
Mysterious feeding habits."

"You know the other senses overcompensate," Adrien

said.

"Not to this extent," Zach countered.
"And surely not so mysterious. You've had lovers

refuse to eat with you before, I'm sure. Special diets make
other people uncomfortable."

"I know what you are," Zach persisted.
"Other than a blind creole who gives amazing head?"

Adrien licked his lips hoping to move into safer topics.

"Vampire."
Adrien laughed. He laughed until the car rang with it,

until he was clutching his sides, gasping for breath, the
tears running from his eyes. "Have you the first idea how
ridiculous that sounds? This is the twenty-first century."

Zach shrugged. "And there are stranger things out

there."

"Vampires are the silly superstitions of medieval

peasants to account for plagues and natural decay
processes."

"It destroyed your sight, didn't it?"
"What? Are you still claiming I'm a vampire?" He

hadn't stopped laughing and was clutching the hanging
strap over the door to steady himself.

"And you're going to give it to me."
"There are no such things. Do you hang your windows

with wolfsbane as well?" Adrien wrapped his arms around
his ribs, aching from the laughter.

"I'm bored. I want it. And you can be honest with me."
"I thought dying was not part of your grand plan."

Adrien flashed his fangs at Zach. "If you are bored living as
a mortal, how much more bored will you be dying
eternally?"

"We'll find out, won't we?" Zach smiled. He'd won.
"So you would trade your rapid life and easy death for

the slow degeneration of my death?"

"Worth it for the high." Zach sounded almost dreamy.
"What high?" Adrien knew the word, the implications.

Before his last sleep, he'd eaten more than one flower-child,
homeless, starving and miserable on the streets of San
Francisco.

"Of you turning me."
"You watch too many movies,"Adrien sneered. "And I

have no taste for human blood," he lied.

"You don't want me?" Zach was puzzled, hurt. He'd

never been rejected like this before.

"Not your blood. I want your body, your touch, your

kisses."

"You can have them. For tonight, or forever, your

choice."

Adrien gave him a normal smile, the fangs gone. "You

do not strike me as the forever sort. And I am too solitary. I
have been alone so long I would not know how to comport
myself otherwise."

"I'm not. Only if you make me that way." Zach was

willing to try anything.

"I make no one into anything."
"Then tonight it is." Zach sounded rather sad at the

notion. He pulled to a stop, before his apartment.

"And the change does not alter your personality. It

renders it permanent, not improved. You would not say
forever even after." His face was sad. "I heard them in the
line as I waited. Calling me a fool for expecting a second
night with you. Calling me 'Zach's pity fuck' Planning to

ask if you'd told me there was a braille tattoo on your body
parts."

Zach guided him into the elevator and scoffed quietly.

"Just jealous because they didn't get the second night."

"I take it such is a rare event."
"Like flawless diamonds." Zach leaned in to kiss him,

tongue feeling for the fangs Adrien had flashed.

"And I merit one only for what you want from me. It is

not pity, but a new drug." Adrien moved a little away,
feeling his way along the elevator wall.

"No. I wanted you again last night, if you remember."

Zach corrected.

Appeased, Adrien nodded. "And it was not safe for me

to stay. You will have me, all of me, tonight."

For the first time in his long, very active sex life, Zach

felt another man around him without an intervening layer
of latex.

They lay quietly afterward, Adrien on his back, Zach

on his side, his ear pressed to Adrien's chest. He listened to
the silence, the lack of body sounds.

"If you aren't willing, I'll find another who is. And I'll

be his." Zach licked Adrien's chest, tasting the smooth,
hard muscles, the kind that came from a life of hard work
and not a gym.

"In three hundred and ten years, I have met one other,"

Adrien said softly. "We are...not so common as folklore
would have us be." He closed his eyes.

"I'll search as long as I live. Though I'd prefer to spend

eternity as I am now."

"Young and beautiful and bored." Adrien stroked his

head. He lay silent for a while, thinking. Without warning,
he flipped Zach onto his back and snarled, letting his fangs
descend. "Hear me before you make this choice."

"I'm listening." Zach was already breathing hard.
"You think only of your vanity, your youth. Do you

have an income source that will last for the next five
hundred years? Do you have a plan what to do with the
lengthy death I am about to give you?"

Zach shook his head. He'd given no thought to the

mundanities of life, or undeath.

"Then I have a proposition for you. I will stay with you

while you create them. If you wish, I will even drink from
you: the 'rush,' the 'high' you desire. I will teach you what
you must know of your extended death."

"Do it," Zach breathed. He was hard again. All his life,

body fluids had meant death. Here, they meant eternal life.

Adrien licked along his neck "Where does your shirt

end?" When Zach marked the edge with a finger, he buried
his fangs just below it. Zach cried out, louder than he ever
had from mere fucking. His hips bucked and when Adrien
drew the fangs out to lick and suck at the blood, barely a
quarter-cup, he moaned clear through it.

"You will be a little pale tomorrow," Adrien whispered.

"And more tomorrow night. And on and on. You will be
very beautiful before I am done."

Zach pulled him over for a kiss, hard and needy. Adrien

tasted of blood and arousal. His mouth was very warm. He
came from the taste.

"Let me tell you of the slow death." Adrien curled into

his side. "Your organs, save your stomach, will cease to
function. They will continue to rot within you. Your soft
tissue will degenerate and decay. My eyes took two
hundred and eighty years to fail me. I have seen many
amazing things."

"I'll bet. Everything. All the wars, all the inventions, all

the great heroes." Zach sounded jealous.

"I spent much of it hiding, on the run and feeding. I

was not so deeply in love with my time as you are with
yours. I was a slave on a hemp plantation. I clawed my way
from the shallow grave my brothers scraped out just above
the water table. I rewarded their devotion with the only

freedom that was mine to give." A flash of white teeth
made Zach catch his breath again.

Adrien resumed his thoughts. "My lungs and tongue

will be next, I expect. Then the brain goes. The muscles are
last. I was told, that most who know the brain is going,
bury themselves forever rather than becoming a mindless
monster."

"There must be good parts."
Adrien gave him a sad smile. He pressed his erection

against Zach's thigh. "You will like this: it never goes
down."

"And I'll be beautiful. It's worth it."
"Always young." Adrien kissed his chest. "Always

beautiful." He kissed the small wounds on Zach's throat.
"Always bored." Zach laughed, only to be silenced by a
kiss. "And in the end, the world will change too fast for
you. You will take a rest from it and when you awaken, you
will discover it has changed a great deal more. You will re-
orient, but you will always stand out." He kissed Zach
again.

"It's worth it," Zach repeated.
"I am impressed you grasped my condition so quickly.

I will be happy to stay as you plan for your future. I have
maybe a hundred more years before I dig in for the last
sleep."

"Well don't spend it waiting for me. How long? Don't

wait until I'm old and ugly."

"A month perhaps? No more than six. Such a rush, this

modern life. We had half your lifespan and still found time
to be elegant and lazy. I was all the rage one New Orleans
season after my death, the blue-eyed Creole boy. There
were long days, nights of satin and perfume, jasmine and
music."

Zach gave him a smile. "Could get used to your life. If

I didn't have bills that needed to be paid on time."

Adrien looked puzzled. "Does not your computer box

handle that? All I hear in between the unbearable music of
the radio is 'pay your bills online.' I re-oriented before I
went hunting."

Between kisses, Zach explained. "Have to make the

money before I let the computer box spend it. I have this
little problem called expensive taste. Buying all my toys
keeps my bank account down."

"I have money laid by. Is there a way you can invest it

and make it make more? It is a great deal, as I have no such
expensive tastes."

"I could get addicted to you instead of Gucchi and

Armani. I can make you all the money you need if you
have money. Millions if you have a thousand."

Adrien laughed softly. "When I was alive, I considered

myself fortunate to eat that day. Now I, who still think of
meat as a luxury, am discussing millions of dollars."

"Depending on the cut, it still is a luxury." Zach

stroked his face.

"You speak of clothing and name brands. I received a

new suit of clothes once a year."

"Once... a year?"
"Twice if it had been a good year. There were benefits

to working on a hemp plantation."

Zach's laugh was disbelieving. "I don't think I can do

that."

"Remember, for me, the novelty is the amount of mass

produced clothing. I remember the spinning jenny and
Whitney inventing the cotton gin."

"You are amazing." Zach kissed him.
"Long naps keep me young," Adrien said with a laugh.

"I went to sleep in..." He thought a moment. "1974."

"Year I was born." Zach stretched lazily.
"And here you were, awaiting me all grown up when I

awoke."

"Hope I was worth the wait."
"It was a nap, no more and the world changed around

me. You were worth waking up for." He punctuated this
with one of those long searching kisses that Zach loved to
get lost in. "And if I kiss you too often, you will not wake
up." The look on his face was passionate, full of desire.

"Almost worth it."
"I think, in two nights, you will have recovered enough

for a long kiss."

"Good."

Zach spent the days dreaming in his office, barely able

to meet his deadlines or do his work. He spent the nights
hunting himself: prowling the clubs, drinking, dancing,
fucking in back rooms and alleyways. Anything to avoid
coming home to the blind vampire that now dominated his
life. He ate high iron food and drank citrus.

Nothing cured the desire. Nothing stopped the hunger

for the sharp kisses. On the appointed day, he took off early
from work and came home to find Adrien listening to the
television.

"I miss seeing. I went to sleep when color television

was just becoming truly common. The shows go silent so
often."

Zach laughed. "That's because the people on them are

saying things that the TV station can't air. You shouldn't
watch Jerry Springer, it will rot your brain."

Adrien pulled him down for a kiss. "My condition will

do that adequately with no help from Mr. Springer and his
merry band of cretins that parade through each day. You're
early. Ordinarily you do not arrive until after the vespers of
doom and destruction called the news."

"Couldn't work. I thought about you all day." Zach

clicked the TV off and dropped to the couch for a kiss.

Adrien read his intentions at once. He dropped his

fangs and pressed Zach into the sofa. "Where shall I take
it?" He rasped a tongue over Zach's neck. "Your throat,
like all the old movies?" He pulled Zach's arm to the side

and nuzzled into his elbow. "Your arm, where the new
wave take it?" His free hand cupped Zach's crotch, feeling
the stiffness of his erection. "Elsewhere?"

"Right there." Zach was finding it hard to breathe, the

room was spinning. He hadn't been this turned on in years.

"Yessss," Adrien let the sibilants hiss out along his

fangs. "I expected as much." He kissed Zach, very, very
slowly, taking his time and possessing him completely. He
stroked Zach's erection, feeling it get harder, fuller, and
listening to the little moans his lover made. He unfastened
Zach's pants as he kissed.

After long minutes, Adrien went down swiftly, sucking

Zach to the root. Zach finally allowed himself to breathe,
only to draw it in with a sharp gasp as Adrien let his fangs
drop. The sharp bone of the teeth rubbed all over, grazing
his cock, his balls, his whole groin. He groaned when
Adrien fitted his cock in between the fangs and slid up and
down the shaft while licking the head.

"Which shall I take from?" he asked..
"The artery," Zach moaned. There was no sense in

living unless one did it dangerously.

"No, no, my love. Not until time." He grazed Zach's

groin. "Shall I bury them here while you are down my
throat?"

"Yesss." Zach braced his arms on the back of the sofa,

closed his eyes and tipped his head back to the ceiling.

Adrien took him in, then stabbed in, fast and hard,

making it as painless as possible. He listened carefully to
Zach's heartbeat as he drank, careful not to take much.
Sweet and salt and hot, it rolled over his tongue, washing
over Zach's cock as he swallowed.

The swallowing and the bite sent Zach over the edge.

The slow seeping away of strength, the languor that
suffused him made it all dreamy, like a slow-motion dream
sequence in a Kubrick movie.

The heady cocktail of blood and come still thick on his

tongue, Adrien moved up to kiss Zach. Zach groaned under
his mouth, tasting, not minding the bitterness at all, aroused
by the thought of what he was doing.

"So brave," Adrien whispered. "You will enjoy the

darkness, I think."

Zach lay flat on his back, breathing slowly, his head

spinning. "Hardest part will be not to kill. God, feeling their
hearts stop beating, all the blood in your mouth..."

Adrien chuckled softly. "You will not be so scrupulous

as I am, I expect."

Zach murmured, "Some people deserve it."
Adrien lay beside him, much warmer now, lazily

flicking his tongue over Zach's neck and chest. "I, too,
killed many. It became less easy to hide it as time passed."
His smile was slow and full of fangs. "I fed well on many
battlefields, aiding the dying on their way."

"And you were their angel of death, I have no doubt."
"They welcomed me in Arabia. The Musselmen have a

judging angel with black skin and blue eyes. I was Nakeer,
come to them in the tomb to take them to Paradise."

Zach scratched at his stomach. "World traveler, too," he

said with a smile.

"It is simple enough. The hold of the ship or the

baggage compartment, flying as a corpse. It was easier
once."

"I can imagine. Paranoid century we live in now."
"I do not kill these days. It creates too much hubbub,

too many disturbances. Those who would not be missed are
often fouled or ill." Adrien thought a moment, then held up
a finger in warning. "You say there are those who deserve
it. You may not eat Fred Phelps."

Zach cracked up. There was a sense of humor under

those old-fashioned manners after all.

Adrien looked thoughtful "Or perhaps you should. And

his entire inbred church as well. I have learned much from
your computer box. Thank you for the page-reader."

"Welcome." Zach rolled onto his stomach. "I noticed.

What have you been searching the Internet for?"

Adrien shrugged. "Anything and everything. 1974 was

a different world. Your computer, your television, they all
help."

"Just as twisted, but we didn't get to hear all about it."
"It was different in many ways, but yes equally as

twisted. I spent three years feasting in Southeast Asia on
Americans, on Vietnamese. It was fine eating. Now all the
same things are back and all the insanity is the same. Some
of the names have not even changed."

"Surprised you didn't go right back underground."
Adrien shook his head. "No, I cannot. Sleep will elude

me for another half-century or more." Zach was too busy
looking at the bite that framed his cock to do more than
grunt assent. "You, however, will sleep as a human does.
When you turn, you will spend your nights hunting and
your days learning."

"A lot to learn?" Zach ran his fingers through his

neatly trimmed pubes and touched the small wounds.

"Always. There is always much to learn. And you will

work as well. Tell-a-commute? That is the new word, yes?"

"Yes."
"You can do that, yes? Sunlight, it is detrimental. It

hastens the decay exponentially. We do not crumble into
dust at once." He gave a small smile. "Christopher Lee
movies not withstanding."

Zach laughed a little. "That's a relief. I'd hate to be

done in by one sunbeam."

"It is inadvisable. But we can tolerate it, especially

while very young. But I would rather teach you the
leisurely decadence of my times, while you indulge me in
the sins of the modern world. There will be no need for the
day, for the sun."

So it went, days of work, nights of amazing sex. Adrien

was slowly teaching Zach that constant activity was

unnecessary. He wasn't the best pupil, but they tried. They
lay together often, not fucking, just lounging. Zach ran a
slow hand over Adrien's compact, dark body, thinking that
the decadence notion sounded really good, fit for
immortals. As Adrien went on, he only half listened, his
own mind creating its own scenarios.

"There will be afternoons of nothing more than

lounging nude, with caresses and soft words. Nights of
parties and intoxicated blood which intoxicates us in turn."
He gave a small smile. "Such a pity about absinthe. I was
fond of it."

Zach licked his chin. "I can get it. Just have to know

the right people."

"Mmmm," Adrien purred. "It's best drunk by a lovely

man, with plenty of sugar." He blew the words along
Zach's chest then raked his fangs over Zach's neck. "And
then I have my share."

His white smile was full of sharp points.
Zach kissed him, running his tongue over the points.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to someone about getting
some."

"It will be amazing."
Zach rummaged in the bedside table. "Tonight we'll

just have to make do with cannabis."

Adrien cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ah, hemp. And

how do you take it? As a spice or through the water pipes?"

Zach pulled the joint out from where it was taped to the

bottom of the nightstand. "Depends on where and when. If
I'm home all night, pipe. But this one's just a cigarette."

"Mmmmm. Is it still illegal? So very strange, I

remember when it was banned."

"Still very illegal. But we're working on it." Zach lit it

and took the first hit. He offered it to Adrien, who laughed,
pushed the joint aside and kissed him.

"Beautiful Zach, I do not breathe and my blood does

not circulate."

"That sucks." Zach continued enjoying it all on his

own. "Going to miss that."

"The late sixties were lovely in that regard. So many

things to taste." Adrien looked pensive. "My owner grew
hemp. We made sails and we always stole the leaves to
make the work easier. They were garbage, unneeded. Only
the stem fibers are used in cloth-making."

The sweet Creole drone was not registering as words,

but rather as music. Zach toked again and began touching
Adrien as he talked. He liked the coolness of his lover's
skin, the way it was always soft, the way it smelled.

Adrien responded, licking his face. "It is long since I

have tasted that. It only makes you sweeter." He kissed
Zach, who promptly rolled him to his back. "What do you
like best when you are high?"

Zach couldn't stop kissing him, couldn't stop touching

him. He took another hit and went right back to Adrien.
"Long, slow fucking. Try to make it last hours, or forever."

"And can you go forever on top?"
"Stoned? Yeahhhh." Zach's smile was dreamy.
Adrien licked his neck, just barely letting him feel

teeth. Zach shuddered. "I like it when you're on top. But I
think I would first enjoy it through you." He slid down to
lick Zach back to erection. "Your oral pleasure and mine as
well."

Zach coughed a little. "Strong," he said by way of

explanation.

Adrien smiled up, fangs showing. "Mine is perfect," he

said burying them at the base of Zach's cock and drinking.
Zach just finished the joint, knowing it couldn't be real, but
it was too incredible to care. His head spun, the combined
weed and Adrien taking him higher than ever.

"Do it," he said. "Right now." He needed more. He

came, hard, bucking, the ceiling doing a slow, lazy rotation
above him.

"Not yet, love," Adrien said, moving up to kiss him,

blood and come still mingling on his tongue, making Zach
even higher than the joint.

June slipped into July and August heat followed after,

sweltering on the city streets. It was just sunset when Zach
came home from work. The new apartment, a basement flat
in a good building, looked empty. He set his briefcase
down and sat on the couch.

Adrien slipped up behind him and licked his neck.

"Sweet. You had chocolate martinis for lunch."

"Better follow up on that." Zach said with a shudder.
Adrien's tongue was all over his neck and ear. "Is all in

order, my love? Are your ready to cross?"

"Cashed in my 401k, liquidating the condo."
"Yes. I do like the new place." Adrien gave him a

smile. "And my money? Safely invested? Passport? Do you
have one?"

"Every cent. Long term, low risk, slow growth funds.

Passport done."

"Lovely. Enjoyed the last of your mortal pleasures?

The food, the drink, the drugs?"

"All of them."
Before he could move, Adrien had him pinned down

and his fangs had dropped. "How then? What would give
you the most pleasure?"

Zach shivered a little. The bites up until now had been

safe, sexy. "Is it painful?"

Adrien nodded. "In more ways than physical."
"Make it quick, then." Zach had never been into S&M

scenes, simply because he hated pain.

"You like the bite. This will be more of the same."

Adrien kissed him, which helped him relax a little. "The
death will depend on how hard you fight it. I will hold you
through it."

Zach took a deep breath and nodded. "Just... don't

leave."

"I will not." He kissed Zach again. "Where shall I give

you this final high, lover? Here?" He kissed his neck.
"Here?" Adrien's breath was cool over his thigh, unwarmed
by body heat. “Here?" The ivory of his fangs was hard
against Zach's own erection.

Zach drew him back up and tipped his head, baring his

throat, the favorite of all the places Adrien had bitten him.
"There." He closed his eyes and braced himself.

Adrien chuckled softly. "Ah, a classicist. Or shall I be

within you as we do this?"

"Yes." The word was half-sigh, half-consent.
Adrien led him to the bed, counting steps under his

breath. He found the lubricant and sat, braced against the
wall. "Take me in, sweet Zachery. Take me into your warm
body for the last time."

Zach moved onto him, wincing as the cool cock slid

into his body, driven in by his own weight. He'd moved into
full body shakes and only Adrien's arms around him kept
him from running. Adrien stroked him, guiding him.

"Beloved, if there are trepidations, we can delay the

crossing."

Zach took a deep breath and calmed down. "No. I'm

fine."

Adrien held him close. "So warm. I will miss this." He

took a small knife from the nightstand and cut open a small
vein in his own chest. "Drink while I take from you."

Too scared to do otherwise, Zach lowered his mouth to

the open wound. Adrien kissed his bared neck. Zach
moved, more relaxed now. Adrien's blood was getting him
drunk faster than whiskey. Adrien's blood was in him.
Adrien's cock was in him. And in a moment Adrien's fangs
were in him, breaking the skin, sending him over the edge.
"Come for me, one last time."

Zach kept moving, trying to prolong the orgasm. He

felt the warm come smearing between them and realized he
was very tired. He rested against Adrien's chest, wanting a

nap.

"Drink, love," Adrien said, licking at the blood that

flowed from his neck "Drink as long as you can." Zach
sucked weakly at the open wound on Adrien's chest, as
Adrien kept drinking from him. Adrien paused. "Listen,
your heart is slowing. Is it all you dreamed?"

A quiet moan was Zach's only response, the orgasm

still wracking his nerves, his head swimming and reality all
nonsense. It was the best high he'd ever had. Not booze or
tantric sex or pot or E or scarfing or any of the other things
he'd tried had left him like this.

Adrien smiled, listened to the last flutters of his heart

and laid him out on his bed. He laid down beside Zach's
body, holding him close. "You will awake tomorrow," he
whispered. "And then all the nights will be ours." He
chuckled softly. He held Zach through the day and as the
sun began to set, he carried the body into the bathroom and
made himself comfortable in the large tub.

Zach's eyes flew open as the sun vanished. Adrien

gripped him tightly bracing him against what was to come.

"It will be painful now, love. I know the porcelain is

cold. We are in here to make clean-up easier."

Zach started curling in on himself, cringing as cramps

wracked him. His insides emptied out, evacuating from all
orifices. Adrien held him tightly through it all, giving no
sign of revulsion as his sensitive nose was assailed.

"Sorry," Zach managed between spasms.
"You are dying. You are dead. The end of your life

flows from you. You cannot control it." Adrien
remembered his own nightmare, trapped in a raw pine box
under two feet of Louisiana dirt, alone and screaming.
When Zach's anguish passed, he ran a pleasantly warm
shower and began to clean them up.

Zach opened his mouth and this time nothing came out.

He tried again.

"Breathe in first and then speak, love. You will grow

accustomed to it." Adrien washed him gently. "What do
you require?"

Zach was very hoarse. "Hurts...."
Adrien nodded. "Yes. I am here. Hold onto me."
Zach took another breath. "Cut us open, are we black

on the inside? Rotten..." He was sick again, but brought
nothing up.

Adrien held him tightly. "Beautiful Zachery. Beautiful

forever now."

Zach looked at him curiously as the pain subsided.

Adrien finished washing him and wrapped them both in the
fluffy Egyptian cotton towels.

"Is it all you wanted?" Adrien asked.
"More."
"You want more or was it more?"
"Both." Zach kissed him sweetly, testing how things

felt now that he was dead, or rather undead.

Adrien returned it lovingly, his face full of joy. "You're

stronger than you think. Imagine doing it alone, in a box no
bigger than you are." At Zach's shudder, he said softly, "I
prayed a great deal, waiting to go to heaven, convinced I
was in hell."

"No fear of hell with you by me. Not now." Zach

kissed his shoulder, kissed the closed-over cut he'd drunk
from.

"There is no hell. No heaven. Nothing for us except the

night, the hunt and the long death."

Zach stiffened just a bit when a strange sensation

gripped him. His fangs descended for the first time and he
ran his tongue over them, curious.

"What, beloved?"
He nipped Adrien's shoulder playfully and drew a

laugh.

"Much nicer than your other teeth. Now I shall not

have to open my veins for you. You can do it yourself."

"Can it be controlled?" Zach licked over his teeth

which were back to normal now.

"I do. You will learn."
"Until then, it's just going to be like my dick in seventh

grade.."

Adrien laughed again. "Exactly. And that should never

go down now. Although you are welcome to." He stroked
Zach's unnoticed-until-now erection.

Zach laughed soundlessly, then drew in the air to say,

"That's what I like to hear."

"And you will have climax after climax, as a woman

does, without a wait between them."

"Even better." Zach stepped carefully to the side,

testing the changes in his body. He didn't seem any more
powerful now than before.

"For now, you will be wanting food, water and

clothing." Adrien gestured to the clothes he'd laid out. "I
will make food as soon as I clean up in here." He set to
scrubbing the shower by smell alone, making sure all the
last remnants of Zach's mortality had gone down the drain.

Adrien rose to dress himself and Zach shoved him

against the wall, kissing him hard. He hadn't dressed.
Adrien purred as Zach's fangs dropped for an instant,
cutting his lip. "Oh darling."

"Fuck me again," Zach demanded. "On the bed." He

practically dragged Adrien with him, slinging him to the
mattress, laughing.

Adrien, still stronger, flipped him around to hands and

knees and with the barest bit of lubricant, slammed in. His
love was cold now, not the beautiful hot body he'd been
enjoying for weeks. "Sweet, cold vampire," he whispered
as he hit his first climax, scraping his fangs along Zach's
shoulders, drawing the tiniest trickles of blood.

"Love you..." Zach whispered. It was the first time he'd

said the words as an adult. He didn't believe in love. It was
a trick nature did with hormones to get the breeders to stay
together and raise babies. He didn't believe in forever. Yet

here he was, proclaiming his love like any dyke.

Adrien kissed his shoulder, very gently. "And I you. If I

did not, I would have merely eaten you, instead of keeping
you at my side." He rolled off and drew Zach to him.
"Tomorrow we will hunt. Tonight, drink."

Zach tried to coax his fangs into cooperation. Finally

they dropped for him and he sank them into Adrien's throat.
Beneath him, Adrien writhed, shouting another climax. He
drank, but wasn't truly hungry. A few mouthfuls were
enough.

They lay together, the day marking its progress in bars

of light along the ceiling of the front room. When the mood
took them, one would go down on the other, sucking as
long as it pleased him.

They talked quietly, gathering strength for the night.
Zach was still not feeling right. Adrien suggested he

rest. Zach stroked himself. "It never goes down." He
rubbed it again, still amazed, although he had known it
would be like this.

"In some parts of eastern Europe, vampires returned

not for blood but for sex. They would very literally screw
their widows to death and then start on the others in the
household," Adrien said. "I will bring back dinner, my
love."

"Good thing nowadays a good top can have hundreds

of offers a night. No one screwed to death. Everyone
happy." Zach kissed him. "You're blind. How're you going
to find anyone?"

"I found you." Adrien laughed and was gone, only to

return a few hours later with a handsome young man. "This
is Danny. I brought him home for you."

Zach smiled from the bed. "Hey, handsome."
Danny gave a small shy smile, running a nervous hand

through unruly black curls. "Hi, Zach. Adrien was lost. He
said you weren't feeling good or you'd have been with him.
I wanted to make sure he got home okay."

Zach wondered what Adrien had told the guy besides

his name. "A real boy scout. Come here. I need to repay
you for doing your good deed today."

"I said we'd see if you felt better." Adrien tapped his

way across to the bed and kissed him.

Danny followed. He laid the back of one hand across

Zach's forehead. "Are you feeling better?" There was
nothing shy about the sexy grin he hit Zach with.

Zach caught his wrist and kissed it. "I was thinking of

taking your temperature rather than you taking mine."

"I could do that." Danny winked. "Would you like that

oral or rectal, Doctor Zach?"

Zach grinned. "Rectal for the most accurate reading."
Danny faked a cough. "I think I might be coming down

with something after all. Maybe Adrien better take it orally,
too. After all, two readings have gotta more accurate than
one."

Zach reached for his shirt button. "Strip, young man.

No gown required for this exam."

Danny got out of his clothes fast. This was incredible.

Gorgeous Zach, handsome Adrien and both wanting to do
him. "Right away, doctor."

Zach helped Adrien undress and guided him to where

he wanted on the bed. Adrien went and reached out, finding
Danny's curls. "Adorable boy," he said softly as Danny
sucked him in.

Zach ran his tongue down Danny's back, considering

exactly how many places he could bite in this position.
Instead, he stroked his tongue up Danny's crack, watching
with one eye as the guy swallowed Adrien's cock. He poked
at his opening, tasting his skin. Clean and good. The last
hint of a beer last night, a little smoke from his workplace,
soap and water were all that came through his skin.

Danny moaned as Zach rimmed him and Adrien

stroked his hair. "He is so very good, is he not?" Adrien
silently pointed the best places to Zach, covering this with

the motion of stroking Danny. "Dearest Daniel. we are,
perhaps, a trifle kinky for your tastes. We bite."

Danny only moaned a little louder. He pulled off for a

second. "I got your dick in my mouth, you ain't gonna be
biting too hard." While he was off, Zach lubed himself
and entered, making sure Adrien wouldn't get bitten
instead. "Oy, Ya got cold instruments, doc." He went back
to Adrien's cock.

Adrien laughed and reached for Zach. Zach leaned over

Danny's back to kiss his lover.

"Not for long, son." He kissed hard and deep. Adrien

let his fangs drop and teased Zach to do the same. When he
did, he nicked Adrien's lower lip. The taste of blood made
his stomach rumble.

Adrien smiled and stroked Danny's throat, pointing to

where Zach was to bite. He pulled out of Danny's mouth.
"A satisfactory reading. Rectal always takes longer."

"Awww man, you didn't even come."
Adrien kissed the complaint away. Zach thrust harder

to distract him from the oddness. Adrien gestured him in.

Zach leaned back over Danny, muzzling one side of his

neck. Adrien rubbed against the other. On Adrien's signal
they both bit down, drawing a yell and an orgasm from
Danny. Adrien drank of the cooler venous blood, leaving
the richer arterial for Zach's first meal. He listened closely
to Danny's heartbeat and backed his lover off the moment it
started to slow.

Zach had never stopped fucking. He kept moving

through two more of his own climaxes. "Reading got a lot
cooler."

"Indeed, darling. Perhaps we need to keep him warm?"

Adrien stroked Danny's face as the boy lay there panting
from the intensity.

Zach, very warm now, lay down beside him and Adrien

curled into the other, pulling up the duvet. Danny just
blinked as he shook.

"Beloved Zach, I'll warm our poor patient if you might

fetch a restorative?" Zach got up and went to the fridge. He
came back with a bottle of gatorade and some pretzels.
"Time for some medicine, young man," Adrien whispered.

Danny took the drink gratefully. He wasn't sure how

he'd gotten so wrecked so fast, but this pair had made him
come like a geyser. "Man, I've never had it like that. Wow."

Zach smiled when Adrien said, "When you are

recovered, you may leave. Until then, we will see to you."

Danny protested, "If there's another fuck like that, I'm

staying."

Zach kissed his shoulders and neck. "Doctors Carriere

and Nelson never see the same patient twice."

Adrien kissed him. "Besides, you're all well. Well

people don't require a doctor."

Danny lay between them, drinking gatorade, being

kissed and cuddling close. After a couple hours, his head
had stopped spinning. He took a last kiss from each and
left.

"There are advantages to take-out that takes itself out,"

Zach chuckled as he took Adrien back to bed. Adrien kissed
him and made himself comfortable on the mattress. Zach
was careful with the entrance but forgot himself soon
enough. The endless cycle of orgasm, plateau and orgasm
consumed him and he pounded himself into exhaustion and
long past.

Adrien shifted. "Beloved, please. I'm not a boy-whore

with hole of leather who can serve you for endless hours. I
am growing tender in most uncomfortable ways."

Zach rolled off with a moan of repletion and a grin that

threatened to split his face. "Oh yeah," he sighed

"At last." Adrien rolled onto his side. "You. Are.

Insatiable." He punctuated the words with kisses.

"You love it." Zach ran a hand over Adrien's tight dark

curls before pulling him in for a kiss.

"Indeed. But you must control your desires long

enough to feed." Adrien continued when Zach nodded.
"You'll be truly hungry soon enough. Enough that tonight
will seem a meager snack."

They spent the days studying, the nights hunting. Zach

took Adrien to all his favorite clubs. They ate very well.
One evening, when Zach had grown nostalgic for the
pleasures of mortal life and Adrien thought he had enough
control, he finally looked over at his lover with the first
sign of exasperation.

"If you wish to go glory-holing, we certainly could,"

Adrien suggested.

"Anonymous biting would be easy there."
Adrien gave his slow smile in return, the one that made

Zach shiver with wanting. "I procured many meals in such
a way in the fifties and sixties, when men were less open.
And you should be able to smell who is safe to drink from
and who is not."

Zach matched the smile. "Lets do it." He started

dressing for a night out.

Adrien dressed and picked up his cane. He took Zach's

arm when they were ready. "Lead the way, beloved." Zach
drove them downtown.

Once situated in the back room of the club, Adrien

tested Zach's sense of smell. "Do you smell it on this one?
Two different drugs and a great deal of alcohol." Adrien
licked the hard cock that poked through the hole in the
wall. "Mine, since you're driving."

The smell of blood just under the skin was making

Zach even hungrier. He could smell the alcohol but wasn't
picking up the drugs. He lied and said, "I can smell. I'll find
one that's clean." He sniffed along, the sexual musk and
blood from the line of cocks, like a line of beer taps just
waiting to be opened, made him less cautious. Finally
Adrien pointed to one. He knelt, trusting the assessment
that the man would be clean and safe.

Adrien took his own drunk in hand and stroked him. "A

mouthful or two, no more. Think of it as a tasting menu."

Zach wasn't sure he'd be able to stop, but nodded

anyway. "If menu's long enough, I might get filled up."

Adrien gave another lick to keep the man's interest and

said, "We have all night. Plenty to taste."

Zach was content enough to suck the cock for a while,

biting down when orgasm hit. The blood was different,
better-tasting, and it was all for him. He kept drinking, only
slowly becoming aware of Adrien trying to pry him off.

"His heart. Listen to his heart!" When Zach finally

pulled off, trying to listen, Adrien jerked him to his feet.
"Get us home! Now!"

Zach barely registered his companion's panic. He loved

Adrien. He liked the room. He let himself be steered back
to the Jag but only looked confused at the keys.

"Drive man!"
Zach finally shook his head, clearing it enough of the

blood-fog to take off. He drove too fast, barely listening to
Adrien in the passenger seat.

"Fools. Both of us fools. We should have eaten to take

the edge off and then gone a-tasting.”

"'He'll be fine. He probably feels better than I do now."

Zach didn't understand the panic, only that Adrien was mad
and he didn't want his lover mad. He ran a hand along
Adrien's face and swerved.

Adrien snapped, "Watch what you're doing because I

cannot! Get us home without a fiery crash and tomorrow
we shall hunt and then taste at another club." The number
of turns Zach made worried him a great deal. He knew
there were only six between the house and the club and
Zach had made at least ten.

Adrien manhandled him down the steps and put him to

bed. "Darling man. Stupid, darling glutton."

Zach grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss. "You

love it."

"I adore your zest, but not when it harms those we feed

on and risks our feeding grounds." Adrien nicked his lip
with the next kiss.

Zach laughed, soft and slow, almost stoned-sounding.

"Just have to punish me. I was bad."

"You would enjoy it. No punishments that are pleasure.

No hunting until tomorrow. Lie still and recover." Adrien
microwaved a packet of the butcher-shop blood they
bought for such occasions. He listened to a movie on the
sofa, growing more distracted by the sounds from the
bedroom. He turned off the movie and went to the doorway.

Zach was absorbed in the pleasures of his own right

hand and didn't notice. Adrien listened a moment more
before padding across the room, joining him on the bed,
and licking the head of his cock.

Zach gave a small groan, knowing Adrien's mouth

would be exactly what he wanted. "Knew you couldn't
resist."

"Of course I cannot." Adrien sucked him in deep,

nipping at Zach's fingers when they got into his way. Zach
buried them in his hair instead. Knowing Zach loved it,
Adrien ran the point of one fang over him, just hard enough
to break the skin. He drank a little.

"Taste good?"
"Always." Adrien drank a little more. "I think, my

lover, you are drunker than I. There is a taste to it. A drug I
do not know."

"Fuck if I know either. Feels like E but better."
"Remember his smell. And stay clear of it."
"No. It's damn good."
"I cannot drive you home. You must stay sober on our

nights out. When we come home, you may have all I have
had."

"Stop trying to make me think." Zach shoved his head

back down and moaned as Adrien sucked him with surreal
slowness.

Both drunk and drugged himself, Adrien enjoyed the

taste of the drugs in Zach's blood before crawling up beside
him, very affectionate. He wasn't even surprised when Zach
cuddled him. He kissed his lover.

"You only pleasured one today. And I did promise you

might have what I had."

"You sure did." Zach started down his body. He could

smell the booze and the drugs from the gloryhole, mixing
with the drugs from him. This was going to be sweet and
they couldn't overdose. He bit, hard, trying out the mix that
was making his lover giggle.

"You not still hungry after alla dat." Stoned, Adrien

always slipped into the Creole of his youth. Zach shuddered
at the sexy accent and managed to limit himself to a
sample. "Oui. Cheri, s'il vous plait?" He came under
Zach's tongue.

"Gonna relearn my French." Zach stretched out,

staring at the ceiling when he was done. "I miss pot."

"We'll find you someone who has been smoking. Or,

we shall bring someone here, give him the good hemp and
you shall smoke as he does." Adrien kissed him.

"Good, good plan." Zach watched Adrien smile, kissed

him and had to feel him all over his body.

"As you did with the absinthe for me." Adrien gave

himself over into Zach's hands, his own desires burning in
his skin.

They reduced their club frequency and Adrien made

sure Zach was well slaked before they went tasting. He
worried. Zach always seemed to find reasons to go out.
Adrien tried to limit errands to cloudy days, but his lover
insisted on living on the edge.

One evening, he came home very sunsick. He had a

bad sunburn and said nothing but went straight to the sink
and started drinking water. He took a blood pouch, cold,
before sprawling on the sofa.

"Will you not stay in by day? I will go fetch dinner."
"I try. But the bank closes before dark."

Adrien sighed. "No trying. Just stay. You can do your

banking by computer. The sun accelerates your
degeneration. You know this."

Zach rubbed his eyes, which burned despite the

expensive Foster Grants with UVA and B blockers. "I can
feel that."

"Dinner will help." Adrien kissed him, put on his own

sunglasses and took up the cane.

Zach simply sat with a cold, wet rag over his eyes until

he heard the key at the door. He took the cloth off and a
pair of gorgeous redheaded twins smiled back at him. Each
was wearing a green t-shirt bearing the legend "It's my
brother's fault." He returned the smile, hungrier than he
thought he was.

"Which do you like, my lover? They're Rick and Joey. I

promised them the Peruvian gold." Zach caught the wrist
of the lefthand twin and drew him down for a kiss. Adrien
smiled and kissed the one on the right. "I didn't think you'd
mind if we had the appetizer before the," he reached over
and cupped Zach's crotch, "main course?"

"Not a bit." He kissed the guy's neck, liking his clean,

sweet smell.

"Please take care of it, my sweet. I've forgotten where

you stashed it."

Zach reluctantly tore himself away from the eager twin

and went to get the promised pot. He came back to find
Adrien kissing both of them, each in turn. He held up the
joint. "This has to be earned."

The twins looked up from Adrien and winked. "How?"
Zach made himself comfortable on the sofa beside

Adrien. "On the floor, boys. Suck on us a while, then we'll
see about the other."

The twins slid off, apparently well practiced at the

double routine. They each went down on a man. Zach
pulled Adrien over for a kiss. The moans from the men on
the sofa encouraged the twins to keep sucking.

Adrien whispered, too quietly for them to hear, "Stone

them first, then we eat." Zach nodded. More loudly, Adrien
said "Eager, aren't they? They were so helpful and sweet
when I told them I was lost. Perhaps we should reward
them with something else to suck on?"

Zach gave a half-smile. "I think so. Come on, boys."

Adrien smiled as he heard the match and smelled the
smoke.

The twins rose, rather confused that neither man had

come yet. They'd expected to swallow before getting the
good stuff. Well aware that Zach was watching, Rick pulled
Joey over for a kiss. They had learned a long time ago that
half the twins fantasy was watching them together. They
never did more than kiss and touch, but sometimes that was
enough for their dates.

Very turned on by watching them, Zach offered the

joint. "Let's see you have some fun."

Joey took it, toked on it and passed it to Rick. Rick

took his hit and offered it to Adrien. Adrien smiled and
passed. Each twin hit it again and offered it back to Zach.
Zach pretended to toke, sadly getting nothing from the
excellent weed, and passed it back.

The twins each hit it hard again and kissed this time,

passing the smoke back and forth. Zach groaned watching
them. They were beginning to smile loopily at each other
and the kisses were becoming deeper.

Adrien leaned into Zach's kiss. "They're beautiful. I

wish you could see them."

"They smelled as though they would be. They felt and

sounded alike. I like their voices." Zach grabbed two
condoms and stood up. "Ready for a ride, boys?"

They looked up from the kiss and let the smoke escape.

"Yeah," they said in unison.

Zach laughed. "Perfect." He helped Adrien to the bed.

The twins followed.

"Are we on top?" asked Rick

"Or the bottom?" asked Joey. Their smiles matched.
"You're bottoms on top." Zach sheathed himself and

Adrien quickly and stretched out on the bed.

"A pony ride," Joey laughed, finishing stripping.
"Climb on," Zach invited. Adrien stroked himself

lazily.

Joey took Zach and Rick took Adrien. They slid down

together and leaned forward to kiss the men. They moved
enthusiastically, their thighs strong from the gym. Zach
kissed Adrien as the twins rode them, his orgasms quiet
now, and intense.

Joey had started leaking across Zach's stomach and was

gasping with each thrust when Zach grabbed his hips,
stilling him, and ordered, "Switch."

Joey sulked. "I was almost finished."
Rick shoved him, pushing him off of Zach. "I get Zach

now. Besides, Adrien's real nice."

Zach pulled Rick down for a kiss. "That's right, finish

on me." He nuzzled Rick's neck.

Adrien drew Joey close. "Do not finish on me. I want

to taste you."

Rick rode Zach, yelling his pleasure. Joey simply lay

beside Adrien, being sucked. He kissed Zach, until Zach
moved away to return his attention to kissing Rick. He
kissed down Rick's neck, listening to him moan, and then
bit, lightly and harder. The moans grew more enthusiastic
until Zach broke the skin, getting the blood. Rick came all
over Zach's stomach and chest.

Adrien sucked Joey, liking the feel of the guy's cock,

his slightly smoky smell. When Joey came, much more
quietly than Rick, Adrien barely nicked him, taking only a
mouthful of blood.

Rick leaned forward, licking his come off Zach, glazed

from the intensity. Zach pulled him up for a kiss.

"Share that," he growled, taking it from Rick's mouth.

The twin opened, liking this.

Adrien kissed Joey. "Thank you, sweetness." He

turned to the side and kissed Zach when Rick was finished.
"Did I pick well?"

"Wonderfully."
Adrien pulled his boy in and lapped at his neck. "A

second round perhaps?"

Joey laughed, still stoned enough the idea sounded

good. Rick kissed Adrien. "Got any munchies?" they asked
together.

Zach rolled him off, leaving Adrien to entertain them

both, and went to the kitchen. He came back with a tray of
snacks and a couple quart bottles of sports drinks. "Try this,
kids."

Rick gave him a smile that made him wish he wasn't

hard all the time. He'd have loved to get hard just from that.
"We're always good for two or three."

Joey reached for the purple drink. "And with you guys?

We can go all night."

Zach smirked. "So can we."
Rick tossed a handful of snack mix in his mouth.

"Have you even come yet?"

"Nope." Zach motioned to the eternal erection, only to

sigh as Joey leaned over to lick it.

"Weed always makes me crazy for cock," he said,

grinning, before he swallowed Zach to his balls.

Rick occupied himself with licking pretzels off

Adrien's chest and kissing him in between.

"Hungry boy," Zach teased. "I'm hungry too." Joey

giggled a little, his mouth full. Zach lifted him up and off,
flipping him onto his back. Joey moaned as Zach's mouth
closed around him, cool and wet.

Adrien, enjoying his own twin's playful mood, did the

same. Rick lay beside his brother, to stoned to do more than
moan at the blind man's talented mouth.

Despite Zach's head start, the twins came within

seconds of each other. Zach sank his fangs into Joey's groin

and caught a glimpse of Adrien doing the same. They
drank, just enough to send their guests into
unconsciousness, but not enough to truly harm them.

Adrien came up for a kiss, his mouth still smeared with

Rick's blood. Zach plunged in, heedless and greedy, tasting
his lover, their dinner, blood and semen and all the sex on
him.

"Better, beloved?"
"So much better." He nuzzled at Adrien's neck as they

lay atop the unconscious redheads.

"When they regain their senses, you will take them

home. And stay indoors by day," he added. The urgency
and worry showed in his next kiss.

Zach rolled his eyes, although he knew Adrien couldn't

see it. "Yes, Daddy."

"Naughty boy," Adrien teased, nipping at his throat.

Zach tipped his head back. Not drinkers or drug-users or
any of the other activities had given him the high that
Adrien's bite still did. He climaxed as Adrien bit, taking a
bare mouthful. Zach shuddered at Adrien's next words. "If
you cannot enjoy the night, I will drain you dry and find
another companion. Do you understand me?"

Zach pulled away, staring as if he didn't know this man

in his bed any more.

"My lover. I am not being cruel. I am merely selfish. I

want you for a long time. But if you continue to seek the
sun, I will not have you. I will not let you deteriorate before
me."

"I know." Zach kissed him slowly and set about

reviving the twins for the trip home.

Autumn came and the nights began to grow long again,

to Adrien's delight. They still lay together in the afternoons,
resting before the evening.

"Tell me of your parents," Adrien said softly.
"Other than the fact I'm a constant disappointment?

From my eyes not staying the blue they were born to me

never producing grandchildren."

Adrien kissed his neck. "You had parents."
"In the loosest sense of the word."
"Mine were sold when I was very small. My big

brothers and the aunties looked after me." He trailed the
fangs along Zach's throat. "I gave them their freedom."

Zach took off the sunglasses he had taken to wearing

habitually, day or night. He'd been amused to see it
catching on as a trend in the bars. Corey Hart's "Sunglasses
at night" had been the most requested song in all the gay
clubs lately. He looked Adrien over, taking him in, trying to
remember everything.

Adrien reached out and stroked his face.
"I won't see you much longer," Zach said softly.
"Oh my darling."
"Each day it's a little worse." Zach kept staring.
Adrien nodded. "So what do we do now? Can you live

in the eternal dark with me? Hunting by smell alone?"

"I have to. Therefore I can." He tried not to let the fear

sound in his voice.

Adrien let him feel the teeth again. "You don't have to."
Zach scowled and shoved his lover away from his

neck. "You're not killing me now."

"It remains an option, if you choose it. The darkness

frightens you."

"Terrifies, actually."
"I was horrified when I awakened blind." He pressed

into Zach's hand which was stroking his face again. "Learn
the feel of things, while you can still see. Learn how many
steps to the refrigerator, the door, the phone."

"I was concentrating on the important things, like

memorizing your face and the color of your eyes."

"Hold all your colors. I find, in the eighteen months of

darkness, I am beginning to lose mine."

Zach kissed him, slow and deep. That at least would

not change. Adrien's hands went over his body and played

in his hair.

"What color is your hair, lover? I never asked."
"Brown. A little red in the sun."
Adrien smiled and kissed him again. "You are very

beautiful, I expect. You felt so."

"Eyes are brown and green," Zach continued. "More

one or the other depending on light. And I have enough
narcissism to agree with you."

Adrien smiled. "While you are studying my face, how

do I appear to you?"

Zach ran a teasing hand along his lover's naked body.

"Every morning before work I'd pick up a caramel latte.
Your skin is that color."

Adrien gave a soft laugh. "Lickable, sweet and

delicious."

"So good. My first addiction." He kissed along

Adrien's jaw and licked him just to finish the metaphor.

"I understand caramel. Latte is coffee with milk, no? I

can taste, but only blood tastes right."

"I'd be sick if I tasted it now. But I can taste you

instead." When Adrien offered his neck, Zach bit him
gently. "Delicious." He nipped the other side. "Addictive
Creole coffee." He bit very hard and laughed when
Adrien's hips bucked. "So responsive. Coming just from
being bit."

"You do it too." Adrien returned the favor and was, as

usual, right.

Hunting was splendid that night. Zach drank it all in,

both eyes and mouth, greedy for memories against the dark.
Sunrise found them back in the apartment. Adrien lay on
his stomach, stroking and teasing. He was in an unusually
merry mood.

"We will get you a cane." He even went so far as to

stroke Zach's erection, drawing a laugh from him. "And we
will learn the night transportation system."

"Yes."

"Or should we leave this place, where you are known?

How will you explain the sudden blindness?" Adrien
kissed his eyes.

"Accident?"
"Or would it be easier in a new place where you are not

known as a libertine? We could learn together. There are
cities friendlier to the blind. Your computer machine told
me of them: Charlotte, North Carolina. Berkeley California.
Kalamazoo, Michigan; New York, New York.”

"Not going to some hick town. Who the fuck lives in

Kalamazoo?"

"There's always New York City. We could take a bite

out of the Big Apple."

Zach rolled his eyes. Only his lover would miss a song

cue for a pun. "Bad.. Bad." He kissed Adrien quiet.

"Should we get guide dogs? If we find a breed that will

tolerate us?"

"No. I hate dogs."
"Very well. Maybe we should take on an adorable

houseboy/chauffeur?"

"Now that kind of pet I could deal with." He licked

Adrien's collarbones.

"A minion, not mignon."
That pun made Zach groan. "Keep your day job. You

aren't a comedian."

"I never said I was. However, I suspect my dinner was

not so sober as he smelled."

"Yours too?" Zach stroked Adrien's neck with his

fangs, ready to sample what his lover had had. Adrien
giggled. "Oh God, not giggling. I have to distract you."

"I can't help it, love." He did it again. "It's...upsetting."
"You and me both." He kissed Adrien to stop the

giggles.

"Maybe, I'd better have something to keep my mouth

full then." He gave a wicked smile that dissolved into more
giggles.

Zach shoved him down. "Please, just stop giggling."
Adrien later lay in Zach's arms, detoxed and relaxed. "I

will interview houseboys once we are moved. Make the
arrangements?"

Zach pulled him close. "I will." He took a breath and

said the words that had never been for anyone else, not
friends, parents or bedwarmers. "Love you."

"And I you my beautiful Zachery. We walk into the

dark together."

Crossroads

Johnny Cotton had to get out. Out of the Delta, out of

Arkansas, out of the whole lousy South, if he could manage
it. So, one fine fall evening, after the cotton was in, when
Daddy was drunk and Mama was over visiting at his
grandma's, Johnny slipped out and hiked along Route 50.

The moon rode fat and full through scudding little

ghost clouds and he didn't need the flashlight. His backpack
felt easy on his back and his guitar case banged softly
against the backs of his thighs. He'd pick up 149, get down
to US 79 at Hughes and hitch a lift into Memphis and from
there to Nashville.

But Johnny been up since before dawn and put in a full

day's work getting in the cotton. His legs felt like they were
slogging through bayou mud and more than once he drifted
off the shoulder of the highway and nearly stumbled into a
cypress slough as he dozed while walking.

He made it as far as Greasy Corner, a crossroad where

50 and 149 came together. Years ago, there had been a
couple little country stores. Now the kudzu choked the
deserted buildings and the plywood over the door was long
gone.

Johnny let himself in, figuring to take a little nap and

make the last three miles in the morning. More traffic by
daylight anyway, he decided. Tomorrow, he'd be in
Nashville, on Music Row. He spread out his blanket and
was asleep almost before he had lain down.

The harsh cough of diesel air brakes and the whine of

the engine woke him. He looked out of the broken window
to see a big black Peterbilt stopped in front of the building.
The moonlight glinted off the chrome smoke-stacks and
bumper and tanks and picked out the silver scroll-work that

read “Speed Demon, Lou and Lil Schiffer, owners,” on the
door. Bettie Page in a sexy devil costume smiled from the
side of the sleeper.

The woman opened the driver's side door and climbed

down. She stretched and Johnny could do nothing but
watch. All long legs and long black hair in a ponytail; her
skin gleamed ivory in the moonlight. She looked around
and her eyes landed on the abandoned gas station. Johnny
couldn't tell their color, only that they looked like dark pits
that could swallow him. He was ready to be swallowed up.

When Lou came around the front of the truck, Johnny

got a shock. With that name, he'd been expecting someone
short and dumpy, like Lou Costello or the cartoon mouse
version of him that Johnny was used to seeing. Lou was as
gorgeous as Lil, tall and saturnine, a dark beard and
mustache framing a fully and sensual mouth, nicely built
under the tight T-shirt and tighter jeans. The silver edge of
moonlight seemed to caress that bulge as he came around
and kissed Lil.

They both smiled at the old gas station. Johnny knew

they couldn't see him, but it sure felt like he was naked in
front of them.

“Hello, Johnny. Why don't you come out and be

social?” Lil's voice was honey and velvet and all the sexy
things that Johnny knew he'd never get back on the farm.
His cock stood right up and took notice, but he didn't move.
Midnight at the crossroads, whispered a little voice that
sounded like his late grandpa, the preacher. You know what
that means, boy. Oh fucking hell, Johnny thought.

And that sentiment grew very literal as Lou got hold of

Lil again and kissed her harder, stroking her curves and
opening her shirt. Her pale white breasts almost glowed in
the moonlight. She turned to the station again, letting
Johnny have a good look at her.

“So, Johnny, are you coming out, or shall we come in?”

she asked

“I'm coming out,” he said, the words out before he

realized he was speaking.

Lou nodded. “Bring your guitar, boy.” His voice was

higher than Johnny expected, but not one to be disobeyed.

Johnny grabbed the cheap Yamaha he'd bought at Wal-

Mart in West Memphis and walked out of the building.
They stood in front of the truck, kissing again, Lil wrapped
around her man as if she had no bones in her body. They
turned and smiled at him, dazzling him.

“Play for us,” Lou said, wrapping Lil in his arms. She

didn't bother to close her shirt and Lou played with her
breasts, idly, not seeming to care that Johnny was watching
every caress.

Johnny did a quick check to be sure he was in tune and

started with the riff from “Simple Man,” before segueing
into “Sweet Home Alabama.” He played as if possessed,
his fingers making the changes on the dollar-slicks much
faster than he ever had before. No squeaking or fumbling
marred his song. He was into the first chorus when he
stopped, for no good reason.

He saw the small hand gesture and watched Lou and

Lil stare at each other for a minute. The couple nodded at
each other. Lou let go of his wife and stepped so close that
Johnny could feel his hot breath all over his face. Johnny's
head swam from his intoxicating smell and he wondered if
Lou's hands would feel as good as the words that floated
over his skin..

“And what is it you dream of, so very loudly?”
“Being a star. I will be.”
“Yes, you will,” Lil agreed.
“And what will you give for this dream?” Lou ran a

slow hand over Johnny's cheek.

“All I have. It ain't much.”
Lil moved closer, not seeming to care that she was still

topless. Johnny kept looking between her breasts and her
face, unable to focus. He barely noticed the way Lou pulled

his longish blond hair back from his face.

“He's lovely,” Lil said. “All that raw need and desire

and energy.” Lou nodded and she kissed him, just grazing
his mouth with her lips. Sparks danced along his lips as if
he'd just tried playing an electric guitar with his teeth, like
some of the crazier acts did.

Johnny hesitated. She was another man's woman, even

if Lou wasn't exactly a man. He shot a glance at Lou and
saw the man smile. Lil kissed him again and this time he
dove in, losing himself in her mouth, a wild place, as
untamed and dangerous as the cypress sloughs and bayous
around them. There was no sweetness in the kiss, only
primal desire and lust. Her teeth were sharp.

“My turn,” Lou said when Lil released Johnny. He

turned Johnny around and kissed him. Johnny hadn't
expected that, but yielded to the demanding mouth over his
after a bare moment's hesitation. Lou controlled the kiss as
much as Lil had, but kissed much harder. Johnny met it
with an aggressiveness he hadn't shown the lady. “Hungry
little man,” Lou chuckled when they parted. Johnny just
panted. He felt like he'd been clobbered with a hoe-handle
and the stars were just starting to go away.

“He's delicious.” Lil pressed her breasts into Johnny's

back, pushing him into Lou's chest. She licked his neck, her
tongue hotter than the Arkansas night “Johnny, we can
make your dream come true.”

He looked at her, still slightly dazed and completely

befuddled with arousal. “Can you? What are you? Record
execs?”

Lou laughed softly and ran his hands over Johnny's

chest. “Something like that. If nothing else, we can get you
to Nashville. And our sleeper is much more comfortable
than an abandoned gas station.”

Lil smiled, showing too many sharp teeth, her fangs

white in the moonlight. “Oh, Johnny. Full moon.
Crossroads...” She ran one fang over his throat and all he

wanted was to let her bite him.

“Think, boy,” Lou urged him. His mouth, so close, and

his hands, playing with Johnny's nipples, pinching in a way
that hovered somewhere between pain and arousal, left
Johnny absolutely incapable of thought.

Johnny raised one eyebrow as they reiterated his own

earlier thoughts. “You're making my dream come true? Or
I'm making yours?” He gave a soft groan as Lil ground
against his hard cock.

Lil looked at her husband and hissed, “I told you puns

don't work in print.” She pressed even closer to Johnny,
trapping him between their bodies. “Pretty singer, we've
seen so many like you, so few we came to. Fewer still took
the offer.”

“You know the price for your dream, don't you,

Johnny?” Lou asked.

Johnny nodded. He knew all right. This pair could

make him anything, bigger than the Beatles if he asked for
it, but the price was awful steep. Too steep, his
grandparents would have said. Then again, they seemed to
really like him, so how bad could it be? “Yeah," he said,
slowly. “Pretty much. I'll give it.”

Lil kissed him again, her body cool marble against his

own. “You drive, Lou.” They hoisted his gear into the side-
box of the truck. He kept his guitar close in his hands. Lil
climbed up and sat in the bunk, shedding her shirt as she
went.

“You can ride shotgun. Or...” She ran one long

manicured scarlet nail down his neck then over her own
breast, pausing to flick the nipple. She sucked the finger
suggestively, looking at Johnny.

He smiled, feeling dopey. “Or?” He meant it to sound

like a suave seduction, as if he had women all the time. It
came out like a clod of dirt hitting the ground and made
him sound dumb. He kicked himself for the stupidity.

Lil seemed used to such behavior. “You can come join

me.”

Lou climbed into the driver's seat and turned to steal a

kiss from her. Johnny put his guitar in the passenger floor-
well and joined her at once. He pulled his thin cotton work
shirt off.

“Enjoy,” Lou said. He pulled the privacy curtains

closed and started the truck. They glided out into the delta
night.

Lil only left one little light on in the bunk. She drew

Johnny closer. “You do like boys, don't you?”

“Love them. Part of why I have to get out.”
She smiled. “Ah, good. That must have been so hard

for you here.” She kissed him, slowly, and her hand came
to rest over the fly of his jeans. Johnny thought he was
going to die if she didn't get down to his skin real soon
now.

“Lot of things hard lately.” Her kisses were making

sure of that. He groaned as she gave his cock a little
squeeze and moved to play in his hair.

She laughed. “Clever boy. You'll do just fine.” She let

the long fine blond strands fall through her fingers. “You'll
need a makeover, of course. Right now, you look like a
farmer just off a bender.” She stripped away his undershirt
and opened his jeans. “New clothes, as well.”

“I'm all yours.”
Lil laughed again at that and kissed him more, her lips

exploring his face and neck, brushing over his chest and
lingering at his nipples. He squirmed under her kisses and
shivered every time he felt her teeth. Whenever he tried to
touch her, she moved somehow so he couldn't quite get
hold of those big pale tits that he wanted to taste so badly.

By the time they turned onto the interstate about

twenty-minutes later, Johnny was whimpering. When Lou
finally parked, what felt like a million years later, he
couldn't make any noise at all. All he wanted in that instant
was to come, come until his balls exploded, until his ears

popped, until Lil was covered in white jizz even whiter
than her skin.

Lou slipped into the bunk without opening the curtains

much. His kissed Lil and then Johnny. Johnny pressed up,
begging Lou to be forceful and end the torment that the soft
kisses and little nibbles were leaving him in.

“How is he?”
She smiled. “Beyond ready.”
“Yes,” Johnny gasped. His hips pumped against empty

air.

“Tell me what you want, Johnny, right now.” Lou

stripped off his tight black t-shirt to show a nicely built
smooth chest.

Johnny shuddered. “I want to come. I need it.” He

knew he sounded like he was begging.

Lou seemed to ignore him and kissed Lil instead. He

took it slow, teasing and then forcing her to take his tongue
in, his hands rough on her breasts, pinching the nipples
until they turned bright pink and stood up as hard as
Johnny's cock. The soft moans from Lil, the wet sounds of
their mouths, the whispery rasp of skin on skin all turned
the simple kiss into something almost pornographic.

“He needs it, darling,” Lil whispered when Johnny

gave a soft moan.

Lou turned and seized Johnny's face in both hands,

pressing him back against the wall of the sleeper, and
kissing him hard. His tongue ravaged and demanded as it
invaded Johnny's mouth. Johnny's cock jerked and the need
in his belly wound to a fever pitch.

Lou let his mouth go and then kissed the head of his

cock. There was no sucking, nothing but the graze of his
lips, the mustache and beard tickling. Johnny thrust up
toward his mouth before he could stop himself. Lou pulled
away and kissed his mouth again. Lil kissed the head, a fast
flick of her tongue along his slit.

“Oh fuck,” Johnny gasped.

Both of them pulled away. Lil lay back, spread her legs

and ran two fingers over her vulva, opening herself for him.
She circled and stroked her clit with the index finger of her
other hand. Her nail polish was the color of old blood in the
dim light.

Lou moved behind him and wrapped his arms around

Johnny's chest. His breath burned on Johnny's ear. His
fingers pinched Johnny's nipples, making them stand up
like Lil's had. Johnny let out a half-sobbing breath.

“Do you want her, boy?” he breathed. Lil slipped two

fingers into her cunt and moved them, the wet, inviting
sound making Johnny lick his lips. “Look at her. You want
her. Want to taste her, to feel her engulf you.”

“Yeah.” Johnny's eyes were riveted to the slim white

fingers and soft red flesh before him. His balls ached,
making him want to be inside her, his cock drooled with
eagerness.

Lil left off and sat up. She ran her nails over Johnny's

chest and teased his lips with the wet fingertips. His tongue
flicked out to taste them and she laughed. She turned
Johnny to look at Lou, licking along his neck and sucking
his earlobe as she did. Lou stroked his own cock, bringing
it fully erect, seeming content to watch Lil and Johnny.

“You want him, too,” Lil said and nipped his earlobe.

“You want him inside you, don't you? Taste him, let him
fuck you.”

Johnny moaned again, as Lou gave him a very sexy

smile. He couldn't stop looking at the thick cock, imagining
how it would taste and feel. “Yes. You can both have me.”

Lil wrapped her hand around his cock and Lou ducked

his head to swallow it. Johnny nearly whooped with
pleasure. He bucked up into Lou's mouth when Lil kissed
him. She nipped his neck after a moment.

“Come,” Lil said.
As if the word was a trigger in his balls, he did,

shooting into Lou's mouth. Lou let him finish, but didn't

swallow. Instead he moved up to kiss Lil. Through half-
shut eyes, Johnny watched them enjoy one of those long
porno kisses, the kind that looked more intense than the
blowjob he'd just had.

Lil lay down and pulled Johnny with her. “Sleep now,

dear boy.” She kissed him, sweet and dry, companionable
and not at all sexy. “Right here with us. It is late and we put
you to hard use.”

“Good, though.” Johnny kissed her back and yawned.

Lou curled around him from behind, his arms around both
Johnny and Lil.

“We'll have a taste of Lilith tomorrow, dear boy,” he

promised. He kissed Johnny's neck. “And I'll fuck you
through the mattress.”

Johnny wasn't listening anymore. Exhausted from a

hard day's work, a long night's walking and a most
excruciating pleasure, he was already asleep in Lil's arms.

***

“Good evening, Johnny.” Lil stretched and peeked out

of the curtains. Johnny opened one eye and realized they
had gotten no farther than the West Memphis dog track.
“Oh, look at us. We've slept the day away.”

Lou kissed her and then kissed Johnny. “Indeed. But

night's the best time.” He stretched too and Johnny watched
his muscles through half-shut eyes. They were both hotter
than an August cotton field, he decided. He'd dreamed
about them all day, about fucking and being fucked, about
eating Lil while Lou sucked him and sucking Lou in
tandem with Lil or while Lil sucked him off. Most of all,
he'd dreamed of being a star, performing, before an
audience full of people who wore their faces.

Lou lay back down beside him and stole another kiss.

“There's a hot shower in Nashville, but I have a more
pressing need.”

Johnny felt Lou's very hard cock against his thighs and

woke up fast. His own morning wood was standing at
attention and reminding him he was in bed with a very sexy
couple.

Lil kissed him. “Let him fuck you,” she whispered. “I

like to watch.”

Lou kissed him. “Fuck her. You know you want to.”
Johnny rolled on top of Lil who was already on her

back and spreading for him. He stroked her with two
fingers and found she was already wet. She squirmed a
little at that and he slid into her with no more preparation
than that. She wasn't as wet as he'd thought and he heard
her gasp a little. For fucking Lou's big cock, she was still
tight..

“Take him, Lou darling,” Lil said and clenched around

him. He pumped at her a little. “Oh yes, dear Johnny. Nice
and deep.” She nipped his throat. “And just as hard as you
want to.”

“Lil... honey...” he managed.
“Yes?” She licked his neck, her voice as coolly

controlled as if she were discussing the road conditions.
“Surely I'm not the first?”

“No, babe. Not even close.” Johnny gasped as Lou

slipped two well-lubed fingers into him. The bare head of
Lou's cock started in. “Wait. Condoms.” The thought was
automatic.

Lil laughed and Lou joined her until the truck rang

with it. “Johnny, my boy,” Lou said, “you know what we
are.”

Lil flashed her fangs at him and as he watched, ivory

horns peered out of her hair. The fear those sent crawling
through his bones only made him hotter. “These bodies
neither harbor disease nor make germ cells, lover. You can't
get me pregnant and we are very clean.”

Johnny sighed as Lou worked at sheathing himself

fully. When Lou's balls hit his ass, he gave a soft cry. “Big

boy,” he said, then flinched at the banality. Lou chucked
and Johnny felt his beard on the back of his neck.

He held still, trapped between them. Fear wasn't the

only thing stopping him. He felt like he was going to
explode just staying still. Their gorgeous bodies trapped
him. He knew he was gambling with his very soul and had
probably already lost, but he just had to see how it all
turned out. Right now, he just needed to come and come
and come until he passed out from the force of it.

“Isn't it nice?” Lil nibbled the other side of his neck.

“That's all, Johnny. You did fine.” She smiled up at them
both. “Sexy men.”

Johnny bent down and kissed her, letting her fangs

scrape his tongue, filling both their mouths with blood. In
response, she rubbed up against him, soft and wet, her
nipples hard spots in the softness of her breasts as they
pressed against his chest. Lou moved; slow, rough strokes
that seemed to set Johnny's spine on fire.

When Johnny stole a glance back, Lou was smiling, his

fangs showing. Lil was smiling, too. He closed his eyes.
They could have whatever they wanted as long as they
made him a star, or at least made him come, which was the
foremost thing on his mind. The latter grew into an even
larger concern as Lil and Lou set up a rhythm that drove
him higher up the scale until his nerves all vibrated at a
high D.

“Darling Johnny, you know who we are,” Lil said.
“My doom,” Johnny whispered, laying his head on

Lil's shoulder.

“Your good fortune,” Lou corrected.
“Are you mine, sweet boy? Will you take what I give

you?” Lil's hands moved along his side, stroking both him
and Lou. “And give us what we require?” He felt her scary
fingernails not quite breaking his skin. She could flay him
alive, he had no doubt. He'd let her, if it meant he could
come.

“Yeah, all of it.” He choked out the words. The

darkness in the truck-cab seemed to deepen and a vague
sensation of something leaving him flashed over his
consciousness.

Lil set her teeth to one side of his neck. He shivered at

their touch. “Ours.”

Johnny felt Lou at the other, the sharp fangs ready. His

silken voice said “Ours.”

They bit simultaneously and Johnny screamed. Behind

him, Lou slammed deep, pulsing hot, far too hot for a
normal man, into him. Beneath him, Lil spasmed with
orgasm.

Johnny shuddered, tipped over the brink himself,

exploding in a pure crescendo that made his head ring like
he'd been in front of the amps for hours. He lost all
sensation except the pure, clear supernova; of climax. He
came down, slowly, not wanting it to end. He wanted it
again. He'd brave hell and damnation if they would only
make him do that again and again.

Lou licked him clean of the blood and pulled out. “Yes,

Johnny.” The softly purred words were promise and threat
both, a contract made in the blood they had taken, a
guarantee that while Johnny would have such experiences,
the orgasms themselves might become his damnation.

Lou reached for the baby wipes and offered them to

both Johnny and Lil. Johnny snorted at the prosaic act, still
trying to wrap his head around the last hour. Lou leaned
around Johnny and kissed Lil, pressing the three of them
together. Johnny's cock twitched, but it wasn't ready for
another round.

“You've got some more driving hours on the clock,

honey,” he said and sat up. Seeing Johnny's puzzled look,
he sighed. “Even the Speed Demon bows to might of the
Department of Transportation.”

Johnny took a wipe to clean up and pulled away, letting

Lil up. After all that, they still worried about log books and

weigh stations. He shook his head and used the wipe.

Lil smiled and licked at an errant drop of blood that

had traced a scarlet track down his chest. He shivered.
“We've sealed the bargain,” she said and flicked her tongue
over his nipple, before nipping it with her fangs. She
laughed at his moan. “I have to drive. Lou, teach our boy
what he needs to know.”

Johnny watched her slip back into her tight jeans and

cherry-red cowboy boots. She didn't bother with a bra, but
popped a deep crimson v-neck sweater over her head. She
slipped out to check the truck over.

Lou watched him stare. “Amazing woman. She could

have been your species' mother, were Adam not a
domineering prick. Let her have the top next time.”

Johnny nodded, still dumbfounded. “I like ladies on

top.”

“She will astound you.” Lou didn't get dressed but

slipped into a black silk robe. He picked up a comb and
started untangling his shoulder-length black hair. He'd
finished with his and started on Johnny's when Lil climbed
back in and started the truck.

“Clean him up while you're at it,” Lil suggested as she

started the engine.

Johnny felt very weird having the big hands play in his

hair, but Lou's touch was gentle as he got the knots out.
Johnny listened, drowsy from sex and blood-loss, as Lou
talked.

“Your hair is perfect, long and sun-bleached. A bit

ragged, but that's easily remedied. And you will need to
shave or grow a fuller beard. You can keep it short. That
looks very nice.” Lou stroked along his jaw and around his
mouth and Johnny felt something happening.

Lou touched his neck and the bites healed to scars. He

held up a mirror. Johnny just stared. His hair looked like
he'd just come from the barber and his beard was nice and
neat, very short and sexy. The scars stood out bright red on

his neck.

He rubbed at them and Lou moved his hand away. “No,

don't touch them. They will bleed from time to time. This
means only that we are pleased with you.” Lou kissed one
scar and rubbed the back of Johnny's neck. “Are you stiff?”

Johnny glanced at his crotch automatically and looked

up to see Lou grinning at him. Lil took the exit a little too
fast, laughing at them. Lou spared a pat for Johnny's cock
and said, “Stretch out on your stomach.”

“Better tell him the rules, honey,” Lil said over her

shoulder.

Lou's hands worked over Johnny's back and neck,

working out the kinks and tight places from a month of
hard labor and an evening of acrobatic sex. He bent down
to kiss Johnny's neck.

“You have the gift, Johnny. You will be big, very, very

big. We will see to it.” He kissed Johnny between the
shoulder blades. “But there are rules that govern your
success. No more church. I know all you southern boys
start singing there, but you may never set foot in one
again.”

Johnny shrugged. “Didn't like it anyway.” He'd always

hated church. Getting up early, dressing in the stiff good
clothes, sitting in the hot little building on the hard benches
and listening drove him out of his mind. Grandpa had never
been afraid to thunder God's wrath down on him for
squirming too much. He'd taken to reading the violent or
dirty parts of the Bible during the sermon as soon as he
could. Grandpa never called him out from the pulpit after
that

“Not for weddings or funerals even,” Lou warned. “No

matter how your family reacts.”

Johnny flinched at that. He had a couple sisters and

grandma was getting up there. But Lou kept rubbing and
talking in that low hypnotic voice and they all seemed
unimportant. Maybe if he paid for the funerals and

weddings, they could do them in the funeral parlors and
parks.

“Nothing even pertaining to the other side. No holiday

music, except the most secular. Now if you can make one
filthy, go for it.”

Johnny laughed at that idea. “Sounds like my thing.

My favorite is 'Santa's gonna kick your ass,' anyway.”

Lou kissed him lower on the spine, sending tingles

through Johnny's body. “No Gospel records, not even as
backup. Not if the Statler Brothers themselves ask you. Not
even as a guitar player. Your new guitar won't play the
enemy's music.”

Johnny wrinkled his nose. His grandparents had never

allowed anything on their record player or radio besides
gospel and preaching. The worst hiding he'd ever taken was
when Grandpa had caught him listening to a rock-and-roll
station on the big old Philco. “Hate them.”

Lil chuckled. “I told you he was the right one. I've been

watching him, Lou. He has sex fantasies while his Mama
reads the daily devotion at breakfast.”

Johnny blushed, but Lou didn't seem to notice. “Only

when it's something sexy,” Johnny mumbled.

“All your work is in variants of thirteen. Thirteen songs

per set or twenty-six per concert. Twenty-six per album.”
Johnny nodded. “If you are asked, it is simply your lucky
number. And never go thirty-nine. Three belongs to the
other side.”

Lou kissed him just above the swell of his butt and

Johnny shivered. “You may never marry.” Johnny smiled.
So far this didn't sound too complicated at all. “Fuck all
you like, the more the better.”

“I can handle that,” Johnny agreed.
“Men. Women. Both at the same time. Do limit

yourself to adults. We'll leave the children to the clergy,
shall we? Take up any vices you like. However, you are not
to miss a concert or recording session because of them.”

Johnny shuddered as the silver tongue swiped along the
crack of his ass.

Lil sighed and changed lanes. “No-show Jones,” she

said.

“Final rule,” Lou said and Johnny felt a piece of thick

paper settle on his back. “At the end of thirty-six years, you
are ours.”

“That's all I got, huh?”
Lou swatted him and he felt something very hot hit the

other side of the paper and burn his back. “Would you
prefer seven? That's the usual contract.”

“No, no,” Johnny hasted to reassure him. “Thirty-six is

great.”

“Besides, how pathetic is it when geriatric old farts get

out on the stage and try to rock like they're thirty?” Lou
asked, nibbling one of Johnny's ass-cheeks. “On your
sixtieth birthday, we'll be in the crowd and backstage with
cake. They will be a good three decades.”

“So what happens if I break 'em?”
Lil parked the truck at the Jackson rest-area and shot

Lou a very dark grin. He returned it and Johnny shuddered.
She pulled the curtains and joined them in the sleeper.

“If you violate the contract deliberately, you are in

default and we no longer have to keep our end,” Lou said.
“If, however, a power outage prevents you from performing
all thirteen songs, there is some leeway. We do recognize
rain checks.”

“We'll be there almost at once, for a major infraction,”

Lil added, her angular face going almost skeletal.

Johnny saw and knew he wouldn't be making a major

infraction. He tried not to show his fear. “Hmm. I think I
know what happened to Hendrix and Morrison now.”

Lil licked her red lips. “Sweet Jim,” she whispered,

looking wistful and hungry at the same time.

Johnny smirked, pleased he'd gotten that one right.
Lou rolled Johnny over, pinned him down with one

hand on his throat, and glowered at him. Johnny stared up
at the handsome face, seeing Lou's own horns for the first
time. Lil's had been sexy last night. But in gathering
twilight, when he knew it was no dream or wild fantasy, all
he found them was terrifying.

“Don't try breaking it,” Lou snarled. Johnny shivered,

feeling deep in his bones what the very sexy man truly was.
“We're good friends to have, but lousy creditors. Some
guys think they're smart. Like that Daniels asshole. And
Daniel Webster may have gotten old Jabez Stone off, but I
had them both in the end.”

“They don't call him the king of lawyers for nothing,

dear,” Lil added.

As Johnny looked up—way up, surely Lou hadn't been

that big a minute ago—he understood the seriousness of the
deal. “Got it.”

Lou let him up and seemed to shrink back into the

good-looking driver Johnny had first seen. Johnny rubbed
his neck a little and looked at Lil.

Lil kissed him. “Don't fret, child. It's not all on you.

We'll see you often, since you may call on us for help with
any contracts. In fact, we insist. Elvis turned into such a
mess with that dreadful Colonel.”

“How do I call you?” Johnny didn't have a cell phone

and it seemed ridiculous that the devil would have one.

Lil held up a guitar pick, made of black stone, too thick

and heavy to use. Johnny took it, feeling its heat as he
weighed it in his palm. “You'll know how to use it when
you need it,” she promised.

Lou had returned to rubbing him, chest and arms and

shoulders, interspersed with kisses. Lil just watched them.
Lou's cock poked him in the belly, hard and wanting
attention.

“Are you game for another round?” Lil whispered,

kissing him, the sharpness of her fangs disturbingly erotic
on his tongue. “I like to watch Lou work.” She moved

away from the bed and sat in one of the front seats.

Johnny nodded. Lou nudged his legs apart and aligned

their hard cocks between their bellies. He rocked against
Johnny, the hot satin of his shaft sliding along Johnny's
own. Decadent and utterly male in execution, the act
brought Johnny off like a geyser.

When Lou rolled off of him to lie beside him, Lil

moved in to lick them both, her tongue oddly rough, like a
cat's. Johnny moaned, feeling himself get ready for a third
time.

“Never been that quick before.”
“Never had a sexy devil like me before,” Lou teased.
“True on every particular,” Johnny agreed. “Especially

the sexy.” He groaned as Lil spread his legs farther to suck
on his balls. “Lil, honey, please, you're killing me.”

She laughed. “Not yet.” She licked his head. “Such a

pretty pecker and all for me.” She straddled him and took
him in, shedding her sweater as she lowered herself. “You
got the most gorgeous tits,” Johnny said. She lowered them
to him and he licked her stiff nipples, before settling in to
suck one.

Lou kissed his neck and ear. “She's amazing isn't she?'

He sucked at the other, clutching the breast in a way that
looked painful to Johnny. Lil moaned when he bit, coming
in a flood around Johnny's cock. Johnny tried a hard nibble
and she came again.

“Uh-huh.” Johnny was lost when she bore down and

her twat seemed to clench shut around him, clutching him
tight, tighter than anything he'd been in, making him come
almost at once.

Lil collapsed atop them and Johnny slowly went soft.

She stood up as soon as he was out and pulled her clothes
on, scowling at the clock. “Gotta get you where you're
going.”

Johnny lay beside Lou for another hour, letting Lou

teach him new music, half by repetition, half by osmosis.

“Name him, darling,” Lil said from the front seat as

they screamed down the long hill toward Music City.

“Jubal,” Lou whispered in his ear. “You are Johnny

Cotton to the rest of the world, but your real name is
Jubal.”

Johnny shivered, the sound of it like music on his skin.
“Jubal was the great-grandson, five times removed, of

Cain and one of my daughters,” Lil put in. “He's the father
of all musicians.”

“Good name,” Johnny-now-Jubal agreed.
“Get dressed, darlings, we're almost there.” Lil slowed

the truck from its highway speed to the city pace. She
pulled off on the exit ramp near Music Row and parked
illegally in a grocery store's lot.

“So is it goodbye? Or just later?” Johnny asked.
“Later. Until you get your first contract. Carry the pick

in your pocket to every studio meeting.”

Lou handed him his guitar case and suitcase. Then he

handed over a small satchel. “Thirty-six years, dear boy.”

Lil blew him a kiss and the big black truck roared off

toward Kentucky. Johnny walked a ways, up to the Row,
and found a bench under a street light. There was a tag on
the satchel that said, “Open this compartment first.”

He did and found a wallet, with money and cards for

the heads of all the major studios, with appointment dates.
A key ring held a Ford key and a house key. A notebook
poked him with its wire spiral. He opened it.

“In the lot of the McDonald's, you will find a red truck.

The map of Nashville on the front seat has your apartment
marked and your itinerary for the next two weeks. Don't
disappoint us, darling. Kisses, L&L.” The spiky
handwriting appeared as he read each line. When he looked
in his bag, he saw all his clothes had changed into new and
glitzier outfits.

In the McDonald's lot, he found a 1990 F150 pickup,

not at all new, but clearly in good shape. Over a burger, he

traced out his route on the map and drove to his apartment
after supper. It wasn't in the best part of town, but it wasn't
a total slum. The message on the fridge said his rent had
been paid for a year. And that they'd be very disappointed if
he had to make a rent payment on this place.

Johnny sat in his new apartment and opened the guitar

case. Instead of the cheap, blond wood Yamaha with its
dollar slicks and plastic frets, he gawked at a twelve-string
Gibson SJ-200 True Vintage acoustic. He stared. That
model was only supposed to be made as a six-string. The
maple box gleamed mellowly in the lamplight and the
strings shone. Spares were tucked into the case, Cleartone
EMPs, with the hex core and the micron coating. Johnny let
out a low whistle. When he went with Lou and Lil, he went
first class, at least musically. He strummed the guitar and
got a low sexy growl out of the strings. It played like
Waylon Jennings sounded. Perfect.

He looked it over more closely and realized the vine

pattern on the fret-board wasn't quite standard. When he
touched one of the silver-inlaid swirls, he could swear he
felt Lil's mouth on his, in one of her light sexy kisses. He
pressed at one of the mother-of-pearl leaves and he could
feel Lou's cock, long and hard against the crack of his ass
and Lou's arms around him. Oh yes, this would be a fun
guitar to play.

A rolled parchment scroll lay in the bottom of the case.

Johnny unrolled it. It was a contract, signed in blood,
outlining his duties and benefits as Jubal, rocker in the hire
of Lou and Lil Schiffer.

***

They were waiting in the wings before he went out.
Johnny hadn't seen Lil and Lou for years, not since he'd

locked into a thirteen-year contract. They'd delivered on
everything. He had six Grammies and a mansion full of

gold and platinum records. He wasn't bigger than the
Beatles, but he was bigger than Skynyrd and that was
enough for him. Last summer, Johnny Cotton had been
inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

He'd left a string of broken hearts that had included

some very beautiful actresses and some very talented
rockers, as well as a lot of has-beens, gonna-bes, wanna-bes
and no-talents of all sexes.

Over the years, he'd met a few others also under

contact to the Schiffers. He was the only one who'd
displayed the contract so blatantly, framed on his living
room wall, the drippy dried-blood pentagram inverted at
the bottom.

He'd spent a month of nights in the arms of a soulful

pop balladeer who had smiled sadly upon seeing it. That
affair's sweetness had paid for the nuisance of having to
publicly snub a notorious satanic-goth rocker, who had
turned into Johnnie's instant groupie upon seeing the
contract, until Mr. Goth got the point.

He smiled at Lou and Lil. They looked exactly as they

had the night they'd found him in Greasy Corner. He knew
he was older, gray in his hair and beard and lines on his
face.. “Thanks for everything.”

“Happy birthday, dear,” Lil said and kissed him.
“We'll see you after the show, Jubal,” Lou said and

stole his own kiss.

He gave them a smile and strode out on stage. The

crowd was hot tonight, giving him back all the energy he
sent out. He did twenty-five songs, instead of the thirteen
that had his been his norm for the last five years. His doctor
had told him to start coddling his pipes a little more then
and he'd taken that advice. But after tonight, there were no
more concerts and no reason not to give the folks their
money's worth. The crowd roared, dancing in the aisles and
singing along.

Before the last song, Johnny took the microphone in

hand and walked along the edge of the stage, reaching
down to touch all the straining hands. He spoke slowly,
smiling. “All right, folks. It's my birthday today and I just
want to tell you, you've been the best birthday present an
old rocker like me could ever get. And the best goodbye
crowd I could have asked for. So I just want to say thank
you. Thank you for coming to my last show. Good night
folks. Good night, Lil and

Lou, wherever you are.”
The band swung into the rock version of “How Bad Do

You Want It?” and Johnny sang his

revised lyrics that had closed every show for thirty-six

years.

“Johnny Cotton went to the crossroads
So my legend goes.
I got this here guitar.
And the devil took my soul,
The devil took my soul!”
And the crowd went wild.

Deadman's Curve

There were definite advantages to being already dead,

Rick decided as he cooled his heels in a back booth of the
99 Fine Club, waiting to see Sterling. Namely, when his
demonic boss killed him, he would wake back up after a
few hours.

There were drawbacks too, especially the little point

that his death certificate had already been filed when he
woke up after the motorcycle crash back in '81. When the I-
9 form had been required for employment, starting in '86,
there was no getting a job without a Social Security card
and a driver's license. Rick had the latter. But the Social
Security Administration, in a rare fit of unwonted
competence, had realized Richard G. Jax was dead and
refused the card.

So, he stripped. Club owners didn't care if he was legal,

as long as he showed up regularly and sober, and they paid
cash. He blessed his good luck to have died at twenty-three.
The tips kept him living in a cheap residential motel and
eating off the hotplate. The main difference, as far as he
could tell, between being alive and being undead was that
he couldn't die or be killed and that breathing wasn't an
autonomic function anymore, although it was still a
necessity. He sometimes forgot, even after twenty-five
years, and went lightheaded.

The five hundred in his sporran should keep him in

good shape for a while. Sterling had sent him to the back
room to blow an important patron. The guy had been
gorgeous, either an immortal or one of the Powers. Rick
could tell things like that now. It was something in the aura.
He'd done his best, still in the leather from his Roman slave

routine. The man had kissed his forehead, slipped him the
money over his protests and then gone to talk to Sterling.

Now, just before his Scottish number, he'd been pulled.

He knew Sterling was a demon. He didn't know if Ster
knew he was undead, or maybe immortal. No dancer was
ever fired from the 99 Fine Club; Sterling just killed them.
Ate them too, Marissa said. She claimed she'd seen him
bite off Terrence's cock before tearing out his throat.
Marissa was so dead honest she didn't even swipe rolls off
breadbaskets bound for the dishroom, which all the dancers
did.

"Rick," came Sterling's perpetually bored vice. Rick

wondered how bad it was going to hurt to have his cock
bitten off and how long it would take to regenerate it. He
went into the office.

"Michael throughly enjoyed you tonight, Rick. He says

he wants an exclusive. You'll still dance, but he's the only
one you service in the back." Sterling looked him over.
"You're very lucky. Men pay handsomely for a single hour
with him. So, let me see what's so special about you?"

Rick could almost see Sterling's plan, like a picture in

his aura. Ster was going to kill him and let Michael have
his exclusive in the form of Rick's corpse. It would piss
Michael off for a few minutes and then he'd get the joke.
Rick went to his knees anyway, his own joke making him
smile.

"Eager little slut, aren't you?” sneered Sterling.
Rick shrugged. "You're gonna kill me anyway. Let's get

it over with." He tugged at Sterling's zipper. "I know what
you are." When he had Sterling's cock out, he licked it, all
over. "I expected spikes. Do you come acid?"

"Just poison." Sterling stared as Rick gave a little smile

and sucked him in.

Sterling tasted clean, not sulfurous as Rick had

expected. He grasped the desk and moaned as Rick applied
twenty-eight years of experience to his cock: long slow

licks, fast tongue flicks, deep swallows and light sucks.

Rick didn't choke when Sterling forced his head down,

making him deep throat. He did scream as small barbs, the
consistency of a fingernail, dug into his mouth and tongue,
anchoring him for the flood of poison. His scream lasted
mere moments and then the thick, burning foulness
drowned him. He felt it scorching his tongue, his throat and
churning as it hit his belly. He wanted to vomit, to pull
away, but he could do neither, He swallowed and
swallowed again and still his mouth filled with acrid
bitterness and the metallic taste of his own blood.

Finally, the barbs retracted and he swiped at the tears in

his eyes. His stomach heaved. But he couldn't let Sterling
win.

"Fuck me," he demanded, watching Sterling wipe the

blood from his cock. "I bet the barbs are really intense."

Sterling stared some more, as if he had never seen the

lithe young man. "You're already dying."

Rick got up. "Exactly. So it doesn't matter if you rip my

ass." He seized Sterling's shirt front. "Fuck me, you
bastard." He dove in for a hard kiss, which Sterling did not
return.

Sterling laughed and bit his lip. His teeth were pointed,

almost razor-like. "Slut. Almost makes me wish you
weren't dying so we could do it again."

"Talk, talk," Rick gibed. He bent over the desk, spread

his feet and flipped up his kilt. "Fuck me already. Your
spit's poison, too. I can feel it burning."

In answer, Sterling licked along his crack then pushed a

wet tongue against his hole. “Yeah, it is,” he said, as--using
only the bare amount of spit as lube--he shoved in, making
Rick yell.

Rick calmed down after it stopped hurting. The room

tilted alarmingly and his head spun. “Claws, fangs, barbed
cock, poison spit, poison come,” he whispered. “Do it to
me. If I’m dying, let me have it all.”

Sterling obliged him, raking his nails–thick, ugly talons

now– down Rick’s back. His tongue rasped at the cuts and
he worried the edges with his sharp teeth. All Rick could do
was moan. He felt Sterling speed up, trying to finish.

“Lunatic,” Sterling muttered. He bit down on Rick’s

neck with rows of sharp fangs, getting plenty of spit in the
wounds. “Pervert.”

Rick screamed at the bite, feeling the blood rush over

his chest. He rammed back onto Sterling’s cock. “Don’t–“
he gasped, “don’t stop.”

Sterling laughed. “So fucking eager for death.”
“Can feel,” Rick breathed, “feel the poison. Cold. In

my gut. In my blood." He rose to meet Sterling’s thrusts
with each phrase. “Burning my ass. God, yes! Give me the
spikes. Come for me!”

Sterling did. Rick howled as the barbs penetrated his

soft insides and as the burning acidic poison filled him,
eating at the sensitive tissues.

Sterling pulled out when he could. Rick lay limp on the

desk. “Did you get enough?” Sterling snarled.

Rick’s blue eyes were glassy and his mouth moved

feebly. “Tear...throat." He offered his throat to Sterling,
who gave a small chuckle and bit down hard, breaking the
skin and opening veins. The last thing Rick remembered
was Sterling’s tongue on him, almost as hot as his own
blood.

Rick woke up in a cardboard box. It beat a coffin.

Those were hard to get out of. He pushed the flaps open, sat
up and looked around. His head throbbed with the
Hangover of the Western World. Sterling’s poison must not
have completely cleared his system yet.

The walk-in freezer, cold and dark, left him shivering.

He caught a glimpse of the side of the box: “spare ribs." It
was tagged for Thursday. He grinned and slipped out into
the warmth of the darkened club. The kitchen clock said it
was five, which meant he’d been out for four hours. Longer

than usual. Sterling had some pretty powerful poison.
Sterling’s office light was still on.

Rick didn’t bother knocking. He barged in, sat one hip

on a corner of Sterling’s desk and hid his amusement as his
boss drop a pen.

“So, boss, about that exclusive,” Rick said, picking up

the conversation where they’d gotten distracted.

Sterling rubbed his eyes. “You’re dead.”
Rick ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, have been for

about twenty-five years now. Kinda surprised you couldn’t
tell, being you're a demon and all.”

Sterling shrugged, seeming nonplussed at Rick's

knowledge. “I knew there was something weird about your
aura. I just never cared enough to check." Sterling traced
one of the places he’d bitten. “Do you always wake up
afterward?’

“So far,” Rick said. “I expect if you cremated me I

wouldn’t.”

Sterling finally smiled. “I think we can have a lot of

fun. Michael can be your only client, but he has to share
with me. You don’t tell him about this." He looked Rick
over. “You still want to dance?”

Rick grinned. “Sure. I dance. I blow a drop-dead

gorgeous man." He leaned across the desk and kissed
Sterling’s cheek. “And I get fucked to death by my boss
every now and then. Sounds like a good life, or unlife.”

Sterling passed over the night’s pay. “Go home. I’ll see

you tomorrow night, Rick.”

Things went as usual for a while. Rick slept days,

worked nights. One evening in mid-routine, he saw
Michael come in and take his usual booth. Sterling came
out and talked to him for a minute. Things had changed
backstage and Rick had a private dressing room now, the
only dancer who did. Sterling said it was for Michael’s
convenience, at Michael's expense. The man’s dark eyes
followed Rick as he continued dancing, grinding himself

against the pole, one hand holding the cowboy hat on. His
vest flapped around his bare chest and his chaps left
nothing to the imagination.

A little smile half-twisted Michael’s full mouth as Rick

gave him a complete back view then spun to slide down the
pole, acting as if he were licking it. The song ended. Rick
collected his tips and costume and slipped back to his
dressing room. Michael was there, waiting on the
comfortable couch, the same sardonic smile on his face.

“Sterling gave me my exclusive,” he purred, his voice

mellow and sensual, “and without a fight. He must despise
you, boy.”

Rick smiled and hung up the parts of his costume. “As

much as he despises all humans, sir." He emptied the tooled
leather pouch of both his genitals and tips, unself-
consciously naked before his client. He emptied the money
into a locked box atop the vanity and dropped the pouch in
a drawer with several others.

“So you know then." The purr sounded both amused

and a little surprised.

Rick just smiled, meeting his exclusive’s eyes in the

big oval mirror. “Just like I know you’re immortal of some
sort.”

“Clever little whore, aren’t you?" Michael rose from

the couch and pinned Rick to the vanity. Rick felt Michael's
erection under his pants. Power games were Michael's
thing, but Rick had played them long enough to understand
all the rules.

“Not really. But Sterling said to do anything you

wanted.”

Michael laughed, a low, ugly sound. “Anything?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Michael. Anything.”
Michael shoved him to his knees. “And if I broke your

nose as you sucked me, forcing you to suffocate in your
own blood?" He pressed close, rubbing against Rick’s face,
letting him feel just how much harder the idea had made

him. “How long until you wake back up, zombie slut?”

Rick grinned and rubbed his face against the bulge. He

could smell the heady scent of Michael through his tailored
trousers. “About four hours, I think. How can you tell?”

Michael pulled away a little and ran a hand over him

about an inch from his skin. “Your aura. You’re dead, but
there are no hougan marks or loup-garous in it. What sort
of revenant are you?”

Rick shrugged. “The Rick kind. I woke up on a morgue

slab after I cracked up my bike back in 1981. I just sort of
kept waking up after being shot or killed. Lost my last job
when a scene in a kink club I was working went really bad.
I wound up getting hanged. Boy, did the police freak out
when I stopped them from zipping the body bag. I can’t
stand those things.”

“You talk too much." Michael bit at his neck, hard

enough to leave a bruise. “I’m not killing you tonight." He
settled back onto the couch. “Suck me off.”

Rick followed him and knelt between his feet, still

naked. One large hand slid over his hair and down to trace
his lips.

”Your mouth was made for this." Michael's dark eyes

burned and Rick felt his own cock jerk against his belly.

“Anything you want,” Rick said and swallowed his

cock.

Afterward, Michael had him stay kneeling. He adjusted

Rick’s posture and position with taps from his belt until he
was satisfied. Rick stayed there a long time while Michael
just looked. He was looking at the floor, as Michael had
insisted. Then he heard a ruffle, like a pack of playing cards
released into the air, and several bills fluttered to the floor
around him.

“Undead whore with dead presidents." Michael walked

to the door. “Pick them up, in your teeth. And crawl."

Rick went to hands and knees and picked up the first

bill.

“Excellent." Michael opened the door. “All of them,

with your teeth. I’ll know if you don’t." He left, shutting it
behind him. Rick didn’t know how he’d know, but he
obeyed anyway. It was never a good idea to mess with
immortals like that. He stashed the five hundred in fifties in
his tipbox and dressed for his next routine.

As he spun out of the kilt later that evening, he saw

Sterling in the audience and caught him crook a finger.
Rick put in his required appearance in Sterling’s office after
his last set. Sterling looked up from the book-keeping.

“Michael remains impressed with you. This is good.

Keep him happy." Sterling put down the pen and Rick saw
his careful manicure had reverted back to the real demonic
claws. Sterling ran the claws over Rick’s face, leaving
bloody, poisoned scratches.

Rick understood then that every time Michael had him,

Sterling was going to kill him. He bent over Sterling’s desk
and flipped his kilt up over his waist, ready.

This time, he woke up on the couch in his dressing

room. It beat the walk-in.

And on it went. Michael seldom wanted anything but

his mouth. Sterling killed him after every encounter. Oddly,
Rick found himself looking forward to both, an occurrence
that frightened him.

Sterling’s poison seemed to be getting stronger. Rick

hoped it was that and not that he was growing sensitive to
it. He had come to relish the few moments when Sterling’s
barbs shot into his mouth or ass, tearing him, wrenching
screams from him, and owning him in ways no one else
could. That scared him more than wanting Sterling.

Rick went through what he thought of as his “teen

brat” routine, keeping one wary eye on Michael as he shed
letter jacket and jeans to “Be true to your school.” Michael
was closing a deal with a pair of good-looking men. At one
point he’d laughed and his guests had bristled. Rick hoped
it wouldn’t be like last time.

Last time, Michael had paid him, but had stuffed a coin

purse up his ass, and followed it with an attached plug that
had a furry tiger-striped tail dangling from it. A collar and
bow-tie, faux cuffs, cat ears and a matching g-string had
been the rest of the present. Michael had insisted he dance
to “Rum Tum Tugger” before pulling the plug and getting
his tip. The audience had loved it. Rick never wanted to
hear Andrew Lloyd Weber again.

Rick gathered up his letter jacket and tips, getting back

to the dressing room before Michael. He was waiting,
naked, on his knees just like Michael liked it, when his
exclusive arrived.

There were no words, no preliminaries. Michael

grabbed his hair and shoved Rick down on his cock. Rick
gagged, which drew a nasty chuckle from Michael.

“Suck me, little bitch. Choke on me.”
Always obliging, Rick made sure to do so repeatedly,

tripping his gag reflex until his stomach tried to heave.
Michael slapped him across the face and flung himself
irritably onto the couch. Rick crawled to him and resumed
sucking, with no gagging. Michael came, staring at the
ceiling, ignoring Rick.

Rick licked him clean, zipped him up and waited.

Finally Michael looked down at him and ran a hand
through Rick’s hair.

“I was needlessly cruel, my boy.”
“It’s all right,” Rick mumbled, kissing the closed fly.

“It’s what I’m for, a safety valve for the powerful.”

Michael lifted his chin. “So is this all there is to you,

Rick? A dressing room, dancing, sucking me?”

Rick nodded. “An efficiency apartment, a motorcycle,

a dvd player, a lot of books and a computer. That’s it. No
girl. No hobbies. No outside life." Michael kept stroking
him and Rick didn’t like the look on his face of pity and
sadness and mild affection, all blended.

“You soothed me well, tonight. I feel generous. No tip.

Instead, I will give you anything you like, within reason of
course. A good apartment? A real job? A nice car? Any of
those appeal, Rick?" Rick just stayed kneeling and thought.
“Anything you want.”

Rick looked up. “Kiss me?”
Michael looked down at him. “A kiss? I offer you

potential millions and all you want is a kiss?”

Rick half-smiled up. “I have money. I have an

apartment I can keep up and a job I like. But I haven’t been
kissed, not a real kiss, in fifteen years." His voice grew soft.
“And if my mouth is made for blow jobs, yours is made to
kiss." Michael smiled and Rick saw the sadness and
affection had not left his face. “I ain’t a pity case. I like my
life like it is.”

Michael stroked his face. “Had you but asked, I would

have taken you home as my own lover. Instead, I will give
you exactly what you want.”

Michael lifted Rick’s face up and laid his big hands on

either side of it. He moved in slowly and then his mouth
covered Rick’s. Rick felt all tingly, his body responding to
this as it always responded to Michael. The taste of his
exclusive filled his mouth and all his senses. There was
nothing but Michael in his world, nothing but the warm,
strong body, the full, soft mouth, the long tongue that
danced inside his own mouth. Nothing existed but the
sound of Michael’s breathing and the silence of his own,
the taste engulfed him and he melted, coming in an
explosion of desire.

Rick’s head swam when Michael let him up ten

minutes later with a soft chuckle. “You’ve forgotten to
breathe, Rick. You’re decidedly blue." He traced Rick’s
nose. “It’s no longer an autonomic for you, is it?”

Rick gasped, trying to re-oxygenate himself. “No, sir. I

have to think about it. And you–“ he stopped to suck in
more air.

“And I drive all thought from you." Michael kissed him

again, not so passionately. He ran his fingers through the
puddle of semen and tasted them before making Rick lick
them clean. “For being out of practice, you kiss well. It will
not be fifteen years before you have another." He pecked
Rick on the lips, rose and left.

Sterling's temper was more than foul when Rick came

to him. He slammed Rick to the bed. “If he tries to take you
away, I'm going to take you to Hell, hide you in the deepest
pit and demand he come get you if he wants you." He bit
Rick, the multiple rows of demonic teeth closing on his
neck and shoulder. He chewed, pumping poison into the
wound like gila monster.

Rick just clung to him and moaned, rubbing his

erection against Sterling's thigh. The vicious claws
shredded his jeans and scrabbled at his groin, shredding
him. Rick came before losing all sensation.

Rick came awake in the big, blood-soaked bed, curled

around Sterling, who was his usual handsome self. “Mine,”
he whispered and kissed Sterling's neck. Sterling just
smiled. “Or I'm yours, whichever." He cuddled up and
flung a possessive arm across the demon's chest.

Sterling kept smiling and stroked his hair. “You like

playing with fire, don't you?”

Rick grinned. “Yeah. Always have. Or do you mean

real fire? You think you want to run a little blowtorch all
over me?”

“I thought I might take you home, even without the

threat of Michael.”

“If it's real, why not? How much worse can it be than

this?”

“You won't recognize me there, but I will always be

with you.”

“What will you look like?" Rick's curiosity was piqued

and he was asking more questions than Sterling had ever
heard. “Wings?” He stroked Sterling's back. “Horns?' he
brushed a hand across Sterling's forehead. “Will you know

me? Will you tell me who you are?”

“I am a monstrosity. But I will know you. And you'll

know me, if not by sight.”

Rick rubbed against him, turning on at the notion of a

monstrosity. A part of him was shocked, but the rest was
pragmatic. There was little he hadn't seen in the way of
debauchery and new thrills were getting hard to come by.
“What will I be? A pale, naked worm?”

“Just a man, among other men. But yes, naked.”
Rick kissed him deeply, offering his tongue to be bitten

if Sterling desired. “Tell me of the monster-shape." He was
definitely turned on and rubbed against Sterling. One
perfectly manicured hand came down to rub his cock.

“It doesn't even resemble human.”
“Mmmm. Will you still be able to fuck me?" Rick had

to know the important part.

“With anything I want, tentacles, fire, my whole body.”
Rick squared his shoulders, making his decision on the

spur of the moment. “Then take me there, babe, if you
want. Not much for me on the material. I'll just give notice
on my apartment.”

“I will get you passage in. But it involves some

changes to your appearance.”

“My looks?" Rick swallowed hard. “Mutilations?" That

could cost him his livelihood if Sterling ever brought him
back.

“No, just brands to allow you to pass between planes.

Five of them.”

Rick nodded, despite his fear. “Anything you want."

Sterling kissed him and, the next morning he announced to
the club at large that he was going on vacation and Andrew
would be in charge until he got back. Rick showed up and
danced every night, squirreling the money into his savings
account. He gave notice on his room.

Sterling turned back up two weeks later, with a stranger

in tow. The slim little man looked human, but Rick knew he

wasn't. After his last set, Sterling summoned him to the
office. “This is Max. He'll prepare you for travel. You'll
need another week or so to heal before we use them. Strip
down.”

Rick did, shaking. He saw what looked like a branding

iron laying on Sterling's desk. Max walked around him.

“Yes, yes, I can work with this one, even though he's

dead." He licked Rick's shoulder. “Tasty. Sterling, if you
decide to get rid of him, I'll take him on.”

“Just mark him,” Sterling growled. “We have a gate to

catch. Sit down, Rick.”

Rick sat in the big chair and let Sterling strap down his

legs and arms and chest. He didn't know what was about to
happen, but it wasn't going to be nice. Max approached him
with an iron. As he drew closer, the tip glowed, first dull
red, then a bright cherry and then an orange. Rick did his
best to hold still. He couldn't help a scream as the iron
kissed the top of his left foot.

He screamed again at the left hand and was sobbing

when it touched his right. The smell of cooking meat hung
thick in the air and he saw Sterling lick his lips. The right
foot was next. Then Max laid the hot iron on his chest, right
over his heart. Rick screamed as the demon held it for a
two count, feeling the skin crackle away from it like
charring paper.

Max slathered some cream, whose main ingredient felt

like salt, into the brands and left. Sterling let Rick out of the
chair and held him for a moment.

“Brave human." Sterling had him stand spread-eagle

and looked at the marks. “Perfect.”

Rick just shook, knowing the marking would be the

least of the tortures. “I'm ready. You were gone so long, I
was worried you'd forgotten me.”

“You should be so fortunate,” Sterling said. Rick kissed

him once more, taking in all his good looks. He wanted to
memorize Sterling now, a hedge against the darkness.

Sterling let him have the week. Rick didn't dance, but

stayed in Sterling's room, with his hands, chest and feet
bandaged with ointment. Sterling muttered over him five
times a day, sealing the travel spells into the brands. To
Rick's disappointment, Sterling did not touch him
otherwise.

“Will I be able to travel by myself eventually?” Rick

asked, the day they were ready to leave.

“No. Mortals can't manage it." He ruffled Rick

affectionately. “Even undead ones.”

Rick had expected a big ritual with inscribed

pentagrams and candles. To his surprise, Sterling took him
only to the office door. He opened it and shoved Rick
through hard. But instead of falling flat on his face on the
tile floor of the club, Rick just fell. It was freefall and not
uncomfortable once he got used to it.

He had plenty of time to get used to it. The old books

said nine days and nights. There was no hunger here, but
Rick did sleep several times. He had no real notion of how
long he fell through the blackness. But the floor of Hell hit
him with a very solid thump as he landed.

He seemed to be alone on a barren stone plane. The

rock beneath his feet felt like a parking lot in July. He
shifted from foot to foot, aware of things drawing closer
from the rocks and edges of the horizon.

Suddenly a great monster, all wings and a thousand

eyes, loomed up in front of him. He startled a moment and
realized it was Sterling. He went to the monstrosity,
watching as the wings covered some of the eyes and left
others open. He stroked one wing, its brass feathers rattling
under his hand.

“Fold me in, lover." He flinched as the wings, some of

them barbed and all of them rough, wrapped around him.
He just kissed the lids of what eyes would shut and stroked
the wings and limbs he could reach. “I never knew you
were a cherubim.”

Sterling gave a low rumble that Rick's mind heard as

laughter. Three of the wings tore at him, leaving bleeding
trails on his back.

“Yes, yes, I know cherubim is plural. But you, you're

practically plural." Rick gasped as Sterling pulled him
closer, piercing his skin in a few places. Rick checked to
see how badly he was bleeding as Sterling picked him up
and carried him away from the watching demons. He kissed
anything that would shut, any skin he could reach.

Hell spread out beneath him, bleak rock, barren and

relieved only by razor-sharp basalt out-croppings. Rick saw
a number of demons tormenting humans and each other. He
looked down, fascinated.

“You know, if you wanted to let some of them have me

while you watched, I'd be all right with it,” he said, licking
one of the wings near him that Sterling wasn't actually
using to fly. Sterling growled at him, a deep rumble that
Rick felt through his whole body. “Sorry. I'm just saying. I
mean if you wanted it, I'd do it.”

Sterling said something then, his voice like gravelly

thunder, the language purely demonic. Rick shuddered to
hear it, the twisted syllables sending waves of fear through
him. He got hard anyway.

Sterling set them down in a secluded cave and Rick

looked him over. Several of the eyes blinked and he gave
off an air of puzzlement. In a couple minutes, Rick knew
what was wrong. Sterling was nothing but wings and eyes.
There were no mouths, no arms, nothing that could be used
for sex.

Rick rubbed himself against the roughest of the wings,

drawing blood from his back with a wince. “Rend me,
lover. Take me apart if you want.”

Several of the wings folded over the eyes and Sterling

rippled. In a moment, large grayish-white blob stood in
front of Rick. It slurped over his legs.

“Sterling, lover?" Rick stroked the slick, hot skin of the

blob, only to recoil from a massive black three-headed
dragon. The beast's wings hung in rags of leather from its
skeletal wings, spike protruded from its scales, one nearly
impaling Rick. Two heads breathed fire in opposite
directions while the third bent and licked a trail of acid over
Rick's chest.

Rick could barely stand on his feet and look at the

monster. “I like the blob." He thought fast. “I want you to
cover me, invade me in every orifice, fill me up with
yourself.”

The dragon vanished. A cute furry creature sat on the

ground near Rick. He looked at it, very confused. The cat-
like thing walked over, rubbing its blue fur against his leg.

“Well, aren't you cute?” Rick laughed.
The creature laughed with him, a weird howling sound

coming from between three rows of very sharp teeth. Rick
petted the thing and it bit him. He only moaned, having
expected that. Without hesitation, he stroked himself erect
and offered the Sterling-ball-of-fluff-and-teeth his cock.

Sterling shifted again, this time a writhing mass of

tentacles and feelers. Rick stared again.

“Okay, I'm fucking Cthulhu." He approached the

squirming mass and Sterling bore him to the fiery ground.
“I kinda hoped for the protoplasm, but anything you want.
Hot for you, burning up here,” he joked as sweat broke out
on his skin and he felt his back blistering from the slow
roasting on the ground.

Words stopped when one tentacle invaded his mouth,

slick and sweetish tasting. Rick sucked it like it was
Sterling's cock, gagging as it worked its way on down his
throat. A second snaked up and slipped into his ass, well
lubricated. He was enveloped in the twisting mass, probes
entering every opening of his body. The one up his urethra
rubbed in counterpoint to the ones wrapped around his
cock.

He came, hard, wracked, unable to scream. The

tentacle expanded, forcing his semen back until his seminal
vesicles ruptured under the force of it. The internal
explosion made him shriek more around the tentacle in his
mouth and he felt Sterling vibrate as if pleased.

Rick moaned in agony, ruptured, full to bursting and

burning alive. Sterling kept expanding and Rick screamed
more around the tentacles as he was rent into ribbons,
exploded from the inside out. He came awake after a long
time, aching in every muscle, feeling like the pieces had
been swept into a dustbin.

The blob-thing waited, busy with something. Rick

went to it. “Enjoying me?" The blob directed its attention to
Rick, how, Rick wasn't sure, since it had no head or face. It
vibrated, pleased. “Please, Sterling, lover, master, please
don't dump me in a pile? I hate coming back like that. Just
lay me out in an out-of the way corner and let me get it
back together?”

The blob bounced a little, brushing against him to

signal its understanding. Rick knelt on the blistering rock
and put his arms around it, kissing its slick skin, stroking it.
He wanted to tell Sterling how much he loved him, but
couldn't manage it. The lack of communication was making
him crazy.

He tried thinking at Sterling, very hard, only to find

telepathy didn't work. Sterling couldn't use human speech
any more, just the demonic stuff that left Rick hard and
terrified at the same time. At length, he had a brainwave.
Sterling could split the blob into lots of little pieces, so it
just might work.

“Can you spell out words when you're all in flinders?

Like one letter per piece?”

Sterling collapsed from the large blob into dozens of

little blobettes. The pieces squirmed around and Rick
recognized a few letters, but most weren't even Roman
letters. He saw Greek and Cyrillic characters and what
looked like Elvish here and there. Apparently it all made

sense to Sterling, because he kept forming and reforming
messages.

Rick stroked as many blobettes as he could reach. “I

can't read it, lover. I'm sorry. It's all right. I'm guessing this
is all just part of the deal.”

Other than the inability to talk with his lover—and the

brutal heat—Rick didn't mind Hell too much. It wasn't as if
he could die from any of it, even when Sterling killed him.
But each time they found a new place to be, the other
beings crowded them, watching, eager, hoping for a taste of
Rick. Finally, all their time was spent running, or rather
flying, as Sterling sought a solitary place to have Rick.

Sterling snarled a lengthy speech in his own language

and without warning, Rick found himself in the cool office
of the 99 Fine Club. The tiles felt frigid under his face but
Sterling, his own demon lover, stood before him, smiling.

Rick rose, very shaky to be back on the material plane

and went to Sterling, kissing his whole face, begging with
the one thing he'd craved most. “Talk to me, lover!”

Sterling stroked his hair, his face. “Was it what you

expected?”

“No, but it was what I wanted. Thank you." Sterling

opened a line along his jaw with one talon and lapped at the
blood that flowed down Rick's neck. Rick yelped and then
laughed. “Gonna do me in the minute we get back, huh?
You sure love killing me.

“I only get once with everyone else.”
Rick laughed again. “Benefit of having a lover who's

already been through death and come out the other side."
He kissed Sterling, offering his lips and tongue to be bitten
and was not disappointed. “Do it to me. I missed the
spikes." He kissed Sterling again. “I missed your mouth. I
missed your words most, I think." He shuddered as the
poison worked in him. “But I'll go again, any time you say.
I want to give that dragon a whirl.”

Sterling laughed and drew Rick closer. “You think so?

That shape is partially made of fire and it comes pure fire."
His hands were as gentle as the talons allowed and he
settled into his chair, drawing Rick onto his lap. He was
generous with the lubricant from the top drawer and smiled.
Rick slid down his cock, finding it comfortable and familiar
after Hell, and rocked his hips as if he were dancing against
the pole out on the floor.

He kissed Sterling clear through, barely yelling when

the spikes tore into him. It was almost an anticlimax after
the internal explosions below. He kept kissing until the
poison overcame him. The last thing he felt was Sterling's
arms around him.

The first thing Rick felt, as he came awake in the big

bed in Sterling's rooms behind the office, were Sterling's
arms around him. He kissed his demon-lover at once, but
didn't wake him.

“Love you,” he whispered and nestled into Sterling's

shoulder for the first comfortable night's sleep in what felt
like a millennium.

Sterling was awake and kissing him when Rick woke

up that afternoon.

“Morning, boss,” he grinned.
“Did you mean it?” Sterling asked.
Rick smiled. “I love you." He propped up on one elbow

and kissed Sterling's eyes and cheeks and mouth.

“Little fool." Rick heard the words, but there was no

unkindness or condemnation in the tone.

“Dead fool,” Rick supplied. He kissed Sterling's neck,

feeling the too-slow heartbeat under his lips. “But yours all
the same. So, what'd you tell Michael?”

“You're no longer available." Sterling ran a slow hand

over Rick's face where he'd opened it last night. No mark
marred the smooth skin. Then he traced the brand over
Rick's heart.

“Figured you'd tell him I took off." Rick shrugged and

nuzzled at one of Sterling's nipples, teasing it awake.

“No. He'll see you with me." Sterling caught his breath

as Rick nibbled a little.

Rick looked up from the nipple he was worrying.

“When? Not like I'm dancing anymore. I never even have
to go back to the club.”

Sterling sat up. “You're going with me. As my business

partner, or my toy. Your choice.”

Rick sprawled on the bed, his legs spread, one arm

under his head and the other loosely circling the base of his
cock. He laughed. “I know jack-shit about business.”

Sterling ran one talon over his displayed cock, careful

not to break the skin. “I figured you'd pick toy.”

Rick shrugged and sat up. “Look, I've been in the sex

trade for twenty-five years. I don't know anything else.
Well, except the 1980-81 protocol for managing a K-Mart
Tire center, which isn't gonna be a big help." Sterling
laughed at that. Rick scooted to the edge of the bed. “So,
anything you want to do with me, paint me up, leash me,
kill me in front of him, whatever.”

“Chain you to my desk?” Sterling asked.
Rick knelt up on the bed. “Anything. Kinky doesn't

scare me, never did. Shoot, I even liked Hell." His
breathing got faster and he pressed up against Sterling. “I
loved it. I loved all the shapes you could be. Tentacles.
Dragon..." Rick rubbed his hard cock against Sterling's flat
stomach, breathing fast, “And the blob, oh yeahhhhh,” he
sighed. “And spikes and enormous shafts splitting me and
coming out my mouth." He licked at Sterling's nipples and
navel, tracing the muscles of his chest.

“But we must limit our trips to Hell. Too many and I'll

kill you with a touch.”

Rick grinned up and licked along Sterling's cock.

“That'd be a bummer. If your touch goes lethal, we'll never
get to the fun parts." Rick settled back on his heels, all
business except for the very hard cock laying atop his
thighs. “How do you want me for the sex-toy look?"

Catching Sterling's smile, he pressed on “Are we just
going for 'emphasizing possession' or is there 'making him
insanely jealous' thrown in? Is that last even possible?”

Sterling ran one soft pale hand around Rick's throat.

“I'm going to collar you and shackle you.”

Rick nodded. “Naked? Period costume? Make-up?" He

dropped his eyes and looked up flirtatiously. “I look really
hot in eyeliner.”

Sterling cuffed him lightly and Rick chuckled. “Naked

and make-up.”

Rick licked his way back up to kiss Sterling. “Just your

little slut boy." He stroked his cock, catching the drops at
the end and licking his fingers.

“Always. My own...that I can't kill. Don't ever expect

to leave.”

Rick grinned. “Yours that you kill all the time. I just

don't stay dead. I figured I lost the option to leave the day
you took me to Hell.”

Sterling seized his hair and yanked his head back. “If

you ever think of leaving, if I ever catch you with someone
else, I'll take you back and leave you there so no one else
will have you.”

Rick shook in his hands, letting his terror show through

his face. “Not alone in hell, please, no. Don't leave me
there." When Sterling let go of his hair, he clutched at his
demon-lover, clinging from the fear this idea wracked him
with. He couldn't face being left alone, a wandering scrap
of humanity, prey to every demon that wanted a taste of
him, burning all the time and never relieved by the slightest
touch.

Sterling smiled and stroked his hair. “My own. No

need to be afraid as long as you remain mine.”

“Just not alone? I mean, if you take me back, I know

we probably have to stay.”

“That's not what I want. I like the Material plane.”
“Sterling." Rick ran out of words and kissed his neck

and chest, pouring feverish adoration on his shoulders and
cheeks. There was nothing else to say, only love and
placation and desperation that ran deeper than words.

“You accept the price, then?" Sterling let one finger

over over the pentagram branded on Rick's chest.

Rick nodded. “I'd rather stay here, with you and be

your lover, your show-off toy, your punching bag on bad
nights.”

“Good." Sterling touched the mark and a shudder

wracked Rick. He felt as if Sterling had drawn out a portion
of him. He rested on Sterling's chest.

“I'll even dance if you want me to,” Rick said.
“Every night, just for me, every night. You'll only

dance for the customers, when I want to impress them. But
for me, naked, in your chains." Sterling circled his wrists
with one hand and licked the brands on his palms. Rick
undulated a little against him.

“So I'm yours. All yours.”
“Yes. You have been for a while.”
Rick nodded. He'd known this since the night Sterling

had killed him over the desk. He quirked a half-smile up at
Sterling. “Then do it. Make us official." He let go of
Sterling and climbed off the bed.

Rick got to his knees in the middle of the bedroom

floor. Sterling materialized a collar and cuffs for him,
apparently out of thin air. Rick shuddered again as the
collar locked around his neck. It sounded very final. The
smaller clicks of the cuffs added extra weight to his arms
and the ones on his ankles made him feel trapped.

“Do I have to call you Master in private?” Rick asked,

feeling the collar.

“No. You call me what you wish."
Rick rose and went to Sterling, who took him in his

arms. “Sterling." At Sterling's smile, he kissed Sterling's
cheek, his ears, his eyebrows and neck. “I know for the
customers, you're Master and I don't look you in the face or

move out of a kneeling display without permission.”

Sterling stroked his neck above the collar. “I know

you'll serve me well.”

Rick gave him the half-grin again. “I'm pretty good at

it. BDSM was big in the Eighties. You'd be surprised how
many high-powered execs want a pretty boy on a leash to
impress the others.”

“A man in control of another man is a strong signal."

Sterling tapped the cuffs on Rick's wrists.

“Yeah. And since I was so pretty and so young, I

always ended on that leash. And in the bedroom later, I
usually did the fisting and the flogging and the fucking
because every damn one of them was a subby little bitch at
heart.

“I'll have to make you do my work for me if I don't

want them to die. You're an marvelous little cocksucker."
He stroked Rick's face.

Rick swallowed against the collar. “Have I said I love

you?”

Sterling kissed his forehead. “Yes. But I never tire of

hearing it.”

Rick smiled and did a full-body ripple against him.

“Kiss me to death.”

Sterling's laugh was soft and wicked as he pulled Rick

close. The kisses rained down, each harder than the last
until Sterling bit at Rick's lips, drawing blood with every
nip. Rick moaned, loving the feel of Sterling's arms holding
him up. He kissed back, just as aggressive. The collar freed
him, it felt like. It let him do anything he wanted and know
he would not be turned out or fired.

Rick weakened under the torrent, the poison burning in

his blood from a dozen tiny wounds. Sterling still held him
vertical, because he no longer had the strength to do so.
“Lay me down, lover, because my knees ain't working,” he
whispered, never missing a kiss.

Sterling eased him back to the bed, laying him out, as

he preferred. Rick pulled Sterling to follow him, his arms
weakening by the second. He bit Sterling's lip just hard
enough to draw blood. He licked away the bitter, tainted
fluid and smiled. “You taste mine...all the time,” he
managed as he faded into the darkness.

The sun was down before Rick woke back up. He

stretched, only to find he was chained. One chain led from
each limb and one from his collar. They all attached to a
ring right over his heart. The pentagram of his brand was
mirrored in the metal ring and each chain hooked into a
point of the star.

He kissed Sterling, waking him, and beamed. “How

fucking sexy is this?”

“Decorative now, but if I used strong enough chains, I

could hang you from it.”

Rick's delight never wavered. “I think I'd like that.

Make me a chandelier or a piñata or something. Mm, how
would that be, me, hanging from the ceiling with candles
melted onto me by wax, working as your chandelier?”

“I'd gouge little holes in you to hold the candles.”
“Ouch." Rick's grin gave lie to the comment. Sterling

led him into the office and chained the center ring to his
desk. Rick arranged himself comfortably, looking
submissive and decorative at once. “Work time, huh?” he
asked.

Sterling sighed, looking him over. “Too bad.”
Rick glanced up, not looking higher than Sterling's

waist. “What is?”

“That I have to work and ignore you there looking so

good." He rubbed his foot against Rick's thigh and Rick
spread his own knees before nuzzling Sterling's.

“I'll be here, looking this good, when you get done.”
“You better.”
Rick tucked his knees under him and bent to kiss

Sterling's feet. “Yes, O my lord and master." He promptly
ruined the effect by winking up.

“Suck me while I do the books." Sterling got

comfortable as Rick crawled under the desk. Rick heard the
rustling of paper and the scratching of a pen.

He unzipped Sterling's pants with his teeth. “Just don't

kick me while I'm out, lover.”

“Never.”
Rick knew exactly what Sterling liked best. Above

him, the paper shuffling gradually slowed to a stop and a
low, soft groan rippled through Sterling as he sucked. One
of Sterling's hands came down and held his head close.
Rick was ashamed that he still yelped at the spikes, but he
swallowed the acidic, poisonous come anyway. He was
gone before the barbs retracted out of his tongue.

He woke up under the desk, his head on a towel, with

just a few drops of blood that had escaped his mouth before
he regenerated. Sterling's cock stood at attention and every
now and then, Sterling interrupted his work to stroke it.
Rick returned to sucking it.

Sterling nudged him. “Enough. I need to make a call."
Rick pulled off Sterling's cock to lay his head on

Sterling's thigh. Sterling chatted above him, growing more
agitated, but stroked Rick's hair to calm himself. Rick
rested there, very pleased. Every now and then, he moved
an arm or leg just to feel the chains rattle.

When he heard the phone hang up, Rick wrapped one

arm's chain around Sterling's cock and spiraled it up and
down.

Sterling patted him. “Clever boy.”
“Toldja I knew a little bit." Rick flicked his tongue

over Sterling's balls and up his cock, careful not to catch
the pre-come.

Sterling noticed. “You're learning how not to die.”
“Oh, I knew. I just like doing it.”
“Use your hand. Someday, I'll feed you poison by the

droplet and discover exactly how long I can keep you alive,
dying, but not dead.”

Rick's supple fingers drew Sterling out. Rick was

careful not to get any of the poisonous fluid in him. He
mopped up with the towel and rose on his knees to kiss
Sterling.

“All this dying and reviving gets to a dead guy. I'm

starved.”

Sterling laughed and unhooked the ring from the desk.

He gestured at the robe he had hanging on the back of the
door. “Get us some food then. Enough for three, I expect a
late visitor.”

Rick tied it on and gave a faux Japanese bow. “Yes,

Sterling-sama." He shot Sterling a grin and ducked out
before the swat Sterling aimed at him could land. He
laughed as he headed down to the kitchen, only to return in
half an hour with a heavily laden tray.

“Uh, food etiquette?” he asked. “Do I have to wait for

you or be fed by hand or something?”

“No, but you will be done before my guest gets here.”

Sterling helped himself.

Rick tore through a panini sandwich and chased it with

iced tea. He managed to get most of a cream-puff finished
before he heard a knock at the door.

Sterling set the tray on the corner of his desk and

chained Rick back to his ring. He got up and opened the
door. Rick recognized the pant-legs and the shoes.

“Welcome back, Sterling. I trust your little vacation

was most enjoyable?" Michael's voice was smooth as ever,
but Rick kept his eyes on the floor. “It seems to have
changed something in the little whore, at least." He
chuckled when Sterling snorted. “I think I want him.”

“He's mine.”
“Yes, that is abundantly clear. Five brands, a collar and

chains? Are you compensating by marking him so
thoroughly?" Rick saw Michael sit down and heard him
pour himself a glass of beer from the pitcher. “You're a
wealth demon and one fond of gambling. I propose a

wager.”

“What would I possibly risk him for?" Rick breathed a

little easier.

“What do you want? An archangel bound to your

service, perhaps?”

Sterling gave a cold laugh. “One of those? They're all

annoying drama queens.”

“Then name it." The absolute confidence in Michael's

voice shook Rick. He had never asked what sort of
immortal Michael was. It hadn't seemed important.

“Something that will give me power,” Sterling said at

length.

“Oh, that I can get you in abundance, if you can hold

onto it. Name the quantity." Michael sounded almost bored.

“I don't have trouble keeping hold of what's mine."

Sterling tugged Rick up and made him sit on the edge of
the desk. He felt the weight of both pairs of supernatural
eyes as they looked him over, weighing his value. Michael
was bold enough to run his eyes all over Rick's body,
lingering on the eyeliner, the brands and his nakedness.

Sterling scowled at him. “You haven't won yet.”
Michael shrugged. “Making my own assessment of his

value. Your little zombie slut gives great head, but how
does he fuck?”

“He's not a zombie." Sterling smirked. “And he fucks

better than you know.”

Rick held his tongue, loving that Sterling had defended

him.

“Of course, that would be why I asked. All I've had of

him has been his mouth.”

“Show him your ass, pet,” Sterling said and Rick

immediately turned, going tail-up over the desk. Michael
ran a testing finger over one cheek. Rick caught his smirk
out of the corner of his eye. He stayed still and silent.
Sterling smiled.

“What do you think? How much do you think he's

worth?” Michael asked, the finger drifting from the cheek
to tease along Rick's crack.

“To me? Not one cent less than...” Sterling thought,

“fifty million.”

Michael chuckled. “You said power, not money,

demon." He swatted Rick lightly and then took his seat
again.

“On earth, they are one and the same.”
Michael pulled a calculator from an inner pocket and

Rick watched him run conversion factors mumbling about
interplanar exchange rates, millions of dollars and kilo-
soul-wattages. Finally, Michael nodded. “Of course. He's
not worth more than forty, all told, but I do enjoy him.”

“He will make me about that much over many years.

But I'll let him go for it all upfront.”

Rick couldn't tell where Michael got the contract with

the odd mark at the bottom. “Sign. I'm not entering this bet
on the strength of a handshake and a word. Demons are
notorious welshers.”

“So you've dealt with us before.”
Michael chuckled again. “Oh yes.”
Sterling smirked as he smoothed the contract out on

Rick's back, reading it over. “Bigger fool than I figured,
then.”

Michael just laughed. “Sign and we will play out our

game with these most interesting stakes." He ran the finger
down Rick's ass again and Rick didn't flinch when it poked
at his hole.

Sterling signed and Michael commanded, “Seal it.

Make it binding. Spit should be adequate.”

“But blood is more binding,” Sterling suggested.
“It's only a trifle, but if you insist." Rick saw Michael

yawn as if he had already lost interest.

Sterling drew a single drop from one finger and let it

fall. It scorched through the paper and sizzled on Rick's
skin.

“Very good. The stakes are established and signed to.

Now, what is the wager?” Michael asked.

Rick flinched. Sterling was gambling him away not

even knowing what the bet was. He heard the contempt in
Sterling's answer, as if the actual bet was of no real
consequence.

“A race.”
Michael laughed. “What kind? From here to Tartarus?

Or just seeing who can put a girdle round the earth fastest?”

“Street-racing. It's part of what I do." Rick knew

Sterling's operation had extended past the club, but he had
no idea how far.

“All right, name the course and date.”
“Tenth and Pine in two weeks. Name the time.”
“Midnight,” Michael said. He spared a last pat for

Rick's ass. “I will be there. I'll make sure to bring a car with
two seats." Rick trembled under his touch, already hard and
trapped against the desk. He calmed a bit when Sterling
stroked his face.

“In two weeks, then."
Michael left, still chuckling. Sterling stood up and

locked the door. Rick joined him.

“I'm sorry,” Rick said.
“For what?”
“Causing this trouble.”
Sterling smiled and drew him in closer. Rick twined

around him, lithe dancer's body sinuous and sensual.
“There is no trouble. In two weeks I'll have you and a great
deal of cash.”

“Don't lose me,” Rick breathed over his neck.
“You must have done him very well for him to want

you so badly.”

Rick shrugged with a wry grin. “You said to.”
“I don't think you can help it.”
For the first time, Rick turned his face up, begging for

a kiss. He had never initiated the contacts with Sterling.

Sterling kissed him, closed lipped, dry, keeping him safe
and making it as sweet as he could.

Rick clung to him. “I want him,” he confessed. “But I

love you.”

Sterling nodded. “I know. But after this, he will not

have you again. His exclusive ends.”

“If you lose me..." Rick shook his head. “No. No no

no.”

“I don't lose." Sterling pulled his hair, jerking his head

back. Rick stared, terrified, but offered his throat anyway.

“He'll never let me go. I'll be as much his as I am

yours." He turned his palms up, showing the pentagrams
burned into them. He shook in Sterling's hands. “Kill me if
you need to. Better, take me back, hide me away in Hell.
Where he can't have me.”

Sterling pulled him in tight and licked his neck. “Only

as a last resort. We're not to that point yet.”

Rick breathed deeply enough to settle himself. He

squirmed out of Sterling's hands and spread his own hands
and feet into travel position. “I'll go. Even if I can never
come back.”

Sterling caught hold of him and bent him back over the

desk. Rick let him, spreading his feet wide. “Please, yes.
Get his touch off me." He listened to Sterling open the lube,
but didn't feel any. Then Sterling shoved into him, fucking
without preliminaries, his movements almost angry.

Rick lay silent, letting him, loving him, and waiting.

His arousal and anticipation built with each stroke and he
came, screaming, when the barbs came out. He woke up on
the floor at Sterling's feet and kissed Sterling's ankles,
distracting him from the bookkeeping.

“Why did you bring me back?” Rick whispered.
“Hell was too crowded. I couldn't avoid them. They

wanted you for their own.”

Rick looked puzzled. “What would they do to me?

Would they eat me?”

“What is proper. What I won't do." He stroked Rick's

hair as Rick kissed his neck and chest. “They would work
forever to separate your soul from body.”

“Is my soul like food?” Rick persisted.
“In a way. But it is corrupted instead of digested.”
Rick nipped at his throat. “It's yours, if you want it. I

mean, I know I'm damned already.”

Sterling shook his head. “If I took it, you would have

no more pleasure. And there would be no more love. I will
keep you as long as I can before you are lost to me. And I
won't rush that day.”

“That's all I ever asked. But on that day, take it. It's

yours, along with my heart.”

“Little fool. Demons don't love. One much more

powerful than I will surely steal you. ”

Rick laughed. Sterling hadn't said they couldn't, just

that they didn't. He wrapped his arms around Sterling's
neck. “So what? I'm not asking you to love me. Just asking
you to let me love you. And no-one steals me. Not even
Michael.”

“You have free will.”
“Yeah, I do. I also have a fast bike, plenty of dough and

no ties. I coulda been out of here the first night you called
me to your office. You do the math.”

“No one gets you off like I do. Not even Michael.”
Rick shook his head. “He treats me...like a whore. Like

a toy. Like something he likes while he's using it and
something he despises otherwise.”

Sterling ran a talon down his cheek. “Like a demon

should treat you.”

“He makes me feel dirty. You never do.”
“I could." Sterling's hands closed on his throat and

made as if to shove Rick away.

Rick kissed his wrists and forearms. “I don't want you

to. I don't mind being your toy. It's different because you
play with me and let me be me.”

“Let you be a brat." Sterling smiled down and ruffled

his hair.

Rick laughed. “You love it. But if you want me silent,

submissive and nothing, I can do that." Sterling shook his
head and Rick went on. “Because that's all he got, a quiet,
pretty little suck-toy.”

“There are other demons who demand that. I don't. I

can have any human afraid of me.”

Rick knelt up and wrapped his arms around Sterling's

waist. “You'd rather have me loving and teasing you. And
giving you the 'yes, O Lord and--giggle--Master' routine
with one eyebrow raised.”

Sterling stroked him, more gently than ever. Rick took

it as a sign of how worried he was. “Always.”

“I'll save the submissive shtick for the customers." He

kissed Sterling's neck.

“So perfect." Sterling kissed him, dry.
The race loomed ever nearer and Rick got more skittish

with each passing day. Finally, the day before the race, he
crawled to Sterling, in tears. Sterling had never demanded
he crawl or grovel or beg or show any such obeisance. Rick
went down, kissed Sterling's feet and clung to his knees,
begging to be taken back to Hell for safekeeping.

Not surprised at the request, Sterling obliged. Rick

stood in the corner of the little cave Sterling had selected,
terrified, naked and in pain. He clung to the blob that was
Sterling in Hell.

“Thank you, lover." Rick kissed the blob, rubbing his

lips all over the tough grayish white skin. He smiled as
Sterling flowed over him, filling and surrounding him. He
loved the sensation, the absolute invasion of it. Before a
pseudopod made it into his mouth, Rick asked, “You have
to go topside for the race soon, yeah?”

Sterling vibrated in the way Rick knew meant yes.

Then he engulfed him, swallowing and expanding until
Rick shrieked soundlessly in orgasm and agony. When Rick

woke from being shredded, Sterling bounced a little beside
him.

Rick kissed him, nice and slow, finding an opening for

his tongue in the blob. “Go. Win. Then come and take me
back." He showed the chains and sigils. “I'll be all right. I'm
marked as yours.”

Sterling shoved the pentacle ring into the rock, where it

stuck, trapping Rick. Rick smiled. Sterling faded, heading
back to earth.

***

Sterling arrived at Tenth and Pine, his own smoke-gray

GTO cruising low to the ground like an aerodynamic shark.
The black Mercedes McLaren looked as if were doing
eighty just sitting there with its top up. One of its vertical
lift doors opened and Michael stepped out.

Sterling smirked. “You showed up. You must really

want him.”

Michael returned it. “Or maybe, demon, I just wanted

to best you.”

Sterling gave a mirthless laugh. “Good luck.”
Michael slipped back into his car and gunned the

engine a little. It sounded like a jet revving up. “I am ready
when you are." He nodded at Marissa, who stood on the
street corner, along with several of Sterling's dancers. She
stepped out to the middle of the street and Sterling
wondered what this dangerous man had promised her.
“When your so-charming whore bares her tits, that will be
the signal.”

Sterling gave Marissa a wink and gunned his engine.

The crowd, mostly fans of his racing, and his dancers,
cheered.

When Marissa tore off her shirt, the Mercedes flew off

the starting line. The GTO kept pace, running neck and
neck. They skidded around curves, flying down the night
streets of the city, frightening late dog-walkers and

transients with the roar.

The finish line came in sight and the Mercedes pulled

ahead very gradually. Then it shot out like lightening,
crossing the line a full car length ahead of Sterling's GTO.
It skidded in a circle to face him and Michael climbed out
with a sneer as Sterling crossed the line.

“Where is he?” Michael demanded of Sterling's

dumbfounded face, looking around the crowd for Rick.
“Why isn't your little fuck-toy clinging to you, weeping
like a girl?”

Sterling shrugged as if Rick were of no consequence.

“I will deliver him to you.”

Michael brandished the contract. “At once." Goaded by

Sterling's knowing smile, he growled, “Where. Is. He?”

Sterling gave his sweetest smile. “Hell. Would you like

to come retrieve him yourself?”

“You spiteful bit of spiritual baggage. You will go get

him and deliver him here before sunrise. Or..." Michael
flicked open the agreement with a showy wrist flourish, “I
have the right to bind you to my service for the rest of my
life." His smile was nasty and showed too many teeth.
“Immortal, demon.”

Sterling shot him a dirty look and handed Marissa his

keys. Michael leaned against the car, waiting. Sterling
walked away, vanishing as he turned a corner.

***

Rick was overjoyed when Sterling returned, flinging

himself on the blob and covering it with kisses. He looked a
bit tired and less calm than he should, but little worse for
the wear.

“You came back. You've won! I'm ready to go home...”

Rick faltered when Sterling didn't vibrate. “No. Oh no. You
lost me to him.” That time Sterling vibrated his affirmative.
Rick squared his shoulders. “We'll simply have to stay here
then." Sterling vibrated weakly. Rick clung to him. “Take
me, lover. Any way you want.”

Sterling had just shifted to the enormous dragon shape

and laid Rick's thigh open with a claw when their corner of
Hell was shaken by a summoning of tremendous force.
Sterling was yanked back into his human form.

Rick, bleeding and almost fainting, looked at him,

horror on his face. “What? You never take that shape.”

Sterling shuddered under the spell. “He's bringing us

back.”

Rick got to his feet. “Take us back." He went to

Sterling and kissed him. “I'll go to him. You're not marked.
Your body won't survive transition.”

Sterling shook his head. “No. He can't win.”
“Please lover,” Rick begged, “do it or he gets us two

for one. You'll take my body and he'll bind you in it
forever." He kissed Sterling. “Lover, please. I'll go to him. I
can live with it, if I know you're all right.”

Sterling translated them before the final syllables could

rend their onyx grotto into rubble and force them back to
the material plane. His loathing of losing the bet and his
lover was plain on his face.

Contrary to Michael's assessment, Rick didn't cry. He

simply appeared in the middle of the street, catching
himself of hands and knees as he pitched onto the asphalt.
He got up and kissed Sterling once.

“Good-bye, lover. I'll be all right." He evaded Sterling's

single grasp at him, knowing that, if he let Sterling hold
him, he'd never be able to do this.

Michael wrapped a leather trench-coat around him and

helped him into the half-million dollar car. He watched
Michael toss a bundle of hundreds at Sterling's feet.

“Something for your trouble,” Michael smirked. He

climbed in and drove into the just-lightening dawn. Rick
watched out of the back window as Sterling left both car
and money and walked back in the direction of the club.

Serpents

Of all the djinn in all the deserts of Arabia, Arqam was

the most curious. He never passed a human dwelling, as he
rode the night winds, without stopping to peer inside. He
never passed a chest or jar, but he had to peek within.

All the elder djinn said he would come to bad end and

it was his grandmother's human blood making him such
trouble. None of them were surprised the day he was taken.

Arqam had ventured far to the east, leaving behind the

sand and oases of his native Arabia, into the lush jungles of
India, where the foreign white men ruled the local people.
He listened to the clipped accents of the English, the soft
music of the Indians. He peered into bungalows and huts,
disregarding the privacy of Her Royal Majesty's Major
General and the lowest of the pariahs with equal aplomb.

He watched the brown women in their colorful saris

and the pale ones covered and corseted and fainting in the
heat. He watched the men as they worked. In time, he grew
sleepy and made a hammock of vines near the outskirts of a
small village.

As he lolled in the steaming night, a distant cousin

found him. “Arqam,” it hissed, its low guttural voice
making him uneasy.

“Yes?” He peered over the edge of the hammock and

saw what had addressed him. Although ghuls were a sort of
djinn, Arqam's people had little contact with them. They
served Iblis and haunted the graveyards. His folk lived
invisible in the air. Arqam looked around but saw no
graves. “May I help you, cousin?”

“I am Shahib, the fire that consumes the dead. Why do

you wander so far away? No mind, all have heard of
Arqam, how he sticks his long beautiful nose into every

house and everyone's business.” The ferocious little gray
thing crouched beneath his hammock. “I'd check your
curiosity soon enough, pretty cousin.” Shahib's laugh was
ugly and he batted at the hammock.

Arqam did not move from the hammock. As long as he

stayed within, the protective spells would not let Shahib
touch him. Shahib tried again and the breeze of his hand's
passage disturbed Arqam. Arqam looked down at the
hideous creature, gray and snarling beneath him, its corded
arms too long, like a hyena's front legs.

“Leave, Shahib. Follow the vultures and find some

carrion. You do not feast upon djinn this night.” Arqam
rolled over and pretended to sleep.

From below him, he heard the evil chuckling of the

ghul. “A pity. It is said the djinn know more of congress
than even the sensualists of India. But I do not tempt you,
my pretty cousin.”

Arqam feigned sleep. He felt the hammock quake

where Shahib shook one tree as he departed. But he
remained safe and in time, he fell asleep.

Morning woke him with rosy light and the singing of

many birds. Arqam knew the ghul would not be about by
day and hastened to wash and pray before going about his
travels.

The nearby village was a scene of some commotion

and Arqam drifted nearer to see what the noise was. He saw
a large bowl in the center of the houses and each man
stepped up to draw something from it. He held it in his
hand until all the men had drawn.

The men looked at their prizes. Arqam moved closer

and saw they were simply nuts. The young man nearest him
had an X scratched on his nut. A woman in a scarlet sari
flung her arms around his neck and wailed. Arqam took
human form and stayed deep in the forest shadows.

“The sacrifice is chosen,” announced the old man who

picked up the bowl. “Ram, unless you find a substitute, you

will go tonight to the old temple and to the monster.” The
woman holding Ram wailed even more loudly at this. The
leader looked sadly at her. “Ekanta, you may go with him if
you choose. It is a sad thing to be a childless widow.”

The villagers dispersed, going about their days. Ram

and Ekanta stood, clutching each other, unbelieving.

Arqam made sure Ram saw him before he ducked into

the trees. No monster could harm him. He would simply
change into air and flame or to the spotted snake that was
his namesake and be gone. He was very curious to see what
sort of monster demanded sacrifices in this day and age.

The last ogre he'd encountered had been over seven

hundred years ago, when Saladin's troops warred in defense
of Jerusalem. The last monster, save for his cousin the ghul,
had not been seen for four hundred years, not since learning
and science took hold in Europe and new ideas were
spreading back to the lands that had sent forth algebra and
libraries.

Now everything was very scientific, even here in India

where the British men held sway. A man-eating monster
would prove some diversion. Arqam slipped through the
trees, holding his human shape, letting Ram give chase.

He let himself be caught after a long pursuit. Ram was

very handsome and Arqam smiled at him. He understood
the Sanskrit as he understood all human languages. But he
could speak it no more than he could speak the Arabic of
his own lands.

Arqam took the marked nut from Ram's hand. He

closed his hand over it and tapped his chest with a smile.

“You are sent to replace me as a sacrifice?” Ram asked.
Arqam nodded. Ram led him back to the village to

relate the tale. The villagers gathered to hear in groups of
threes and fours. Arqam was amused to hear that by the
fourth telling of it, Ram had had to climb a mountain and
ford a river to capture him.

He stayed, smiling, and let the villagers feed him. They

took him to a pool where jasmine and lilies grew and told
him he should bathe. Because he smiled and obeyed, but
never spoke, Arqam over heard them whispering that he
was a mute.

As noon drew on, they led him to a great temple

abandoned in the depths of the jungle. The enormous stone
faces grew new beards and hair of green creepers. The
crumbling facade depicted lovers of all sexes, now slightly
crumbling in the moist decay.

Ram kissed both of Arqam's cheeks, then tied his wrists

to a pair of poles standing upright in the ground.

“Thank you,” he said. “Do you have a name? Can you

speak at all?”

“Arqam,” he replied, the only mortal word he could

manage.

“Ekanta and I shall name a son Arqam in memory of

you.” Ram hastened away to the village.

Arqam waited, taking in everything around him: the

crumbling temple, the lush vegetation, the sweet smell of
the flowers. He could have turned to a puff of flame or a
snake at any time and escaped his bonds, but his curiosity
tethered him more firmly than the vine ropes.

The jungle steamed around him, making his thin

crimson pants cling to his body. He liked the physical body.
It was pretty and novel. The feel of the long hair down his
back, the way his muscles moved as he twisted in the ropes,
the trickle of sweat down his bare chest all pleased him.
Arqam glanced down and saw he had grown hard from this.
And that too pleased him. He wished he had a hand free to
see what that organ would feel like.

He had to know what this great monster that so

frightened the village was. If it was only Shahib, he would
take his wayward cousin home with him. The bones
scattered about the mouth of the temple did not speak of a
scavenger that ate corpses, but of a hunter that sought and
devoured live prey.

The sun crawled down to the horizon. Arqam heard

steps near the mouth of the temple. A man, resplendent in
black and gold that caught the setting sun, came out and
looked him over.

The man's gold-stitched shoes stepped lightly over the

bones, making no more noise than a great hunting cat. His
black robes flowed about him. His eyes burned hot above
his long straight nose as he looked at Arqam and a small
smile crossed his bearded mouth.

“You are not afraid, pretty one.” His voice, low and

mellow, came to Arqam in the language of the djinn.

“You cannot hurt me,” Arqam replied in the same

language. “Nothing can.”

The man smiled and ran one hand, heavy with gold and

onyx rings, across Arqam's shoulders and down one side,
tickling lightly over his ribs. “Do your arms not ache as you
stand there?”

Arqam shrugged a bit. “Not enough to try to escape.”

He squirmed, his breath catching, as the stranger moved
behind him and ran over-familiar hands over his chest and
shoulders and then up his arms. He felt a kiss of each hand
and then something like claws or teeth near his wrists and
suddenly he was free and in the man's embrace.

“Would you like some dinner, pretty? I am Rakesh.

With whom do I dine this evening?”

“Arqam.” He looked the man over as they walked to

the temple. “And what will you feed me, this night?”

“What do you like best, Arqam? I have fruit and rice

and many other good things.”

“I like the fruit here.” Arqam stared about. Glowing

patches, like the gaslights he had seen in the British houses,
illumined their path into the rich, brightly-lit chamber.
There oil-lamps took over for the glowworms.

Carpets lay thick on the floor, a small table sat low

among cushions. He turned to look at Rakesh and then at
the table. In the brief instant, it was laden with food of all

sorts: fruit and rice, vegetables and chicken and a large slab
of raw meat at the head of the table.

Rakesh released him and helped him to sit on the

cushions. Arqam needed no aid, but was loath to release the
beautiful monster's hand. Rakesh sat near him, at the head
of the table. Arqam helped himself to some of the food. He
wasn't sure how much the human body he wore required.
He watched Rakesh smile, his large white teeth almost
menacing.

“And why is it such a terrible thing to be chosen for

you?” Arqam asked as he took a bite of the mango on his
plate. He looked all around the richly appointed chamber.
“This is a feast no man in the village will ever see.”

Rakesh laughed. "Curious little one. This is a feast that

only one man a year does see." He carved a bite from the
meat on his plate and licked at the blood that trickled down
his knife-blade. "My magic is not great but it can extend a
single man into a year's food." Arqam paled, thinking the
situation called for it.

"And this year, I am that man." He took a drink of the

fruit juice in his cup to cover his rampant curiosity.

Rakesh's finger was light on the side of his face.

"Indeed. But I have a great weakness. I like to play with my
food."

Arqam smiled at that. He had often spied on his

brothers and their wives and sometimes he had seen what
male djinn did when there were no females. He had already
learned that Rakesh was interested in the latter. "Show me."

Rakesh leaned closer, his lips parted slightly. Arqam

could smell the blood on his breath.

It did not repulse him, but the dark eyes held him

immobile. Rakesh's lips moved on his, a feather light touch
that deepened into a caress. The taste of lightening was on
Arqam's lips as well as coursing through his body. The soft,
slick probe of Rakesh's tongue startled him.

Rakesh moved away, smiled and came back for a more

insistent kiss, his tongue moving into Arqam's mouth with
easy pleasure. He tasted and sampled and Arqam allowed
it, doing the same.

"You taste delightful," Rakesh whispered.
Arqam, bolder now and knowing what to do, leaned in

and kissed Rakesh, running his own tongue into the
monster's mouth. There he learned of a different taste and
smiled when they parted.

"Oh sweetness," Rakesh sighed. Arqam was fiddling

with the fasteners that held his robes, wondering what sort
of horror lurked beneath the gold and black silks. Rakesh
stroked his face and his hands, the long be-ringed fingers
teasing on his skin. At a touch, Rakesh's robes fell away.

He stood, slim and magnificent in the oil-lamps' rich

glow. His body rippled with muscle and black hair marked
him, in not quite random patches along his belly and chest.
He pulled off the turban and his black hair tumbled out to
his shoulders, the lamp shining on the golden tips of it.

Arqam gave a soft sigh of desire. One curiosity was

satisfied, but another impelled him to reach out and touch
Rakesh's chest, his arms.

Rakesh sniffed at him, then ran a very odd-feeling

tongue over Arqam's neck. "You are not quite human, are
you, pretty?"

"It is so obvious?" Arqam thought he'd done a good job

of blending with the humans. Rakesh licked the other side
of his neck and Arqam trembled under a tongue that felt
almost forked.

"Humans do not taste of smoke and flame. They taste

of food and fear. What are you?"

Arqam merely smiled. It was always best not to give

away all his secrets at once, especially to a dangerous being
such as this. "You'll find out.”

Rakesh tasted him again, his tongue more human

feeling this time. “I am naga,” the monster said and kissed
him.

Arqam melted under the kiss, not knowing what was

meant by that. He trailed kisses up the line of his captor's
beard to whisper. “I am smoke and flame...as you said.”

Rakesh laughed, a soft rich sound. “Then burn me,

pretty Arqam and I shall devour you.”

The bedroom was a priest's alcove in the old temple.

Rakesh had altered the crumbing stone with thick furs,
luxurious silk and more of the mellow brass oil lamps. His
bed was a raised platform covered in fur and cloth. It felt
like a den to Arqam, a perfect place for a predator to rest
after a kill.

Arqam hung onto Rakesh, nervous about the den, but

still curious about the naga's body and about what he
suspected came next. Rakesh kissed him and lowered him
to the furs of the bed.

“I could burn you,” Arqam said, licking his neck.
Rakesh's tongue flickered across one nipple in return.

“And I could still your hot flesh on your bones with a
single stroke.” Arqam saw the long fangs when his lover
looked up and the forked snake's tongue slid between them
to trail up his own smooth chest.

“But you won't.” Arqam traced his fingers through the

odd gold-streaked hair. “Because you want me first.”

Rakesh rubbed his slim body with large, strong hands.

“The same for you. You want to see if my skin is sweet to
touch.” He pressed his hard cock against Arqam's thigh.
“Or if I am built like my other-shape.”

“Are you?” Arqam guessed he knew the other shape.

“My handsome cobra.”

Rakesh licked his ear, his tongue soft and human. “You

will have to find out, won't you, Arqam?”

“I plan to.”
He pressed Arqam to lie back on the furs. “What do

you know of our ways?” This lick was accompanied by a
nip hard enough to leave marks. Rakesh's broad nails left a
broken halo of red impressions around one nipple as he

toyed with it.

Arqam shivered a bit at the sensations. “Nothing,

except that you are feared.” He squirmed when Rakesh left
teeth-marks on his chest, but was not distressed. As long as
those great, poisonous fangs did not follow, he was
unafraid.

“Then I shall teach you.” Rakesh kissed him again.

“You are very beautiful. I would keep you for a long time.”

“Yes, please,” Arqam whispered against his mouth.

“Teach me. Keep me.”

“We shall dispense with the pretense of unwillingness

then. Here, there is a ritual to it where the one creating the
kisses expresses a wish to stop after each step.” Rakesh
smiled and flicked his forked tongue up along Arqam's
sternum. He licked at Arqam's navel and then down over
Arqam's flat belly.

He took Arqam's shaft in his hand and opened his lips,

moving the head of the cock around in his mouth, but never
touching it with his tongue or teeth. Arqam looked down,
confused. After a few moments of this, Rakesh covered the
head with his fingers and pressed light kisses and nips
down the sides of Arqam's cock.

Arqam moaned a little, liking the feeling of this. He

wasn't sure what Rakesh had planned next, but this felt like
riding in the heart of a sandstorm. The waves of desire
rolled over his body like the great winds. He felt every
touch and kiss like the spicules of the sand on his skin.
There was no puncture of the fangs, so Arqam gave himself
to the kisses.

After a light nip near the head, Rakesh kissed the head

of his cock, folding hot lips around it and sucking lightly,
just as he had with Arqam's mouth. Rakesh took it farther
and farther, until half of his cock was in Rakesh's mouth.
Arqam loved it. His beautiful monster knew more of
kissing than Arqam had learned in three thousand years.

He was still young as djinn went and his parents had

only lately begun to make marriage noises. When Rakesh
swallowed him up, with full suction and long tongue
strokes, the fork of it caressing both sides at once, all
thought of djinniyah and marriage went out of his head,
blown away by the sandstorm of passion.

His body was as the stars among which he once had

played tag, burning hot and bright and exploding away
from each other at ridiculous speeds. His belly and stones
flared and pulsed like a mirage on a hot day and he erupted,
a great fountain of white heat pouring out of him and into
Rakesh.

Rakesh swallowed and smiled and slid up to hold him

and stroke his hair. “Do your people know of such things,
lovely one?”

Arqam, his eyes wide and his breathing still too fast,

shook his head. “No, not at all.”

Rakesh smiled again and touched Arqam's cheek with

his tongue. “Then I shall have to teach you. It is only one
more sort of kiss, long and slow.”

Arqam returned the smile. He kissed Rakesh's dry,

smooth cheek. “Teach me of it all.”

Rakesh lay beside him, touching him gently. “Of

course. Kiss me, Arqam. My mouth my throat, my body.
Taste as you desire. Let me feel the fire.”

Arqam did, willingly. He kissed Rakesh everywhere,

curious as always of what his monster's reactions would be
at the places he himself liked best. There had been a
djinniyah who liked to kiss beneath the date palms when
she was not leading travelers astray. There had been a djinn
in the coolness of the vapors above the Red Sea.

Rakesh's low hisses told Arqam he was enjoying the

attention. “For knowing nothing of this, you seem to enjoy
it,” he teased.

“You enjoy it too, so I continue.” Arqam ran his hot

tongue over Rakesh's smooth chest, teasing the tiny
nipples. He liked the way the smooth little bumps got all

hard and made Rakesh hiss more.

“Indeed. Kiss the lingam, Arqam. See how he responds

to your kisses.”

Arqam traced a line with his tongue down to where

Rakesh's cock stood erect, a single bead of semen at the tip
like a pearl. He licked away the droplet and kissed the head
and sides as Rakesh had done.

Rakesh stroked his hair. “You have beautiful hair. You

are very beautiful. And you kiss so sweetly.”

Arqam did not try to mimic all of Rakesh's style, but

concentrated on what had left him the most breathless. He
took all of Rakesh's cock into his mouth and stroked it with
his tongue, pressing just lightly with his teeth.

Rakesh gave a low hiss and came after a bare few licks.

Arqam swirled his tongue all over the cock and then kissed
the tip as he rose off.

Rakesh drew him up close and caressed him in ways

that left little goosebumps in the wake of the clever fingers.
Soon, Arqam was covered in them and shivering as each
caress raised more on his back, his arms and his neck. “I
think I might keep you, little flame.”

“You don't want to eat me?” Arqam nipped at his neck

as Rakesh had nipped his earlier.

“I doubt I could. Not anymore than you could burn

me.”

Arqam smiled and kissed Rakesh. “No, you can't.”
Rakesh gave a mock sigh. “I shall have to settle for the

hinds and great deer of the forest. But I would lick you
much and taste of your mouth and your skin and your
seed.” Rakesh blew out the oil lamp and nestled under the
fur, drawing Arqam close for warmth.

The long days passed in a haze of passion and pleasure.

Rakesh taught Arqam all he knew and the djinn took no
notice of the passage of time, the sultry days or the steamy
nights.

***

District Official Alfred Jefford-Saunders ordinarily did

not concern himself with local superstition. After the Sepoy
uprising a decade earlier, he paid a little more attention to
the heathenish religion of the locals, but only to avoid
another bullet in his leg. He and his men of the Imperial
Civil Services, covenanted and salaried all, were doing
their best to bring civilization to this continent, but it didn't
seem to be rooting well, even after a century.

He'd been expecting a boxwallah, the traveling peddler

with a virtual Pandora's box on his head, since Madame
Jefford-Saunders had been getting testy lately. He thought
nothing of the local showing up on his veranda, expecting it
to be only the news of the boxwallah. But the man babbled
of temples and monsters and sacrifices.

Pish and tosh and Jefford-Saunders had heard it all in

his twenty years in this benighted country. All he'd really
worried about was getting suitable English plumbing and
proper English food into this backwater district.

No boxwallah came, but the exhausted man was joined

by a chorus of wailing women, crowding the garden and
frightening the birds. Jefford-Saunders could not ignore the
the local superstitions any longer.

He got the story from Lakshman, one of the villagers

he knew by sight. He mentally halved the number of the
dead after he heard it. The monster from the old temple, the
evil temple where no one sacrificed, had come forth to
raven and devour and destroy.

Harsha, whom Jefford-Saunders had always thought a

clever and level-headed sort, especially for a woman and an
Indian, threw herself at his feet, her face clawed to ribbons
by her long fingernails, her cries shrill as the coppersmith
bird.

“Half of us dead, my husband and babies with them.

Justice, Sahib. We want justice and the monster dead!” She

tore her hair again.

There was no help for it and nothing else to do.

Jefford-Saunders sent messengers to the garrison and took a
dozen soldiers, solid British men and none of the natives.

They marched into the jungle, expecting to find a few

dead people, perhaps from a tiger attack. Instead, the stench
as they approached the village was intolerable even after
two days. For a long, bad moment, Jefford-Saunders
suspected the only living villagers were still in the garden
of his bungalow.

Then he saw some of the men cutting trees and making

pyres. Others dragged the bodies, separating them by
family. The women wailed as they washed the dead for
burning.

A low burning anger roiled in him, boiling up from his

gut and surprising him. These were his people, his
responsibility. He'd have the head of whatever beast did
this.

The villagers were more than willing to show them the

way to the temple. The bones littering the walkway near the
sacrifice posts were blessedly clean after the decay and
stink of the village. Jefford-Saunders allowed a water break
and then marched his men into the mouth of the ruin.

***

Arqam woke to danger. Rakesh was already up, but no

longer entirely the handsome man of the last few days. His
long, black-scaled body coiled under him and the human
torso rose from the scales at the waist. Arqam realized this
was his lover's true form.

The naga raised himself from where he flicked his

tongue, tasting the air near the door and smiled at Arqam.
The sinuous body flowed over the rugs to the bed and
Rakesh stroked Arqam's face.

“Men are coming, little fire. White men with weapons I

cannot magic away have invaded the temple. I can make
my escape.” He pulled aside a divan to show a hole in the
masonry large enough for the giant cobra body. “But i
would not leave you to their hands. I know you cannot
speak to mortals.”

Arqam smiled sweetly and embraced his lover. He ran

his hands over the smooth muscles of Rakesh's back,
feeling where the cool swell of his fine buttocks curved
under the scales. Unafraid, he ran his hands over the long
snake's body, loving the feel of it.

He heard the men in the outer halls of the temple, their

voices frightened yet resolute. Their language was more
foreign than that of the village and he smelled the metal
and sulfur of their weapons.

“Beloved Rakesh, when we are safe, you will teach me

the delights of this shape as well as your man-form.” He
pulled the naga down for a kiss, letting his hands learn
more of the cool dryness of Rakesh's scaled hips.

Rakesh smiled, then started when Arqam changed into

the spotted snake that was his namesake. “Shall we make
good our escape?” he hissed, feeling the vibrations of the
men's feet growing ever closer.

The scales crept up Rakesh's body. He held his arms

close at his sides and they fused to him, covered in scales.
He swayed, a long black cobra with a human face and
flared his hood, showing the mark of Brahma on his scales.

Rakesh smiled for an instant. “It seems you have a few

small tricks of your own, love.” He completed the change,
his handsome face going flat and triangular. Rakesh led the
way. Showing Arqam the secret tunnels he had dug to hunt
in the forest.

Arqam flicked his tongue when Rakesh coiled his tail

around Arqam's own, a prelude to mating. There would be
time later. The naga insisted Arqam go first.

The tread of men was heavier now, although neither of

the snakes could hear it. The stink of sulfur and charcoal

and metal lay heavy on their tongues. Their scales shivered
under the echoing report and the smell of gunpowder
choked them, even in the tunnel. Hot fire burned near
Rakesh's tail as the last length vanished into the escape
passage.

“Damn and blast! I nearly had the old snake.” Jefford-

Saunders swore, lowering his Browning. The room did not
look like a monster's den, but rather an opulent bedroom.
The bed was rumpled and the room had no female touches.
Two pairs of trousers, differently sized, lay near the bed,
but no petticoats were in evidence. A table, laid for two,
held plates and knives and wine-cups along with fruit.

But this was India and things were different here. He'd

seen enough to know that.

Jefford-Saunders took a single golden wine cup as

proof, but swore his men to secrecy. “Burn it,” he ordered.
“All of it.” He knew no one would believe a tale of snakes
who changed into men and back again. The soldiers set
their fires and went to help the villagers clean up the dead.

The tunnel grew uncomfortably hot as the fire raged

behind them. The warm earth was moist and close about
them, but not unpleasant. Arqam slipped along at a steady
pace, sensing more than knowing that Rakesh followed.
The darkness finally lightened and he saw the exit. Arqam
slithered out into the damp greenery of the forest.

Rakesh emerged after a moment and hissed anger,

shifting rapidly back to himself. His human arms caught the
gray mongoose and held it by the scruff of its neck.

Arqam took human shape again and glowered.

“Shahib,” he snarled.

The little mongoose laughed. “I nearly had you, pretty

cousin. I could have bitten and then gobbled you up from
your tail.” The ghul's laugh was chilling. “You would have
been delicious. Sweet and tasty cousin, just like the blood

of the village children.”

“Even I only took one a year,” Rakesh snapped. He

twisted the mongoose's neck and the beast puffed away into
smoke. He flexed his fists in frustration.

“Allah permit he reform where they know how to kill

his kind,” Arqam breathed.

“Brahma likewise,” Rakesh added. “Why does he call

you cousin?”

At that, Arqam laughed. “I am the curious one and yet

you are the one who stands naked in the jungle asking silly
questions.”

Rakesh looked indignant for a moment then laughed as

well. “I am. Clothing and food and shelter. I cannot return
to my temple now.” They watched the smoke rise above the
trees and heard the loud crash as the stone blocks
overheated and tumbled in on one another. “Useful as it is,
the cobra is not a shape I like. Deaf and cold, it forces my
mind into a snake's thoughts in the snake's head.” He coiled
his great tail and sat the human torso atop it. “I travel faster
than a man so. But where shall we go?”

Arqam thought only a moment. “Home. You will come

home with me to Arabia. I know of a palace forgotten by
the men of clay that will be perfect for us.”

Rakesh kissed him, softly, lingering in the dusk.

“Anywhere with you, my little fire. But can you keep up?”

Arqam giggled and changed into his ordinary form, a

manikin of dancing flame that gave no smoke or heat.
“This is what a djinn is, my lover. I shall ride on your
shoulder, direct your paths and tell you of Arabia and my
cousin and all the tales you wish to hear.”

***

They traveled north and west, always west, toward

distant Arabia. Arqam found that even with Rakesh's great
speed, the travel was still painfully slow to one who was

accustomed to riding the wind. As they stopped each dawn,
Rakesh hunted birds and their eggs and the roebucks.
Arqam continued to eat the fruit and nuts of the forest. The
gusto with which Rakesh devoured the still-bleeding meat
left him queasy sometimes. He did not mind a bit of goat,
done to a spicy turn, or a lamb in a rich stew, but Rakesh,
as the serpent he was, did not cook.

The naga traveled hard, all through the spring nights.

Arqam asked the reason for his speed and he said he did not
wish to drown during the rapidly approaching monsoon
season. It would rain steadily and very hard for two
months, Rakesh said. Arqam did not believe it. He had
never seen more than a few hours of rain.

But the speed and the hunting left Rakesh too

exhausted to do more than coil up and sleep by day. Arqam
was disappointed at this. He wanted to use the lessons of
Rakesh before he forgot them. One morning, he curled up
inside of Rakesh's coils, just wanting to feel the pebbly
snake-skin around him.

He awoke that evening to Rakesh tickling his ear with

a forked tongue. Arqam kissed his lover. “I missed our
closeness, what we had in the days at the old temple,” he
explained.

Rakesh stroked his slim human form. “Beloved fire.

We shall have more of it and even better things upon our
arrival in your land.” Rakesh coiled the sinuous body
around Arqam's legs and embraced him. One hand slid into
Arqam's silken trousers.

Rakesh worked his long fingers along the length of

Arqam's cock, teasing him. “We shall lie together on
marble terraces--you in my coils--and taste of the lingam
and the thigh and the cleft. We shall couple on a great
silken bed again, as men. We shall coil together in the cool
shade of the garden fountain as serpents. It shall become
home.”

Arqam sighed at the picture his lover painted and

rested his head on Rakesh's shoulder, his knees going
watery and soft as the rest of him quivered with arousal. He
kissed Rakesh's neck and spent himself softly into the
naga's hand.

On the outskirts of Delhi, Arqam wished to visit the

Sadar Bazaar of which he had heard many great rumors.
Sadar was famous through the whole world for its iron
cookware and its shoes.

Rakesh, tired of traveling, readily agreed. He took a

completely human shape, dressed again in the black and
gold robes. “So, little fire, do you wish to accompany me as
a beautiful youth or simply be the flame that dances in the
opal of my turban?”

Arqam took on the shape that had first tempted the

naga to keep him rather than eat him. He kissed the tall
man and whispered, “Let us hire a room. I crave your body
and a bed.”

Rakesh stroked his hair. “I can travel more slowly now

that we are drawing closer to the mountains. We shall have
rooms and beds as often as you like.”

Arqam smiled and kept his arm around Rakesh's waist

as they toured the bazaar.

They moved through the crowds of the Sardar market,

threading their way through the Brahman women in their
saris and caste marks, the pale memshaibs corseted in their
summer whites and sheltered by umbrellas held by small
brown children. They kept out of the way of the uniformed
British soldiers and the scabrous untouchables who
crowded the place, begging alms.

Both gawked freely, but tempted as Arqam was to look

at everything, he held tightly to Rakesh's waist. He still
nearly bounced between the booths and sun shades,
blankets and stalls, peering at every new item, every new
face. Rakesh watched him, smiling. Then his smiled
broadened as Arqam tried saying something in the language
of men.

The vendors found Arqam's enthusiasm infectious. He

asked, haltingly but happily, and they bubbled over with
details of their wares: of how the smith had lovingly spun
out each cookpot; of the grand adventures that
accompanied each gem; of the great plantations where the
mangoes and guava grew in the sun. As the vendors talked,
they shot glances at Rakesh, who only listened and smiled.
They seemed to sense he was the one who held the purse.

The day grew warmer and the white men and their frail

ladies mostly vanished from the bazaar. The seller, whose
red hair and fair skin bespoke a milder climate than Delhi,
opened his cunning little thick-walled cart and grated the
ice into a cup made of a mango half. He poured sweet
mango juice over it. Arqam watched the first procedure
with interest and then counted the vendor's freckles during
the second. He paid and handed one to Rakesh, then
nibbled his own, relishing its coldness.

Rakesh licked his and then drew Arqam closer. “Very

nice, but I prefer something more substantial.” They
walked on, eating the ices and then the mango halves.
Rakesh dropped the empty peel in the path of a bullock
who ate it.

Rakesh drew up short at the mongoose seller. The little

cages full of the creatures turned to a hissing, clicking,
chatter of bottle-brush tails and red eyes at his approach.
Arqam petted one, but Rakesh hissed, his eyes going slit-
pupiled and golden. Arqam pulled his lover down the street,
the cry of tchik-tchik-tchik following them. Rakesh faked a
yawn, covering his forked tongue as it slid out to test the
air. His eyes went back to their human black.

While Arqam fed his peel to a curious monkey, Rakesh

bough two skewers heavy with chicken from a woman with
a grill. She basted them one last time in a spicy yogurt
sauce and smiled at the rupees he laid on the table.

Arqam ate the chicken, nibbling at it and exclaiming at

the sauce. “Shall we find a room for the heat of the day,

beloved?” he whispered as he tossed the skewer into the
ditch.

Rakesh readily agreed and led them to the grand new

hotel, its enormous veranda still smelling of new wood and
varnish. Boys with fans stirred the air sluggishly in the
lobby.

The very young, blond desk clerk startled at the sight

of Rakesh sweeping up to him. He snapped to attention,
looking very uncomfortable in the presence of such a richly
dressed native personage. Arqam saw Rakesh catch and
hold the clerk's gaze. “I was not told to expect you, Your
Highness,” the ensnared man mumbled.

“You are forgiven. Is there a room?”
“Yes, Your Highness!” The clerk handed over a key at

once. “Your bill is paid. Thank you for staying with us. We
are honored by your presence.”

Rakesh smiled and pulled a handful of pound notes

from thin air and tucked them into the clerk's hand. “We are
not to be disturbed. No maids. No wine. No food trays.”
The clerk nodded, still dazed. “Very good.”

The local porter led them up to the room. Rakesh

tipped him and locked the door behind him. Tall windows
let in the breeze and the bed's netting stirred.

Arqam bounced upon the bed and smiled. Then he

slunk across the floor and started poking into Rakesh's
robes. “Where are you getting all that money? Our kind
have no use for it.”

Rakesh's clothing vanished. For a moment, he appeared

blanketed in rupees that turned to pound notes in mid air
and vanished before they hit the floor. “The same way I get
everything, except food, dear Arqam.” He caught the
prodding fingers that threatened to tickle him and brought
them to his lips for a kiss, his forked tongue sliding around
and between them.

Rakesh stretched out on the bed, seeming tired from

the journey. Arqam explored the room, trying to draw out

the delicious sense of longing that teased him as well as
assuage his curiosity. He'd seen the white men's buildings
and investigated them while invisible but actually being in
a room was different.

He took off his light shoes to feel the gentle wood

under his feet, different from the piled rugs of Rakesh's
temple or the stone floors of his father's house. He ran his
fingers over the flocked blue and cream wall paper, already
starting to curl away from its paste in the sweltering heat of
Delhi.

Arqam peered into the wardrobe and touched the lace

curtains and then the mosquito netting of the bed, working
his way to where Rakesh lay.

This was the greatest mystery of all and Arqam burned

to solve it. They had played long at Rakesh's temple,
enjoying each other's hands and mouth. Arqam had learned
of sweet words and gentle kisses and of biting and
scratching in ways calculated arouse.

He ran one very light finger over the scratches on

Rakesh's shoulder blade, the one he called a peacock's foot,
and saw the faded teeth marks on his own arm in a pattern
called broken clouds.

Most of all they had explored the wonders of

apurashtaka. Although the sages said the mouth congress
was fit only for dogs and eunuchs, Arqam found it more
than pleasurable from his intact cobra.

Rakesh snored lightly and did not move under Arqam's

hand. Arqam smiled. His poor naga was exhausted from the
travel. That was fine. They could sleep away the heat of the
day. The anticipation would only make love sweeter when
it came.

Arqam had spied on the djinn when there were no

djinniyah about, had seen them at play without women. He
knew there was more than what he and Rakesh had already
done.

He stripped to the skin and lay down beside his lover's

cool body. Rakesh was always cool, like the snake he was.
Arqam had, on more than one awakening, found Rakesh
basking in the end of the sunshine to stir his torpid blood to
motion.

In his sleep, Rakesh folded his arms around Arqam,

just as he coiled around him in snake form. Content, Arqam
settled in to sleep.

***

Arqam awoke first. The slant of the sunlight on the

floor told him it was late afternoon. He stepped out into the
hallway to find the facilities and saw the desk clerk had
defied and obeyed orders at the same time. A meal waited,
covered by silver domes, in the hallway. Arqam peeked
under the lids and then carried it back into the room, his
mouth already watering.

Arqam set the tray down, sat on the edge of the bed and

kissed Rakesh until the naga awoke and returned it. Arqam
smiled to see the bulge in the sheet below Rakesh's waist.

"There's food, my love." He held a bite of the roasted

chicken to Rakesh's lips and smiled when his lover took it.
"I know you do not care for the meats when they are
cooked, but this is what we have."

"It's fine." Rakesh kissed Arqam, a quick buss of his

lips, and sat up to eat. "This was an excellent idea, little
love. I feel greatly restored."

"Ah." Arqam gave a sweetly mysterious smile. "Are

you restored enough to allow me to take my pleasures?"

"Certainly." Rakesh returned the smile and looked over

Arqam. Arqam wore only the red sarong he had tied on
before going out into the hall. Rakesh kissed him again and
untied the knot that held the cloth. Arqam let it fall and fed
Rakesh a piece of papaya. Rakesh sucked on his fingers
well after they were clean of juice. When he released them,
Arqam tapped his nose with one damp finger.

"Naughty. This is my exploration and my pleasure."
"Our pleasure, little fire," Rakesh corrected him.
Arqam stuck out his tongue as Rakesh shifted into his

ordinary shape. He ran a hand over Rakesh's scales.

"I wanted the man shape," he said, in as sulky of a tone

as he could manage. He promptly spoiled the effect by
laughing and kissing Rakesh again, burying his fingers in
the thick, dark hair.

"Just for you."
Arqam watched Rakesh change back. The shifts always

intrigued him. He tried to figure out the exact way Rakesh's
legs fused into the great tale and where the scales began.
He couldn't help but flinch when Rakesh's genitals
vanished as well. Watching the long cobra body split into
legs and turn from scale to skin left him shivering. He still
hadn't figured out how his lover did it.

"Do you become a man or a snake? Or are you always

a snake and give the illusion of being a man?" he asked,
licking the place where the skin began shading into scales.

Rakesh gave a low, hissing laugh. "I believe I change.

Is that enough? You are worse than a tailor-bird for silly
questions."

"Then let me discover that of which I am eaten up by

curiosity." Arqam ran his hand over Rakesh's flank. "I
would have you, feel your body around my own."

Rakesh smiled. "Now that is a splendid thing to be

curious about. For all your questions, I thought you would
never ask." He rolled obligingly onto his stomach. "Use the
ghee from the food tray. It will smooth your entrance."

Arqam heard, but he was busy kissing Rakesh's

shoulders and back. He loved the taste of Rakesh's skin, the
way the hard muscles felt under his tongue. He moved
lower tasting the skin of the lower back and of Rakesh's
waist. Lower still, he mouthed and stroked the firm swell of
Rakesh's buttocks. He parted them, running a curious finger
along the valley and tapping at the tight pucker.

"This is it, yes? Where I go in."
"Yes." Rakesh breathed deeply and Arqam felt the

opening relax a bit. He slipped the tip of one finger in, very
slowly and not deep.

"I will be slow and gentle." Arqam kissed Rakesh's

neck and then his lips. "As if you were a frightened virgin
of my own people."

Rakesh hissed his laugh again. "I have not been a

virgin for a thousand years. But," he paused and stroked
Arqam's hair and face, "it has been a long time." His hand
slipped lower to circle Arqam's cock. "I know you will not
hurt me." He got some of the ghee on his fingers and
rubbed the clarified butter over Arqam.

"Never, my handsome old snake." Arqam added more

ghee, to himself and Rakesh. "I shall be as a rill of water
sliding over stone, or as the evening breeze off of the high
mountains."

Rakesh rose and flicked his forked tongue over

Arqam's lips. Then he stretched out and lay quietly. "Take,
then, little fire. My small spotted serpent. My fire that does
not burn. I am in your hands, my Arqam."

Arqam pressed the head of his cock to Rakesh's

opening. The slippery ghee made the instant when Rakesh
opened to him pass unnoticed and without pain.

He was inside Rakesh, his beloved's body cool around

him, tight and pleasant, as sweet as Rakesh's mouth, as firm
as his hands. Arqam sighed in enjoyment. Below him,
Rakesh hissed his own pleasure.

Arqam just lay still a moment, taking in the sensations

before the growing urgency in his groin compelled him to
move. Rakesh sighed when he did. "Very nice. You have a
talent for this, Arqam."

Arqam said nothing. All his questions flew away in the

face of the exquisite tightness of Rakesh's body, the taste of
his lover's skin and the smell of his hair. He slid easily in
and out, learning all the ways Rakesh felt around him. Here

a tight grip under the head, there a cool sheath around the
shaft.

He took the lovemaking as slowly as he could, wanting

it to last. It couldn't, of course. Like the fire he was, it grew
and consumed and finally engulfed him in a wash of heat
and desire at orgasm.

As Arqam cooled, he kissed Rakesh's shoulders and

neck, whispering, "Thank you, beloved."

Rakesh rolled onto his side once Arqam had finished

and showed that he too had spent himself in pleasure.

Arqam slipped into his open arms and lay contented,

his curiosity satisfied for the moment. "My own Rakesh,"
he sighed, before falling back to sleep, his head pillowed on
Rakesh's shoulder.

They slept the night through and well into the next day.

The clerk left more food at noon and they loved the
afternoon away.

***

The left Delhi in the cool of the evening. Once they

were out of sight of the city, Rakesh shifted. Arqam kissed
him long and slow, running his hands over the smooth
human skin and the sweet snake scales, marveling where
they met.

“When we are home, I will have you in this shape,

coiled all around me.” Arqam turned into the fire and
perched on Rakesh's shoulder. Now and then, as they
traveled, he kissed Rakesh's neck or played in his hair.

Pakistan and Iran were less friendly territory and there

were no more bazaars or hotels. There were only long days
in forests and caves, spent resting for the night's travel. The
forests gave way to mountains and then to lush plains. The
plains grew arid and turned to desert.

When a troop of Bedouins, their skin blue from the dye

of their robes, their long rifles slung across their horses,

galloped past, Arqam announced that they were home.

It was another week, as the cobra slithered, before they

saw the ruined palace. The desert presented its own
problems. Days were too hot for travel and the cool nights
made Rakesh's snake-body torpid and sluggish. Arqam
gave no heat in his fire shape, so they were forced to travel
in the few hours of the morning and evening that Rakesh
could stand.

When they entered the region, a desolate place of

barren rocks and rare wadis and oases, Arqam took to
darting ahead and back, a dancing ball of flame scouting
their path. Rakesh followed.

It was shortly after dawn that they found the palace.

Rakesh sighed with apparent delight at feel of the cool
stone under his belly-scales. The stone was wind-scoured,
but the palace itself was sound. It rose from the desert like
the rocks of which it was made, looking as if it had been
there since before Allah shaped the subtle fire, or the primal
cobra spread his hood over the sleeping Brahma and
received intelligence and a man's shape.

Rakesh slipped through the rooms, seeming well

pleased with the find. The furnishings had long ago
decayed into sand, but that was no problem. Arqam laughed
at his lover's pleasure and began singing up a cleansing
wind. The sand spiracles whisked out of the rooms as tiny
dust devils.

Arqam sang water from the deep wells and cisterns,

bringing it through pipes and pumps that had not worked in
centuries. It obeyed him and flowed into the fountains and
basins and filled the great bath.

He lost the melody to laughter when Rakesh yelped

and had to dodge a spray of water that lifted the end of his
tail. His lover turned and let the water splash over his scales
and skin, laughing and basking in the coolness.

Arqam went to his lover under the spray and stroked

his wet hair, his own curling in the dampness. He kissed

Rakesh and let the water pour over them as they stood
together, skin to skin, in the rapidly warming morning.

“Thank you, Arqam. It's perfect,” Rakesh said. “I'll

make us some furniture tonight. But now, your old pack-
snake is weary and ready to sleep.” The naga disengaged.

Arqam let him go. He watched Rakesh, weary from

travel but saved from overheating, curl up in the coolest
corner of the room. “I have much to do. You will awake to
a home worthy of the journey, my love.”

***

Arqam smiled at Rakesh when he awoke that

afternoon. The barren ruin of a palace had been
transformed. The floors were clean and covered with rugs.
The walls were scoured and hung with abstract tapestries of
the humans of the region. Arqam saw Rakesh smile at the
sound of the fountain playing merrily in the courtyard.
Most of all, a great silken bed, piled with fur and hung
around with cloth of gold, dominated the room.

Rakesh uncoiled and slithered across the floor to where

Arqam stood at the window. "It is perfect, little fire," he
said, glancing out at the courtyard.

"As are you. I want this shape," Arqam's tone brooked

no argument as he stroked the place where scales and skin
melded into each other. "Your true shape."

Rakesh smiled even more broadly. "Yes." He coiled his

tail around Arqam's ankle, which made Arqam giggle.
Gently, he slid it up Arqam's body, coiling more of his
length around Arqam. Arqam relaxed as Rakesh took him
in his arms and kissed him. He returned it, devouring his
lover's mouth, using the deepest of kisses Rakesh had
taught him.

He had been waiting for the time to be right before

asking for this. He'd wanted this shape from the instant he'd
seen Rakesh's legs fuse into the long black snake's tail.

Now, the solid coolness of Rakesh's heavy body lay all
around him. Since Cobras were not constrictors, he had no
fear. Rakesh's poison couldn't harm him.

He giggled again as hardness poked his knees on the

way up. He ran his hand over Rakesh's belly where the skin
changed to scale with no hint of manhood. He sighed with
desire when the hardness, so near the tail, lay along the
cleft of his buttocks.

"You will be more comfortable on the bed. This...I

have never done," Rakesh admitted. "You are the first to
want this shape."

"Would it be easier if I too became a serpent?"
"No, sweet. Just as you are." Rakesh trailed his hands

through Arqam's long hair and loosed his coils so that
Arqam could walk to the bed. Arqam had been naked when
Rakesh awoke and now he shivered a little as he stood
beside the bed. Rakesh flowed up and around him again,
before toppling them both to the fur coverlet.

"On your side, love," Rakesh said, giving Arqam no

choice with the great body around him.

Arqam lay in Rakesh's arms and kissed him as he felt

the tail come up behind him.

They lay together for a time, kissing and touching,

Rakesh's long fingers renewing all their lessons from the
temple. His tail lay along the cleft again and Arqam felt not
one but two hard lingams pressing against him.

"Two?" He blinked in surprise.
"All snakes have two. We use but one at a time,"

Rakesh chuckled. "You do not spend enough time as a
snake, spotted one. You have never used yours?"

"No. Before you I had never used them as a man. I am

not even sure I have such parts when I change."

Rakesh kissed him long, the forked tongue gentle and

sensual in his mouth and over his face and neck. "One.
Only one. And I will no more hurt you than you hurt me in
Delhi."

Arqam smiled and kissed him back. "I know. I like this.

You hold me entirely, my love." He saw Rakesh's breathing
had grown quicker. "You are in need and I prattle."

"No more talk then, little one. Magic yourself so you

can let me in. And I shall do the same."

Arqam nodded and with a flick of his hand he was

ready. Rakesh pressed in, the slick head pushing into
Arqam's waiting body

He gasped, overwhelmed by sensation when Rakesh

kissed him. Held in the cobra's coils, entered both ways and
with Rakesh's hand encircling his own cock, Arqam rocked.
He moved slowly, walking the fine line between arousal
and explosion. Rakesh seemed determined to push him
over.

Arqam's spine felt as if it were made of lightening,

each thrust of Rakesh's cock sending a bolt burning brighter
and brighter, until he was sure he would burn, as hotly as
he did when made of flame.

Then he was burning, exploding like a dozen shooting

stars under Rakesh's hand and cock and tongue. The great
cobra's body flexed around him after another moment.
Rakesh drove deep into him with a muffled hiss of
completion.

***

There is food awaiting us in the gardens." Arqam

slipped his arm around Rakesh's waist and was careful not
to tread on the long tail as they passed out of the palace into
the long, late light of dusk.

The dead dry gardens had revivified under Arqam's

magic. Grass grew and flowers bloomed. The fruit trees
bore, although it was not the season. Arqam enjoyed
Rakesh's wonder at the sight.

"Magic," Arqam whispered to him as they slipped

naked into the pool below the great fountain. "All the

gardens of all the djinni look so. I cannot live without
greenness and wet things to control my heat. Without them,
I would become as my ghul of a cousin: a ravening fire that
devours without reason."

"A monster," said Rakesh, kissing him in the shadow of

the waterfall. "As I was."

"But no longer. You are my own love and no longer the

nightmare of the village."

Rakesh sighed. "I will miss the taste of manflesh, but I

am happy." He drew Arqam in tightly. "To have and keep
you, I would give up anything."

"I love you," said Arqam.