Animal Attraction

Animal Attraction by Vincent Diamond Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com Copyright ©2007 by Vincent Diamond First pu...

Author: Diamond Vincent

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Animal Attraction by Vincent Diamond

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2007 by Vincent Diamond First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Table of Contents Foreword ? Vincent Diamond Make Me Beg ? Aaron Michaels Brahmas and Pitbulls ? BA Tortuga A Hound, A Bay Horse, and a Turtledove ? Elazarus Wills White Mountain ? Sarah Black Cold Iron ? KC Warwick Gerbil Falls in Love ? Dianne Fox Chasing Samson ? Kiernan Kelly Bungalow Bill ? Ansley Vaughan Canine Connection ? Neil Plakcy Indigenous ? J.L. Jensen Birds of a Feather ? CB Potts Horseplay ? Sean Michael Puppy Tax ? J. Rocci What We Leave Behind ? Shanna Germain Author biographies

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Foreword by Vincent Diamond From the lush fur of a healthy cat, the soft feathers of a barn owl, or the subtle sensuality of a horse, animals have a way of bringing people together. In Animal Attraction, we have domestic pets: cats, dogs and gerbils. We have wildlife in these pages: bear, elk, a jaguar, elephants. An eagle and an owl represent the feathered species. Horses are here as well. And here too are the men who love them. Cowboys, veterinarians, a bookstore owner, a game officer, a gigolo, horsemen, writers, a farrier, and even an elephant trainer make an appearance in the pages that follow. Their lives and loves are captured in these romantic stories. Some of the stories are light-hearted and fun; a couple are serious and have sad moments. They all reflect their author's love for both their animal and human characters. These animals have a voice and a purpose. They help their human friends—literally and figuratively—to find themselves, find compassion—and to find each other. Thank you and enjoy! Vincent Diamond, 2007

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Make Me Beg by Aaron Michaels Daniel found his lover out on the back deck of his beach house, crouched down and hunched over. "Hey," Daniel called softly from the open sliding glass door between his living room and the deck. "Didn't know where you'd disappeared to." Jeremy turned his head and smiled at Daniel. The late afternoon breeze off the Pacific lifted the long strands of Jeremy's sandy brown hair away from his face. "C'mere," Jeremy said, not moving from his crouch. Daniel padded across the deck on bare feet. Ever since he and Jeremy had started fucking each other, Daniel went barefoot around the house—either his or Jeremy's—as often as Jeremy did. Jeremy said it made his back feel better. Daniel thought it was just because Jeremy was a middle-aged hippie throwback who didn't like shoes, but he gave it a try. He had to admit it did make his own back feel better. Whether it was posture or just finding another thing in common with a lover twice his age, Daniel didn't know. And he didn't much care. All he did care about was that he was happy. And he cared about Jeremy, but that went without saying. "So why are you out here when we could be inside getting naked?" Daniel asked. He waggled his eyebrows to match the teasing tone in his voice. Jeremy just laughed softly. "Wanted to show you something." "Something naughty?" 5


Daniel liked playing the sex-crazed person in their relationship. It made Jeremy laugh, and besides, it wasn't that far from the truth. Daniel had never wanted sex as much as he did with Jeremy, and that was saying a lot. "Maybe later," Jeremy said with his own wicked grin. Daniel rested a hand on Jeremy's warm shoulder and leaned over to see what Jeremy was looking at. He laughed when he saw the small black and white cat winding around Jeremy's ankles, rubbing against Jeremy's hand. "I see you've found Mortimer," Daniel said. "Mortimer?" The cat leaned hard against Jeremy's hand and Jeremy scratched it behind its ears. Daniel could hear its purr from where he stood. "I've been feeding it for the last week," Daniel said. He crouched down next to Jeremy. "I see you've found a new friend," he said to the cat. "Should I be offended that you purr for someone besides me?" Daniel held his hand out to the cat. It looked from Jeremy to Daniel, then walked—pranced almost on its toes—over to Daniel. He grinned as the cat leaned into his hand so hard it practically fell over on its side. "He knows who feeds him," Jeremy said. Daniel looked up from the cat to see Jeremy watching him. Jeremy's soft, loving gaze almost took Daniel's breath away, and he suddenly felt shy. Strange, that was, since being naked with Jeremy had never made Daniel feel shy. He couldn't hold Jeremy's gaze, so he concentrated instead on the cat. 6


"What?" Daniel asked just for something to say. "Didn't know you liked cats." Daniel shrugged. "I'm more of a dog person I guess, but I like all animals." "Well, Mortimer certainly likes you," Jeremy said. The cat was now rolling around the deck while still managing to rub its head against Daniel's fingers. "I know how he feels." Jeremy's soft, raspy voice sent shivers down Daniel's spine. A moment later, Jeremy's fingers did the same thing as Jeremy began stroking Daniel's hair. "He's probably just hungry," Daniel said softly, still not quite daring to look at Jeremy. "Haven't fed him yet today." "I'll do it. Where do you keep the food?" "Broom closet, top shelf." Jeremy leaned forward and brushed his lips against Daniel's temple. "I'm hungry too," Jeremy murmured before he got up and went into the house. Daniel frowned at the cat. What was with Jeremy today? They'd been fucking for a couple of months now—that was what they did—and Daniel knew they cared about each other. They just never said it. It. The big L. Never out loud in so many words anyway. Daniel always thought that was the way Jeremy wanted it. Words obligated a person. No words, no obligations. But the way Jeremy was acting today made him wonder. A few moments later Jeremy was back with a bag of cat food. "Dish?" Jeremy asked. 7


Daniel nodded at the end the deck. "It's down there, on the grass in the shade. Need to check his water too." With the first rattle of cat food in his dish, Mortimer scampered away from Daniel and wound around Jeremy's legs. Jeremy held the dish up for a moment out of Mortimer's reach. The cat meowed and chipmunked up on its hind legs. "Tease," Daniel said with chuckle. Jeremy put the dish down in the grass and Mortimer immediately started crunching away. Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You didn't make him wait very long." "He begs pretty." Jeremy filled the cat's water dish then took the bag of cat food back inside. After Daniel petted Mortimer once down the length of his back, he followed Jeremy inside and shut the screen portion of his door. He loved how the fresh air off the ocean made his house smell. He just didn't want Mortimer following them into the house. Cat claws in sensitive areas at an inopportune moment was an experience Daniel could live without. "I beg pretty," Daniel said. He walked up behind Jeremy and wrapped his arms around Jeremy's waist as Jeremy stretched up to put the cat food away. "You want cat food?" "I want you." Daniel kissed the back of Jeremy's neck and pulled Jeremy up against him. "Make me beg, Jeremy." Jeremy's head lolled back alongside Daniel's. His mouth was open just enough for Daniel to see a glimpse of Jeremy's tongue. His eyes had fluttered closed. "Mmmmm," Jeremy murmured. "Beg for me, Daniel." 8


Jeremy's voice was so sinful, so full of lustful promise, that Daniel shivered even in the warm evening air. "Please." Daniel brushed his lips against the side of Jeremy's face. "Take me, make me feel—" Jeremy's mouth on his silenced Daniel's words. Jeremy's kiss was gentle, soft. Loving. Most of the time they fucked, hard kisses and harder thrusts that left both of them boneless and out of breath in each other's arms. Other times they played, teasing nips and bites and laughter as they came together. Only rarely did Jeremy make love to him, and even then his kisses weren't like this. "Not with words," Jeremy said when his lips left Daniel's. "Your body. Beg with your body." Like the cat. Daniel smiled. He and Jeremy were both community theater actors in their small, coastal Oregon town. This wasn't the first time they had play-acted with each other. He led Jeremy by the hand to his bedroom. Daniel sat down on his bed and pulled Jeremy down next to him. "This doesn't look like begging," Jeremy said. Daniel put his finger to Jeremy's lips, shook his head silently at him. Jeremy grinned, a bemused expression on his face. Daniel kissed the top of Jeremy's shoulder then pulled away. He crawled up on the bed on all fours, and Jeremy turned so he was sitting on the bed cross-legged, watching. Be a cat. Daniel had never been a cat, and most especially he'd never been a cat begging to be fucked. He let himself remember Mortimer's shameless purring, rubbing, twining. He 9


let his eyes go feral, let his need radiate from every pore in his body. Daniel knew he was at least somewhat successful when he saw Jeremy's nostrils flare with a quick intake of breath. Otherwise Jeremy still sat passive, watching. Daniel started out by arching his back and humming deep in his throat. He couldn't do an actual purr but the hum got close. He closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders slowly, sensuously, let the stretch travel up his neck, an easy tilt of his head to the side, baring his neck to Jeremy. He knew Jeremy had a special appreciation for the hollow created by the sharp angle of his collarbone at the base of his neck. He let Jeremy take a good, long look, then he bent his head the other way, opened his eyes and gave Jeremy a smoldering look from beneath half-lidded eyes. Jeremy licked his lips but didn't move. Apparently he wanted a little more begging. Not a problem. Daniel sat back on his knees. Holding Jeremy's gaze, he started a striptease. Daniel started to sway, first with his hips—not a quick, jerky motion like he might do on a dance floor. No, this was as slow and sensual as his shoulder roll and timed to a throaty jazz saxophone playing in his head. Daniel thought of a smoke-filled jazz club, the spotlight on him on the dance floor, and Jeremy sitting at a round table in the dark, just at the end of the spotlight's glow, eyes only for him. Daniel let the jazz music play through him, control his movements, and when the music was practically thrumming in his veins, he started to remove his clothes. 10


The shirt went first. It was only a t-shirt, no buttons to open one at a time, but Daniel still drew out the gradual revealing of his skin. Tanned and toned from time on the beach and in the water, Daniel pulled his shirt off inch by precious inch. His skin practically burned with the heat of Jeremy's gaze. When Daniel had drawn his shirt all the way off, he threw it behind his head and let the momentum bend his body backwards. His own cock was hard and he knew Jeremy had to see it pressed against his jeans. Daniel stretched his arms up and behind himself, tilted his head back and fell with his palms braced flat on the bed, his spine arched in a bow, his body on display. He heard Jeremy try to stifle a moan. He half expected to feel Jeremy's hand on him, but Jeremy still didn't touch him. Daniel hummed again and rolled to his side. He kept the arch in his spine, but now he slid his hands down his torso, a slow exploration of his own skin from collarbone to his pebbled nipples, over the defined hardness of his ribs until his fingertips disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. His hands continued their slow glide, now toward each other, meeting at the fly of his jeans. He popped the button, pulled the zipper down with one hand while the other slipped lower, lower, until Daniel touched himself and a moan of his own escaped his lips. Daniel felt the mattress move. He looked over his shoulder at Jeremy. His lover had scooted back against the headboard. His eyes were dark, mouth slack, open enough that Daniel could hear the deeps breaths wafting over Jeremy's lips. As 11


Daniel watched, Jeremy unzipped his own pants and released what looked like a painfully erect cock. But still Jeremy made no move to touch him. If Jeremy didn't succumb soon, Daniel was going to damn well forget the game and just jump his lover. One touch of Jeremy's cock would be all it would take. Of course, Jeremy would never let him hear the end of it when they came back to reality after fucking each other senseless. And they would be fucking each other senseless. They were both too wound up not to. Daniel felt the sexual tension in the air. It filled his head, made his cock throb in his hand. He pumped down his length, back up to the head, and felt the slickness there. And got an idea. Daniel turned his head away from Jeremy, shut his eyes, and proceeded to wiggle on the bed. He imagined the same throaty jazz saxophone playing slow and sultry, used the music to add a sensual feel to his movements, used the friction of the cotton bedspread against his jeans to draw his pants down over his hips. When the jeans fell beneath his buttocks, Daniel rolled on his back, used his legs to kick off his pants all the while he stroked his own cock. He could hear Jeremy's rough breathing, knew without looking that Jeremy was stroking his own erection. When his pants were gone, kicked off the side of the bed— and Daniel had never been more glad he wasn't wearing underwear; one less thing to take off without moving his hand from his cock—Daniel rested his feet on the bed, legs spread, knees bent and feet flat. He wanted to make sure Jeremy could see the show. 12


On the next stroke Daniel let his fingers slide through the slickness at the head of his erection. He swirled his index finger around the tip, coating his finger and driving himself crazy with so much attention to the most sensitive part of his cock. His hips bucked up of their own accord, his thighs flexing, cock straining upwards. He groaned a little, then groaned more when he quit touching his cock and instead teased his entrance with that slick finger. Jeremy moaned right along with him. Daniel managed to lift his head to look at Jeremy. Face flushed, Jeremy was stroking his own cock, slow steady pulls. His eyes were dark and the lids drooped, his mouth was open. Daniel didn't have to concentrate on sending a lust-filled glance at Jeremy. Daniel's every movement screamed put your hands on me, put your mouth on me, put your cock in me. To drive that point home, Daniel slipped his finger inside himself. He dropped his head back on the bed, unable to hold it up anymore even to look at Jeremy, unable to do more than think of the combined pleasure of one hand on his cock, the other hand fucking himself. He felt the mattress move and Jeremy was on him. "You beg pretty," Jeremy said, voice low and rough against Daniel's ear. Daniel didn't get a chance to reply. Jeremy clutched at him, hands on Daniel's shoulders, and plunged his tongue into Daniel's mouth. This was no gentle kiss. Jeremy plundered Daniel's mouth, pressed against his lips hard, tongue thrusting deep. Before Daniel could begin to respond, Jeremy moved his mouth away, kissed a trail down 13


Daniel's body, grabbed Daniel's wrist to stop his strokes, and then Jeremy's mouth engulfed him. Daniel cried out and curled up, his shoulders leaving the bed, as Jeremy's wet, wonderful mouth surrounded him. Jeremy sucked him, licked him, like the world depended on Daniel coming as quickly as possible. And when Jeremy's finger replaced Daniel's inside him, Daniel did come. Long and loud and as hard as he had ever come in his life. Muscles stretched as tight as steel, Daniel shuddered underneath Jeremy, toes curled into the bedspread, his hands clutched in Jeremy's soft hair. "Fuck me!" Daniel wailed when Jeremy didn't move his mouth away. Instead Jeremy continued to lick and suck at Daniel's hypersensitive flesh. Daniel was barely aware when Jeremy inserted a second slick finger inside him. He had a random thought as he wondered when Jeremy had time to lube his fingers, then Jeremy curled his fingers inside Daniel and all thoughts dissolved in a burst of pleasure. Jeremy whispered in his ear, "Turn over," and then Jeremy was kneeling behind him, the blunt pressure of his cock at Daniel's entrance, and Daniel wondered when Jeremy had put on the condom. Then Jeremy slid inside with one sure, deep thrust, and Daniel stopped thinking. Jeremy fucked him the way that he had kissed—hard and deep. One hand reached up to grab Daniel's shoulders to hold him steady, the other hand snaked around Daniel's hips to grab his heavy, bobbing cock, half hard again already. Still sensitive from his mind-blowing orgasm, Daniel whimpered 14


when Jeremy began stroking him in time to his thrusts. His entire groin felt like he was on fire. Daniel's arms couldn't support him any more. Nearly boneless, his shoulders sank to the bed. He turned his head to the side. His hands clenched the bedspread underneath him. Jeremy let go of his shoulder and grabbed his hip, pulled Daniel's backside up to slam against Jeremy's thrusts until Daniel took over the motion. Up on his knees, ass in the air, Daniel rocked back against Jeremy. The change in position let Jeremy drive deep inside him, and Daniel groaned. "Gonna come again," Daniel moaned. "Please ... don't stop ... harder ... fuck me harder." "God, Daniel." Jeremy's voice was gruff. "You're so fucking beautiful, sexy and beautiful. Gonna kill me one of these days, you know that?" "Never gonna happen." Daniel grabbed the bedcovers and pushed back hard, clenched around Jeremy. Jeremy cried out and his fist tightened around Daniel's cock, and then they were both coming, Daniel spilling himself over Jeremy's hand, Jeremy shuddering and then falling against Daniel's back. Daniel's legs slid out from under him and then he was lying flat on the bed, Jeremy draped over him like a sweaty blanket. Jeremy began to chuckle once the aftershocks wore off. "What's so funny?" Daniel muttered. He felt plastered to the bed, his hot, sticky stomach molded to his bedspread. He'd have to remember to throw the bedspread in the 15


laundry. Next time, he told himself, next time remember to roll back the spread first. Jeremy lifted himself off Daniel with a groan. Daniel turned his head and watched his lover dispose of the condom. He was still chuckling. "What are you laughing about, old man?" "You," Jeremy said. "You were being the cat, weren't you?" Daniel grinned an exhausted, satiated grin. "I was a damn sexy cat." "That you were." Jeremy stretched out next to Daniel and pulled him close until Daniel was spooned against him, Daniel's ass nestled against Jeremy's crotch. "And you call me a method actor," Jeremy said. "Babe, if I was actually being that cat," Daniel said with a wicked grin, "I would have been the one fucking you. He is named Mortimer after all." Daniel looked over his shoulder at Jeremy. One eyebrow raised, he waited for a comeback. "Maybe Mortimer likes boys," Jeremy said. "He certainly likes you." Daniel pretended to think about that for a moment. In reality he was just playing with Jeremy. He enjoyed their post-sex banter almost as much as their pre-sex banter. Truth be told, he enjoyed pretty much everything with Jeremy. "Mmm.... "Daniel said. "That's true. He even likes you. Maybe Mortimer does like boys." "I like you and I like boys." Jeremy kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Well, I like one boy, not all boys." 16


Jeremy's expression turned serious. Daniel's throat went dry. He'd been in relationships before when it all turned sour after that one little word was said. It placed so many expectations on everyone. Daniel was half afraid Jeremy was going to say it, and then as he thought about it, he was more afraid that Jeremy never would. "Jeremy?" he asked after a long moment of Jeremy just staring at him. "I saw a different side of you today." Jeremy cradled Daniel's face in one strong hand. "I realized that I've seen so many different sides of you and there's not a one I don't like." Daniel saw Jeremy swallow hard. "More than like." Daniel glanced away, frowned a little, found himself staring at a tattoo on Jeremy's upper arm. So much life, so much passion, all in this one man. All given to him. It amazed Daniel. "Same here, old man," Daniel said, not knowing he was going to make the admission until he said it. It astounded him to admit that out loud, but even as he said it, he realized it was true. This had stopped being just about sex long ago. Jeremy made a small sound in the back of his throat, then he moved around Daniel to bring their faces together. Jeremy's kiss was tender, soft—loving. Strong, gentle fingers cradled Daniel's head. Daniel made a soft sound of his own, sank his fingers deep in Jeremy's hair, and kissed him back with just as much tenderness. When the kiss finally ended, Jeremy's eyes were deep and liquid, full of an emotion that Daniel realized Jeremy was not 17


going to voice. Not today. Maybe not ever, but the feeling was there nonetheless and that was all that mattered. Daniel wondered if Jeremy could read the same emotion in his eyes. He hoped he could. For the first time in his life Daniel wasn't afraid to let it show.

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Brahmas and Pitbulls by BA Tortuga Lord have mercy, them cattle looked like teddy bears in the pasture. Dean looked over and scratched his head and decided to go on ahead and buy more propane for the tank. He didn't care what the weatherman said. Them critters knew what was what. He shook his head and got back to tacking shingles on the barn roof. No matter what anyone said about the winter coming, it was warm as hell right now and he wanted to get the roof right and tight before it thought about raining. The dogs set up a ruckus right about then, the silly mutts barking and barking, making the other animals go crazy, too. Well, what the hell? There he was, dangling off the roof and the damned place was going crazy. "What the heck are you up to, cowboy?" Will hollered, coming down from the house to the lot, ballcap shadowing his lover's face. The work on one of the fence rails must've gone easier than they'd thought. "Oh, I'm up here looking for aliens." He snorted, wiped his face with his bandana. "How's that fence going?" "It's going, but I swear to god, I'm gonna kill..." Will trailed off, disappearing around the corner of the barn, and he could hear the man grunting and mumbling. "Kill what?" He crab-walked around, following the sound of Will's voice. "Don't you hurt yourself. I think we got something here." All he could see was Will's ass, upturned next to the watering trough. 19


"Huh?" He leaned over as far as he dared, the eaves creaking away. "There's this ... Ow!" Will popped out, the dogs setting up such a fever pitch that he worried there was a skunk or something out there. But whatever that was wiggling in Will's hands was buff-colored and tail-wagging, not black and white. "Well, I'll be..." Dean slid forward, damn near going over as he strained to see. "Hey! Come down by the ladder, cowboy. Looks like we got us a puppy." Will was grinning up at him, flinching every time the little thing bit his hands. "Another one? Lord, lord. Well, I wonder who dumped him. Poor feller." Dean rolled over to the ladder, heading down. They hadn't had a new puppy in a while. Not that they were keeping this one, but... Will met him at the bottom, holding out the wiggling bundle. "Looks like a pit mix, huh?" "Oh, look at you..." He pulled his shirt on and took the pup, looking ... her over. "Yeah, and she's needing a flea bath and some water. She's been on her own a while." She wasn't scared, though, hell no. That tail was wagging her whole butt and she was gnawing on Will to beat the band. Lord. "Yep. But look at that face!" "She's got herself a pretty smile." He chuckled and scritched a floppy pair of ears, that puppy happy as a pig in shit. "Come on. Let's find her some food." "Sounds good. Oh now, hush, you bunch." Will handed him the puppy and spent some time loving on the dogs they already had, reassuring them that they weren't being 20


replaced. Dean got them to the loafing shed and got the pup to eating on a bowl of leftover Puppy Chow back from when they'd found ... Poppy? Red? Biscuit? One of the latest bunch. Then he started filling everybody else's dishes. Poor little baby was so hungry that she wolfed the food down and promptly started horking it back up. Bless her little heart. "Lord, lord. Let's try this again, a little slower." Dean got her water and cleaned the mess. "She's really hungry, huh?" Will leaned down and held the bowl while the little girl pushed it around, snuffling and flailing. "She's starving and doesn't have the foggiest idea how to be a stray. She probably heard the others and came looking for her momma." "Well, they'll give her a tough time to begin with. We probably ought to keep an eye on her." And didn't Will look tickled? "What are we gonna call her?" This was his job—Dean wasn't sure when he'd inherited it or why he kept the job, but he did. He knelt down and looked into that eager, smiling little face. Sweet baby looked like she could just fall over from pure relief that somebody was willing to do good by her. "Clara. She looks like a Clara to me." "Clara it is." Hooting when the pup crawled up on his knees and licked his face, Will clapped him on the back. "I think she likes you." "Shit, Ace, I think there's a sign down the road in Labrador Retriever that says 'suckers in the blue house, look cute'." 21


"You think? It must be in goat and pony, too." They did have themselves a way with strays and rescues. "Goat. Pony. Barn cat." He cut a look over to Will, deciding this was as good a time as any. "Buckin' bulls..." Will tilted his head, those pretty eyes staring right at him. "We don't got any of those, Dean." "No.... "He stared right back, just loving his cowboy to death. "Not yet." "Huh." Sitting back on his boot heels, Will scratched puppy ears and looked him over consideringly. "That initial investment is gonna be high. But it sure would be fun." "Well, I got a call the other day and we could get some heifers at a good deal and there's a breeder at Sherman that wants somebody to look over his bulls and is willing to cut a deal on semen if I do." Dean held Will's gaze, knowing how it was a risk, knowing that they were ready for it, finally, after building a herd for so many years. "I might be able to get on a couple of the new ones, too. See how they feel up under a man." "Yeah? Well, there you go." Looking happy as a pig in shit, Will stood, those long legs popping and creaking. "I think that's a plan, cowboy. I'm in if you want me." "Want you? Shit, Ace. When don't I want you?" He grinned over, nodded. "You'll need to come out, pick the heifers." Will had a real way with the ladies, which always made him laugh. "You got it. Now, what about this little girl?" "What about her? I reckon we'll give her her shots and a collar and a little blanket of her own, huh?" Like they wouldn't take her in. They'd done named her. 22


"We ought to start with the flea bath. Ain't no sense getting us and the rest of the dogs all bit up..." His Ace did have a habit of talking while he wandered off and did shit. Dean chuckled, watching that puppy bouncing along, chasing at Will's heels, barking away. "Lord, y'all. Were you looking for another pup to join the pack?" Five pairs of brown eyes stared at him. "No? Huh, you sure didn't run her off..." "What?" Will came back with the puppy wiggling under one arm, the big aluminum tub in the other. The other pups split like a piece of firewood, running like the wind. "Nothing. Just talking to the family." He laughed good and hard. "They know what's coming, don't they?" "They do. Let's hope they didn't get any fleas, because then you'll have to round them up and dunk them..." Oh. Cruel man. Poor little Clara sure didn't know what was coming, even when Will started filling the tub. Dean bent down and started talking. "I tell you what, you think you'll like a bath? I mean, we ain't got a dog yet that wants the water, you oughta." Clara licked his nose, whining low in her throat in that pit bull way, wagging and woofing and prancing around. And lord love her, when they plopped her in the bath, she just settled right down to play. He grinned over at Will and they got to scrubbing. "She's a solid little thing, huh? She might could hold a cowboy on her back when she gets grown." "She might could. You have to wonder what kind of a monster she's mixed with, huh? Look at her feet." 23


"I know it. Pit's have them dainty little things." Lord knew this baby girl didn't have a bit of dainty on her. "No shit." That came when little Clara decided to get out of the tub before they were done. That pup climbed Will like a ladder. Oh, fuck, that was something else. Dean started hooting, clapping as that little tail went ninety to nothing. Spitting and flailing, Will went ass over teakettle, falling back on the ground and getting wallered on but good. "She likes you, honey." Dean righted the tub and grabbed Will's hand, hauling him up. "She likes us both because we've been nice, I bet." Ace leaned on him a bit, watching the puppy get muddy. "Promise me the bulls will be less trouble." "I hate to lie to you, Ace." Bulls weren't nothing but trouble and money. The puppy had ahold of Will's jeans, tugging like mad, but Will moved right on up, leaning on him and begging a kiss. "I know, cowboy. I'm just teasin'. You know, I could call Dad, too. I think he knows some folks in the bull business." "If it won't get him all pissy. Last thing I need is for him to blow a vein because he's het up about me." Lord knew Will's folks looked for reasons not to like him sometimes. "Everything makes Dad pissy since he had that pneumonia that made him back off the ranch. He might be tickled to get asked." "Then we'll ask." He patted Will's butt, enjoying the way that denim fit in his hand.

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"Cool. Now, how excited are you about getting back up on that ladder? 'Cause I could use a shower..." Those eyes were just naughty, come-get-me eyes, now. "Yeah? I'm thinking the rain'll hold a few days..." "I'll come on and help you after I get the fence done, which is maybe another twenty minutes of work. So they can both wait a bit..." Hoo yeah. "Then I think that shower's waiting on us, Will." Dean reached out, fingers touching Will's wrist, feeling the calluses by Will's thumb. "Then let's get this little girl settled and we'll get wet." Will's hand slid up to grasp his, warm and firm, a cowboy's hand for sure. Lord have mercy, that was just fine. Yessir. It didn't take a minute to settle the new pup. Of course, they needed to run down and feed the horses and throw down some food for the barn cats. Then Will went to check the water and he threw out the chicken feed and goddamn, what were they fixin' to do again? Will reminded him once they were standing out in the yard, staring. Yup, Ace wandered right over and hooked an arm around his waist. "Shower, cowboy." "You got it, Ace." He nodded, leaned a bit as they wandered, the path familiar as breathing. Will's boots knew the way, too, and by the time they hit the house, Will was kissing on him, his neck and cheek. He loved the brush of mustache on his skin, loved the solid way Will leaned against him. His back hit the front door as soon as it closed, Will pressing against him, kissing him good and hard. Reminding him what they were up to. His hands 25


slid down Will's bod, touching those long, fine-as-hell thighs all the way down. "Mmmmm." That hot mouth slid along his chin, all the way over to his ear so Will could nuzzle up underneath. "Too much denim, cowboy." "I. Uh-huh." His knees buckled a little, eyes rolling. "Yeah. Dean..." Those arms looped around his neck, not helping with the undressing at all, and Will kissed him again, lips and tongue moving slow and easy. He managed to get his fingers moving, stopping to stroke each and every bit of skin he bared. "Oh..." That moan came out rough against his skin, Will's whole body starting to move for him, like the man was riding a horse. He slid down, nice and careful, lips open as he went for that hard cock that was waiting for him. "Dean!" Lord, Will could make some fine noises. Deep, harsh. God, almighty. "Yeah. Yeah, lemme..." Will's cock slipped right into his lips, his hands stroking those amazing long legs. One hard thrust caught him almost unawares before Will held back, legs shaking, ass tight as a drum. Will did love his mouth. He knew it because of the hottest words he'd ever heard coming down around him. He groaned around Will's prick, letting those words drive him, move his head faster. Will's rough fingers combed through his hair, knocking his hat the rest of the way off. He saw it roll across the floor out of the corner of his eye. Then Will's cock slid over his tongue and he forgot about his hat, about anything but pulling Will in deeper. 26


"Dean. Cowboy. Please. I need to..." Will babbled for him, just like the kid he'd been when they met, going to town with words and body. Filling him up. He hummed and nodded, letting Will take all he needed. Will grunted, thrusting harder, fucking his mouth like there was no tomorrow. He could feel Will's balls draw up when he cupped them, could feel the muscles coil under his hands. Then Will was giving it up for him, coming like crazy. That was what he needed, just that. Dean groaned low, swallowing around Will's flesh, drinking his cowboy down. "Oh. Oh, damn, cowboy. I. Oh..." Will slid down against him, cock slipping out of his mouth as Will melted right into him. Landing on his knees facing Dean, Will took a kiss, humming a damned happy tune. He'd have grinned, if he wasn't needing so bad, down deep in his belly. He wrapped one hand around Will's nape, tugged him in close. That tune got lower, more intense as Will reached for him, the heel of Will's hand pressing against him through his jeans. Then those fingers pulled at his zipper, letting him free. "Please, yeah?" He pushed up toward that touch, eyes rolling like a balky horse. "Yeah. Want you. Gonna ... like you did for me. Gonna suck you, lover." Will bent and licked at him like he was ice cream. Oh. His face heated thinking about what they'd done with peach ice cream, once. He'd damn near died. Still thought on it when he took himself in hand, brought himself off... 27


Now Will's mouth was hot, though, all hot. And wet. Sliding down over him, that mouth took him in, Will's lips sealing hard around him. "Will." He planted his heels, forced himself not to thrust up, take Will's mouth like he needed to. Dark lashes swept down to hide Will's eyes, but he knew what was what when Will's throat opened for him, relaxing enough to let him in. To let him do what he wanted. What he had to have. Dean let himself go, head thrown back, hips just going to town. Will sucked hard enough that he thought he might just die happy, right here on the floor. When he came it was shouting and shaking, right into Will's mouth, those hands stroking him, soothing him, praising him. "Goddamn, Will. You ... you're something." Something all his. Something like home. "Mmm. You know, we still need that shower." Will was laughing at him, long lashes tickling his cheek. "Love you, cowboy." "Yep. The hot water heater'll be even more full now." He grinned, nipped Will's bottom lip. "We're gonna be back in the rodeo business, Ace. You and me in the stock contractor seats." "Oh." Like that hadn't even dawned on Will, that sweet face lit right up like the new puppy when Dean scratched her ears. "Oh, that would be cool. Not so much on the road, though, right?" "Hell, no. We got pups to feed. Horses. Them beefmasters in the back pasture." He wasn't looking to leave home, just to play a little. 28


"Cool. We got us a good place." Laughing low and happy, Will kissed his cheeks. "But I wouldn't mind going on a trip or two." "Nope. Wouldn't mind a couple paychecks either. We could hire us a roofer." "We could. Keep your ass on the ground where it belongs." Yeah. He wouldn't mind that a bit. "Right now, come keep my ass in the shower. We'll worry about the rest tomorrow." "You got it." They stood, leaving the rest of their clothes in a pile by the door, and headed for the shower. He never worried about tomorrow with Will. It always worked itself out for the best. Even if those goddamn dogs put out welcome signs for every stray in Raines County.

29


A Hound, a Bay Horse, and a Turtledove by Elazarus Wills I thought by loving all beside To prove to you my love was wide And by the rite I soared above To show you my peculiar love. Henry David Thoreau—Verse written in his journal November 7, 1840 Osmer Gale knew that feeding the starving elk would have drawn the stern, but unspoken, disapproval of Henry Thoreau, an emotion that he imagined he felt even from the temporal distance of a century and a half. It might also have provoked a lecture very much like the one he received from December Mercado. "I wish you wouldn't encourage these people," was the first thing December Mercado said to him while standing on the cabin's porch one winter day. "Pardon me?" Osmer managed, still half asleep from a mid-afternoon nap, as he stared at the tall, part Apache, part Latino game warden. "The feeding that they're doing. It's just gonna keep the herd bigger than it should to be healthy. They'll compete with the deer next summer and the deer hunters will complain when their numbers go down. And so will the cattle guys. If the elk herd's too big to make it through a bad winter, then it's too big. Feeding them will generally make things worse, not better." December Mercado wore jeans and a brown leather jacket with New Mexico Game and Fish patches and badge on his right front pocket. He was the most beautiful 30


man Osmer had ever seen, skin the color of hot cocoa mixed with blood, eyes like dark chocolate, with an almost haughty, high cheek-boned face. **** Osmer had come from Boulder to the sage and pinyon foothills of Northern New Mexico, a fresh Master's degree in literature and a book contract in hand. The cabin belonged to his ex-stepfather who had divorced his unfaithful mother during his freshman year at the University of Colorado. He had also come to this place to spend an extended amount of time wandering around inside of the head of Henry David Thoreau, trying to persuade the moody Concord philosopher to yield up his secret life, the one he had hidden away like a Victorian chamber pot, pushed far back under the bed. Osmer knew how the book would go because he had written a well regarded novella, for which a publisher had paid him a small advance to expand into a doorstop-weight novel. His work was clear, but his inspiration and commitment to do the work was not. Osmer dawdled from early fall into winter, fixing things around the cabin, cooking elaborate meals, harvesting pinyon nuts and trying to get to know his Latino neighbors. Much time was spent brooding over his abandonment that summer by his longtime, older, architect lover who had taken a consulting design job in Singapore that would run for several years. Ambition triumphing over true love, real or imagined. Osmer hadn't decided if he was heartbroken, angry, or relieved. He just wished he had more energy. 31


The elk arrived in the first week of December shortly after the first snows, unusually heavy that year, had come roaring out of the west across the Colorado Plateau. During normal winters, the elk herds wintered by wandering from the oak brush slopes just below where the aspen groves began, down to the valley hayfields and back again. During early winter that year the snow in the oak brush was already too deep even for their powerful bodies and they were forced to stay lower. "How can the elk be starving if they are constantly breaking into the haystack enclosures?" Osmer asked Susie Argullo-Estrada Gonzales. "Them elk, they are browsers. They need that wood, you know," she told him as they sat on the ridge road in his old Land-Cruiser with the motor running and heater groaning hard. Susie was forty-two, a powerfully built local ranch woman. "It used to be that if they couldn't eat up in the oak brush they would come down here, eat willows along the river 'til things got better. Can't do that so easy now. All elk-fenced through here." She waved a hand with its work-cracked knuckles at the valley below. Other than the village, there were just a couple of resort dude ranches along with large parcels with second homes owned by out-of-state rich people. Hayfields and cottonwood groves. The ground was all under three feet of snow. "The deer make out okay, but them elk get into the hay too much. Get the impacted bowels. Like horses do sometimes. Eat too much green alfalfa. Muerte' dispacheo." Susie inhaled and blew smoke from her hand-rolled cigarette 32


out the Toyota's partially open passenger side window. Osmer shivered and turned the fan on the heater up a notch. "So how does feeding them hay save them, if hay will kill them?" "We cut brush—places they can't get, orchard prunings, feed them that too. Some hay. Not too much. Enough to keep them out of haystacks," Susie said. "Why do you do it? Other than to save them." "Saving them saves us," Susie said. "Hunting money important here. Half the elk herd starves in a bad winter lots of people around here have a very bad fall next year." "Okay," said Osmer. "Okay?" "I'll help." He paused. "Do you know anything about that game warden?" "The pretty one you mean?" she laughed. **** After that, Osmer took his turn helping to feed the elk every other day. He worked for an hour or so in the early morning, throwing brush and hay into the snowy fields off of the back of a chained up flatbed farm truck. The elk usually stood in ragged groups several hundred yards distant until the truck had passed, then venturing over to nibble and chew. At home he tried to write but mostly just drank local wine and read his copy of Henry David Thoreau's journals for inspiration. Henry remained distant and uncommunicative. Osmer tried to keep a journal of his own. He lay naked on his 33


bed, legs apart, looking out at the mountains and slowly masturbated, thinking of December Mercado. "So I hear you're a writer," December Mercado said as he sat at Osmer's small kitchen table. The game warden had returned a few days after they had first met. "Are you writing about the elk or the local multi-cultural experience? Poor Chicanos and the last of the Apaches doing custom farming, building horse barns and cleaning pools for millionaire refugees from California and Texas." "Neither," Osmer said. He explained about the book that he was supposed to be writing. About Henry David Thoreau. The table was set up at the entrance to a small lean-to, south-facing greenhouse that had been added onto the nineteen forties vintage cabin. "Ahh..." December said sipping at his coffee. "So what was the secret life of Thoreau? I've always thought of him as the ultimate nineteenth century slacker. Mooching off of his relatives. Couch camping at Ralph Waldo Emerson's house. Scribbling down every thought for posterity. Pithy, but not very practical." He smiled, causing the radiating lines at the corners of his eyes to deepen and Osmer's breath to quicken. "That is one school of thought," Osmer said carefully. "And yours?" Osmer looked into December's umber eyes and stepped off into deep water. "Henry Thoreau was the first great gay American writer or maybe it's a tie with Walt Whitman." "Right. I remember American Lit in college. Everybody says that but nobody can prove anything. He did ask Ellen Sewall to marry him," December said. 34


"He wrote love poems about Ellen's brother," Osmer said defensively, but was pleased that he had met someone with whom he could discuss Thoreau. "He was also reading tons of Greek classics in the original language and we all know those guys practically invented homoeroticism. Maybe he was just trying to write stuff like his idols," the game warden said. He winked and grinned. Osmer's eyes widened. "I've heard that argument, too. What convinces me, besides the fact that Henry never marrying or having another girlfriend his whole life, was that he was always railing about the dangers of giving in to sensuality—our animal natures. He was obviously talking about himself." "And how about your animal nature?" December asked. He sipped slowly at his cup of coffee. "I noticed the rainbow bumper sticker on your car. That's why I came back to see you." Osmer choked on his buttered croissant. **** Osmer first saw it from the back of the truck, fifty yards away, feeding on an elk carcass. The bear was large for a black bear, probably old too, but Osmer couldn't tell for sure. It looked old. Half of one ear was gone, leaving a ragged stump. Its pelt looked rough and patchy. He slapped the top of the truck cab with a gloved hand. When Susie, who was driving, looked back, he pointed. "That damn bear should have been in hibernation over a month ago," she called. "Probably sick or something. We 35


should call the game warden. Not good this close to the village." By the time December arrived, this time in brown insulated coveralls, tranquilizer rifle in hand, the bear was gone. "Shit," said December scanning the nearby hillside with an oversized pair of binoculars. "This is all I need, but better some of these pet elk of yours than some sheep or the rico Anglo's Angus bulls or something." "The bear is scaring the elk from the feeding ground here. Just the scent of him is enough," Susie told him. "We'll have to move the feeding a mile down valley and hope he don't go there too." "How about you just stop feeding the elk?" December suggested. "Fish and Game says that it is okay. We asked them." Susie was indignant. "Mercado, you are not being official when you go say something different." "You're right but that doesn't mean that I'm wrong," December said softly. **** "She's right about one thing," December told him later. They were driving around snow packed gravel roads in the Game and Fish truck. "There is something wrong with that bear." "It looked old," Osmer said. "Maybe it has bear Alzheimer's or something." He gasped as December let go of the wheel with one hand and punched him in the shoulder. "You're funny!" he whooped. 36


"I was serious," said Osmer. He looked away from his beautiful friend and out the side window. A dozen llamas grazed in a snowy field. In the distance a gigantic house protruded above the pinyons and cedars, all sharp angles, varnished logs, glass walls and redwood decks. "Oh," December said. A long minute of silence followed. "We're probably going to have to trap him or someone will probably shoot him. If that doesn't work maybe I'll have to shoot him." "Won't that upset your balance of nature or something?" "The bear's the one that's unbalancing things," December said. They drove to December's office. It was one room in a gray painted cinderblock building that he shared with a couple of federal Forest Service guys. The trap, a huge pipe-like affair mounted on its own trailer, was in the parking lot out back. They hitched it to the truck, and after stopping at the small grocery in the village for stale bakery goods to bait it with, took it to the field where the last feeding had been done. They stood together in the snow and looked at the late afternoon light on the foothills. "Do you really think he will come back here?" Osmer asked. "Not really, but if I don't try, and he kills a sheep or two tonight, my supervisor in Taos is going to be all over me. By the way, I'm house-sitting up the mountain. It beats my trailer. Come by tonight. I'll draw you a map," December said. 37


"You don't need to draw me a map," Osmer said and stepped into the taller man's embrace. **** "So you think that Ellery Channing was really Henry's boyfriend," December said as his naked body slid into the steaming water of the hot tub. His breath turned to visible white vapor as he spoke. A full moon lit the view of the valley from the deck of the big house. Osmer stared at his smooth muscular chest while the vision of those legs lingered behind his retinas. He drew a breath of cold mountain air. "Well, I think he probably came closest with Ellery. They were best friends his whole adult life. Channing himself, in some of his writings and letters, sounded a lot like Truman Capote on an extra bitchy day. When Henry died of tuberculosis at forty-four, Channing said that he had lost half of the world. I don't think that they ever actually did anything or Thoreau, or Channing himself, would have written a heavily Victorian coded poem about it." December's head was just showing above the water and he was laughing softly. "What?" "You, that's all. You are just so fucking—earnest. But, you're also cuter than hell. How do you know they weren't having sex constantly, but knew enough not to talk or write about it?" "Because. People were stronger in those days. Henry wrote private letters to friends that made it clear that sex was something to be avoided. He was very prudish that way," 38


Osmer said. "When he met Walt Whitman, the one thing he was put off by was Whitman's full tilt sensuality. He must have known that Whitman was gay. The guy had pictures of naked Greek gods and stuff pasted on the walls of his room. Henry wasn't stupid." December pulled Osmer to his feet and embraced him from behind; strong arms circling his belly, one hand dipping down to cup his scrotum. Osmer purred and pressed his hips forward. Behind him the other man pressed his erection against his back. It felt like a promise. He felt him shift, reaching for something. The sound of a cap coming off and the touch of cool wet fingers probing. Osmer stopped him. "No. I'm not into that. It's just not me." December rested his chin of Osmer's shoulder and kissed his right ear. "Ahh, some sort of halfway Thoreauvian limit. You fuck but you don't fuck. "I fuck. I've fucked since I was fourteen," Osmer assured him. "I just don't fuck that way." "You a top? You don't seem like a top. I didn't think you were such a role player." December had returned to caressing Osmer's sex. "No, it's not that. It doesn't feel right to me. It never has." Lips nibbled at his neck; down the top of his spine. "And Henry wouldn't approve." December began to give him a standing massage, working the tips of the fingers and thumbs of both hands, beginning just above the sensitive areas in back of Osmer's knees. Osmer sucked cold air in through his clenched teeth. "I've spent the last two nights rereading Walden." 39


"Henry denied his own nature because of when he lived." Osmer rose on tiptoe in the steaming water as December's insistent dancing fingers worked their way up his inner thighs. "I try to be true to mine." In the natural course of things, when December's hands had made their caressing way to the outside of his hips, Osmer turned and took his new lover into his own arms. He heard him exhale with a sound very much like wonder. They stood that way for a long time, pressed flesh to flesh, hands stroking thighs, buttocks and backs. Tongues exploring tongues. Strong teeth nipping insistently at firm wet skin. Osmer kissed his way downward out of the embrace and there in hot tub mists, just inches from the surface of the water, he took December slowly and lovingly into his mouth. One forearm was between slightly spread thighs, fingerspread hand clasping the now chilly firmness of ass-flesh. "I'm fucking freezing up here," December moaned as he stroked Osmer's thick blonde hair. "You're pretty warm down here," Osmer said indistinctly, only his head and neck above water. If he paused, he could feel the beat of the older man's heart through the pulse inside of the satin flesh against his tongue. He began to move again while luxuriously fondling himself. Suddenly December pulled away and was climbing out of the tub. "Look. It's the goddamn bear." December Mercado stood naked on the redwood deck pointing at a dark speck moving in the moonlight across a distant field.

40


Osmer came up out of the water and slumped onto the edge of the hot tub. He squinted into the night. "It could be anything. You can't tell from here." "You can't, I can." *** When Osmer and December checked it in the morning, the trap was empty. There were clearly defined bear tracks in the snow circling it. "Shit," said December. "It probably followed the elk," Osmer said. "They're feeding down-valley today." The ravens drew them to the elk carcass, rising two or three at a time and then dropping back down into some cottonwoods under laid with willow brush. "Bear or mountain lion kill," December said pointing to gaping, ragged holes in the haunches. "Isn't this what you were arguing for?" Osmer asked. "Nature taking its course. The stronger taking the weaker. Darwin personified." "One sick old bear is not nature." "It's not a catastrophe either." "No, and if it were up to me I'd leave it alone but I also have a job to do," December said. "So do I," Osmer said. "I should be writing. I think this has given me an idea about Thoreau battling nature. His nature. He probably saw himself, his desires, as unnatural, separate from nature." "He had a vision of himself, of what he was and he stuck to that," said December. 41


"Yes. And I wonder if he would have been happier if he hadn't. If he had embraced Whitman's sensuous howl," said Osmer, "I wonder what the bear is thinking." "Let's call the bear Henry," December said. **** That night, Osmer and December had just adjourned from making love in Osmer's narrow bed and walked out into the greenhouse naked. Both were damp, grinning and breathing heavily. "Henry Thoreau was one dumb shit," said December. "Think of him as a monk or a priest. The spiritual satisfaction of denial of the flesh," Osmer said. "Ah how low I fall when I am tempted by them," December quoted. "And that was just tea and coffee, not fucking." He held up his jelly glass of Chablis to the third night of the full moon, which had just risen over the pinyons. "Fuck me all the way to Alamosa," whispered December. He stood close to the slope of the glass staring out at the small apple orchard. A cow elk stood with front hooves balanced on a gnarled old trunk. The entire landscape was silver gray in the moonlight. Osmer sucked in his breath in response to the beauty of the scene. The elk made small lunges upward to pull down higher branches that had not already been pruned by the local deer. After succeeding a couple of times in nipping a few inches from the tips of twigs, the animal grabbed and held the next branch between its teeth and jerked it powerfully to the 42


side and down. A good sized limb broke loose with a crack Osmer could hear from inside the greenhouse. "That's why people deer fence everything," December said. "She's destroying that tree." "Let her," said Osmer. "Those trees probably should have been pulled out years ago." December didn't answer. That was when they saw the old bear. It waddled slowly out of the trees a hundred yards upwind from the elk, which was deeply involved with the limb from the apple tree. The bear's head was bobbing back and forth, muzzle in the air. "Shit, I think it's almost blind. Operating by scent," said December and headed back to the bedroom for his clothes. Osmer followed. **** December opened the truck quietly and got his rifle off of the rack behind the seat. Osmer saw that it was a 30-06, not the drugged dart gun. "I don't want to do this but I've done all that I can do," December said. "There comes a time when you just don't fit into the scheme of things anymore." He braced the weapon across his arm on the hood of the truck. Osmer saw the glimmer of a tear as his beautiful friend squeezed the rifle's trigger. Osmer stepped closer and wrapped his arms around December Mercado. He would start the book in the morning and he would not stop until it was finished. 43


The body of Henry, the unnatural bear, was almost frozen when the two of them loaded it into the Fish and Game truck the next morning. Osmer and December kissed one another with an intensity of passion, which should have, in a world controlled by cause and effect, brought the dead bear back to life, but didn't. Then, December drove it out onto the mesa east of town where the ravens would appreciate the gift. Osmer got into his Toyota and drove down valley to help feed the starving elk. **** On that same day of the year, one hundred and sixty years before, Henry Thoreau sits at his small desk in his cabin at Walden Pond some two miles from the village of Concord, Massachusetts. He stares out the window at the falling snow for long minutes, then dips his quill pen into the ink and begins to fill a fresh sheet of paper. An hour passes and he stops, rises to stretch cramped muscles, and considers the snow again. Then, with a sigh, he gathers up his work of the day from the desktop, several pages in all, and gently, like placing an infant robin back into its nest, he slides the pages onto the top of a log burning bluely in the small open fireplace. When he sits back down there is a slight dampness in his eyes. "It is not easy to find one brave enough to play the game of love quite alone with you, but they must get some third person, or world, to countenance them." Henry David Thoreau—March 14, 1842, in his journal. 44


White Mountain by Sarah Black Bobby drove his old pickup truck up the dirt road leading to Christmas Tree Lake. Tucked into a quiet corner of the White Mountain Apache reservation, it was a powerful, secret place, ringed by fir trees and blue spruce and huge lodgepole pines. Sun and Moon Creeks drained icy waters from the mountains down into the lake, the way blood flowed from the limbs back into the heart. Apache trout of mythic size swam in its cold waters. Bobby hadn't come for the fishing. He wouldn't have minded standing on the shore of that lake and throwing in a line. But a person had to be invited to fish up here, or pay through the teeth for the privilege, and he hadn't been invited. He was a guest, and not a particularly welcome one. His heart was aching, getting worse the farther he climbed into the mountains. Something about the clean smell of pine needles and snow and mountain air reminded him of loneliness, and everything important he had lost in his life. He eased the truck off the road, pulled in next to a pickup truck even older than his own. An Apache man was leaning against the tailgate waiting for him, his face raised to the sun. Bobby climbed out of his truck, anticipation knotting his stomach. He couldn't believe it. He walked around the back and studied the other man. Clayton looked good, soft flannel shirt over faded Levi's, and the same hiking boots he had worn ten years before. He'd let his hair grow out since college. It tumbled past his shoulders, shiny black in the late afternoon sunshine. 45


"Hey, Bobby." "Good to see you, Clayton. Where's Darryl?" "He couldn't make it. The Tribal Council asked me to come. They knew we used to be friends." We used to be friends. The saddest phrase Bobby had ever heard. No, wait. He knew some sadder ones. We used to be lovers. We used to be in love. Clayton put his hand out and Bobby took it. Clayton's hand was warm and strong, stronger than he remembered. "It's good to see you, Bobby." "You look great. Why did you come? Are you here to try and stop me?" Clayton looked carefully at Bobby, his black eyes narrowed against the sun. "No, Bobby. I'm here to keep you safe. The jaguar's dangerous, and I know you'll be climbing up into the caves to try and get your pictures. You're as hard-headed as a rock, always have been. I don't suppose you've outgrown that in the last ... How long has it been?" "Nine years and three months or thereabouts." They looked at each other for a long time, and Bobby knew Clayton could read his feelings in his face. "And I came because I wanted to see you again, Bobby." Clayton turned and started hauling the bags out of the back of his pickup. "Let's pack our gear in from here. The campsite's about a mile, right on the edge of the lake. I've already got camp set up." "So it's true, Clayton? You've seen it? There really is a jaguar up here on the reservation?" Clayton turned. "A female, Bobby. And she's pregnant." 46


Clayton leaned over to pick up one of the bags of camera gear, and Bobby could smell him, that warm scent that he'd been smelling in his dreams for nearly ten years. Sandalwood, and something green and lemony. Bobby had never known if it was Clayton's hair or his skin or his soap or his aftershave but it hadn't changed, and the smell paralyzed him. He leaned back against his truck, and the loss, the yearning and desire moved over him the way a gray storm cloud moved in front of the sun, blocking out light and warmth. Clayton turned. "Bobby, where's..." He closed his eyes, set the bag gently down. "Don't look at me like that, Bobby." Then he could feel Clayton's hands moving through his hair. A hard thigh shoved between his legs, pressing into his groin, and Clayton's mouth was on his, his tongue moving into Bobby's mouth like it belonged there, like it had been ten minutes instead of ten years since the last time they had kissed. Clayton held him still, his big hands on either side of Bobby's head. "Don't look at me like that, Bobby. I can't stand it." Clayton was talking against his mouth. "Bobby, please, this is hard for me, too..." Then Clayton was kissing him again, and Bobby could move, could move his arms around Clayton's strong back and hold them close together. Just for this one moment. Bobby felt a little panic, like everything was coming unmoored in his chest. Oh, God. Clayton was just feeling sorry for him. He must have looked pathetic, desperate enough to need a mercy kiss. Bobby had never had much of a 47


poker face, and it was really just too much, seeing Clayton so unexpectedly like this. Clayton rested his forehead against Bobby's and sighed, and Bobby straightened up, his hands falling to his sides. "Yeah. Okay, sorry, Clayton. I didn't mean to make you..." He turned away, staring down into the deep green of the fir trees surrounding them. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Just for a second Bobby looked back into his dark face, and he could tell they were both extremely aware of his cock lurching away against Clayton's thigh. Clayton looked away from him and stepped back. "Yeah. No sweat. Old friends and all that." His voice trailed away, and they both turned without another word and started slinging backpacks over their shoulders. **** Clayton watched Bobby walk ahead of him into the forest. The path was narrow, hardly visible, a deer path more than a foot trail, but Bobby had walked through this forest with him before, and he knew the way. Clayton could feel his heart swelling with joy, swelling and overflowing, tears falling like rain deep in his chest, just from seeing Bobby again. From seeing him and tasting his mouth. There was no joy without sorrow, too, and all that joy and sorrow seemed to be wrapped up in the sight of Bobby's elegantly curved back walking ahead of him in old Levi's and a faded green tee shirt, walking on a footpath through land that was clean and beautiful and alive, partly through the work of his own hands. 48


He could tell when Bobby started to notice, started to see the lupines and wild strawberries and the delicate, pale green ferns growing in patches of sunshine and shadow on the forest floor. The ground was carpeted with tiny yellow starshaped flowers that smelled like lemons when you walked on them. Bobby stopped and turned to him. "The forest, it smells like you, Clayton." He had moss green eyes, luscious and fertile. Clayton remembered the first time he had ever looked into those eyes, knowing then that he was lost for all his life. He had a small, private place inside him that belonged to Bobby's eyes. Well, that was okay. He was an ecologist. What did he expect? It was natural for green eyes to affect him this strongly. He cleared his throat. Yeah. Keep talking. You're one stoic Apache, man. That was real strong. You kept your hands off him for, what, forty-five seconds? No? Okay, thirty seconds. Bobby was waiting for him to catch up. "Clayton, did you do all this? I can't believe how different it looks up here. I mean, I read about it, but I didn't really understand." "I didn't do it, Bobby. I just picked up the rivers so the land could heal itself." Bobby stared at him, then turned in a circle, looking at the forest. "You've been the head of the Riparian Ecosystem Restoration project on the reservation for eight years, Clayton. Every environmental group on the planet has been giving you green stars and offering you big bucks to come work for them. You call it picking up the rivers?" 49


"Yeah, Bobby, I do." He was grinning, suddenly happy. "Remember when we started it? I don't know how many trash bags full of junk we hauled out of here." He could see Bobby's face turning red. He'd never been able to hide his feelings, not ever, not a single one. "I've been keeping up with you, too," Clayton admitted. "I've got copies of all your Arizona Highways photo spreads. You did a Sierra Club cover I really liked, too. Those wolves in Montana." Bobby turned to look at him, his face serious. "The jaguar came back because of what you've done up here, Clayton. Because the land is so healthy, and the water. What do you think is going to happen if I publish photos of a wild jaguar in the White Mountains of Arizona?" Clayton slid his pack off and worked his shoulders. Couldn't they even get to the lake? Why couldn't Bobby just let the place sink into his skin, into his mind a bit before he started dragging this thing out into the open? Clayton didn't want to argue. He stared off into the forest, a stand of silvery aspen trees like pale ghosts in the distance, listening, their green and gold leaves rustling as the wind passed over them. "I think if you publish photos of the first jaguar in this part of Arizona for over a hundred fifty years, then we'll have so many tourists and photographers tramping around that they will ruin this place. The balance is too fragile, Bobby, and the mountain can't sustain that many people." He picked up the pack and moved ahead of Bobby down the path. "But you already know that. And I think if you don't take the pictures and write the story, then someone else will." 50


When they got to the campsite, Bobby walked down to the lake, and the look on his face reminded Clayton of Christmas morning when Santa had stopped by in the night. He'd seen Bobby's face look like that a few other times as well, like paradise was sitting in front of his eyes. Clayton put Bobby's camera gear down and walked down to join him at the lake's edge. Clayton was very sure that no lake in the world was as beautiful as Christmas Tree Lake. Water was his business, so he could say that pretty convincingly. But he felt it in his bones as well, felt as if the cold green waters held the magical beating heart of his land. He had suspected more than a few times, late at night when he was alone and dreaming, that his work, repairing the damaged waters of his people's homelands, was really an attempt to repair his own damaged heart. Or maybe he had just done it all so he could see this look on Bobby's face, with the setting sun warming his skin, and watch Bobby turn his head and look at him and nod, and know what he had done. A blue heron stood slender as a reed on the far shore, and Clayton looked around for the eagle and the black bear that would come down to the far shore for supper. Bobby ran back up to the campsite, started tearing his bag apart until he found his camera. "Holy shit, Clayton." He came back down to the shoreline, fumbling with the light meter. "I've never seen anything like..." Clayton watched him lift the camera to his eye and start to focus, all his energy and attention moving like a light beam through the viewfinder. 51


Clayton walked back up to the campsite, threw Bobby's jeans and socks back into the bag, then found the fishing poles. He got a piece of bacon out of the cooler, tore a tiny chunk off and baited the hook. He carried both poles down to the lake and propped the second one up against a tree. Trout sounded good for supper. He didn't realize that Bobby was taking pictures of him for a few minutes. He'd just been enjoying the feel of cork in his hand, the stretch in his shoulder when he cast, the setting sun spreading flame across the lake, and warmth across his face. And he'd been enjoying knowing Bobby was here with him. It felt like they had planned to meet up here, when they were both old enough to forgive and forget. It felt like everything that had happened before was so far in the past that none of it mattered, just that they were here together. "What are you doing, Bobby?" "Uh, I'm taking pictures. What are you doing?" "Hmm, let's see. The fishing pole is a strong clue." "Isn't the Apache trout on the endangered species list?" "How much are you planning to eat? We don't want to tip the balance of nature or anything." Bobby lowered the camera, then set it on the bag and picked up the other pole. "I wouldn't mind throwing in a line. Got any worms?" "How about a piece of bacon?" Bobby took the piece from his outstretched fingers and threaded it onto the little hook.

52


He swung his pole in an arc, let his cast fly out over the green waters. The bugs scattered as the baited hook plopped into the water. Hmm. That was several feet farther than his best cast. Clayton started reeling in his line, cast again, and put some muscle into it this time. There. A little farther than Bobby's. Bobby glanced over at him, reeled in his line, and when he cast again his hook dropped into the water inches past Clayton's. Bobby looked at him and winked, and his cocky grin made him look twenty-two again. Clayton felt his cock give a lurch. Three days. He wasn't going to make it three days with Bobby. He felt a tug on his line. "You're all cast and no trout, big guy," and felt a cocky grin of his own spread across his face as he reeled in their supper. **** Bobby threw a couple of pieces of firewood from the neatly cut stack onto the fire, then settled back on his sleeping bag. The night sky was brilliant with stars against the deepest indigo blue he had ever seen, and while he knew Clayton hadn't ordered up a beautiful clear night sky just for his pleasure, the way he'd organized everything else so perfectly, he could feel Clayton's hand in the beauty surrounding them. "Why'd you cut the firewood? I could have done it. You didn't leave me anything to do." "Stop complaining. You got to do the dishes. Besides, Darryl set everything up, not me. Camping at the lake is his concession." Clayton rolled over. "This may surprise you, 53


Bobby, but most men who pay two hundred fifty bucks to come up here and fish don't want to cut their own firewood and set up camp themselves." "Oh." Bobby stared up at the sky again. He needed to just live in the moment, this very moment, try to let all the conflict, all the history pass him by. He wanted to feel Clayton on the bedroll next to his, hear his little sighs and movements that were still as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart. The wolves were howling up the mountain, and the sound nearly cracked his bones. The wolves reminded him of what ten years of loneliness felt like. Too many memories, too much conflict still unresolved. He rolled over and stared at Clayton across the flames of the campfire. "Clayton, I need to talk to you..." Clayton made a show of staring at his wrist. It would have been a better piece of sarcasm if he'd actually been wearing a watch. "You lasted longer than I thought you would, Bobby. But I don't want to talk about it." Bobby lay back down and stared up at the night sky again. Smart ass. "You with anybody, Clayton?" "Nope. You?" "Of course not." What if they didn't say anything about it, about what happened before? That wasn't gonna work, since they were about to do a repeat performance, only with a jaguar this time. A jaguar in the White Mountains. That was nearly unbelievable. But he believed it now that he'd seen the land again. It felt like he was stepping into paradise. He could believe a jaguar would find its way up here. 54


What if they just said they were sorry, left it at that? Leaving them free to ... He rolled over again, then stood up and walked to the end of Clayton's bedroll and kicked him in the foot. Clayton looked up at him, a half-smile on his face. Bobby stared down at him. Clayton had been doing all the surprising today. Bobby pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it down on Clayton's chest. "I'm sorry that I haven't been with you every night for the last ten years, Clayton." Clayton looked up at him, pulled the discarded tee shirt up to his face and smelled it. "I'm sorry, too." Bobby unzipped his Levi's and started pushing them down his hips. Clayton watched him, not saying a word, his black hair spread out around him and the light from the campfire painting red and gold across his dark skin. Bobby kicked off his cowboy boots and shucked his jeans down, then shoved his feet back into the boots. Clayton didn't move, and Bobby stood at the end of his bedroll and took his erect cock in his hand. "This is what I've spent the last ten years doing. Jacking off with a picture of you in my mind spread out underneath me. I like your hair." "And I like your boots. Get down here before you freeze. You're acting like an idiot." But when Clayton scrambled up and tugged him close, Bobby could feel the hunger in his hands and the huger in his mouth and in the erect cock that was trying to escape from Clayton's jeans. Clayton pulled him down and wrapped him up in strong arms. "It's too cold for this back to nature shit, Bobby. What 55


are you doing? You're not a kid anymore." But his mouth was so sweet, almost tender. Bobby could smell him, could smell the campfire and the lake and the fir trees and it filled up his heart, filled it up and tipped it over. Clayton pulled him down until Bobby was lying on his back, and he leaned up on his arms and looked down. He ran his thumb over Bobby's mouth, then held his face and leaned in for another kiss. Clayton knew how to kiss, or maybe Bobby just tasted love on his mouth. They held each other in the firelight and kissed like the night would last forever. Clayton stood up and pulled his clothes off eventually. His lanky brown body was stronger than it had been before. He'd been bony in college, and you could count his ribs. Not anymore. Clayton knelt between Bobby's knees, then climbed back on top of him, slid up his body until they were skin to skin, mouth to mouth, cock to cock. "I love you, Clayton." Bobby said it against his mouth, just like he used to, I love you while their cocks were sliding against each other. Clayton went still, leaned up until he could look down into Bobby's eyes. "Me too, Bobby. Always." Then he reached for his discarded jeans, stuck his hand down in the pocket, and pulled out a condom. Bobby stared at him as he rolled the condom up his erect cock. It was green. What the fuck kind of man bought green condoms? "What do you think you're gonna do with that?" Then his belly iced over. "Clayton, oh my God, you aren't sick, are you? Nobody gave you..." 56


Clayton shook his head. He was on his knees between Bobby's thighs, and he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Bobby's cock. "I'm fine. But I do have a confession. I'm not a virgin." It was all Bobby could do not to punch him in the mouth. He felt loose and shaky inside, like he'd done once when he was tracking a grizzly, then realized the grizzly was tracking him. "Jesus, Bobby, it's been ten years. Haven't you ever heard of safe sex? What's the matter with you?" Okay, punching him in the mouth was not going to be enough. He scrambled up, pushed Clayton over, snatched the green condom off and threw it into the woods. "Ow! Watch it!" Clayton was laughing at him, and he tumbled him to the ground again, rolled him over onto his stomach, and pulled his hips up. His cock was in place, and he pushed hard against Clayton's body. "Who've you been with, Clayton? Who?" What was he saying? This was ridiculous. "Did you let somebody else touch you?" He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to make himself shut up. Bobby pushed inside. Clayton gasped, a small sound of pain, and Bobby's anger fell away like water. Clayton looked back at him, and his sheet of black hair slid across his broad back and over one shoulder. "If you give me syphilis I'm gonna cut your heart out and eat it." "Ditto."

57


Clayton sighed and pressed back against him. "Okay, then." Bobby's heart was beating double-time. He reached around Clayton's hips, wrapped his cock up in his fist. "Don't let me hurt you, Clay." He was thrusting again, shaking with the effort of not being fast and rough and hard, and he could feel Clayton's cock swelling in his fist. "Another brave Apache fucked by the White Man." Then they were both giggling, then laughing, and Bobby was still laughing when his balls clenched and his fingers tightened around Clayton's cock and he exploded inside him, buried deep inside the body of the only man he had ever loved. **** Clayton woke up with Bobby's arm thrown across his chest. He was snuggled into Clayton's neck, muttering in his sleep. Bobby had always been a restless sleeper, prone to middle-of-the-night unintelligible shouts and flailing arms and the occasional leap out of bed. Clayton could still remember the first time this had happened, the way his heart had seized up in his chest. But careful questioning the next morning revealed Bobby wasn't having bad dreams, and he never remembered any of it. A couple of times in the last ten years Clayton had woken up in the middle of the night, his heart racing like mad, the faint echoes of a shout fading away in the distance. And he had known that Bobby had just startled awake, wherever he was, then curled back up again with his pillow, still asleep. Clayton eased out from under Bobby's arm and pulled the sleeping bag back up until it covered his shoulders. Their 58


clothes were scattered helter-skelter around the campsite. It looked like there had been a bear on the loose looking for honey. He found his jeans and stepped into them, pulled on a clean hooded sweatshirt from his bag. The dawn was just light enough he could see to find his boots and tip toe down to the lake. He sat down to pull on his socks and boots and studied the tracks in the mud. Deer, maybe a young elk, a couple of wolves, yearlings, maybe. A wild turkey and some hens. He looked out across the lake. A couple of ducks floating on the still surface, the heron in his usual place. The bald eagle that had her nest in the top of the lodgepole pine came streaking across the water, those deadly yellow talons carrying a trout bigger than the ones they had eaten for supper last night. Clayton studied the bird. This was the female, her wingspan nearly seven feet. He hadn't seen the male for a few days. Clayton started hiking around the lake's edge, skirting the shoreline. He startled a couple of young cottontails who had come out for some berries, but they just stared at him and held very still until he passed. The mother deer and her fawn were the same way. Cautious, but they didn't run. The wildlife up here, this particular mix native to the White Mountain Apache reservation, it would never last an invasion of nature lovers and scientists and photographers. Change was coming, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Helplessness. That's what he felt whenever he thought about the jaguar. The animal seemed almost supernatural, though he had seen the surveillance tapes himself and knew they were real, that she was real. She seemed powerful, like some mythic 59


god. He could understand the Aztec's urge to worship the big cats. But she was more than that. She was some sort of fulcrum. The fate of his land seemed ready to tip, and she was walking back and forth, swinging her weight first one way, then the other, their yaquara. Science seemed to have deserted him. The Tribal Council kept asking him what it all meant, what were the consequences, what policies should they make to protect the land? He had no more idea than the medicine men and the elders summoned to answer the same questions. He hadn't meant for things to go like this with Bobby. He just hadn't been able to resist seeing him. Darryl had been happy enough to take the fee and an extra fifty bucks and let Clayton go in his place. When he had recommended to the Tribal Council that this particular photographer be given the job of photographing the jaguar, he'd had no intention of seeing him. But Bobby was just too much to resist. The ground was spongy and damp under his boots, the air clear and cold, and he could feel the peace surrounding him, sky, earth, trees, water, all in balance. It hadn't always been that way. Bobby had been camping up here with Clayton ten years ago, and he had taken pictures of a pair of Apache men climbing up to a bald eagle's nest. He got pictures of them climbing down with the dead eagle, taken for feathers, probably. And he got pictures of the babies left to die. Clayton remembered Bobby's hands shaking when he put the photos down in front of him, one after the other. He'd asked Bobby to take it to the Tribal Council, let them handle it because there was a very sensitive lawsuit pending between 60


the White Mountain Apache and the federal government over mismanagement of their tribal lands. The Tribal Council had listened carefully, had studied the photos and studied his young face and asked him what he had been doing on their land. They told him to leave it in their hands. No one told him that a senior Council member recognized his son in one of the photos. So when the Tribal Council pulled Clayton's scholarship for grad school, because he had brought this troublesome white man to their lands and caused them shame, Bobby took the photos and the story to the Sierra Club. By the time Clayton made his way back to the campsite, the sun was fully up and he could smell coffee perking. Bobby was sitting on a little campstool with a coffee cup in his hand. He was wearing reading glasses, studying a report sitting on his lap. There was an iron skillet of bacon popping over the fire, and Bobby had the carton of eggs sitting on the other campstool, along with a pile of paper plates and a couple of forks. Bobby looked up and smiled shyly at him. "Hey, Clayton." Clayton couldn't speak. His chest was suddenly so full of happiness, so full of gratitude that he had woken up this morning with this man's body nestled against his, next to this lake, the most beautiful lake in the world. He lifted the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, then dumped the eggs and plates off the chair. Bobby dropped his eyes back to the report, something like pain moving across his face. "Clay, did you read the Fish and 61


Wildlife report? When they decided to deny establishment of critical habitat for the jaguar?" Clayton nodded. "Yeah. They denied it because there was no established population in this country. They think those two jaguars that have been photographed down on the border with Mexico are really established on the Mexican side of the border. They were just visiting." "But that will change if there's an established population? Like your pregnant female?" "It doesn't matter, Bobby. Fish and Wildlife doesn't have jurisdiction over White Mountain Apache land." "They couldn't use some loophole in the Endangered Species Act to come in here and change what you've been doing with the land, could they?" Clayton shook his head. "The tribe has control. We're following all the guidelines, anyway. They could make some corridors, designate habitat for travel. But it seems unlikely, Bobby. They did a good job on the report, I thought. No other possible conclusion." "So what's the Council going to do? I mean, here they are with maybe the only jaguar left established in the wild in the United States." Clayton looked up and met Bobby's eyes. "I think they'll try to make some money off her. Eco-tourism, like that." He shrugged. "The tribe needs the money. Schools, clinics, lots of things." Bobby nodded. "And what do you think should happen?" Clayton stared into Bobby's green eyes, the color soft as songbird's eggs, and felt the uncomfortable weight of 62


indecision settle back into his stomach. "I just don't know, Bobby." Bobby slipped the reading glasses into the pocket of his shirt. He reached for the iron skillet and started lifting pieces of bacon onto a paper plate. "Well, in that case, let's eat some eggs and then go get pictures of your girl. Fried or scrambled?" Clayton eased his legs out and settled back in his chair. "You decide." He watched Bobby at the fire, enjoying the sight of his lean body and the skillful way he wielded a spatula. He felt better, somehow. Bobby dumped a plate with three fried eggs and a mess of bacon onto his lap. He felt better having Bobby here, having a friend. Maybe he needed to just let it go, like he'd told Bobby to do last night. He'd stop worrying, and let whatever was going to happen, happen. And for today, and for tomorrow, he'd have Bobby with him again. "Hey. Thanks for last night." Bobby looked up at him, the breath catching in his throat, love and desire and desperate longing moving across his face. "Bobby, don't look at me like that." **** Bobby watched Clayton's long ponytail in front of him, like a black exclamation point down his strong back. They climbed up into the rocks, heading for a line of isolated caves a couple of miles above Christmas Tree Lake. The remote surveillance cameras had caught a glimpse of her in the same area twice, and Clayton had climbed up and found her den. 63


"It was weird, Bobby. She must have known I was coming, but she stayed in the den. That's when I realized she was pregnant, and pretty close to having the kittens. Otherwise she would have hidden. Or just knocked me down and eaten me." "Is she that big?" "Oh, yeah." He looked back over his shoulder. "I swear, I almost..." Bobby slid his pack off and leaned against the rocks at his back. "Let's stop for a second, okay?" Clayton hesitated a moment, then slid his pack to the ground as well. "You know I'm not really ... I'm not an imaginative person." Clayton stared off into the distance. "I'm a scientist. But the jaguar, she ... I don't know." He shook his head. "Just ignore me. I don't know what I'm talking about." Bobby reached a hand for his arm and tugged him close, buried his nose in Clayton's hair. "I love the way you smell. I'm afraid of bears." "You are? When did that happen?" Clayton looked surprised, then started grinning. "You did that story on the grizzlies up in Alaska. Was that..." "Yeah. One of those goddamn bears tried to eat me!" Bobby pressed a hand to his stomach. "I still feel a little sick when I think about it." Clayton pulled Bobby up close. "I won't let any mean Apache bears get you, baby." He hesitated. "I got this idea stuck in my head. She doesn't seem real. More like a myth, like one of the old gods that have come back." 64


They held each other in silence for a moment, and Bobby closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "So, is one of the old gods a jaguar?" "Bobby, I have no idea. I live in this world, not the last one or the next one." "You healed the land." "What?" "You healed the waters, so the land could come back to herself. And now the old gods have started to return." "Give me a fuckin' break." Bobby felt something that was almost like glee. "That's what the Tribal Council thinks, isn't it? Holy shit." Clayton nodded, reluctantly. "I think so." He threw up his hands. "Which makes me a little redundant, don't you think?" Bobby stared up into his dark face. So that's what it was. Clayton thought they didn't need him anymore, because he had done his job. And it was true. "They don't need you anymore, so come be with me. Come to Alaska. Come to the Black Sea. Come with me and we'll go see the Nile. There are lots of rivers that need you, Clayton. And I need you." Bobby could tell by the shock that froze his face that Clayton had never considered leaving the White Mountains. Well, he could damn well consider it now. The reservation wasn't a prison for Apache, not anymore. He was considered one of the foremost experts in riparian restoration in the world. There were other waters that needed him. He didn't really understand the way Clayton, the way all the White Mountain Apache felt about their land. Like it was alive, like it was their mother, and they could feel her when 65


she was hurt. Bobby thought that what he felt for Clayton, what he had always felt for him was at least as strong as what Clayton felt for the land. Bobby shouldered his pack again and started back up the trail. The mountain was getting steeper, and they were climbing with hands and feet now. Loose bits of limestone rained down on Bobby's head, so he climbed up next to Clayton and they went together. "Going up's one thing. How are we gonna get back down?" "We'll be sliding on our butts with a crazy cat right behind us, is my guess. How are you gonna set up the camera?" "I've got a webcam, a motion-activated night camera, plus my regular Canon. I'm gonna leave my webcam and the motion sensor camera. My guess is that we'll be taking pictures tonight from a warm sleeping bag, with the solarpowered computer. We ought to monitor them tonight, make sure the cameras don't get jostled." "Huh. I had this picture of you in my mind hanging from a climbing rope, snapping pictures upside down while the cat's licking her claws." "Nobody's been worried about me in a long time. It's nice." "I have been, Bobby. You just didn't know it." "So why don't you try it from a little closer? You're not gonna just leave when we're done here, are you Clayton? Wave good-bye, see you in another ten years? That's not gonna work for me." "I don't know what's going to happen, Bobby." He raised one hand to Bobby's cheek. "Something. Something big. I 66


don't know. We need to be quiet from here. We're getting close." Bobby looked at him, and Clayton picked up Bobby's scraped and dusty hand and pressed his mouth to the torn knuckles. They climbed in silence now. When Clayton touched him on the shoulder and showed him a cave right over their head, fronted by a narrow ledge, Bobby pointed him left, then he climbed right. Bobby attached the webcam to a group of tumbled boulders, set it down between two rocks that didn't look like they were going anywhere. The focus would be narrow, but he thought it would catch the length of the ledge and the entrance to the cave. He was starting to wish he'd brought that rope Clayton had mentioned when the first two kittens tumbled out of the cave. They were playing, rolling back and forth in a furious mock battle. Bobby raised his camera and started shooting. When the third kitten stalked out of the cave on stiff little legs, pounced on the other two, he went to his knees, laughing. He had maybe twenty shots when he felt the vibration under his knees. It wasn't purring, and it wasn't growling, but something between the two. He stared around him. It seemed to be coming from the caves, the trees, the rock walls surrounding them. "Echoes," he said. "Clayton, can you..." He looked around, saw Clayton backing slowly away. The jaguar was in the shadows, her massive head coming around the rock opening. She was staring at Clayton, her breathing a 67


harsh, rhythmic growl. The kittens stopped, scampered back behind her, and she roared, a blast of sound that caused Clayton to clap his hands over his ears. Her head was huge, jaws massive. Bobby remembered reading somewhere that jaguars killed their prey by crushing their skulls between those jaws. He looked around for a weapon. There was nothing. A few sticks, a few tiny rocks. He slid his backpack off, grabbed the motion sensor camera, and threw it at the cat's head. She turned and snarled, then roared again, her ears flat back and her teeth bared. "Clayton, run!" He screamed it, but the jaguar's roars were too loud. Bobby hung the camera around his neck, then scrambled backward over the ledge. Clayton was coming, and so was the jaguar. He skidded and rolled down the mountainside, tearing clothes and skin, and Bobby heard the sharp, hollow snap when Clayton's arm hit a rock and fractured. He scrambled over to him, one hand covering the camera lens, and wrapped his other arm around Clayton's waist. Clayton had the broken arm cradled against his chest, groaning. "Oh, fuck, Bobby..." "Let's keep going." They didn't slow down until they got back to the campsite at Christmas Tree Lake. Somewhere along the way the jaguar stopped following, or else became very quiet. "Where's the first aid kit, Clayton?" Clayton was sweaty and pale, weaving on his feet. "How the fuck should I know?" Bobby could see a purple lump coming up on his forehead. 68


"What do you need?" "Morphine." Bobby wrapped his arms around him and kissed him instead, left blood and sand smeared across his face. He grabbed both of the camera bags. "Let's go, Clay. It's not safe here." By the time they got back to the truck Clayton was staggering. Bobby was afraid it was shock, or some voodoo left by the jaguar. Her roars were still echoing inside his head. He climbed into the truck, locked both doors and pulled Clayton into his arms. "Okay, hospital." He put his mouth on Clayton's mouth, kissed him, held their lips together until Clayton's were warm again, and no longer shaking, and his warm breath on Bobby's cheek was steady and calm. Bobby pulled away and fumbled in the backpack for the keys. "Did you get your pictures, Bobby?" "I don't know, Clayton. Do you think I care about the pictures?" Clayton opened his eyes. "I just don't want to go back, Bobby." Bobby put the pickup truck in gear. "We're not going back." **** Clayton walked into the Tribal Council meeting with Bobby. Bobby was carrying his laptop in a very professional-looking briefcase, but he still looked like a boy who'd been beat up in a schoolyard fight. Clayton didn't look much better. He was 69


still pissed off that the hospital had put a hot pink fiberglass cast on his broken arm. They said they were out of green. Bobby set up the computer for the webcam, put it on PowerPoint. He also had manila envelopes full of paper photos of the kittens playing on the ledge. The old men and women came into the council room, studied the photos in silence, watched carefully while Bobby showed them how the camera worked and explained that they could watch the jaguar and the kittens on their computers. Bobby left a picture up on the screen from the webcam, the jaguar with her mouth open in a roar, ears flat back against her skull. The Chairman stood up and thanked Bobby in Apache and in English for his work. Bobby nodded, closed his laptop down. Clayton leaned close. "What are you doing? Don't you need to show them your story, get permission to publish?" Bobby shook his head. "Not this time, Clayton. I wasn't trying to get a story, and the pictures belong to them. I'm working for the tribe." Clayton stared into Bobby's soft green eyes. "A gift, and an apology." Bobby smiled back at him, his face flooded with desire. "I didn't come for the jaguar." "Don't look at me like that, Bobby." The Tribal Chairman cleared his throat. He had been the newest member of the council ten years before. The scandal, Apache shame splashed across the cover of the Sierra Club magazine, the way Clayton's scholarship had suddenly disappeared, the way the entire sorry event had unfolded had 70


made him so angry, had made everyone so angry, that it forced a turning point for the tribe. A turning back toward the land, the language, the water. And now the jaguar returning to these lands after so long was another turning point. The Tribal Chairman was Clayton's father. The old man looked at him for a long time. The pink cast on his arm got a swift, pained glance. Then he turned and studied Bobby, gave a deep sigh through his nose and rubbed his forehead. Clayton had to hide a grin. "Son, what do you think about this strange visitor to our lands, now that you have seen her up close?" Clayton touched a scab across the bridge of his nose. "I think she doesn't like me." The members glanced at each other, and several turned to look at the picture of the jaguar snarling, her ears laid back. "I don't think she wants me here." Clayton was joking, but his father nodded. "Maybe she doesn't. But I think you can trust us to decide what's best for the land." He studied Clayton's battered face, and Clayton thought he detected a faint note of sarcasm in his father's voice. "This isn't the entire world, Clayton, up here on our mountains. This is our place, but there are other waters in the world. The land is safe now. Maybe it's time for you to cut the cord." Cut the cord? What the hell kind of Apache saying was that? Was he being kicked out of the nest? Was he being fired? He turned to look at Bobby. "I didn't have anything to do with this, Clayton, I swear." He leaned forward. "Listen. I've seen a place more beautiful 71


than Christmas Tree Lake." Moss green eyes. "Come with me and I'll show it to you."

72


Cold Iron by KC Warwick It was dusk when Talin led his horse up to the blacksmith's cottage and knocked wearily on the weathered door. The place stood beside the cross-roads, some distance outside the village, and had an ancient look about it, as though it had stood there for a thousand years. Maybe it had. He felt too tired to stand, too tired to look back over his shoulder for the pursuit, almost too tired to speak to the tall, black-haired man who was suddenly there on the doorstep, looking at him with calm dark eyes. With effort, Talin made himself form the words. "My horse lost a shoe." The man nodded, stepping quietly up to the animal and patting it on the shoulder with easy familiarity. He was a young man, not much older than Talin, and not as big as might be expected for a blacksmith, but he was lean and strong, muscles clearly defined under the tanned skin. "What's the horse's name?" he asked as he drew one strong brown hand along the animal's back and down its hind quarters to grasp the hind leg which he had already identified as the problem. "Cloud," Talin replied wearily. The grey, hearing his name, pricked an ear and gave a soft nicker. The smith bent to examine the hoof and remarked, "The sole is bruised. Probably the shoe twisted as it came off." He let go of the animal's foot and straightened up, his dark eyes meeting Talin's again. "I was riding fast over rough ground," Talin admitted. "I stopped and led him as soon as he went lame, but I had to go 73


on. I realize he should be rested." He stroked the horse's neck gently. "I can put a leather pad under the shoe, but as you say, he needs time to recover. He's a good horse, shame to ruin him." "I know." Talin caressed his mount's face with affection. "He's loyal and brave, and very fast. I owe him—a great deal." The smith regarded him soberly. "How far behind is the pursuit?" he asked. Talin gave him a quick surprised look. "I can recognize the hunted when I see them and I know who generally does the hunting around here. You're running from the People of the Hills, I would guess." "It was hard to escape." Talin suppressed a shiver. "Now that the sun is setting, they'll be on my trail." "Then come inside the forge," said the smith, taking the reins from his hand, "and let me see to Cloud for you." He led the way to the next building, throwing back the bolts on the wide door and leading the horse inside. Passing through, Talin noticed that around the lintel and door jambs were nailed interlocked horseshoes. "You'll be safe here," the smith's voice said from the dark as he kindled the lamp. "There's cold iron round the door, they won't pass that." The light flared up and then settled into a steady glow. "Sit down. There's a stool against the wall." Talin watched as he stripped off his shirt, fastened on a worn leather apron and began to work the bellows so that the banked-down fire in the furnace burned red. The long muscles of the smith's back slid under his skin as he bent and 74


straightened; his body was hard and strong, his movements economical. Tired though he was, some part of Talin responded to the sight with a flicker of interest, but he was too weary to do more than note the attraction. Here in the forge he felt safe, safe enough to relax for a while, but he could not stay here forever. He must have closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the rough stone of the wall, because he was roused from what had almost become sleep by the voice of the smith at his side. "Here's wine and bread. You'll feel better if you eat something." He set a plate and a cup beside Talin and stood looking down at him, his face in shadow. The smell of the bread made Talin realise how hungry he was. "My name is Talin. I don't know yours." He was following a train of thought almost too swift for him to be aware of. "I'm called Bran," was the reply, and he turned back to the forge. The fire was going well now, and the smith took up a slender shaft of metal in the tongs and thrust it into the heart of the coals. Talin sipped the wine and rested as the lean dark figure at the anvil let the hammer fall in heavy strokes, bending the red hot metal to the shape of the shoe. The bread was fresh and the taste of the plain cheese was welcome, after the exotic food he had lived on within the Hills. Bran worked in silence, except when he spoke to the horse, but somehow the clanging of the iron and the sudden hiss as the hot shoe was dipped into water to cool it, were comforting sounds. As he fitted the shoe to Cloud's foot, pungent smoke filled the forge and drifted out into the dusk, 75


and Talin closed his eyes and listened to the softer tap of the small hammer as the nails were driven in. He wished that this interval of refuge could stretch out forever... "That shoe's firm enough now and I've checked the others." Bran's voice roused him once again. "But the horse won't be sound on that foot. He'll carry you, but he'll be lame." Talin sat up, thinking quickly while he put down the cup and stretched his aching limbs. He looked across at the smith. "Then can I trespass on your kindness still further and ask you to shelter him for me for a while?" He drew off the gold ring which he wore on his middle finger and held it out on the palm of his hand. "This is all I have to offer for payment. If I'm not back to reclaim him in a few days, you can sell him— or keep him if you wish. If you can find him a good home I'd be grateful." He knew that he would not be coming back, not without a mount to make his escape on. Bran patted the horse on the neck, unfastened his apron and crossed in two strides to where Talin was rising stiffly to his feet. "I'll shelter both of you," he said in his quiet voice. "Stay here. You'll be safe." He reached out and took the ring from Talin's hand, closing his long fingers around it. "I can't stay forever," Talin pointed out, trying to goad his numb mind into reason. "They'll find me and drag me out of here somehow, and then I'll be lost. I must go now, before moonrise. I've stayed long enough already." "If you try to cross the moors alone and on foot, they'll take you. It's no use running; the only thing to do is stop and fight. If you stay here, I'll fight with you." 76


Talin looked up into the dark eyes that gazed down into his own. "Why do you want to help me?" he asked. "You don't know me, or anything about me." A very faint smile touched the smith's mobile mouth. "Even exhausted and travel-stained as you are, you're quite the most beautiful person I've ever seen," he stated. "Is that reason enough?" "No." Talin shook his head. He felt as though he knew this stranger and understood him. "You're not that shallow. What's the real reason?" "That you put your horse before your own life," said Bran simply. He took a step closer and his arms closed round Talin, pulling the other man against him. Talin could smell smoke on him and feel the slickness of sweat on the bare skin against which his cheek rested. His hands of their own volition slid up the hard spine and caressed muscles which were like whipcord. For a moment they held one another, then Bran loosened his grip and reached for Talin's hand. He slipped the ring onto the middle finger again and told him softly, "I claim you as mine. I'll win you back from them, I swear it." Talin nodded, wanting to believe this because it was the only chance he had, and wanting for other reasons, half acknowledged, to trust himself to this unknown man. Bran said "Come into the cottage. I'll turn Cloud into the paddock. He'll be safe enough there." A door led through from the workshop into the living quarters and he followed Bran unresistingly into a room with a low ceiling and a wide bed in one corner. "Sleep," he was 77


told. "You'll need your strength when they come. I'll be back soon." Left alone, Talin shrugged off his clothes and slid between the coarse, clean sheets, feeling his eyes closing as he did so. He scarcely stirred when Bran lay down beside him, except to turn into the arms which reached out to gather him close. He slept calmly and deeply and when he awoke again, the moon was high in the sky, shining down through the window above the bed and turning the worn floorboards to silver. He was aware of warmth at his back and a strong arm anchoring him against the body behind him, calloused fingers spread on his ribs just above his heart. He could feel in his mind the pursuit moving closer, drawing a noose about the forge, but he no longer cared. He covered Bran's hand with his own, sliding it upwards to the curve of his chest and drew in his breath as strong fingers brushed over his nipple. Bran made a small interrogative noise and Talin turned his head on the pillow. "You claimed me as your own," he reminded. "Then you know what I need to do, but I can only do it with your consent." "I thought it was understood that you have that." He rolled over and took Bran's face in his hands. The kiss was gentle to begin with but rapidly became more passionate, fueled with the urgency of need. The smith tasted of smoke and Talin remembered the dimness and safety of the forge. Bran's hands on him were warm and skilled; he lay back and felt the other man's weight shifting onto him, and arched up against that demanding hardness. 78


Bran raised his head and asked softly "Are you sure you want this? There are other ways we could make certain of your safety. I feel as though I'm taking advantage of your desire for freedom." "Desire certainly comes into it," Talin agreed a little breathlessly, drawing his fingers down Bran's spine and feeling it flex at the sensation. Trust him to pick a man with a conscience, he thought ruefully. "I want this. I want you. Believe me, it's been a long time since I was given a choice..." The smith's hold tightened protectively. "Did they hurt you?" he asked. "Not hurt, no." Talin thought about it. "Humiliate is probably a better word. I don't want to remember that. Make me forget." Strong fingers slid between his thighs, caressed gently and then closed with welcome firmness around him. He gasped and pushed into that tight hold, moving against Bran's body, wanting more. Bran leaned down and kissed him, his tongue thrusting deep into Talin's mouth before withdrawing and then entering again. Outside in the paddock, Cloud whinnied suddenly, the sound very loud in the stillness of the night. They froze, listening for other indications that the hunters were closing in, and from away in the darkness came the sound of a horn. Talin felt desire drain out of him, to be replaced by another stranger sensation, the feeling that his body was changing, that he was being altered somehow by a force outside himself. It was as though he were trapped, unable to move or 79


speak while some terrible nightmare took place around him. Bran was holding in his arms the body of a bear, growling and slashing at him with wicked claws, and Talin felt the beast's fury in his own mind. He saw the smith recoil in shock, then close his eyes and tighten his arms round the bear as it roared and snapped at him. In a heartbeat, the creature had become an immense snake, writhing and hissing on the bed, its forked tongue shooting out from gaping jaws. Talin wanted to scream at Bran to run, before he was torn to pieces or crushed to death, but the smith clung on grimly to the creature, and then that too was gone and in its place was a scorching flame, licking round Bran's body so that Talin felt his own flesh shrink back from the heat of it. How long this ordeal lasted, he had no idea, but abruptly he was back in his own body, lying panting on the bed, with Bran half across him, breath harsh against Talin's shoulder. Talin whispered hoarsely "You didn't let go of me." He knew that was important for some reason. Bran lifted his head, his face pale, the bones showing under the skin. "If I'd let go, they'd have taken you," he said simply. "Are you hurt?" That was important too, probably more important than anything else. The smith shook his head. "It was an illusion," and he shivered suddenly at the memory. There was silence outside. "Is it over? Have we won?" Talin asked, half knowing the answer.

80


"No." Bran's voice was grim. "They were just playing. Now we come to the serious bit." He sat up. "Put some clothes on. I'm not going to face them stark naked and neither are you." It never occurred to Talin to argue—but when the disembodied voice called his name it never occurred to him to argue with that either. He had become used to obeying it and now it was hard to resist. "Talin. Come outside. Don't make me come in and get you." He took a step towards the door and Bran's hand closed round his arm. The smith called out "Cold iron round the door. You cannot enter, creature of the Hills." "Talin, you are mine. Come outside to me." It was as though a mist filled his mind and through it he was vaguely aware of freeing himself from Bran's grip and walking to the door, which swung open before him. He heard Bran curse and he paused on the threshold. They were pale in the moonlight, pale horses and pale riders ranged in a semi-circle like a crescent moon on the turf. The one who had called stood between the horns of the crescent, his long silver hair falling to his waist, his eyes the color of river ice. Bran's voice said dryly "If you must get abducted, then by all means choose the most powerful in the land." The pale, proud face turned towards him. "You know me, smith?" "I know of you. You may be a lord in the Hills, but here you are no more than I. He is mine. I claim him from you." 81


He might just as well not have spoken. "Talin, come here." The command was lazy but imperative. There was no possibility of not obeying it. Talin stepped over the threshold and into the moonlight. Then Bran was there in front of him, a drawn sword in his hand. "If you want him, then you fight me first." The escort shifted, drew a little closer to their lord, eyes on Bran. Once again, Talin wanted to tell him to run, to save himself because there was no point in fighting, but once again he could say nothing. There was no need, anyway, because one slender hand flicked dismissively and the sword flew through the air and landed with a thud on the turf. The hand beckoned to Talin and he stepped forward mindlessly to obey the summons. Bran flung himself in between the two of them, but at the same moment there was the sound of hooves on the smooth grass and Cloud launched himself against the sky, clearing the paddock fence with effortless grace, the pale horses scattering as he landed amongst them. Talin's captor glanced round, a frown on his face, but he did not move. That one would not move for man or beast, too proud and too sure of himself. When Cloud reared up and came down again, one iron-clad hoof struck his shoulder. There was a terrible sound, deeper than a scream, as if the air around them was being ripped apart, and a flash of light so great that it blinded them. When Talin opened his eyes, there was nothing on the turf except Cloud, gleaming white in the moonlight and gazing with pricked ears back towards the 82


Hills. After a moment the horse lowered his head and began to pull at the short grass beside the cottage. "That animal has more sense than either of us," Bran remarked, going forward to pat the smooth neck with a hand that was not quite steady. Talin, without speaking, opened the paddock gate and waited as Bran took a lock of the horse's mane and led him through. "No jumping out," he told the animal severely. "Not unless your master needs you to defend him again, which the gods forbid he should." Then he picked up the sword casually and glanced round at Talin. "Coming?" he asked and turned back towards the house. Inside, they sipped wine from the same cup, neither of them sure what to say. "It's over," Talin said at last. "Yes," Bran agreed soberly. "You're free of them. What will you do now?" Talin remembered how the smith had held the bear and the snake and the flame, to keep him safe. "I was rather hoping that you would finish what you began earlier," he suggested diffidently. "After all, you never know who might come riding along here to lay claim to me. You'd better make sure of me yourself." And he looked at Bran with the glimmer of a smile. The moon had moved round and the bed was in shadow now. Talin licked the smooth hollows of the smith's collarbone and ran his fingers lightly over the rough skin of his nipples. Bran murmured something encouraging, pushing Talin's thighs apart and letting his own fingers move down over the other man's arse and between his cheeks. They were slick with something, Talin didn't know what it was but he could 83


feel it as one finger eased into him and began to move. He moved with it, struggling to get more contact, and Bran shifted position so that his weight was over his partner. Another finger slid in, stretching carefully. Talin murmured, "Go on," pushing himself down onto them so that—"Ah!" That was exactly where they needed to be.... He arched, rubbing himself against Bran's warm body as it moved above him and remembered that he ought to be reciprocating in some way. But when he tried, Bran told him softly, "It's all right, just let me..." There were more fingers now but that was good and he was panting, needing to do something about the tension building in his groin, but the fingers which had been inside him were grasping his wrist and there was something else nudging at his entrance, stretching him still further as it slid into him, burning a little before he relaxed and accommodated it. Then a change of angle and he gasped, a ragged sound that became a groan of pleasure as the friction within him increased. Bran was moving in powerful thrusts, caressing that spot within him until it became unbearable, and then just before he thought he would die of frustration, slick fingers closed round him and he pushed into them frantically. Light exploded behind his eyelids and he grasped desperately at Bran while pleasure coursed through him. At the same time—or maybe a hundred years later—he felt Bran pushing deeper still and then the sudden quiver of sensation as Talin unconsciously tightened around him, followed by release that filled him with liquid fire. He cradled that throbbing wetness within himself, unwilling to lose 84


anything of this closeness, until Bran gently withdrew and reached for the towel which lay on the chest beside the bed. Talin curled against the smith, feeling hard muscles under his hands and soft skin against his cheek. "Do you think that was convincing enough, as a claim?" Bran asked with a hint of amusement. "I think it will do," Talin replied solemnly. "Though it would probably be better for repeating before too long." There was a pause. "You'll stay with me then? Even though you know nothing about me?" "I know that you would have fought to the death for me," Talin pointed out. "And besides, my horse appears to trust you and his opinion is probably worth far more than my own." Bran pulled the blankets closer around them both. "Then maybe the three of us will do quite well together," he remarked, but Talin was already half-asleep.

85


Gerbil Falls in Love by Dianne Fox The waiting room of the veterinary clinic was a cacophony of sounds. There were squawks, squeaks, barks, meows, chirps, purrs, and in the quietest moments, soft hisses from the cardboard box a little boy was holding in the far corner. The woman sitting next to Finn had a tabby kitten on her lap. Its tiny meows sounded more like high-pitched squeaks to Finn's ears. He watched as the kitten stood on the woman's leg, tottered a few steps, and fell over. "How old is she?" he asked. "He's a boy, actually. Eight weeks old." She picked the kitten up in both hands. She rubbed under his chin, her smile soft and adoring. "We're getting your vaccines, aren't we?" she cooed. The kitten mewed, as if he were objecting to the idea of getting shots, and Finn laughed. "Talkative little guy." He didn't have to come to the veterinary clinic often, but when he did, he always enjoyed himself. Even if Gerbil was never very happy about the trip. "Our dog was like that, too," the woman said. She put the kitten down onto her lap again, where he could settle in the dip between her thighs and knead her pantlegs. "That's why we picked Wrigley, here." "How does your dog feel about the idea of a kitten moving in on his territory?" Finn was curious, since he was planning a similar addition to his household. "Our dog passed away about six months ago." 86


"Oh." Finn felt horrible for making her say it out loud. "I'm so sorry. What..." He stopped for a moment to decide if his question would be insensitive. "Can I ask what happened?" "Old age," the woman said, offering Finn a sad smile. "We've been talking about it a lot and we finally decided we were ready to try again, so we got Wrigley." "He's adorable," Finn said smiling down at the kitten, who mewed back at him. The waiting room door opened up, interrupting Finn's laughter. Everyone looked up to see if they'd be called in next, Finn included. The nurse glanced down at her clipboard. "Gerbil Spencer?" "That's us." Finn smiled his goodbye at the woman and picked Gerbil's carrying case up carefully. "If you'll just follow me..." The nurse waved her clipboard vaguely in the direction of the hall that was revealed past the door. Finn followed her back, lifting up the clear carrying case to see Gerbil inside. "It's okay, buddy. Just a quick check-up and then I'll take you back home for a biscuit." The nurse turned to look back at him, an amused smile on her face. Finn refused to be embarrassed about talking to an animal. For all his refusal, though, he was still blushing when he walked into the examining room. "Dr. Decker will be with you as soon as he can," she said, still smiling. "He's with another patient right now, but it should just be a few more minutes." "Thank you." 87


Once the nurse was gone, Finn's blush started to fade. He sat down on the little wooden bench inside the tiny exam room and put the carrying case down on the table in front of him. Popping the lid open, he scooped Gerbil up into his hands and let the tiny ball of fur skitter from one hand to the other. "Dog biscuits when we get home," Finn said, bringing Gerbil up to eye level. "I promise." As Finn spoke, Gerbil stopped moving and stared at him with his big black eyes, whiskers twitching. Frantically, he started to wash his pale grey face with both tiny hands, which only made Finn feel worse about dragging him out here. "Mr. Spencer?" The voice startled Finn and Gerbil both. Finn jerked, but he managed to close his hands over Gerbil's body just in time to keep him from skittering off onto the floor. He put Gerbil back in his carrying case, and then looked up to see the veterinarian. Decker must have been new at the clinic. Finn didn't recognize him, though he did appreciate the man's bright blue eyes and easy smile. Definitely better looking than the other vets Finn had met: tall and dark, with his sleek black hair neatly parted to one side. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Dr. Decker came over to the table. He looked down at Gerbil, who was—yet again—frantically washing his little face. "I'm Dr. Decker. And this must be..." He checked his clipboard, looked at Gerbil, then raised his eyes to Finn. "Gerbil?" 88


Finn grinned, reaching out to run a finger down Gerbil's dark dorsal stripe. "Yep." He laughed at Decker's expression, all cautious confusion. "Yeah, I know he's not a gerbil. He's a dwarf hamster, a Winter White." Dr. Decker smiled, obviously relieved that he wasn't going to have to break the news to a new pet owner that he had the wrong rodent species entirely. "Oh, good." Finn laughed again and picked Gerbil up to let him run over his hands. "I get that all the time." "How did Gerbil get his name?" Dr. Decker asked, putting his clipboard aside. He watched the little hamster run from one of Finn's big hands to the other. "I used to date this guy, this little bitty guy. His nickname, something he picked up in high school, I guess, was Gerbil," Finn said with forced casualness. He shrugged and offered Decker a tight smile. "Seemed like a good name for a hamster." Dr. Decker just nodded, but there was a hint of pink creeping over his cheeks. "So what brings Gerbil into the office today?" he asked finally. Finn slipped Gerbil back into his carrying case so he could pay attention to the conversation. "I'm thinking about getting another hamster. A friend of mine breeds Winter Whites. She's got a male that's not suitable for breeding, I guess, and I thought Gerbil might like a friend." "And you wanted to make sure Gerbil was healthy before you brought a new hamster into the mix?" Decker picked up the clipboard again to check Gerbil's medical history. 89


"No, actually," Finn said, standing up. The veterinarian was tall, but Finn still towered over him. "I know he's just fine. I was hoping you could tell me if it's okay to get another male hamster?" Decker put the clipboard down again, on the counter behind him this time. "Why wouldn't it be?" "I read somewhere that putting two males in the same cage system will make them aggressive, that they'll fight with each other." Finn shrugged, reaching down to run his thumb along Gerbil's dorsal stripe again. "I don't want Gerbil to get hurt." "It can be a problem." Decker reached down into the carrying case. "May I?" he asked, glancing up at Finn, who smiled back at him. "Sure. He doesn't bite. Much." Finn did, but only when asked nicely. Decker picked up the little hamster and carefully prodded his belly, and then looked at his eyes and teeth. "It can be a problem introducing any pair of hamsters," he continued. "It doesn't matter if they're both male, both female, or a mixed set. If one hamster is there first, he's going to think of that space as his." He put Gerbil back into the case and looked up at Finn, smiling a little. "How would you feel if somebody suddenly moved in with you, without any warning?" "I've only got one bed." Finn said it with a grin, made it sound like a joke, but he didn't like the idea of someone moving in with him. Last time he had, it had ended badly. He wasn't ready to take that risk again. 90


A hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Decker's lips as Finn watched, and slowly his own grin became more real. Decker put Gerbil back down as they both started to laugh. "You're going to have to clean out the cage," Decker said, when they both finally stopped laughing again. "Clean it out and put Gerbil in his carrying case or something, then put the new hamster in first." "Won't that just make him think the place is all his?" Finn asked doubtfully. This whole new hamster thing was just so complicated. He didn't want Gerbil to be lonely, though. Decker shook his head. "No. You'd think so, but really it just puts them on equal footing. The new hamster will have a chance to explore, and when you put Gerbil back in, he'll see the new guy already in there. It'll seem pretty natural." Finn nodded slowly. "Okay. How long should I wait before I put Gerbil back in?" "Wait until the new hamster seems comfortable, when he's not looking so panicked about being in a strange place anymore," Decker said. Finn was still nervous about the whole thing. Decker pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Digging through, he found a business card and started writing on the back of it. "Here's my card," he said. "You can give me a call if you have any more questions, okay?" Finn looked at the card as he took it from Decker's hand. Truman Decker. He flipped it over to see what was written on the back. "That's my home number," Decker said. "In case you've got questions after the clinic closes for the night." 91


Something about the way he said it made Finn look at his face again. Decker looked a little nervous, pinched around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, like he was taking a risk. Finn's eyes trailed down Decker's body as the veterinarian put his wallet away again. The man certainly knew how to dress. For all that he looked barely old enough to drink, there was none of the nurse's fresh-out-of-college uniform of khaki pants and a polo shirt or Finn's own sloppy jeans and t-shirt. Decker wore a dark blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes and charcoal wool slacks that made Finn want to touch, to see if they were as delicately textured as they looked. "I'll do that," Finn said, finally looking back up at Decker's face. "Thank you." He grinned, just a little, letting Decker know that he liked what he saw. He picked up his clipboard and stuttered a quick, "Good luck with your new hamster," and then he was gone. Finn chuckled, looking at the empty space where Decker had been. He smiled down at Gerbil. "Come on, buddy. Let's go home for some biscuits." **** "You've got everything ready for the new addition to your family?" Linda asked, flashing Finn a teasing smile. Gently, she picked up a little ball of fluff from the temporary cage she had set up in her dining room. "The cage is all cleaned out and Gerbil's hanging out in his carrying case, eating biscuits," Finn said, holding out his hands to accept her offering. 92


The new hamster was darker than Gerbil, who had a naturally light coat even in the summer months. Finn put him down carefully inside the new carrying case he'd bought. As soon as he realized he was free again, the little hamster skittered away. He was very active, exploring his new space with enthusiasm. Every so often, he bumped the wall beside him, shook himself off, and started again. When he found the little piece of carrot-shaped wood Finn had left for him, he settled down, gnawing on it contentedly. Finn liked him already. He hoped that Gerbil would feel the same way. "Have you picked out a name?" Linda started to clean up the temporary cage she'd been holding the hamster in, tossing the used bedding into the garbage. "Not yet." Finn smiled down at the tiny hamster's antics, watching him nearly fall over onto his back in his efforts to get more of the carrot into his mouth. "I wanted to get to know him a little better first." "You're such a softie," Linda said, looking over at Finn with an indulgent smile. "Yeah." Finn grinned at her, shrugging his broad shoulders and opening his arms to offer her a hug before he left. "But that's why you love me." Linda came over and wrapped her arms around Finn, squeezing tighter than one would think her little body could manage. "No. I make fun of you because you're such a softie. I love you because you were so good to my brother." 93


Finn's breath caught and his chest hurt. He held her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Gerry was good to me, too," he said quietly, barely whispering the words. "I still miss him." There was a snuffling sound and Linda nodded against Finn's chest. "Me, too." She was quiet for a while, but Finn knew what she was thinking. Gerry had been gone more than a year now. It didn't seem fair that she and Finn couldn't talk about him without one of them—usually her, but sometimes him— breaking down into tears. "I wish you'd known him before," she said softly, like she always did. Gerry had been in remission when Finn met him, but not for long. He'd gotten sick again just after they moved in together and he was sick for a long time before he died. Sometimes, Finn had felt like he'd walked right into Hell when he let Gerry move in, but mostly he knew that it had been worth it, worth all of it. There had been so many late nights spent holding Gerry, sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, because the chemo made him so sick. Later, those late nights and all the days between them were spent in the hospital, holding Gerry's hand and watching the jagged lines of the heart monitor. Finn drank so much coffee, those long days and nights, keeping himself awake so he'd know when it was over. He hadn't had a cup since. He couldn't stand the taste. After a while, Finn breathed with the rhythm of the morphine drip. Drip. His heart beat with it. Drip. And then 94


they'd stopped the morphine and there was nothing to make Finn's heart beat anymore, nothing to remind him when to breathe. "Me, too." If only so he could've had more time. There hadn't been nearly enough. Not even two years. He buried his face in Linda's hair and closed his eyes. He held her tighter, letting the beat of her heart and the slow rhythm of her breaths keep him going for a little while longer. **** "Here you go, little guy." Finn put the new hamster into Gerbil's cleaned-out cage. The little ball of fluff just sat there for a moment, rubbing tiny paws over his face in fear. "It's okay," he soothed. "Don't be scared." After a few minutes, the hamster started tentatively exploring the new space, finding the food dish and stuffing his little cheeks full of seeds. With cheeks wider than the rest of his body, he tottered around. It didn't surprise Finn at all to see that he never turned his attention to the tubes that led up to the second level of the cage system. Finn watched him bump into the walls and toys a few times before he finally found the nest and settled down to empty his cheeks and eat a little. Finn smiled. It was good to see the little guy relax so quickly. He went to collect Gerbil's carrying case and brought it over to the table by the cage. "Hey, want to see your new friend?" he asked, carefully lifting Gerbil out of the case with one hand and popping open the lid to the top level of the cage system with the other. 95


Gerbil seemed glad to get out of the carrying case; he skittered around on Finn's hand until Finn cupped him between his palms so he couldn't run off. "I'll put you in the top," he told Gerbil. "That way you can relax a little before you meet the new guy." He lowered Gerbil in through the top and watched as he skittered around, looking for treats. "You are such a pig," Finn said, laughing as Gerbil shoved little bits of dog biscuit into his cheeks. Checking on the new hamster, Finn saw that he was bumbling around again, exploring his new home. He wondered if Gerbil would hear him and go investigate. Sure enough, by the time he looked back up, Gerbil was working his way down one of the little tubes, fat cheeks and all. Finn watched nervously as the new hamster froze and turned slowly toward the tube Gerbil was coming down. They circled each other, the new hamster bumping into the food dish and then into the wall as they moved around. Finally, Gerbil backed the new hamster into a corner and they piled onto each other, rolling over and over. The squeaking sounds were horrible. Finn knew they were just establishing dominance, but finally, he couldn't watch anymore. He reached into the cage and got a grip on one of the hamsters. He didn't care which one it was, he just pulled it out. A quick glance at the squirming body told him it was Gerbil. Finn held him by the scruff so he wouldn't feel the sharp end of Gerbil's frustration and panic. He made soft, soothing noises as he checked the little ball of fluff over for 96


scratches and bites, then put him down into his carrying case again. After he'd done the same to the new hamster, he reached for the phone. He meant to call Linda, but found himself digging through his wallet for Decker's business card instead. Finn looked at the card for a moment, then shrugged. What the hell? It couldn't hurt. By the third ring, he was starting to rethink the whole idea, but finally someone picked up. "Hello?" "Dr. Decker?" The voice didn't sound familiar, but he'd only spoken to the man once before. Finn hoped he'd dialed the right number. "Speaking. May I ask who's calling?" "This is Finn Spencer. You saw my dwarf hamster today..." He gave Decker a moment to try to remember him and was pleased when it worked. "Gerbil," Decker said, sounding more confident now. "Right. Is there a problem?" "Maybe a little. I'm not sure," Finn admitted, watching the little hamsters tumble over each other. "I picked up that other hamster I was telling you about and I did what you said, cleaned out the cage and put him in first." "Okay," Decker said. That telltale extra bit of silence that went with body language in telephone conversations told Finn he was nodding. "It didn't work?" "I don't know. Maybe. They were rolling all over each other, like they were trying to fight for dominance," Finn said. "I separated them again. I don't want them to get hurt." 97


Decker made a thoughtful little noise, but he didn't sound like he was worried. Finn relaxed a little. Before Decker could say anything else, though, Finn started talking again. "I was hoping you could come by and check on them. I could make dinner, maybe, to pay you back for your time?" Silence told him he'd surprised Decker with his suggestion, but he didn't take it back. Finn was sure, after the way Decker had behaved at the clinic, that the interest was mutual. He was right. "I can come by and check on them. And you can take me out to dinner, to pay me back for my time," Decker said. This time it was Finn who was surprised into silence. "Give me directions to your place?" **** "You still have them separated?" Decker asked, as Finn opened the door. Finn almost laughed at the man's focus. No 'hello', just business. He caught sight of Decker's clothes first, though, and all the laughter in him faded away. Here were the jeans and t-shirts he'd been thinking Decker didn't wear. Dark jeans run through with some kind of metallic thread, and worn like a second skin over Decker's long legs. Black tshirt, long-sleeved and made from something tight and shiny, so that it fit close over every line and curve. It had a crewneck cut low enough that it showed something colorful— a tattoo, Finn guessed—creeping out along Decker's skin. The man definitely knew how to dress. 98


"Yes? No?" Decker's amused question brought Finn's attention back to the topic at hand. The hamsters. "They're still separated." He let Decker inside. He led Decker through to his office, where the new hamster was in the big, empty cage system and Gerbil was still in his carrying case. They were both looking much calmer than they had been. "I already checked to make sure they didn't hurt each other," Finn said, popping the lid off the carrying case and pulling Gerbil out. "But I didn't want to put them together again if they were going to keep fighting." "May I?" Decker held his hands out to take Gerbil. Reluctantly, Finn passed him over. Decker looked Gerbil over carefully, then held him in one hand as he opened up the cage. "You're going to put him in there again?" Finn asked nervously. He didn't want them to get hurt. Decker just nodded, lowering Gerbil down into the lower level of the cage. Gerbil pattered off Decker's hand and Finn waited for the squeaking to start. And kept waiting. The two hamsters were just inches apart, but neither paid any attention to the other. Gerbil licked at the water bottle, while the new hamster pulled seeds out of his cheeks to hide in the bedding. "Have you named him yet?" Decker asked, his attention on the hamsters. Finn looked at the hamsters again and smiled slowly, nodding. "I think so, yeah. I'm going to call him Mouse." 99


Decker turned to look back at Finn, grinning. "You used to know someone named Mouse?" "Nah." Finn laughed a little. "But I think it fits." Nodding, Decker turned back to the hamsters in time to see Mouse bump his side against the food dish. He frowned and carefully reached in to pull the little hamster out. "You okay, little one?" he asked quietly, cupping Mouse in his palm and looking closely at his face. "Glaucoma," Finn said, answering Decker's question. "It's pretty bad. That's why my friend's not breeding him." Unlike humans, there was no possibility of laser surgery to correct the problem. "It's a common health problem with Winter Whites," Decker said, putting Mouse back into the cage and watching him bobble over to the food dish. "He seems to get around okay." "Yeah, Linda said he'll be fine," Finn said, smiling at how confident Mouse seemed to be in moving around the cage. "She just doesn't want to risk having problems with the breeding." Decker nodded. "I don't think you're going to have too much trouble with them, now," he said, gesturing toward the cage as he turned back to face Finn again. "Having a chance to calm down must've helped with the transition. And no surprises, they saw each other as soon as I put Gerbil in the cage." "Oh." Finn frowned. "I put Gerbil down in the top part of the cage before. It would've been better if I'd put him down with Mouse?" 100


"Maybe." Decker shrugged. "It's hard to say, but sometimes it helps when they animals know right away that something's different. No surprises, no confusion about whether or not it's supposed to be okay." He flashed Finn an easy smile; he seemed much less nervous here than in the clinic. "Just like people." Finn laughed. "Yeah, okay. I guess I screwed that up." He walked up beside Decker and checked to make sure the latch was secure on the top of the cage. "They're okay now," Decker assured him. "Yeah, they are." Finn fought down a blush; he knew he was like a worried mommy, the way he acted about taking care of Gerbil. To mask his embarrassment, he offered Decker a slow grin. "Hungry? I think I remember saying something about dinner." "Starving." Decker tilted his head back and gave Finn a matching grin. "Where are you taking me?" **** Finn took him to a quaint little Italian place where no one would mind that they weren't really dressed for the occasion. Finn especially, since he was still in the jeans and t-shirt he'd worn to the clinic. Decker didn't seem to mind. "So what do you do when you're not being the proud Papa to a dwarf hamster?" Decker asked. He smiled as he twirled pasta around his fork. "I'm a computer security consultant," Finn answered. "I do some freelance. Mostly contract work with corporations that 101


want someone on the outside to take a look at their systems and make sure they're not vulnerable." "Sounds like your job keeps you pretty busy." "Yes and no." Finn smiled. It had been a long time since he'd gotten to know someone new. "Sometimes I have to travel. Most of my work, though, I can do remotely. So I get to work from home a lot." "That sounds really nice," Decker admitted, smiling wryly. "Sometimes I wish I could work from home." Finn laughed at that. "It's not always easy," he warned. "What would you do if someone showed up with a sick horse?" "Good point." Decker laughed, shaking his head. "I don't have that kind of space." **** "Do you want to come in?" Finn asked. They were standing between his car and Decker's, and Decker had his keys in hand. "For coffee. Or something." He grinned. 'Or something' was more what he had in mind, but he could do coffee first. Decker was surprisingly nice to talk to. Decker didn't answer. He smiled, though, and leaned up to brush his lips over Finn's. Finn took that as an invitation to try to convince him. He cupped Decker's face gently in his big hands and kissed him, licking his way into Decker's mouth.

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Decker made a pleased little sound and moved closer, so Finn slid one hand around to the small of his back, pressing Decker's body close to his own. Their kisses deepened and Decker threaded his fingers into Finn's shaggy blonde hair. He made soft, wanting sounds and rocked his hips against Finn's thigh. Finn could feel how hard he was, even through the heavy denim of their pants. "Come in with me." Finn murmured the words against Decker's mouth, flicking his tongue temptingly against Decker's lips. The invitation didn't have the intended result, though. Decker pulled back, untangling himself from Finn's hair and hands and body. He shook his head, looking around on the dark pavement of the parking lot to find his keys. "I can't. I have an early shift at the clinic tomorrow." It sounded like an excuse, to Finn's practiced ears. He knelt and picked up Decker's keys where they flashed in the hazy glow of the streetlight. "I know you're interested," he said quietly, holding the keys out for Decker to take. Decker looked up, surprise showing clearly on his face. "Of course I'm interested." He smiled then, and shook his head. "But I don't do casual sex." He leaned up and brushed another kiss over Finn's lips, slipping the keys out of his hand. Finn didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say, how to react. "Thank you for dinner," Decker said as he pulled away again. "I had a great time." "Yeah. Me, too." Finn felt a little sullen, like a pouting toddler who'd been told he couldn't have a new toy. 103


"You have my number," Decker reminded him, smiling gently. "Give me a call if you want to go out again sometime." He cupped Finn's cheek in his cool, soft hand. It seemed like he was going to say something else, but if he was, Finn never got to hear it. Headlights rolled over them as another car pulled into the lot, and Decker pulled back. He jiggled his keys in his hand and said, "Call me." Finn just nodded. It wasn't agreement, it was just acknowledgement that he'd heard Decker speak. Decker seemed to understand that. He nodded at Finn, and turned away. Frustrated with himself and with Decker, Finn stood in the dark parking lot and watched as the red flash of Decker's taillights faded away into the distance. **** Finn wasn't going to call Decker. He wasn't. The lean veterinarian wasn't his type at all. Of course, these days, his type was four fingers and a thumb, or some other nameless, faceless pleasure he'd never have to see again. After a week of remembering the easy flash of Decker's smile, the genuine interest in his tone and expression as they talked about Finn's work, and the softness of his lips when they kissed, though, he finally gave in. The phone felt cold and unfamiliar in Finn's hand as he dialed. He changed his mind about calling three times before Decker finally answered. 104


"Hello?" Decker sounded distracted, and Finn had to convince himself not to just hang up. "Hey. It's Finn. Um, Finn Spencer..." Before Finn could make a complete fool out of himself by trying to explain how they knew each other, Decker rescued him. "Hey, Finn. It's good to hear from you." He sounded sincere, much to Finn's surprise. It made him smile a little, hopeful before he remembered that he shouldn't be. "Yeah." Finn wasn't sure what to say. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he found himself asking, "Do you want to meet me for dinner?" There was another little silence, and Finn was sure Decker was going to refuse. "Tonight?" he asked, instead. Finn couldn't help laughing in relief and surprise. "Whenever you've got time?" Whenever Decker had time turned out to be that night. They went to a little Indian place Decker knew; the naan was excellent and as they ate, they talked about why Decker had gone into veterinary medicine. "My brother," he said. "He'd bring home all these strays. You know, the baby bird that fell out of the nest, that kind of thing." Finn nodded; he imagined Linda used to be that child, fascinated by the animals around her. Gerbil was his first pet. And now Mouse, he supposed, was his second. "My parents humored him. We'd all get in the car and take the animal down to the vet, see if they could do anything for it. After awhile, I started asking questions." Decker smiled 105


fondly at the memory. "By the time I was in high school, I was working there part-time." They stayed long past the dinner hour, drinking chai and talking. Finn had no idea how long they'd been there, how many refills they'd gotten on their teas, when he finally noticed that the waitstaff were hovering near the table, wanting to clean up and go home. The rest of the place was empty and dim. Decker smiled sheepishly and Finn left a generous tip as an apology. He had time again three days later, so they went out for pizza and beer. Over the weekend, it was a movie. It was a high-tech thriller and Decker laughed when Finn picked apart the bad computer lingo and impossible situations used in the script. It became habit, over the next few weeks, for Finn to call Decker every few days or so and ask if he'd like to go out. It started to feel comfortable. Normal. Finn was careful to meet Decker at their destinations, to avoid that uncomfortable moment when he knew he'd want to invite Decker back to his place and also knew that Decker would say no. It didn't always work. Sometimes he wanted to ask anyway. They would stand between their cars, both holding their keys, getting ready to drive off in their separate directions. Finn would smile down at Decker, getting ready to thank him for a fun evening, and Decker would lean up to kiss him before he could get the words out. The kisses started off soft and sweet, but inevitably they would grow more heated. Decker would thread his fingers into 106


Finn's hair and Finn would suck Decker's tongue into his mouth, growling out little wanting sounds. By the time they pulled back from each other, Finn wanted to ignore his common sense and invite Decker back to his place anyway, but he knew it would just earn him another rejection. Whatever this was, it wasn't the kind of thing where they had sex at the end of the night. So he always bit back that invitation and thanked Decker for a great evening, instead, and they would both smile and turn away, getting into their separate cars and driving off into their separate directions. **** "Dinner?" Finn asked, holding the phone between ear and shoulder as he typed. Working from home definitely had its benefits. "Why don't we do something a little different tonight?" Decker suggested. "It's the weekend; I don't have to be in the clinic tomorrow morning." Finn finished his line of code and got up to drop a couple dog biscuits into the cage with Mouse and Gerbil. They were getting along much better, lately. "What do you want to do?" A movie, maybe. They did that last weekend, and the weekend before. "Let's go dancing. I know this great club downtown, I think you'll really like it." Decker sounded so certain and excited by the prospect, Finn couldn't say no. "Sure. Tell me where to meet you?" 107


That was how he'd ended up here, in the steamy dark of a crowded nightclub, with Decker's ass grinding back against his groin. He had a hand on Decker's belly, low enough that his fingers brushed against the belt that was stretched low over Decker's hips like caution tape. Police barrier. Do not cross. Finn wanted to cross. He wanted to slide his hand down the smooth plane of Decker's chest and belly. He wanted to feel Decker react when Finn cupped his cock and balls through his jeans. But he didn't. They moved with the music, something with a heavy bass beat that sounded like the best kind of sex, hot and intense. The bodies around them writhed and shifted in undisguised imitations of sex. Some weren't imitations at all, with hands slipping past the barriers of clothing and tongues sliding over bare skin. Finn laced his fingers through Decker's and dragged their hands up behind his own neck. Decker made a noise that sounded like a moan as he arched, stretching his body out against Finn's chest. Finn watched down the line of it, watched how Decker's hips and feet never stopped moving. Decker moved like sex, too, with an instinctive rhythm that told Finn everything he needed to know about how good it would feel to really touch him. Stretched out and moving to the beat of the music, Decker gave Finn's fingers teasing glimpses of the smooth heat of his skin, his belly bared by his shirt riding up and sliding down again as he moved. Finn's grip on Decker's hand tightened 108


and he slid his big hand up over Decker's chest, dragging Decker's shirt up with it. Decker's bare chest wasn't as bare as Finn had expected. The flashes of color along the edges of his collar were fully realized here, a serpent twined around Decker's chest, tail disappearing past the caution tape of his belt and into his pants. The curl of red-pink up Decker's neck was the tongue licking out, Finn realized. He couldn't resist flicking his own tongue there, tracing the color over Decker's olive-dark and sweat-slick skin. Decker moaned outright, writhing, and pulled away. Before Finn found breath to protest or apologize, Decker had turned around and pulled him back in. Decker sucked and licked at Finn's mouth until Finn's brain finally caught up enough to start kissing him back. He pushed Decker backward through the crowd until he found a dark corner with at least the illusion of privacy, and then he slid both hands under Decker's shirt, pushing it up out of the way so he could touch. With an arch and a tug, Decker got rid of the shirt entirely, shoving it into his back pocket and pulling Finn's mouth back down to his own. Finn's hands slid over Decker's chest, exploring the ridges of muscle and lines of bone. He plucked gently at Decker's nipples and Decker cried out into his mouth. It sounded so good; Finn did it again. Decker cried out again, but this time he pulled away, too. He pulled back from the kisses and he pushed Finn back with both hands, shaking his head. 109


"Not here." Decker sounded breathless, and his blue eyes were dark and wide with more than just surprise. Finn stumbled over his apology when his eyes met Decker's. "We should go," he said slowly, finally, nodding. He didn't know what he was saying, didn't have any kind of a plan, but Decker didn't want to be here, so they had to leave. It was Decker's turn to nod, and they made their way out of the hot dark of the club and into the cool night, lit by streetlights and glowing neon signs. **** Outside, the night air was cool, but it didn't help Finn relax. Without talking, or even looking at each other, they walked to their cars. Finn dug his keys out of his pocket and turned toward Decker to smile down at him. It was habit, all of it, burned into him by a dozen nights just like this one. Only, those dozen nights hadn't really been quite like this one. This was the first night Finn had to try to ignore the way Decker's body moved, the way that green gold black serpent twisted over his skin—soft, smooth, sleek skin, Finn's fingertips reminded him—as he pulled his shirt back on. "Thanks for—" Finn started to say, but Decker interrupted him with a kiss. Finn didn't have time to bite back the moan as he felt Decker's tongue flash against his lips. He shoved his keys back into his pocket and pulled Decker closer. "Finn." It was just a warm puff of Decker's breath against his lips, and then Decker was kissing him again. 110


Finn didn't want to stop kissing—after that, they'd go back to their separate cars and drive off in their separate directions—but Decker didn't give him a choice. "Finn," Decker said again, his lips sliding against Finn's. They were slick from their kisses and Finn wanted to taste them again. "When are you going to invite me back to your place?" It wasn't even remotely what Finn had expected to hear. "I thought." He couldn't think at all, with Decker's body pressed so close. Carefully, Finn nudged Decker back, just a little. "I thought you didn't want..." "I don't." Decker stepped closer again, slithering past the barrier of Finn's hands and pressing himself against Finn's body. "Is this casual, Finn?" he asked softly, breathing the words against Finn's lips. It was everything Finn could do not to dip his head and kiss Decker again, to drown out Decker's words and his own questions in the touch of lips and tongue. When Finn didn't answer right away, Decker rephrased his question. "If I come home with you, are you going to fuck me and never call me again?" At first, the only answer Finn had for him was kisses, so that's what he gave. Decker seemed to understand, or at least was patient enough not to push. "No," Finn whispered finally. Decker just nodded and asked again, "When are you going to invite me back to your place?"

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"Tonight. Come home with me?" He traced his thumb over the slick softness of Decker's lower lip, and then dipped his head to kiss him lightly, softly. "Please?" **** They split up to drive away in their separate cars, but this time, Decker followed Finn out of the parking lot and all the way back to his house. It should have been uncomfortable, the moment when they got back out of their cars and looked at each other over the roof of Finn's little blue sedan, but it wasn't. It wasn't, because Decker smiled at him. Finn smiled back, and tilted his head like an invitation. It was just so easy. Inside, they shed their shoes and Finn got his arms around Decker to kiss him again. They stumbled their way through the front hall, not paying much attention to where they were going, bumping into walls as they focused on their kisses more than their feet. Bits of clothing dropped here and there—shirts and socks, Decker's went first—until they finally made it into the bedroom. Decker gave Finn a push toward the bed and they tumbled onto it, Decker riding Finn down into the sheets. Finn's hands slid over Decker's chest, tracing the edges of the serpent tattoo, but Decker's hands were far more to the point, working the button and zipper of Finn's jeans open so he could slide a hand inside. His hand was warm and smooth and it was so gentle, trailing delicately down the length of Finn's cock. Finn 112


whimpered, and Decker's grip tightened as he stroked upward, just once. "Take them off," he demanded, and rolled off the bed to do the same. With a few quick tugs and wriggles, Decker dropped his jeans to the floor. It took Finn longer, distracted by the realization that Decker hadn't been wearing anything under his jeans, and finally Decker came over to help. He dragged Finn's jeans and boxers down his legs, and nuzzled a little at the base of Finn's cock while he waited for Finn to kick the last of his clothes onto the floor. Finn moved faster then, knowing that once he was naked, he would be naked in bed with Decker, and that was exactly what he wanted. This time, when Decker rode Finn back down onto the bed, they were skin against skin, the head of Finn's cock sliding along the curve of Decker's ass. It made Decker writhe, and Finn reached out to touch Decker again, to trail his fingers over that serpent and down to curl around his cock. Decker kissed him, hot and deep, and rocked his hips to push his cock through Finn's hand. It was slick and the idea that Decker was that turned on already made Finn moan. He tightened his grip, and stroked slowly, until Decker pulled back from their kisses and whispered, "Condoms?" Condoms. Right. Finn took his hands away from Decker's body to reach into the bedside table and get what they needed. Decker took the condom and rolled it over Finn's cock so slowly and delicately that Finn had to struggle not to squirm. 113


His desperation made Decker smile. He kissed Finn hard on the mouth, then lower, over his neck and chest, and finally licking Finn's nipples with little, teasing flashes of his tongue. Finn got his fingers slick, trying to concentrate between those little flickers of hot, wet tongue on his skin, and Decker seemed to know when he was ready. He arched over Finn's body, giving him plenty of room to slide his hand down between them. Finn pushed one finger in, slow, and moaned at how tight it was. "Let me fuck you," he whispered, sliding his finger almost out and in again, watching Decker writhe and push back for more. He gave more, slipped in another finger with the first, and Decker moaned. "Yes." He sounded breathless, like he had back at the nightclub, and that was when Finn finally realized that the dancing had had just as much of an effect on Decker as it'd had on him. Finn used his clean hand to pull Decker down for more kisses, licking into his mouth. Decker tensed when Finn slipped his fingers out, but he didn't protest. It only took a few seconds for Finn to slick his cock and then Decker was crawling further over him, pressing down and back. He was so tight, even now; Finn bit back a moan and tried to focus on letting Decker go at his own pace. Decker sucked at Finn's tongue, though, and made him forget that he wasn't supposed to arch up, wasn't supposed to push into Decker's body faster, harder, fucking him and making him cry out. 114


The cries sounded everything like pleasure and nothing at all like pain, so Finn didn't stop. Decker rode him, pushing back into every thrust. He fucked like he danced, all instinctive grace and rhythm, though that rhythm faltered a little when Finn wrapped his slick hand around Decker's cock. It was all a flurry of motion after that, with Decker moving faster and Finn thrusting deeper. They both cried out when Decker came, his body clenched tight like a fist around Finn's cock. Finn rolled them over and Decker pulled his knees up so he could get in deep with every stroke. He buried his face in the curve of Decker's shoulder, biting his lip to keep from crying out, as he finally started to come. Decker writhed, though, and tightened up around him again, and despite his efforts to stay quiet, Finn couldn't hold back a soft moan. Afterward, lying there with his head on Decker's chest and Decker's hands tracing delicate patterns over his back, Finn wasn't sure what to say. Decker didn't seem to mind. **** When Finn woke up the next morning, he was alone with only a dip in the pillow beside him to prove Decker had been there at all. He tried to convince himself that what he was feeling was relief. It may have been, but relief wasn't usually so heavy. Finn rolled out of bed to grab last night's boxer shorts, only to find that all his clothes were neatly folded on top of 115


the dresser. He smiled; that seemed just like Decker, to tidy up before he left. Maybe it was a good sign. He grabbed a clean pair instead, and stumbled into the bathroom to take a piss and wash up. Clean and dressed as he was going to get ten minutes after waking up on a Saturday morning, he padded through the house to his office. And he smiled. Decker was in his chair, wrapped up in a robe much too big for him, watching the hamsters. Finn didn't say anything, just crept up behind Decker and wrapped his arms around him. "Hey," Decker whispered. He didn't sound at all surprised, just pleased. Contented, maybe. "G'morning," Finn murmured, nuzzling at the side of Decker's throat. "I think they like each other." Decker pointed to the cage. Gerbil and Mouse were little bi-colored pile of fur, light and dark, curled up against each other in the bed-fluff of their nest. Finn smiled and kissed Decker's cheek, thanking him for pointing it out. Gerbil obviously wasn't lonely anymore. "Come back to bed?" he asked, brushing his lips over the rim of Decker's ear. Decker turned his head to catch Finn's mouth with his own. "Yeah," he murmured, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Bed sounds good."

116


Chasing Samson by Kiernan Kelly Keene Gray was on a mission. Stalking the rows between the shelves of books, eyes rapidly scanning titles as his long, tanned fingers brushed across the spines, he determinedly searched for the one he needed. "Keene, give it up. You're like a dog with a bone over this, boy. We just don't have it!" Ruby called over from the espresso counter where she was steaming milk for a café au lait. He grunted. "This time you're wrong, Ruby. I know we have it." He turned and resumed his quest, determined to find the book in question. Ruby knew the store's inventory as well as she knew her own name, much to Keene's grudging admiration and perpetual annoyance. He was constantly trying to prove her wrong, but hadn't managed it yet. Ruby was indeed a piece of work. She could be pigheaded, stubborn, sharp-tongued, and could hold a grudge longer than anyone Keene had ever known. She was often crass, loud, and had no qualms at all about saying exactly what was on her mind. Her only saving grace, besides having memorized their inventory, was that she was also seventytwo years old and not flustered in the least by Keene's handsome face and hard body. Wherever Keene went, he attracted attention through no fault of his own. It had been that way since his last growth spurt late in his teens, and it still made him every bit as 117


uncomfortable now as it had then. He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the window glass as he passed by, and resisted the urge to cringe. As black and as gleaming as obsidian, a long tail of silky hair dripped well past his shoulders, bound by a simple leather thong. A forest of thick eyelashes shadowed warm brown eyes generously flecked with gold. His strong nose, which on anyone else might have been called hawkish, fit his face perfectly and complemented his high cheekbones and full, sensuous lips. Rolling his eyes, he turned away from his reflection, nearly tripping over the woman who'd asked for the book. He'd seen her stalking him through the rows like a predator, and she'd crept up behind him while his back was turned. She grinned up at him, batting her eyes and doing the hair-flip thing. He mustered up a small smile as he tried to edge past her, but she was having none of it. He was cornered between Contemporary Romance and Mysteries, and she was closing in for the kill. "Has anyone ever told you that blue is definitely your color?" she purred, fingering the buttons on the front of Keene's shirt. "No." Again Keene smiled politely and tried to squeeze past the woman. She stepped up closer, backing him into the bookcase. "Well, it is. And this shirt fits so well across those broad shoulders of yours. Did you play football in college?" "No." Keene was beginning to panic. He couldn't push past her without seeming rude, but the only other escape route 118


was over the top of bookcase. He wondered if he could smack her over the head with a hardcover and make it out of the store before she regained consciousness. It was his body that got him into these fixes, no matter how hard he tried to keep a low profile. He could slouch and slump his shoulders, he could duck his head, but the fact remained that with a six-foot four-inch frame carrying over two hundred pounds of pure muscle, Keene was hard to miss. Had he been straight, he supposed that his looks would have been a boon. As it was, all they did was get him into sticky situations with his female customers. He settled for a diversionary tactic. "Oh look, I think I see your book over there," Keene said, pointing behind the woman. When she turned to see, he slipped away and made a beeline for the end of the row. "Oh, no, sorry. That isn't it. My mistake." It wasn't the first time Keene had wished that every woman had Ruby's laissez-faire attitude towards his looks. It was the true reason Keene kept her in his employ—the last thing he wanted at work was another cooing, blathering female hanging onto his shirttails. He had to deal with enough of them as customers without having to have one on the payroll. Ruby might have been annoying, but at least she wasn't a hormone-factory on the prowl for a husband. Not that he'd ever tell that to Ruby. "I'm telling you that we don't have it, Keene!" "Yes, we do. I saw it not long ago!" Keene called back, resolutely scanning the rows while at the same time trying not to get cornered again by his amorous shopper. He refused 119


to admit defeat. Ruby wasn't the only one in the shop who could be stubborn. "You're imagining things! We haven't had a copy of Love's Fire since 1997!" Ruby argued over the hissing of the silver and brass coffeemaker. Keene could barely see her over the machine, just a few soft tufts of her white hair poking up from behind it. "It's out of print, Keene!" "But I saw it!" Keene retorted mulishly. "No, what you saw was Love's Flame." Keene froze, blinking. Damn it. For all her years, Ruby remained sharp, with a memory that would shame an elephant. Keene didn't doubt that she could rattle off the title of every book he had in stock. She was right. Again. Sheepishly, Keene led the woman back to the shop's checkout counter. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I was mistaken. We don't have a copy of that book, and it is out of print. I can try searching for a used copy, if you'd like," he said apologetically. "Would you like to leave your phone number in case I find one?" "Yes, that would be fine," the woman replied with a small laugh that sounded suspiciously like a prepubescent giggle. Keene was hard-pressed not to flinch. He jotted down her name, number, and the book's title on an order form, scotch taping it onto the register when he was done. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Keene asked when the woman lingered at the counter, smiling up at him. "Oh, well, actually..." Here it comes, Keene thought. 120


"I was wondering if you might like to grab a cup of coffee with me," the woman finished, flirting shamelessly. "There's a café right down the street—" Bingo. Right on cue. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I can't," Keene interrupted, trying not to sound rehearsed. "But we do have an espresso machine right here in the store," he smiled. "I'm sure Ruby would be happy to brew you a cup. Ruby!" he called. Seeing her lined face peeking around the corner of the machine, he continued "I think this young lady would like—" "No, no ... that's all right. I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check," the woman cut in, sounding a bit embarrassed and not a little hurt. She bustled toward the door, avoiding eye contact with him. Keene felt badly, but if he drank coffee with every woman who hit on him he'd be perpetually jazzed on caffeine. Besides, it wasn't as if he had any interest in them other than as customers. It would really only have wasted both his time and hers. The small bell over the door jingled as she slipped outside, and Keene relaxed, breathing a sigh mixed with relief and regret. Relief that she'd gone without a fuss (some women refused to take the hint), and regret that he'd probably lost a customer. Walking over to the espresso counter, he sat down on one of the tall stools that lined it. "Let me have a decaf, Ruby, please." "Decaf," Ruby repeated, as if it were a dirty word. She was a true caffeine addict, if Keene had ever seen one. That was the reason she'd been so persistent in hounding Keene until 121


he'd installed the espresso counter. She'd told him that she was tired of walking down the street to the café every ten minutes for a cup of coffee that tasted like piss-water. "Ruby, with all the caffeine you drink everyday, it's a wonder that you sleep at all," Keene marveled, adding a hefty amount of sugar to the strong black coffee Ruby set in front of him. "It's not good for you. Hasn't the doctor told you to cut down?" "Ha! He's tried," Ruby cackled. "I told him that I've already buried one husband and two doctors, and that I'll probably be singing Ave Maria at his funeral, too." She laughed and poured a dollop of cream into Keene's coffee. "He didn't think that was very funny. I swear, that boy has no sense of humor. I'm seventy-two years old, Keene! I'm too old not to enjoy the time I have left." Keene smiled. For all her faults, he was very fond of Ruby. He secretly thought of her as a grandmother, and he suspected that she felt the same, although both would rather poke themselves in the eye with a pencil before admitting it. "So, what was wrong with that one?" she asked, her sharp blue eyes peering at him from over the rim of her cup. "What one?" "That last one. The one who wanted Love's Fire." "Ruby..." Keene groaned, not wanting to get into it with her again. They practically had the same conversation every time he turned a woman down. Ruby didn't miss a trick, and never hesitated to stick her nose into Keene's business. "I'm not getting any younger and neither are you, Keene Gray. Do you want to spend the rest of your life alone, with 122


nothing but piles of musty old books for company?" Ruby asked, setting her cup down, rattling it in its saucer. "You're too damn picky for your own good!" "Ruby, trust me. I'm not being picky." "No? Then what do you call it? She seemed like a perfectly nice woman to me." Keene was saved from lengthy explanations that would have been out-and-out lies by the tinkle of the bell over the shop's door. "Customer," he said to Ruby, suppressing a smile, rising and turning to greet the shopper. The afternoon passed swiftly. Keene managed to avoid any extended conversations with Ruby until just before closing time. "Keene?" Ruby's bony finger jabbed him in the shoulder blade as Keene squatted, arranging books on a lower shelf. "Come to dinner tonight." "Ruby..." "Not one word, Keene Gray. Not one. I'm making spaghetti. Stop at the bakery on your way and pick up a loaf of bread," Ruby said firmly. She turned and left the store before Keene could think of a gracious way to refuse her. Damn it. He'd been looking forward to going home to his apartment, undressing, popping open a beer, spending the evening scratching his balls and watching the Discovery Channel. Well, maybe not exactly looking forward to it, but as fond of Ruby as he was, it would have beat sitting in her lemon yellow kitchen with its lace curtains and green linoleum floor, eating spaghetti while being lectured on his lack of a love life 123


by a seventy-two year old straight woman. Besides, Ruby's cat, Samson, hated him. Keene had a way with animals. Furry, feathered, or finned, it didn't matter. Keene had an affinity with them all. Except for Samson. Whenever Keene visited Ruby, the cat would hiss and arch his back as if Keene were a six-foot, four-inch pit bull. He simply couldn't understand it. Keene had tried everything he could think of to win Samson's heart. Treats. Toys. Catnip. He'd even changed colognes, reasoning that perhaps the scent was offensive to the furry little demon. Nothing worked. The cat simply hated him, and that was all there was to it. Sighing, he looked down at the stack of books waiting to be shelved, decided that they could wait until the next day, and set about locking up for the night. Whether Keene wanted to or not, he was going to spend the evening being lectured by Ruby and hissed at by Samson. **** Keene arrived at Ruby's house precisely at eight o'clock with two fresh, hot loaves of fragrant bread tucked under his arm. He'd gone home only long enough to shower and change into jeans and a soft gray button-down shirt. Pressing the doorbell, he waited patiently for Ruby to answer the door. "Come in, Keene! It's open!" Ruby called from somewhere inside the house. Keene let himself in, taking care not to allow Samson to escape, should he be lurking behind the door. A big gray tom, 124


Samson had never been neutered to Keene's knowledge, and constantly sought ways to escape into the world at large. Not that Keene blamed him. He felt a strange kinship with the cat, as a matter of fact, regardless of Samson's obvious dislike for him. They had a lot in common. Both spent an inordinate amount of time with Ruby, and neither one was getting laid. Carefully closing the door behind him, Keene scanned the living room looking for Samson. He'd been the recipient of a sharp-clawed swipe across the ankles on more than one occasion when he'd walked too close to the cat. Samson was not in the living room, or the kitchen for that matter, Keene realized as he kissed the top of Ruby's head in greeting and set the loaves of bread on the countertop. "Where's the demon-feline?" he asked, accepting a glass of lemonade from Ruby. "He's not a demon. He's just prickly," Ruby huffed. She turned back to the stove where several pots were steaming. "He's a devil cat, Ruby. I swear that I saw tiny horns and cloven hooves on him the last time I was here," Keene teased. "Just because he doesn't like you, Keene Gray, doesn't make him evil," Ruby said. She held out a wooden spoon to Keene's lips. "Taste this," she ordered. "More salt?" "Nope. Perfect, as usual, Ruby." "Hmph. More salt. Just as I thought," Ruby sniffed, reaching for the shaker. "Samson is probably hiding under the couch. He'll come out when he smells the meatballs." 125


But the meatballs were served along with al dente spaghetti and a glass of wine, without a single appearance by Samson. By the time Ruby had served them both a fat wedge of apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream, even Keene was getting nervous. It wasn't like Samson not to follow his nose to the dinner table. "Samson? Come here, Samson! Mama's got ice cream!" Ruby called, setting a saucer of melted ice cream on the floor. She snapped her fingers and pursed her lips, making kissysounds, but to no avail. Keene followed Ruby as she marched from room to room, searching for the cat. Together, they looked under the furniture, in the closets, anywhere the cat might have squirreled himself away, but couldn't find a trace of him. By the time they'd finished searching Ruby's bedroom for the third time, Keene was becoming concerned for her. She looked pale, her aged face drawn with worry. "He's gone, Keene," she said, turning tearful eyes up at him. "He must have gotten outside. I never let him out. He'll get lost, or hurt! What am I going to do?" For all her steely and bristly exterior, Keene knew that Ruby loved that cat more than anything else in the world. He was the last tie she had with her late husband, and Keene worried that losing Samson might be too much for her to bear. "Sit down and try not to worry, Ruby. I'll go look for him," Keene said, taking her elbow. He led her to the sofa, helping her settle down into it. "It'll be okay. I'll find him." 126


As Ruby sniffled and wrung her hands on the couch, Keene grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen and stepped out onto the front porch. "Samson!" he called, shining the beam across the front lawn. The evening was warm and the neighborhood quiet. All Keene could hear was the chirping of crickets and the growl of car engines from the main drag two streets over. God, I hope he didn't wander over there, Keene thought as he stepped down off the porch and walked across the lawn to the sidewalk. There's too much traffic. He'd be little more than feline mush if he tried to cross that street. Keene pointed the flashlight at the lawns, swinging it in wide, slow arcs as he walked. "Samson!" he called, over and over again. He'd walked the length of Ruby's block and was halfway around the corner when he caught a flash of gray in the light's beam. "Samson? Come here, boy! C'mon ... here, kitty, kitty!" Cutting across the lawn, Keene trotted around the side of the house, following him. He thought he saw something slip under the leaves of a lush hydrangea bush, heavy with large, pink blossoms. Dropping to his knees, he shone the light underneath it, calling for Samson. "Lose something?" The voice startled Keene. He popped up, sitting back on his heels, looking up. Not as tall as Keene, the man who'd spoken nevertheless had some height to him. His face was shadowed, but there 127


was one thing about him that Keene could see plainly. His uniform. A cop. Shit, just what I need. Arrested for trespassing because of a cat that would rather choke on a hairball than be in the same room with me, he thought. "My cat. Well, not my cat, actually. He's a friend's cat. Samson. Big, gray tom," Keene said, aware that he was rambling. "I think he went under here," he said, pointing toward the bush. "Come with me." "Look, I didn't mean to—" "Come on," the man said sternly. Keene stood up slowly, stretching up to his full six-four. His height made no impression on the man, other than a slight widening of his eyes. "Inside," he said, leading Keene toward the house. He lived here? Great. Figures the demon-cat would pick a cop's house. Following the officer into the house, Keene began to get angry. He hadn't been doing anything wrong— he'd just been trying to help a friend. What kind of a world was it where a man was arrested for trying to find an old woman's cat? Keene was led into a kitchen that was a gourmet cook's wet dream. Copper bottom pots hung over a spacious island in the center of the large room. A stainless steel stove with a double oven sat in one corner, and if Keene wasn't mistaken, that huge side-by-side refrigerator was a Sub-Zero. On the granite countertop stood organizers chockfull of shiny kitchen 128


gadgets. The air was fragrant with spices, most of which were being grown fresh in a window box over the sink. Keene, who when backed into a corner could at best manage a decent macaroni-and-cheese casserole, was impressed. "I'm Richard, by the way." "Huh?" Keene blinked. He'd been fully prepared for the cop to read him his rights, not offer his name. "Richard. Me," Richard chuckled, pointing to himself. "You have a name?" "Oh, yeah. Keene. Keene Gray. The cat belongs to my employee. That's Ruby—my employee, not the cat. He's Samson." Damn it, stop rambling, he thought. He clamped his lips shut, feeling his cheeks heat as he watched Richard move around the kitchen. Shorter than Keene, Richard still topped the six-foot mark. The blue fabric of his uniform was stretched tightly across his broad chest and wide shoulders. His pants were molded to powerful thighs and an ass that was so beautifully perfect it made Keene want to weep. Arrest me, Keene thought. Pat me down. Handcuff me. Officer, I confess—I've got a concealed weapon in my pants. Mentally slapping himself, Keene tried to concentrate on the reason he was standing in Richard's kitchen—Ruby and Samson, not the thoroughly lickable cop in front of him whose sexual orientation was yet to be determined. Besides, Richard was probably as straight as a two-by-four. He had to be. Keene simply wasn't that lucky. 129


Keene watched Richard root around in the fridge, removing a small Tupperware container from inside. Opening it, he scooped the contents into a saucer then turned to Keene. A delicious lemony smell drifted up. "Maybe we can bribe him out into the open," he said, smiling. "Tilapia. Grilled it yesterday." "Thanks," Keene said, following Richard back outside, feeling both relieved that he wasn't being arrested and more than a little disappointed that all Richard seemed to be thinking about was the cat. Hanging back, Keene allowed Richard approach the hydrangea bush. Samson was more likely to come out if Keene kept his distance. Richard tossed Keene a curious look when he hung back. "He hates me," Keene said by way of explanation. "What did you do to him?" "Nothing!" Keene protested. "I love animals—this particular one just has a hard-on for me. He has since the first day I met him." "I'm an animal-lover, too. Been thinking about getting a cat. For company." "You're alone?" Keene asked, mentally crossing his fingers. "Yeah. Married to the job and all that. In case you didn't notice, I'm a cop. I work a lot of hours. You?" Richard asked, placing the saucer on the grass and backing away. "I'm not married," Keene said, a little too quickly. He blushed when Richard's eyebrow quirked. "Uh, I was asking what you did for a living, but ... okay," Richard chuckled. 130


Keene was saved the trouble of dying from embarrassment by the appearance of a big, gray tomcat sliding out from under the hydrangea and attacking the saucer of fish. "Samson!" he cried, taking a step forward. Samson immediately spit, hissed, and arched his back. "Wow, he really does hate you," Richard snorted. "Better let me do this—he's liable to try to turn you into sushi if you touch him." "Told you so," Keene muttered under his breath. Richard bent and scooped up Samson, who nuzzled under Richard's chin, purring loudly. Damn cat. Damn lucky cat. "So where does this big boy's owner live?" Richard asked, scratching behind Samson's ears. "Just around the corner from here. She's worried sick about him." "Let's go then," Richard smiled. God, Richard had a great smile—straight, white teeth and dimples that could swallow a man whole. Keene managed a smile of his own as they walked out of the yard toward the street. "Mind if I ask you a question?" Richard said, as they strolled toward Ruby's. "Sure, shoot. Not literally. I mean you can question me. Ask me a question, I mean—" "I get it," Richard laughed. "Are you always this eloquent?" "Most of the time I'm a lot worse." Richard laughed, a warm, contagious laugh that made Keene's lips lift in response. "I was going to ask ... well, it's a little personal. A lot personal actually." 131


"What?" "Which side do you butter your bread on?" "I try not to eat too much bread. Too many carbs." Richard laughed again, although this time Keene wasn't sure he understood the joke. "That's too cute. But I was asking if you were gay." Keene nearly bit off his tongue. "What? Me? What makes you think that?" For the life of him, he couldn't keep the defensive tone out of his voice. "I wasn't thinking it. I was kind of hoping," Richard said as they approached Ruby's house. "I was thinking of asking you to dinner." Keene froze, standing stock still on the sidewalk. His mouth flopped open like a dying fish, his eyes wide. "Whoa! Don't be mad, okay? I guess my radar must be on the fritz," Richard said. "I-I'm not mad," Keene said. His mouth felt as dry as the Sahara, and his stomach had suddenly turned into a butterfly sanctuary. "I am." "You am what?" "Gay, I guess." "You guess?" "I know," Keene said with a helluva lot more conviction than he felt. Samson meowed doubtfully. At that moment, Keene would have happily flung him into the nearest lake, but Richard just laughed. "Then, how about dinner?" "Sure. I mean, I guess so. Yeah," Keene stammered, mentally swearing to get a grip on his tongue even if he had 132


to use a clamp and a vise to do it. "This is Ruby's place," he said, nodding toward the small clapboard house. He rapped on the door, letting himself and Richard inside. "Ruby?" he called, seeing her sitting on the sofa exactly where he'd left her. Her chin touched her chest, her eyes closed. Poor thing. She must have cried herself to sleep, he thought. He shook her shoulder gently. Ruby didn't wake up. Didn't even flutter an eyelash. Keen felt a bolt of panic spear his gut. "Ruby!" Richard dropped Samson, appearing at Keene's side in an instant. He put a hand to Ruby's throat, his face solemn. "She's not breathing! She's got a heartbeat, but it's faint. Call 911!" he ordered. Keene felt his heart kick into overdrive as he reached for his cell phone and dialed the three infamous digits. He watched Richard pull Ruby onto the floor, cup the back of her neck with his hand and pinch her nose closed with the other, and begin to breathe gently into her mouth. For all his height and muscular body, Keene felt like a helpless five-year old as he watched Richard administer CPR to Ruby. She was his friend, the closest thing to a grandmother that Keene had left in the world. She was family as far as he was concerned, and watching her cling to life on the threadbare rug of her living room was agonizing. Something warm and furry brushed against his ankle. Looking down, Keene saw Samson rubbing his head against his leg. Without thinking, he bent down and picked Samson up, cradling him in his arms. He didn't question why Samson had chosen that moment to forgive whatever trespass Keene 133


had committed against him. He just laid his cheek against Samson's soft fur, grateful for a little comfort from something warm and living. Sirens wailed, drawing closer. The next few minutes passed in a blur for Keene. Paramedics arrived, clustering around Ruby. There was flurry of activity and then she was gone, whisked away on a gurney. "Hey," Richard said softly. He looked as troubled as Keene felt, rumpled and weary. "You okay?" Keene nodded, although he felt everything but okay. He felt sick to his stomach with worry and not a little guilt. If he'd hurried, if he'd found Samson sooner... "Come on. Let's lock up and I'll drive you to the hospital," Richard offered, relieving Keene of Samson. Keene nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He'd lost his parents years ago, had no other relatives. Ruby was the only person he'd let into his life, and now there was a distinct possibility that he'd lose her, too. Suddenly there were strong arms around him, holding him tight. "She'll be okay, Keene. You'll see," Richard whispered. His badge dug sharply into Keene's breastbone, but Keene barely felt it. All he really felt were Richard's arms, his warm breath against Keene's neck, and Richard's hands sliding soothingly across his back. He found strength there, in Richard's embrace. Nodding, Keene swallowed hard and pulled back, looking Richard in the eye. "Thank you. For everything," he managed to say. Richard nodded, gently brushing his fingers across Keene's cheek. "Let's go." 134


"You don't have to drive me. You've done enough, Richard. I'll be okay." "Don't argue with the nice man with the badge and the gun," Richard smiled. Amazingly, Keene felt the urge to smile back, regardless of the fear for Ruby that knotted his gut. Making sure Samson was inside where he belonged, he locked the door behind them as they left. **** It turned into a long night. Things had been dicey for Ruby for a while, but eventually the doctors managed to stabilize her. She'd pull through, they'd said, and would be back to her old, prickly self in no time. Of course, she'd have to watch her diet. Her heart wasn't as strong as it used to be. The first thing Keene planned on doing was ripping out the espresso machine in the store. No more caffeine for Ruby. Not a drop. He was not going through this again, no matter how much she whined. Richard had stayed the entire night at the hospital with Keene. He fetched them soft drinks and bags of chips from the vending machines, tried to distract Keene with stories about his years on the force. All in all, he'd been Keene's saving grace, and Keene was more grateful for his support than he could say. They stopped by Ruby's to pick up Samson. She'd be in the hospital for a few days, and Keene hadn't wanted to leave the cat by himself for all that time. Now they stood outside of 135


Keene's apartment door. "Richard, I don't know to thank you for everything," Keene said, slipping his key into the lock. "Don't mention it. All in the line of duty," Richard answered, smiling. Was that the only reason Richard had stayed—because it was his job? Keene wondered miserably. He nodded and turned toward the door. "You could ask me in, you know." "What?" "In. Inside. The opposite of outside," Richard said, nodding toward the apartment. "Y-you want to come in?" Keene stammered in surprise. "Don't mind if I do," Richard chuckled, slipping past Keene into the apartment. He flicked on the lights and sat down on the sofa holding Samson while Keene remained at the door, watching. Was this part of the job, too? Somehow, Keene doubted it, and felt a strange stirring in his belly. Nerves, yes, but something else too. Excitement. Desire. Swallowing hard, Keene closed the door and walked stiffly toward the sofa. He wasn't sure what Richard expected, or what he should do. What he wanted to do was tear the uniform from Richard's body and pound him face first into the sofa, but Keene was fairly certain that wasn't first date protocol. If this was a first date, which it isn't, Keene reminded himself. Should he sit? Stand? Offer to make breakfast? He opted for standing in the middle of the living room as if his feet had taken root in the carpet, dimly aware that Samson had leapt out of Richard's arms and was nosily 136


exploring the apartment. "Hi," he finally managed to say. Wonderful. Way to dazzle him with your verbal brilliance, Casanova. "You really are just too cute," Richard smiled, patting the cushion of the couch. "Come sit down before you fall down." The sofa was small, and the men sitting on it were large. There wasn't a lot of room between them, and Keene could feel the heat from Richard's body, even through their clothing. "Why do I get the impression that, no matter how gorgeous you are, you've never dated a man before?" Richard asked, turning toward Keene. Gorgeous? Keene felt his heart flip-flop in his chest. "I'm not exactly out," he replied, feeling his face heat. "Not exactly?" "Not at all." "Okay, fair enough. But you're out to me, and you must know that I want you, right? Did from the minute you looked up at me from the hydrangea bush," Richard whispered. His fingers were twisting in a stray lock of Keene's long hair, his eyes heated. "Nothing like cutting right to the chase, huh?" Keene mumbled. He felt his body harden, the crotch of his jeans suddenly growing unbearably tight. "Comes from the job. Cut through the bullshit, get right to the facts," Richard smiled. "How do you feel about me?" "Like ... like I want you naked. Now." Keene was shocked not only by his audacity to say such a thing, but by the raw need that laced his voice. 137


Richard laughed. "Sure you're not a cop, too? That sounded suspiciously like an order." "I-I just..." "Shut up and pucker up, Keene. And that is an order," Richard said. Suddenly, hard muscles surrounded Keene as a warm, wet tongue swept his mouth and Keene's body was pushed backwards on the sofa. Something tugged at the thong that held his hair in a tail, letting it spill free. Strong fingers twisted in his hair, deepening a kiss that already threatened to steal Keene's breath away. Deep within Keene something broke free, something primal, needful, and hungry. Richard felt hard, every inch of him, smooth and muscular, and Keene suddenly couldn't get close enough to him. Couldn't get enough of the sweet taste of him, couldn't feel enough of his heat through their clothing. He pulled at the back of Richard's uniform shirt, freeing it from his trousers, sliding his hands over the firm muscles of Richard's back. His fingertips danced over the knobs of Richard's spine, felt the sharpness of his shoulder blades. Grew bolder, sliding down, kneading the solid flesh of his ass. Keene moaned into Richard's mouth as Richard's hand found his erection, stroking it through the denim. Fingers worked at his belt buckle, then at his zipper. He felt himself released, only the thin fabric of his briefs separating his cock from Richard's fingers. Then that was gone as well and Richard's fingers were wrapped around Keene's length. Keene gasped for air, his hips rocking up into Richard's touch. "Oh, God..." 138


"Breathe," Richard ordered, nipping at the flesh under Keene's jaw. Richard's cock rubbed at the juncture between Keene's thigh and groin, hard and burning hot, even though the fabric of his trousers. Keene wanted nothing more than to touch it, taste it, to rub it over every inch of his body. Growling, he tore at Richard's belt and fly, trying to free it. Richard tilted his hips, making it easier for Keene. When his hands closed around the thick hot flesh of Richard's cock, Keene felt his throat close with the sheer pleasure of it. Silken skin burning his palm, strong fingers stroking his own cock, warm lips smashing against his, hard muscles pressing against him ... Keene felt his balls tighten and his penis slick with precome. "Richard..." Keene whispered, trying to warn him of the impending explosion. "Gonna come? Not yet, Keene," Richard moaned. He lifted his hips, shoving his pants down then tugged at Keene's. Only to happy to oblige, Keene lifted his ass from the sofa, letting Richard slide his pants down past his hips. Not totally naked, but close enough. Their cocks nestled against one another. Keene looked down between their bellies at the two purpled, rounded heads rubbing against one another, both slicked with beads of precome. His breath came faster, growing ragged. "Richard..." Keene was practically begging, pleading for Richard to move just a little bit faster, aching to come, hovering at the edge. Richard seemed no better off than Keene. His eyes were dilated with lust, his full lips parted. "Now. Come now," he groaned, wrapping his fingers around both of their cocks. 139


As Richard fisted them together, Keene lost his battle with restraint. He came hard, pinpoints of light exploding in his field of vision as his entire body shuddered with a wave of ecstasy unlike any he'd ever known. Every cell seemed to implode as his hips jerked up into Richard's fist, covering it with his seed. Only when he'd crested the pinnacle and had floated down into a state of semi-awareness, did he realize that not all of the semen coating his stomach and Richard's hand was Keene's. Panting, Richard looked down at him through hooded, sated eyes. A finger traced a wet path across Keene's stomach then touched his lips, letting him taste the saltybitter evidence of their pleasure. "That was a lot faster than I'd intended," Richard whispered, licking his finger clean. He leaned down and kissed Keene softly. "I wanted it to last, to make it good for you." "It was good. Better than I'd imagined it would be," Keene answered. He felt boneless, completely and totally satisfied, and couldn't have moved a muscle even if the sofa had caught fire. A large gray lump of fur suddenly insinuated itself between them, curling up on Keene's chest. A raspy tongue scraped his jaw as a purr machine rumbled to life. "Samson! You have the worst timing, cat." "I thought you said that he hated you," Richard grinned. He sat up, stroking Samson's head. "He did. I don't know what's gotten into him."

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"Maybe he just realized how thoroughly lickable you are," Richard chuckled. Keene grinned when he leaned down and swiped his tongue across Keene's lips. "You're pretty tasty yourself," Keene grinned. Samson rumbled louder, as if in agreement. "But he's going to need a bath now. He's laying in a puddle." Richard laughed. "Speaking of tasty, I'm starving. How about I scramble us a few eggs after we clean up?" "Sounds like a plan," Keene nodded. He didn't question why he suddenly felt totally at ease with Richard. Sharing an orgasm with a guy will do that to you, he reasoned. Richard stood, but rather than pull his pants up, he kicked them off. Lord! The man has an ass that looks good enough to eat, Keene thought. Keene's hands remembered how Richard's firm globes had felt when he'd squeezed them, and his cock twitched in response. Out of the question. He couldn't possibly be getting another hard-on so soon after having the Orgasm of the Ages, could he? Well, Keene thought sheepishly, it wouldn't be the first time he'd been proved wrong. He set Samson on the floor and padded happily toward the bathroom after Richard. **** "I can't believe that you took away my machine," Ruby grumbled for the fiftieth time that day. Keene smirked, busying himself with restocking a shelf. Ruby hadn't changed a bit—she was just as ornery as she'd ever been. Three 141


months without Ruby had been like being on a salt-free diet— bland and barely tolerable. It was great to have her back. "It almost killed you. The doctors said that all the coffee you were drinking did a number on your heart," Keene reminded her. "Damn doctors don't know what they're talking about." "Sorry, Ruby. No more coffee. Not even decaf." The bell tinkled over the door, cutting off whatever caustic tongue-lashing Ruby had been readying to unleash at Keene. Keene smiled at Richard, standing up and stretching. "Afternoon, Ruby," Richard smiled, waving at her. He turned to Keene. "Ready?" "Yup," Keene answered. It was Richard's day off and he'd promised Keene lunch at the quaint new café that had opened across town. A gourmet cook himself, Richard had been anxious to check the place out. "Honesty," Ruby grumbled, staring up at the two of them with her hands on her hips, "you two spend too much time together. How are you ever gonna find girlfriends if you ... uh ... oh..." The look on her face was priceless as the pieces finally settled into place. Keene almost felt badly for her. "Ruby..." "Well, for the love of Pete's petunias!" she gasped. Balling up her fist, she socked Keene in the arm. "Why didn't you tell me, you big galoot? I've been spending all my time thinking that you were just being too damn picky!" "Ruby—"

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"Don't you Ruby me, Keene Gray. You should have told me you were already taken! Would've saved me a world of worry." Keene smiled and hugged Ruby. "I'll be back soon, and I'll bring you some lunch." She wiggled free, turning on Richard, waggling her finger at him. "Don't you dare let him come back today. He works too hard. That girl he hired while I was in the hospital will be in at two o'clock. I'll be fine until then." "That's perfect," Richard smiled. "I have plans for us this afternoon." "What?" Keene asked. "I can't leave Ruby alone for all that time—" "You can and you will, or I'll tan your hide, no matter how big you think you are," Ruby interjected. "I was thinking we'd stop by the animal shelter after lunch. Pick out our kitten," Richard said. "Our kitten?" Richard's pronoun use wasn't lost on Keene. He raised his eyebrows as Richard walked him outside the shop. "Well, yeah. Ours. Unless you don't want to..." "Of course I want to, but how do we share a kitten?" Keene asked. "We can't. Unless we were living together..." Richard grinned. He squeezed Keene's hand. "I mean, that would only be fair to the kitten, right?" Keene felt his eyes bug open and his jaw drop. "Really?" "Yeah, really. I'm tired of only seeing you for a couple of hours here and there. Our schedules never jibe. When I'm off, 143


you're working. This way, we'll be together as much as possible," Richard answered. "What do you think?" "I think I want a gray kitten. Like Samson," Keene grinned. "One that hates you?" Richard laughed. "He doesn't hate me anymore. Besides, I'd love him even if he did still hate me. He led me to you," Keene smiled.

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Bungalow Bill by Ansley Vaughan "I'm sure this is it." Theo peered through the darkness at the painted sign, and turned the wheel, pulling the limousine off the road from Chiang Mai. Despite the lateness of the evening, there was a sultry heat and he was glad of the car's sophisticated air conditioning. He smiled cynically to himself, reflecting that when Norma Widgeon traveled, it was like the stately progress of a medieval monarch. She more than triumphed over the rigors of modern travel; she ignored them, as only the very wealthy can. "Yes, we're right," he told his passengers. "At last. Halfway round the globe, just to get here." "Thank goodness. Well done, darling. You are a clever boy." His employer spoke in a well-educated drawl, only a slight huskiness betraying her excitement. He smiled again. Norma was such a mass of contradictions. On the one hand she was highly conventional. She believed no woman should travel without a male escort, and had absolute faith in the power of money. But on the other, she had one abiding passion which set her apart, an obsession which brought the three of them to this remote part of Thailand. As they drove along the bumpy track through thick jungle, Norma leaned forward, eagerly looking out into the gloom. The third member of the party spoke sulkily. "There's nothing to see. Only mud and trees. It's boring, Mom. I wish you'd let me stay behind in Bangkok." 145


"Nonsense, Loretta honey. You'll love it when we get there." But when they finally reached the small encampment, houses on stilts around an open area and a shallow pond, Theo thought Loretta the party animal wouldn't be very impressed. He jumped from the driver's seat to open the door for his employer, and she made a regal entrance. "Mr. Brabazon? It's good to meet you at last." The man who greeted them was tall and tanned, his hair so fair it was almost white. "And you, Mrs. Widgeon. Please call me Bill." The voice was deep, attractive, with a slight Australian twang. "Thank you." They shook hands, and Loretta came round the side of the car, eyeing Bill Brabazon with frank appreciation. "This is my daughter, Loretta." Theo saw Brabazon looking at him, waiting for an introduction, but Mrs. Widgeon merely said, "He's my assistant. Now, where are they? I'm longing to see them." "In the forest. You'll see them first thing tomorrow. Let me show you your quarters so you can get settled in. We start early." Their house was on stilts, with a wooden staircase leading to the living quarters. Bedrooms and a bathroom led off the sitting room, an open pitched roof giving a feeling of space. At the foot of the stairs, Theo struggled with the luggage, and Brabazon called, "You can leave those. I'll get one of the boys to bring them up." 146


Mrs. Widgeon's voice, harsh and commanding, came from the bedroom. "Theo, I want my valise." Theo began to mount the stairs, and Brabazon went to help him, shaking his head. The accommodation was clean and comfortable, although far from their usual luxury. But Theo had come prepared, and Brabazon watched in amazement as he opened a large coolbox and began extracting gin, martini, a cocktail shaker, and even a jar of onions. "Well, we've had some interesting visitors here, but no one's ever brought an entire cocktail bar before." Theo sliced a lemon and measured ingredients into the shaker. "You're hoping to get a handout from Norma, aren't you? Believe me, unless she gets her creature comforts, you don't have a hope in hell." "And you've dragged all this from Bangkok?" Theo gave him a look. "Please! We've been round the world, you know. I've carried it from California." An observer would have known Theo's nationality at once, even before he opened his mouth and the well-bred British accent emerged. He was very English-looking, tall and elegant, a lock of brown hair flopping over striking hazelgreen eyes. They dined with Brabazon in his quarters. Two Thai girls cooked and served the simple fare, giggling softly as they moved around the wooden table. "Breakfast is from 0600 in the Centre. I should get there as early as possible; there's a lot to do tomorrow." "I think I'll turn in," Mrs. Widgeon said, getting up. "Come along, Loretta, Theo." 147


"And will you all be taking the course?" "Not me," Mrs. Widgeon said. "The others will." "No, Mommy, I don't want to." "Nor me," Theo said. "This is very definitely not my thing." "Nevertheless," Mrs. Widgeon said, in tones that brooked no disagreement, "you'll begin the course tomorrow." Later, Theo leaned against a post, smoking a last cigarette and looking moodily out into the dark. The Thai girls left Brabazon's house, still giggling. They were followed by Brabazon himself. At first, it seemed as if he'd walk past, but he stopped as if impelled. "Is it a good job?" "It's as good as any other. It pays well." "But you're an intelligent man. You can't mean to go through life as a ... well, I'm not sure how to describe it. As a gigolo." Theo gave a bitter grin. "Steady on. I wouldn't put it quite like that." "You must have trained at something." Theo drew deeply on his cigarette, then flung the butt on the floor, extinguishing it with the toe of his shoe. "I'm sure you'll find it hilarious to know that I actually studied farm management. Agricultural college, the works. But things went wrong, I had a breakdown." Bill regarded him. "So this is an adequate substitute?" Theo chuckled. "It pays the bills, and keeps me in fags and booze. What else is there?" Brabazon looked him up and down in a way which, with another man and at another time might have set Theo's pulse racing. "For you? I can't begin to imagine." 148


When Theo was ready for bed, a tap on the door disturbed a reverie involving the handsome Australian. He squared his shoulders and prepared to do his duty as Norma Widgeon entered, wearing a diaphanous black nightdress. "I like this place. I think he'll get his money." "Good. I'm glad." "Yes. Now, Theo..." She slipped the straps of the nightdress over her blade-thin shoulders and let it slither to the floor. "I want you to show me just how much you like me." **** Theo got up at six, and padded to the window naked. He pushed open the wooden shutters, meaning to lean out for an illicit cigarette. Outside, level with his head, something moved. Something large, and slow and grey. He gasped, shocked out of his usual ennui by the sight of the majestic elephant lumbering down the steep hill towards the pond. It was so close he could have reached out and touched it. It passed out of view, and another, smaller beast followed, trumpeting loudly. Theo was transfixed. Viewing pictures or films of elephants, even seeing them in the zoo was simply no preparation for encountering them like this. Another of the great animals moved past, this one with a man sitting astride its neck. As the mahout passed the open window, he turned and waved, laughing at the sight of the naked Englishman. At breakfast, Norma couldn't stop talking. She might have been a rich, spoiled widow from the West Coast, but her 149


adoration of elephants was absolute, and having seen the parade, she was gabbling with excitement. When they'd finished, Brabazon hustled them through to the reception area. "You have to register and then change." "Change?" Loretta pouted. She wore a purple tee-shirt which strained over her full breasts, and lilac silk slacks. "Change into what?" From the shelves at the end of the room he pulled out a rough cotton garment, holding it up to show her. "This should fit." "What is it?" "It's a mahout costume. It's traditional. You can put it on in the changing room." "I think not," Loretta said, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not going to be a freaky side-show for a lot of Thai day-trippers." "I'm afraid it's compulsory," Brabazon said, searching the shelves again. "Here you are, Mr...." "Call me Theo," the Englishman said, taking the costume with a little moue of disgust. "Oh God..." He turned to Mrs. Widgeon. "Must we?" She nodded. "You must. I want pictures for the website of the Oakland Ladies Elephant Trust, and they must be authentic. Get changed." They emerged, barefoot and sheepish. The dusty pink outfits consisted of wrap-around trousers reaching just below the knee, fastened with a sash—a cross between Bermuda shorts and babies' diapers. The shirts had elbow-length sleeves. 150


Despite the trousers being wrap-around, they were too small for Loretta. To get them vaguely decent she'd had to tie them very tightly, and thighs, hips and calves bulged unattractively. The top was also too small, and she'd left most of the buttons undone, so her swelling bosoms were thrust upwards, the cleft between them clearly visible. Theo had fared slightly better. The garments fitted around him all right; the problem was that he was about a foot taller than the mahout for whom they had been made, and a band of flesh was visible between the top and the sash of the trousers, his elbows were exposed by the shirt, and he was showing just enough leg to make him look ridiculous. Mrs. Widgeon snapped happily away with her digital camera. "I feel like a bit-part player in an end-of-the-pier performance of Aladdin," Theo said. "Funny you should say that," Bill allowed himself a small smile as he presented them with broad straw hats, like those worn by Chinese peasants. "Come on, I'll introduce you to your elephants." The elephants were gathered with their mahouts in the show-ring. Bill explained, "A lot of these men worked in the logging trade. When that finished, they were unemployed. It's no joke, having to feed a family and a five-ton elephant. This centre is one of several that provides accommodation for the men and their animals, and teaches them new skills. We put on shows, and there are always people..." he looked over his shoulder at Loretta and Theo, padding glumly behind, and 151


smiled again. "...who want to learn the art of controlling one of these magnificent animals." In the ring, a blonde woman in jodhpurs marshaled a sheepish group of people in pink uniforms. Bill said, "That's Claire, who'll introduce you to your elephant. Another Brit. So, Claire, I think for Loretta one of the smaller ones. Ratana? She's very placid." He glanced at Theo. "And for Mr. Carlisle, something bigger. What about Lawan?" Claire frowned. "Lawan? She's very skittish today." "It doesn't matter. I'm sure he'll cope." Theo, eyeing the largest of the elephants, at the end of the line, couldn't help feeling Brabazon had it in for him. The animal looked mean, and was pulling away from her mahout, shuffling her back feet in the characteristic way elephants do when they're not very happy. Claire said, "Theo, this is Lawan, and this is Channarong, her mahout." Annoyed as he was, Theo couldn't help smiling at the fact the elephant was introduced first. He reached out a tentative hand, but Lawan pulled away, her eyes swiveling, and her trunk curled upwards. Channarong said something to her in Thai and thumped her flank with his stick. Lawan stopped moving about and lowered her head, but she still wasn't completely calm and her eyes were hostile. "Bill, are you sure..." Claire said. "She's a bit..." "Yes, of course. She'll be fine once he's up."

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The course participants, mahouts and elephants gathered around Claire. There were ten students: Brits, Americans, Japanese and one New Zealander. "Welcome to the Hang Dong Elephant Camp. I know you've already been told a little about what we do here, and you'll hear more this evening. But now we're going to learn how to communicate with this highly intelligent animal." She pointed to one of the smaller elephants. "This is Khemkhaeng. The name means 'strong' and he certainly will be by the time he's fully grown. He's fourteen, just coming to maturity. His mahout is Kiet." Kiet said something and with slow deliberation the elephant got down first on one knee, then the other. He curled his trunk and placed his head on the ground. The effect was of a very elaborate bow, and the tourists applauded enthusiastically, only Theo resisting. Kiet mounted the elephant, dismounted, got on again, descended by sliding down his trunk, threw the stick he carried and made the elephant pick it up and give it to him, and finally got the animal to lie down, leaping off himself so as not to be crushed. "Now you're going to do that," Claire said brightly. They began to master the first instruction, "Song soong", which made the elephant lift its front leg, creating a step. "Don't forget," Claire trilled, "These elephants speak Thai. You must get your pronunciation right." The novices had to climb on the elephant's front leg then fling one leg upwards as if mounting a very large horse. Not surprisingly, they found this difficult and there was laughter 153


as they struggled to be understood, failed to make the leap from leg to back, and fell back into the sand of the arena. Only Theo resisted the fun. He was tired after the long journey and dealing with Norma Widgeon's demands, in and out of bed. And the carapace of indifference he'd built had been punctured by Brabazon's cutting observations. Channarong gave the instructions, and Lawan responded with sullen acquiescence. Because he was tall and strong, mounting was not too difficult, and in his state of disconnection and depression, he sat on the back of his elephant, regarding the others with something like disdain. By midday, having been up since six, they were hungry. As were the elephants—but elephants are always hungry. In the canteen Norma showed Loretta the pictures on her camera while Theo stabbed at the rice and chicken in his bowl. Towards the end of the meal, Bill approached. "Well, Norma, Loretta, did you enjoy the morning?" "Brilliant," she said. "I've got some wonderful pictures." "This afternoon we'll ride up into the forest. I thought you'd like to come as well. We've got a howdah—like a big sofa on top of the elephant—so you can travel in comfort." "Oh, Bill, thank you!" Her reaction was over the top, Theo thought sourly. His lip curled, and Brabazon looked sharply at him. "Carlisle, could I have a word?" "Certainly," Theo said, glad to get away from the gushing of the Widgeon females. They went down onto the path which skirted the arena. Theo took out a cigarette and lit it. 154


"Look, I can tell you really don't want to be doing this. Right?" "Absolutely right," Theo said, blowing out a plume of smoke and looking at the Australian through narrowed eyes. "So?" "So your petulance is in danger of spoiling it for everyone else." Theo shrugged. "What can I say? I didn't sign up for this." "God knows what you did sign up for. But if you're not man enough to tell her you don't want to do it, then for the sake of the genuine enthusiasts, just pretend to be enjoying it. Don't ruin it for people who've paid a lot of money to come here. Fake it." Brabazon's blue eyes swept his face. "I'm sure you're used to faking it." Theo looked straight at him. "You don't like me very much, do you?" he asked. "I wonder why that is?" "Because you're just the type of effete Englishman I detest," Bill said bluntly. "Swanning around the world with that infinitely superior air as if you still had an empire to rule." Theo's eyes widened. "Oh, you really don't like me." He threw down his cigarette. "Well, in that case, I'd better smarten up my act. You watch, I'll be a little ray of sunshine. And I'll do my very best to cut out the swanning." He gave a charming smile, and went back to the Widgeons. Brabazon's hostility contributed to his depression, but Theo recognized he'd been behaving like a sulky teenager. If he didn't enter into the afternoon's activities with enthusiasm, then at least he did his best to mask his own unhappiness. 155


Unfortunately, as far as Lawan was concerned, the damage was done. If an elephant takes against a human, there's not much anyone can do. Elephants can be clever, even sly, and in her forty years, Lawan had learned all the tricks necessary to put an uppity man in his place. She pursued a policy of dumb insolence. His instructions were obeyed, but just slightly later than was necessary. If he told her to go left, she hesitated, before turning so sharply he nearly fell. When given the instruction 'Tag long' meaning she should put her head on the ground so he could dismount that way, she went down so fast that he nearly shot over the top. And all the time, Theo had the uncomfortable feeling that she was laughing at him. He'd never been laughed at by an elephant before, and he didn't like it. At last it was time for the bath. Humans and animals frolicked in the muddy water of the pond, the elephants rolling and splashing and enjoying themselves. Knee-deep, Theo joined in, though without the joyful abandon of the rest. And Lawan bided her time. When the mahouts called the elephants out, she made what looked like a playful lunge, rolling over and, in the process, knocking Theo down, to general hilarity. Channarong helped him up. As he stood, water pouring from his sodden clothes, Lawan, with perfect comic timing, steadied her trunk for accuracy of aim and fired a stream of water in his face. He went down again, and had to be assisted out of the pond by Channarong. As the elephants were led out, Theo began to walk towards his quarters. "Where do you think you're going?" Bill called sharply. 156


"To get changed. I'm soaking." "But first you look after your elephant. You must have learned that at your posh agricultural college. The welfare of your animal is paramount." Theo gave an unfriendly glare, then masked his fury with his habitual smile. "But of course. I just thought..." "No time. We have to take them up into the forest now." Theo remounted, muttering at Lawan, "You're getting a very wet and squelchy rider. I hope you feel as uncomfortable as I do." The elephant waved her trunk, as if congratulating herself on the success of her stratagem. They moved off in single file, walking up through the upper part of the village, past the mahouts' houses and into the forest. Lawan was near the end, with Brabazon on a big bull elephant bringing up the rear. Without warning, she veered off the track, and lumbered towards a tree, passing neatly under a branch. It hit Theo in the face and chest sweeping him from her back. As the elephant walked on, apparently unconcerned at the loss of her human cargo, Theo gave a cry, clung to the branch for a second, and then dropped like a stone into the mud below. The shock of his sudden descent made him lose consciousness for a moment, and when he came to, there was a sea of faces around him: the mahouts, Brabazon and several elephants, all regarding him with concern. "Something tells me," he said weakly, "that Lawan doesn't like me." He sighed, struggling to get up. "Today is emphatically not my day." 157


Brabazon wanted him to go back to the Centre, but Theo could be every bit as stubborn as the elephant, and he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him sent home early. "Well, if you insist," Brabazon said, annoyed, "you'd better ride with me." Theo, still rather shaky, was pushed and pulled by the mahouts until he found himself astride the neck of the huge beast. The Australian vaulted up behind him so they were close together, his back pressed against the other man's chest. "Well, this is fun," Theo said, in a voice which suggested quite the opposite. But as they moved off he was powerfully aware of the other man's proximity, of the fresh, masculine smell, overlaid by the rather less salubrious odor of elephant. They mounted a ridge, scrambling down the other side, and the bull was at a sharp angle, head down, rump in the air, negotiating the difficult terrain. The two men leaned back, and Brabazon put both arms round Theo to steady him. For a moment they were locked together in an embrace. Theo thought, although he couldn't be sure, that he could feel a hardness pressing into his back, and a sudden flash of excitement went through him. "It can't be for me, though," he thought. "He's probably developed a hard-on from looking down the front of Loretta's shirt all day." The elephant righted himself, and Bill let go. "Don't want you to have another fall," he said, almost defensively. To dismount, they'd been taught to swing one leg over the elephant's back and slide, facing it, until they hit the ground. Perhaps because this elephant was larger than Lawan, Theo 158


misjudged his descent, and he whimpered in pain as the shirt was pushed upwards and his chest and stomach made contact with the elephant's hide. It was like sandpaper and his misery was complete. Each elephant was tethered in an open bit of scrub, given a last bamboo treat, and solemnly bid goodnight by the mahout and student. Lawan, when it was her turn, moved from foot to foot, shaking her head in what seem to Theo to be mostly triumph but with a tinge of remorse. He hoped so, and to show there were no hard feelings he patted her flank and gave her a handful of bamboo. They walked back to the camp, Norma perched grandly in the red howdah on the back of one of the steadier females. Brabazon insisted on taking Theo into his office to check him over. "I'm fine, just a bit shaken and bruised. I'll be right as rain in the morning." "You've got a nasty scratch on your face." "That'll soon heal." "Let me put some disinfectant on it at least. Wounds fester very quickly here. I wouldn't like you to be scarred. How would you manage without your pretty face?" After the day he'd had, Theo would have been entitled to take exception to this, but he let it go, submitting to the Australian's ministrations with cotton wool and antiseptic. "It stings," he said. "That shows it's doing you some good," Bill replied, as if he were talking to a child. His hands were large, and strong, but surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the curve of Theo's cheek 159


and stroked the elegant contours of his face. Theo closed his eyes. Like this, one could almost imagine... "You'd better let me do your chest as well. Elephant burns can be very nasty." Embarrassed, Theo allowed him to lift up the shirt, and swab his chest and stomach with antiseptic. The skin was rubbed and raw. As the hands moved downwards, to his horror, he felt his penis stir and grow. In the wrap-round trousers, concealment was impossible. His humiliation was complete. "All done," Bill said briskly. "You've got time to change before supper. And I suppose you'll be back on martini duty as well." Showered and dressed in jeans and a thin sweater, Theo found his limbs were stiffening and his face throbbed. But he felt more cheerful as he and the Widgeons joined the group for dinner. Afterwards they bought beer from the bar, and heard more from Claire about the work of the Hang Dong Camp. "We provide a livelihood for nearly fifty mahouts, and more than sixty elephants. As well as the courses, we have the show. There's also elephant art, which we'll see tomorrow, and a workshop making paper from dung—so you see, nothing is wasted! "All these things are essential to finance the huge expenses of running the place. We've also got a hospital, not just for our own sick animals, but for other injured elephants. Up on the border with Burma, there are loads of landmines, and if an elephant steps on one it's lucky to survive. At the 160


moment we have one young female who had part of her foot blown away." Norma dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "One other aspect of our work involves helping bull elephants in musth. Most male elephants come into musth once they are full grown and it can last for months. Sometimes a wild elephant goes on the rampage, terrorizing villagers. Rather than let the animal be shot, we'll send a team either to see it through the musth, or to bring it here. We've saved many lives like this." Someone asked, "What actually happens in musth?" "The elephant's body produces an enormous increase in testosterone. A tar-like secretion oozes from the temporal ducts on its head, and it can appear to be in great pain or discomfort. It becomes sexually aggressive and is capable of great violence. Almost every case of a human being killed by an elephant comes when it's in musth." Claire smiled. "Now I'm sure you've had enough of me. So if you want to get more drinks, the staff will perform Likay—that's dance, storytelling and song." The performance was disorganized, raucous and loud, and after a few beers, everyone was laughing. Theo, now aching all over, got up. "I think I'll turn in, I'm stiffening up after that fall." One of the Japanese girls said, "You very sore?" Norma laughed loudly. "He'll live, but he's covered in bruises. You should see his butt." Theo saw Brabazon look up quickly in disgust. 161


He'd only been in their quarters for a few minutes when Loretta came in. She'd dressed for the evening in skin tight shorts and a tiny crop-top which pushed her breasts upwards. She reminded Theo of a particularly rapacious cheer-leader, and she'd had quite a bit to drink. "Ah, Theo babe, Mom's set for the night with that crowd. Time for us to have some fun." Theo sighed. This attempt at seduction was a regular occurrence. He'd become adept at fending her off, but it was tiring. She snaked her arms around his neck, rubbing her voluptuous body against his. "Kiss me, Theo." "Loretta, with the best will in the world, you know I can't. Norma wouldn't like it." "Norma wouldn't know. Just one little kiss." She pulled his head down and fastened her lips to his. At that moment, Bill Brabazon came in. Loretta, seeing him, said, "Oh fuck it all," and flounced off to her room. "Ah, Carlisle," Brabazon said, stiffly. "I brought you some ointment for the burns." "Thank you. That wasn't..." Theo said, wanting to explain, but feeling it would be unchivalrous. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I wouldn't have come if I'd realized you were working overtime." He put the ointment down on a table. "Goodnight." The next day, Theo arrived in the show ring walking stiffly and wearing cut-off denim shorts and a tee-shirt. Brabazon greeted him sarcastically. "Decided to throw in the towel?" "No, not at all," Theo said equably. "It's just that if I'm going to be made a fool of, I'd rather do it in my own clothes. 162


Lawan was at the end of the line, toeing the ground and flapping her ears. Theo went towards her, but Claire called out, "Theo, try a different one today. Mali over there." "No, if you don't mind, I'll stick with Lawan. We got off on the wrong foot and it was my fault. I should have known that if you're offhand with a female, she'll always find a way to get even." "I'm not sure..." Claire looked at Bill, who nodded. "Let him try. We can always switch if there's any trouble." Theo approached Lawan with a handful of bamboo as a peace offering, and as she ate said, "Lawan, we started badly, but today I'm going to behave better, and if you could see your way to giving me a second chance, I'd be grateful." He waited until she'd finished munching, then stretched up his arms and put them on her temples, resting his cheek against the top of her trunk. They stood there, quietly communing, and then, as if some signal had gone between them, Theo stepped back. "All right, Lawan the beautiful. Let's go. Song soong." She lifted her foot in an exemplary way, even spreading out her ears to make it easy for him to grab one to lever himself upwards. When he was astride, he glanced briefly downwards to see Brabazon, for the first time, looking at him with something like approval. For Theo, the day took on a magical air. He and the elephant moved as one, Lawan performed perfectly; she sat, she rolled, she stood, she retrieved faultlessly. Channamong danced around, applauding, and even the others stopped to watch. Theo didn't notice, he was concentrating on Lawan, 163


singing quietly, nursery songs. They were startlingly inappropriate, but Lawan didn't seem to mind. Having put him in his place the previous day, now she had clearly fallen in love with him. Every now and again she stretched her trunk over her shoulder and used the sensitive tip to ruffle his hair and to caress the planes of his face with a surprisingly delicate gesture. When they finished their routine there was a spontaneous round of applause, and Claire said, "Well done, Theo, well done, Lawan. I'm giving you a solo in the show tomorrow." In the afternoon an easel was placed in the show-ring. The students chose colors, and each elephant was handed a brush dipped in paint, which it slashed across the canvas with gusto. Every animal had a different style; Lawan's was bold, individual and wild. Finally, they visited the hospital, away from the main part of the camp. Here they met the female who had lost her foot. Bill said, "At the moment, we're just bathing and disinfecting it, then putting a bandage on it, like a sock. But we're having a built-up leather version made which should make walking more comfortable for her." One of the mahouts bathed the stump, and Bill tried to apply a fresh bandage, but she was plainly in pain, shaking her head and making it difficult. Bill had hardly spoken to Theo all day, but now he said, "Carlisle, see if your dubious charms will work on this lady. Her name is Sunee. Let's see you practice your elephant whispering." 164


Theo stepped forward and offered Sunee some bamboo, then began to stroke her at the top of her trunk, crooning the words of the Beatles' 'Yellow Submarine'. And astonishingly, she calmed down, rubbing her face encouragingly against his hand while Bill got the bandage on. "Not bad," was all he said. That evening, Norma reminded Bill that after the performance, she and Loretta were going to a spa in Chiang Mai. "But that's only three days, then we'll talk about money." "Going to a spa sounds much more attractive what I'm doing," Bill said. "We've had a call to the border. There's an elephant in musth terrorizing a village. We've got to round him up." "Isn't that terribly dangerous?" Norma asked. "It can be. Last year one of the mahouts was killed. But otherwise the elephant will be shot." Norma said, "Why don't you take Theo? He'll get bored hanging around the spa, and he could take some pictures for the website." Theo had been looking forward to a few days to himself and Brabazon didn't seem pleased, but Norma insisted. There was a full audience of visitors for that day's show, which consisted of logging demonstrations by the mahouts, and a hideously noisy elephant orchestra. Then the novices were led out in an elephant chorus line and went through all they'd learned. At the end, Theo and Lawan performed a more complicated sequence. Finally they were presented with their mahout certificates, to wild applause. Theo asked Bill what he should take up north. 165


"Not a lot. Washing kit, a change of clothes. Just shove a few things in a rucksack." "I don't have a rucksack," Theo said. "We travel with matching Louis Vuitton luggage." Theo saw Brabazon shoot him a look, convinced this was a wind-up, but he returned a bland smile, and Brabazon went off to find him a rucksack. They drove for about five hours, the mahouts following in a second vehicle. "They may have to stay with the bull for weeks, you never know how long it'll last." "And what, exactly, will they do?" "Well, first we have to catch him, which is easier said than done with a half-crazed pachyderm. Then they chain him to a tree, and basically starve him." "God, that's cruel." "It's better than being shot. And somehow it does seem to alleviate the symptoms. Nowadays we do a little supplementary feeding of fruit, which seems to have a calming effect." At their destination, local men were waiting for them with elephants. "Stay close," Bill instructed. "This is bandit country. Rebels, mines, wild animals. God knows what Norma would say if I let her precious boyfriend be eaten by a tiger." "Off you go then, Bungalow Bill," Theo replied, earning himself a frown. Near the place where the bull had last been sighted they could hear crashing and trumpeting, and through thick foliage 166


they could see the elephant apparently banging its head against a tree. They dismounted in a small clearing. Brabazon said, "I need to sedate him, but I don't want to knock him right out." "Why's that?" "The jungle's very dense here. If he falls, he could be wedged between the trees." Brabazon advanced cautiously on foot, carrying the tranquilizer gun. "I need to get a clear shot. Keep behind me." The elephant was huge, and obviously in distress. His skin was streaked and white in patches. A treacly black substance oozed from the glands on his forehead and ran down his face. His eyes looked sore, and there was a steady drip of urine, as if even this basic activity was beyond his control. He rubbed his temples against the tree, as if they were unbearably painful and itchy. Brabazon muttered, "I need to get closer." The others kept back as he advanced towards the maddened animal. He was about half-way across the clearing when with ferocious suddenness, the bull turned and moved fast towards him. Head down, the animal delivered a savage swipe with his trunk, and Brabazon went down. The elephant stopped. Between his feet, Brabazon laid crumpled, eyes shut, apparently unconscious, the dropped gun out of reach. The mahouts drew back, pulling Theo with them. The elephant swayed from side to side, lashing around with his trunk and making a dreadful keening sound. Each time he moved, he lifted a foot from the ground and put it down within inches of Brabazon's head. "We've got to get him away!" Theo said. 167


"No, very dangerous. We wait." "Wait? If he puts one of those feet on Brabazon's skull, he's had it. We'll have to grab him." The lead mahout shook his head. "Wait. Elephant get tired and move away." Although he understood they knew what they were doing, Theo couldn't stand there, waiting for the Australian's head to be crushed to a pulp. "I'll try to calm him down." "No, he kill. Wait." "I can't. I'll see if I can get the gun. If I can distract him, two of you could race in and drag Brabazon out. Yes?" "You be killed," the mahout said, with conviction. "But we help." Feeling very foolish and afraid, Theo walked forward, holding out a hand and speaking soothing voice. "Nice elephant, good elephant. Just want to chat, no need to be cross." The elephant swayed, watching him. Theo reached up and began to scratch the trunk at the top, the gesture which had endeared him to Lawan. This animal was still rumbling, his eyes flickering, but he allowed the intimacy to continue. "You like that, don't you?" The gun was just behind him and he felt around for it with his foot. "Shall I sing? My other elephant friends like a song." The beast was getting agitated again, so he reached up higher and pressed on the temporal lobe, which seem to be giving him so much trouble. 168


"Shall we have an animal song? I know..." And in a rich tenor voice which quavered slightly, he began to sing, "If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise..." The elephant was still swaying, but no longer lifting his feet. He put his head on one side, as if listening. Theo could see movement in the undergrowth. He went on, ".... for every bear that ever there was, is gathered there for certain because..." Two of the mahouts crept out of the bushes at the side. Theo sang louder, "...Today's the day the teddy-bears have their picnic." They shot forward, grabbed Brabazon's legs, and dragged him away. Theo swung his foot behind him, kicking the gun into the hands of a third man. Then, feeling the elephant deserved it, he finished the song, before walking very cautiously backwards. He heard the whoosh of the dart as it flew past him and embedded itself in the animal's shoulder. The mahouts were supporting a now-conscious Brabazon on the other side of the clearing. "You fucking idiot," Brabazon said, eyes blazing. "You fucking pommie wanker." "Ah, reverting to type, I see." Theo took out a handkerchief to wipe the sticky black stuff from his hands, and noted he was shaking. "Perhaps we should get back to camp before we exchange pleasantries." The mahouts put chains around the feet of the now drowsy elephant, preparing to tether him. Theo pulled Bill's arm round his neck, supporting him until they got to where their own elephants were. 169


"Do you want to ride with me?" he said. Brabazon scowled at him. "Fuck off," he said. "Your conversation is getting rather monotonous, old chap." They rode back to camp in silence. The men they'd left behind had lit a fire and were cooking. In the ablutions, Theo washed the Australian's hands and face. He was badly bruised, nothing more. "Christ, you were lucky!" Theo said. "And you? You don't think you had the most amazing, outrageous luck anyone has ever had. You should be dead. Stone cold dead, beaten against a tree by a mad bullelephant. No-one, and I mean, no-one, approaches an elephant in musth like that. Fuck!" "Yes, well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Where are your quarters?" Brabazon indicated a tent. "This is it. We're sharing, I'm sorry to say." Theo shrugged. "Come on, sit down. That was a very scary experience. Is there anything to drink?" "Ask Pravat. There's some beer in the other car." Theo came back with a crate and they propped themselves up against their packs in front of the fire and drank in silence. The others returned and said they'd moved the tranquilized elephant nearer and would take in turns to watch him. One of them said something to Brabazon, and he shook his head. The man repeated it. Brabazon turned to Theo. "The mahouts want me to tell you that what you did today was the bravest thing they've ever seen. They say you saved my life, and that you're a real, genuine mahout." 170


Theo was startled and moved. "Thank you," he said, deploying his meager bit of Thai. "Korp koon." They drank beer and ate the inevitable rice and chicken, after which the men moved off to the bigger tent. "They play a particularly vicious form of Mah Jong. I sat in on a game once and lost my shirt. Never again." They relaxed, lying in front of the fire, the sounds of the jungle loud around them. Brabazon said awkwardly. "They're right, you did save my life. What you did was very brave. Bloody insane, but brave. Thanks." "No problem. It's always nice to find someone who appreciates my singing." "Yes, but the fucking Teddy Bears' Picnic..." Brabazon started to laugh, and soon the two of them were helpless with mirth. When they'd recovered, Bill said. "Tell me how you got into this. I mean, you really are a gigolo, aren't you?" "That's not how I'd describe myself. What happened was that I fell in love and my parents disapproved. My father cut me off and then it ended. I was drinking a lot, not qualified for anything. Worse than useless, my father called me. And accustomed to the high life. I was staying with a friend in London, and he paid me to take his aunt out to dinner. It grew from there. Money for old rope." "You sleep with Norma?" Theo nodded. "The daughter, too?"

171


"No, not Loretta. She's been trying it on since we set out, but apart from anything else, I didn't think it would be ethical." Brabazon laughed. "She tried it with me too. Are you happy?" Theo rolled over onto his side so he could look at the other man. "Happy? No, I'm not happy. Not often. I was happy this morning with Lawan. That was a surprise." "You're a natural." "Thank you." He blushed. "What about you? How did you get here?" "I didn't get on with my folks either. I did what all young Australians with itchy feet do, went to England. I'd studied Zoology, so I got zoo work. On the way home, I was working my passage, and when I got to Bangkok I fell in love. So I stayed. Then I heard my father had died and left me some money. I came up to Chiang Mai to look around and someone told me about a camp, a few broken down old buildings and ten elephants. It felt instantly like home. The money just about bought the place and got me started." "Great story. And your Bangkok girlfriend?" "We fell out. It ended." "What was she like?" "By night she was the most glamorous cabaret singer in Patpong. And by day, an equally seductive but terminally unfaithful young man." There was a long pause. "A transsexual?" 172


"Pre-op. That's why we quarreled. I couldn't bear him wanting to cut off the very bits that made him interesting to me." Theo stared. "You're gay? Bloody hell!" "Sorry, does it offend you?" Theo rolled onto his back, smiling. "I may have forgotten to mention that the lover with whom I had the traumatic affair at agricultural college was male." "Oh. But Norma..." "That's business. For pleasure I prefer something different." "That explains everything." Brabazon turned so he, now, was looking at Theo. "Do you know why I've been so absolutely foul to you since you arrived?" "I expect it's because I'm very irritating." "True. But also because I fancied the pants off you from the first moment I saw you. I was sure you weren't gay, though later ... But I realized that if I wanted to get that grant from Norma, I couldn't really seduce her lover." "And now?" "Now, I don't care about the money. Only you." He leaned closer and in the flickering light of the fire, finally their lips met in the gentlest of butterfly kisses. Bill drew back, his eyes searching the other's face. "Do you feel the same?" "I feel..." Theo's voice cracked. "I'm absolutely infatuated with you." Now the kiss was deep and searching and passionate. When it broke, Bill's hand snaked down and touched the front of Theo's jeans, feeling the hardness there. 173


"I want..." Theo started to get up. "I think we should go into our tent." Suddenly the night was filled with angry trumpeting. "Damn, I'd better go and check on him," Bill said. "Take your off clothes and wait for me. I'll be right back." When he returned, Theo was lying on his back on his sleeping bag, fast asleep. He was naked, his penis, deflated now, resting on his thigh. His hair flopped across his face, and his long eyelashes fluttered with each gentle breath. Quietly, Bill stripped off his clothes, and got down on his knees. With a hand that shook, he stroked the limp cock, causing it to shudder into instant life. Theo opened his eyes. "Is everything all right?" "Yes, it's fine. We've given him another little shot. Oh, and the boys have decided to call him Tio." "Tio?" "After you." "I'm flattered. I think. Oh ... Don't stop." Bill lowered his head, inhaling deeply. He held the now swollen cock against Theo's stomach and let his tongue trace the line down the centre of the ball-sac, then drew one ball into his mouth, relishing the maleness of the taste. Now he swung round, kneeling astride Theo's legs, and took the length of his cock into his mouth. His hands went up to the pearly nipples, and he massaged them with his thumbs as his mouth slid up and down. After a while, Theo gave a shout, and fired semen into the Australian's throat. 174


He flopped back on the sleeping bag, arms above his head, ripples of sensation moving across his stomach. Bill pushed at his legs. "Bend your knees. I want..." Theo let his knees fall either side of his body, leaving himself completely open. Bill's tongue flickered across the exposed anus. As he introduced his fingers, Theo's hips thrust upwards; his eyes screwed shut and his head moving from side to side, making the tent shake. "Must ... have ... you," he said with difficulty. "Yes ... I've got to get some lube." Bill found a jar of grease. "I hope you don't mind me using this. It's mainly for elephants." Theo glanced at the rigid pole between his legs. "That's fine. Actually, from what I can see, it seems entirely appropriate." Bill climbed on top of him, and they kissed, their tongues mingling, bristles rubbing. The rigid cock was crushed against Theo's stomach, sending shock-waves of desire through his body. Theo said, "You know what they said about Bungalow Bill? Not much up top but plenty downstairs." Bill growled. "You're ready?" "More than ready." Theo felt something big, impossibly big, nudging at his anus, which throbbed uncontrollably. Bill powered inwards, concentrating. The white-blonde hair flopped forward across his tanned face, and moisture glistened on his forehead, and on the fine, high cheekbones. Every now and again, Bill opened his eyes, and gazed into Theo's, a startling blaze of blue. And Theo opening up to 175


receive him, felt wildly fulfilled and happy. Bill moved slowly at first, then speeding up, his hips swinging, slamming into the tight channel, leaning forward for an open-mouthed kiss. From outside, came the loud trumpeting of the testosterone infused bull, and, almost in time with his cries, Bill began to grunt, each sharp, guttural sound coming as he thrust inwards, harder and harder, until with a shout he climaxed hard, deep in Theo's spasming bowels. They stayed like that, Theo's legs spread, knees bent, hooked over Bill's muscled thighs, bristled jaws rubbing together, the occasional soft kiss, until they fell into a deep sleep. In the morning, they were awakened by the bellowing of the elephant. Tangled together, they started to kiss, slow, sleepy exchanges, which were interrupted by a greeting from outside the tent. Bill got up pulling on his jeans, getting the zip up over his swollen cock with difficulty. "I've got to go. Your namesake needs a shot. Back soon." They left for Hang Dong after breakfast, leaving the mahouts in charge. Back at the camp Claire was marshalling the elephants for the next show. Lawan bounded over to Theo, if an elephant can bound, like a giant Labrador, nuzzling him with her trunk. "You've made a conquest there," Claire said. "And here." Bill added quietly, then more loudly, "Well, Carlisle, what do you want to do? You can drive into Chiang Mai to join your party. Or you can do the rounds with me, and we can discuss that ... idea I had." "I think I'd like to talk about ... what you said ... first." 176


They went to Bill's quarters and to bed. For one day and one night, they were blissfully happy, oblivious to anything but their newly discovered love and lust. But as Theo prepared to drive to Chiang Mai to pick up the Widgeons, they returned to reality. "I'll have to go back with them," Theo said. "What are we going to do?" They were in Bill's sitting room. Theo pushed the blonde hair from his lover's face. "I don't know. But I do know that I adore you." "And I ... Christ, Theo, we can't live thousands of miles apart." "No. But I have to get them back to London. Then we'll work out what to do." Norma and Loretta were glowing with the effects of the spa. They all ate together in the Centre, and eventually, Norma said, "Well, I'm off to bed. In the morning, Bill, we'll have that conversation about money." Theo went back to Bill's room, briefly, and held him. "Don't go," Bill begged him. "Please stay with me." "But if I do, you won't get the money." "I don't care about the money. I don't care about anything. I want you, that's all." "But Bill..." "Christ, Theo, don't you understand? I'm in love with you. In a way I never expected. If you leave now, if you go back to London, I'm afraid I'll never see you again." "Oh, my dear, dear boy. You mustn't say that. Here..." 177


Theo pulled the Australian into his arms and they kissed with desperate longing. Kissed with such passion that they didn't hear the door open, didn't hear the hiss of breath from Loretta as she witnessed their embrace. But they heard her when she began to laugh hysterically. "I came to give you a final chance, Bill, and what do I find...? No wonder neither of you was interested in me. You're just a couple of dirty faggots. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Wait 'til I tell mother!" When Theo got back to their house, he expected to find Norma in a rage. But she was calm. "Loretta told me. But I'm too tired to talk about this now. And tomorrow we'll be on our way to London. So let's leave it." "But the money..." She passed a hand over her eyes. "I can't think about that. Bed." By eleven, they were packed and ready to leave. Brabazon came over as Theo loaded their baggage into the limo. "Bill," Norma said, shaking hands regally. "Thank you for a most interesting few days. You'll understand if I don't feel ready to talk about the bequest just now. But I love this place and what you're doing with it." She got into the car, followed by a grumpy Loretta. The two men looked at each other. "Don't go," Bill said. "Please." "I have to." Theo put out his hand. "But I'll be back. I promise." 178


"God, I wish I could believe that," Bill said, with something like a sob. Oblivious to the watchers, he pulled the Englishman into his arms. "I know it's only been a couple of days, but remember that I love you." "Yes," Theo said in a shaking voice, "I love you, too." He climbed into the car, and drove up the hill towards the exit. **** For the rest of the day, Bill worked blindly, trying to suppress his thoughts by sheer physical labor. When it was time to take the elephants up into the forest, Channarong came looking for him. "Mr. Bill, come. Something wrong with Lawan." She was in the ring, refusing to move. Neither the stick, nor the lure of bananas or bamboo would make her budge. She moved her head from side to side, an indefinable air of sadness about her. "She must be ill," Bill said. "Let's see if we can get her to the hospital; I'll keep an eye on her." When Lawan realized she wasn't being put out to pasture, she moved willingly enough, lumbering up to the hospital paddock. Bill started a thorough examination, his anxiety temporarily deadening the pain that nagged at his heart. After about twenty minutes there was a change in Lawan's mood; from being miserable and sullen she suddenly became skittish and happy. She put her head down to be scratched, leaning against him flirtatiously. Then she performed a shuffling elephant dance, flapping her ears cheerfully. Her 179


eyes were shining and alert, and she made little trumpeting sounds and waved her trunk in the air. "What on earth has come over you, you silly elephant?" Bill said. "I don't believe there's anything wrong with you at all." She broke away and moved towards the gate, making joyful elephant sounds. From the shadow of the overhanging trees stepped Theo Carlisle. The two men contemplated one another. "You came back," Bill said at last. "I couldn't keep away." Theo vaulted over the paddock fence. Lawan was overjoyed, frisking him with her trunk. "She was pining," Bill said. "We both were." "Oh my God, Bill..." He held open his arms, and Bill walked into them. They kissed and embraced, until Theo broke away, laughing shakily. "Steady on! Not in front of Lawan." "You know, I don't think elephants care much about contemporary morality. All that matters to them is that the people they love are happy." They resumed their kiss while Lawan snaked her trunk around their entwined figures. A little later, Bill said, "What happened? Why did you come back?" "At the airport and I realized I simply couldn't walk away. I told Norma and that was it." Bill gave a sigh of contentment. "Let's go home. I'd better find Channarong and get him to take this daft animal out to the forest. Lawan, song soong." They both scrambled up onto the elephant's back; Theo in front, in an echo of the day Lawan had caused him so much 180


trouble. As they lumbered down the hill towards the Centre, Bill said, "Well, it's goodbye to the new hospital buildings and the laboratory. But I don't care. How did Norma take it?" "Extraordinarily well. She said she'd have objected if I'd left her for a woman. But as she could tell people that I'd abandoned her in favor of an elephant, she didn't mind so much. She asked me to give you this." He fumbled in the pocket of his shirt and handed Bill a folded piece of paper. Bill straightened it out and squinted at it. A check. "My God!" he said, when he saw the sum. "She came up trumps. How amazing." Theo smiled as he felt Bill's hands snake round him from behind, one pulling his shirt away from his trousers and stroking his smooth chest until it reached the hardening nipples, the other entering the waistband and pushing downwards. And Lawan, sensing the mood, strode into the center of the camp, trumpeting in triumph and waving her trunk in unrestrained joy.

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Canine Connection by Neil Plakcy I unlocked the gate to the dog park and let Jackson, my Golden Retriever, off his leash. He bounded forward, eager to make new friends and sniff new butts. It was a gorgeous, crisp Monday afternoon in south Florida in early November, and I hoped a quick romp would use up his cold-weather energy and let me get back to my writing. I headed over to Dorothy, a Shih-Tzu's mom I'd often socialized with. She was talking with a tall, handsome guy wearing a Florida State T-shirt and short shorts. "Hey, Richie," Dorothy said to me. "Scott just moved back to Florida from Ohio. That's his little Yorkie over there, Max." Scott was gorgeous—six-foot-two of strapping man, with close-cropped blonde hair, enough crow's feet around his eyes to give him character, and an easy-going, ball-capwearing jocky manner. He was in his early thirties, about my age, and his blonde looks were a nice contrast to my dark hair and tanned skin. Something about the warmth of his handshake, and the way his eyes were willing to meet and linger on mine, set my pulse racing. A few feet away from us, his scruffy little Yorkie faced off against Jackson. My big, happy Golden was down on his front paws, giving the classic invitation to play, but Max wasn't having any of it. He bared his teeth, snarled at Jackson, and looked like he was having some kind of seizure, yapping, leaping in the air and contorting his body. "Don't worry, he's all bark and no bite," Scott said. He hurried over and scooped the little dog up. "He's a little high182


strung," he said apologetically. When Max wouldn't stop barking, he carried the dog away—before we'd even had the chance to get properly acquainted. Dorothy and I watched them go. "Cute, but a nasty little dog, though," she said. Winking, she added, "He's single, and I think he plays for your team." So my instinct had been right. By then, I was ready for a cute gay dog-lover in my life. I'd been through a run of bad boyfriends: slackers who lived at home, without career goals or visible means of support; closet cases who were scared to be seen in public with me; and guys who were obsessed with their own good looks, intelligence, or supposed charm. Jackson, on the other hand, was adorable and unafraid to show affection. If he hadn't been a Golden Retriever, he'd have been the perfect boyfriend. But though a dog provides unconditional love and can warm your cold feet on a frigid night, he couldn't meet all my needs. The weather turned gloomy, and though Jackson got a lot of visits to the dog park, the few times we'd see Scott and his dog, Max would start barking up a storm and Scott and I couldn't even begin a conversation. Finally one sunny day I took the plunge, hoping the change in weather was a good omen. As Scott held his yapping dog in his arms, ready to head out of the park, I asked, "Want to have dinner some time?" rushing the words out. "I'd love to get to know you better." He smiled, and rainbows started jumping out of my heart. "That'd be great," he said. He managed to get a business card out of his wallet without dropping Max, though the little terror 183


made it as tough as possible for him. "I work out of my house," he said. "Give me a call some time." "Will do." When I called him that night, I heard Max yipping in the background. Jesus, I thought. Did that dog ever shut up? "How are you adjusting to Florida?" I asked. It was midDecember by then, and I knew a lot of transplants who got homesick for cold weather as soon as Christmas decorations appeared at the mall. "If I don't hear another reggae Christmas carol for the rest of my life I'll be happy," he said. "Somehow I can't picture Santa with dreadlocks and a Jamaican accent." "Yah, mon, how you t'ink he stay so happy all the time?" I asked. "It's de ganja." My island accent isn't that great, but Scott got the joke and laughed. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" he asked. I was thrown by that—until I realized he had Max on his lap. I wanted to say, "I'll be a good boy, too, if I can sit on your lap," but I thought we probably ought to have at least one date first before I offered anything sexual. He had the same sense of humor I did, finding amusement in the idea that Canada sent all its bad drivers south for the winter, even laughing at my joke about the two old ladies at the deli and the waiter who asked them, "Is anything all right?" We finally made plans for dinner on Saturday night. When I hung up the phone, I got down on the floor next to Jackson and hugged him. "This one might be a keeper, puppy," I said. "What do you think about that? You want a second daddy?" 184


Then I remembered Max. How could Scott and I develop a relationship when his dog seemed to hate me and mine? Scott came by my house to pick me up, and stopped in to say hello to Jackson. Just as he did with every guy, my beautiful blonde boy rolled over and his tongue panted out in sheer joy. "What a sweet puppy," Scott said, bending over to scratch him. He was wearing khaki slacks, a dark green polo shirt, and leather deck shoes. He looked totally comfortable in his own skin, and seemed to really enjoy sitting on the floor with Jackson's head in his lap, stroking his golden fur. "What a sweetheart you are," he said. I finally had to drag Scott away for our dinner reservations, and my last view of Jackson as I closed the door was him sitting in the living room with a desolate look on his face, as if I was taking away the only human who'd ever loved him. Over dinner Scott and I discovered how much we had in common. Scott was a web developer, finally self-employed after years as a programmer. I'd recently left a job as a staff writer to focus on freelancing. We both loved having flexible schedules, including lots of time to spend with our dogs. "How long have you had Max?" I asked as our entrees arrived. "Ten years," he said. "He was a college graduation present from my parents. How about you and Jackson?" "Just a year. He's still a big puppy, as I'm sure you figured out." 185


"He must shed like crazy," Scott said. "As long as I brush Max a couple of times a week he hardly sheds." Looking back on it, I should have seen that comment as a warning sign. But I was falling in love, and all I heard was that he brushed his dog a lot. I equated brushing with love, and all through that dinner Scott demonstrated his ability to give love—to Max. Foolishly, I figured that ability could transfer to me. The evening ended well. It was a nice fall evening in South Florida; the air was just a little crisp, the stars twinkling in the dark sky above us. Scott walked me up to my door, and when he kissed me good night I felt those rainbows jumping out of my heart again. I love my coffee, and when I stopping going to work I indulged myself with a barista-quality cappuccino maker. Before Scott walked back down my driveway, I asked him if he'd like to come over for a latte or mocha some midmorning. "If you're like me, you need to get away from the computer now and then," I said. "Absolutely. How about Tuesday, around eleven?" "I'll have biscotti," I said. "Truly a man after my own heart," Scott said, as he waved goodnight. Behind me, Jackson panted his approval. That Tuesday, as we were finishing our cappuccino and biscotti, Scott stretched one of his long legs so that his toes tickled along my calf. "I don't have anything to rush back to," he said. "How about you?" "I can take a little break," I said, leaning forward to kiss him. His lips were a little rough and chapped, but they quickly 186


warmed up as we made out. He started unbuttoning my shirt, reaching a hand inside to fondle my pecs and tweak my nipples, and I moaned with happiness. Jackson tried to get in on the action, placing his front paws on my thighs and sniffing at Scott's arm where it snaked inside my shirt. "What do you say we take this upstairs?" I asked, and Scott eagerly agreed. He followed me to my bedroom, and I closed the door, leaving Jackson in the hallway. Sometimes you don't want a friend with you—even man's best friend. Lying together on my bed, it felt deliciously sinful to make out with a cute guy in the middle of a work day—but hey, that's the advantage of being self-employed. For a guy who spent most of his day in front of a computer, Scott had a pretty sexy body, enough meat on his bones to grab hold of but not so much that I'd feel like I was screwing around with the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We undressed each other slowly, savoring the sense of discovery, ending up with Scott lying on his back and me on top of him, chest to chest and dick to dick, as we continued to kiss. His dick was long and fat, more than a mouthful, and when we 69-ed I loved the way he fingered my ass. Could this be love? It was certainly sexy as hell. We worked on each other until we were ready to come, me first and Scott just after, and then I rolled off him and squirmed around until we were face to face again. Both of us collapsed against the pillows in that happy post-coital glow that comes when you've had thoroughly enjoyable sex with a guy you actually like. 187


Scott got into the habit of inviting himself over for a coffee every few days, often followed by a romantic encounter upstairs in my bedroom. I was eventually able to leave the door open, and Jackson sprawled in the doorway as if preventing either of us from ever leaving. We spent every Saturday evening together, going to the movies or out to dinner, though Scott could never sleep over because he had to get home to Max. "Why don't you bring him over here next Saturday," I said one day about a month after we'd started dating. "I'll cook dinner, and we'll rent a movie, and the dogs can play together." Scott shook his head. "Max gets jealous, as you've seen at the dog park. He wouldn't be able to play nice with Jackson." I wasn't getting the message. "How about if I come over to your place, then. I've never seen where you live." "Max is territorial, and my place isn't much to look at. It's jammed with computers and I don't have much when it comes to creature comforts." I gave in, though I admit I was suspicious. I had his home phone number and called him there often, so he probably wasn't hiding a wife or a boyfriend. How bad could his place be? Over the next couple of months I kept dropping hints, and he kept saying that Max's territorial behavior kept most visitors away. "And I don't want you to get chased away like the rest." I wanted to say, "You let that little ten-pound dog boss you around?" but I realized that Jackson controlled my life just as much. At least Scott seemed to want to hold on to our relationship. 188


On a Monday morning a weeks after that conversation, he called me in a panic. "My DSL is down," he said. "I called the phone company and they say it might be at least a week before it comes back up." "Bring your computer over here," I said. "My connection's still working. You can have the dining room and I'll be in my office. We won't get in each other's way." "You're a prince," he said. By the end of the day, my dining room looked like a back office at Microsoft, with three separate computers, a tangle of wires, and blinking LED lights everywhere. He stayed for dinner but before I could entice him upstairs he said he had to go home to feed and walk Max. The next few days, he treated my house like his office, showing up first thing in the morning, heading home for lunch, then ducking out as soon as five o'clock approached to return to his tiny terror. "Why don't you bring Max over tomorrow," I said on Thursday. "He's got to get comfortable with Jackson someday. Maybe it'll be easier when he's on someone else's turf." "You don't know my dog," he said. "So, what?" I said. "Is this all you want from a relationship? The occasional cup of coffee, then a jump in bed? Because I've got to tell you I want more." I took a deep breath. It had been nearly six months, and I felt it was time to lay all my cards on the table. "I'm not rushing anything, but I want you to know that someday I want a guy I can 189


wake up next to every morning. Somebody who loves me, and loves Jackson." We were faced off, standing across from each other in the kitchen. "It's not that easy, Richie," he said. "I have Max to consider." "I love dogs," I said, enunciating each word slowly. "I can even love your dog, if you give us a chance to get to know each other." "Fine. I'll bring him over tomorrow." The impulse motivated both of us at the same time, and we fell into a long, passionate kiss. Then Scott hoisted me up onto the counter, pulled my shorts down and sucked me to an amazing orgasm, fingering my ass as I ran my fingers through the short blond stubble on his head. I thought we'd really turned a corner. We'd had that fateful conversation about the future, and yet our passion for each other was even stronger. Then Max came into my house. The first thing he did was head for the dining room table, sniff around for a moment, then pee on the table leg. "Max!" Scott said, horrified. "He's housebroken, I swear." "That's OK," I said, wetting some paper towels for the cleanup. "It's a territory thing." Every time Jackson approached him, Max snarled menacingly. He wouldn't stop whimpering and crying until Scott hoisted him up on the dining room chair next to him as he worked. Jackson and I went upstairs to my office. By the time we came down again around lunchtime, Max was on Scott's lap 190


and Scott wasn't getting much work done. "I'm going to run him home," Scott said, standing up, cradling the Yorkie in his arms. "It's a lot for him to get accustomed to." That afternoon, Scott returned without Max. "You really ought to vacuum a little," he said, sitting back down at the dining room table. "There's a ton of dog hair everywhere." Yeah, there was. I just hadn't had a chance to do much cleaning, with Scott and all his crap parked in the dining room and him hunched over his computer all the time. Scott kept trying, bringing Max over every morning for a few hours. The dog was a true tyrant, peeing on the carpet, chewing the furniture, then throwing up. He wouldn't let Jackson come within ten feet of him, and if I tried to pick him up he nipped at my fingers. One day while Scott was in the kitchen, I tried to trick Max by wearing gloves. The little bastard peed on me. "Yuck!" I said. "Max! Bad dog!" Scott came hurrying out of the kitchen. "What did he do?" I deposited the dog on the tile floor, and when I stood up again Scott saw the wet spot on my shirt and started to laugh. "Yeah, really funny," I said sourly, stripping my shirt off and heading upstairs, Jackson galloping behind me. I scrubbed down my chest, then dried off. When I came back downstairs a little later, Scott said, "I'm sorry. But you've got to admit it was pretty funny." "Hysterical." "You frightened him. He doesn't like anyone but me to pick him up." 191


"That dog has issues," I said. "Have you ever considered taking him to some kind of dog behaviorist?" "There's nothing wrong with Max," Scott said. He picked up the dog and sat him on the dining room chair next to him, and pointedly turned back to his computer. After that, something shifted between us. Everything that came out of his mouth seemed hypercritical, from the amount of food I gave to Jackson—"He's getting fat, isn't he?" to my own grooming habits—"Don't even try to kiss me until you've shaved," he said one day when I greeted him at the front door. I was starting to see where Max had learned his annoying habits. Scott was just as spoiled and willful as his dog—but I'd been too blinded by love and lust to see it. I was having a hard time remembering what I liked about Scott. Every little thing he did seemed to irritate me. I kept thinking to myself, "I'm ready to kick you out of my life. And your little dog, too." After two weeks of daily companionship, I was delighted to hear that the DSL service had been restored at Scott's house and he could cart all his crap back home. I was seriously considering the future of our relationship as he packed up his last computer. Then he said, "I think we've been in each other's back pocket a little too much over the last couple of weeks. Maybe we ought to take a break for a while." That hit me like a big truck, nearly taking my breath away. Though I'd been considering breaking up with him, I didn't want him to break up with me. I finally said, "If that's what you'd like." 192


"I think it's for the best." The house seemed deadly quiet without Scott grumbling over his computer, without Max yipping and whimpering next to him. Jackson noticed it, too; he wasn't his usual happy, effervescent self. I thought at first he might be sick, until I realized that he was probably mirroring my own depression. Damn. I'd thought Scott was a keeper. But it didn't look like Max was ever going to accept another guy's presence, not to mention another dog's. And if Max couldn't accept me, there was no way my relationship with Scott could move forward. Little dogs last a long time, and he could easily have Max another eight or ten years. I wasn't willing to accept a part-time boyfriend for that long. We stayed away from the dog park for a couple of weeks, until one day I decided it wasn't fair of me to keep Jackson from his other canine pals just because I was afraid we might run into Scott and Max. Winter had come to South Florida, and with it a string of sunny, cool days. One especially nice afternoon, I got Jackson into the car with me and drove over to the park. A block away, he figured out where we were going and started doing his happy car dance, jumping from the front floor to the seat and then tumbling back down. It was all I could do to control him until I could get the car stopped and his leash hooked up. Then he dragged me all the way to the gate. I unhooked the latch and let Jackson loose, then looked up. Scott was standing at the far side of the grassy area, 193


talking to Dorothy. Jackson began galloping over to them, then caught sight or smell of Max and stopped cold. Max, though, came running toward Jackson, then stopped in front of him. He leaned his head down on his front paws, then jumped back up. It was all the invitation Jackson needed. Max took off down the park, Jackson behind. The two of them began romping and rolling in the grass. "Quite a change," I said, walking over to Scott and Dorothy. "It's like Max is a different dog." "He's been pretty cranky for the last couple of weeks," Scott said. "I guess he decided he missed Jackson." "I think this is where I cut out," Dorothy said, scooping up her Shih-Tzu, who'd been dozing at her feet. "Have fun, you guys." When she'd left, I said, "Yeah, Jackson's been pretty moody, too." I looked at Scott. "Probably just mimicking me. I haven't exactly been the happiest camper in camperland since I last saw you." "I was a jerk," he said. "Forgive me?" "We have some issues we have to work out," I said. "I think maybe I'm a little too sloppy for you." "And I'm a little too anal," he said. "I'm just so accustomed to it being me and Max. It's hard to let somebody else in." "And I assume too much," I said. We were looking into each other's eyes, and I certainly liked what I saw in his. If he was willing to try and work things out, I wanted to give it a try. 194


"Look over there," Scott said, motioning toward the end of the park, where Jackson and Max had finally worn each other out and collapsed together, the little dog resting with his head against Jackson's golden flanks. "How sweet! Maybe they can get along." "How about you come for dinner tonight?" Scott asked. "You and Jackson. I'm not much of a cook, but I make a great roast chicken." We found we were smiling at each other. "Sure," I said. "That'd be great." And then we walked down the park together toward our dogs.

195


Indigenous by J.L. Jensen Jacob Redhawk was walking along the strip of green space that everyone on the University of Minnesota's St. Paul Campus called 'the mall' when he heard someone shout, then felt something smash into the back of his head. When he opened his eyes, he was sure he was dreaming, because standing on the grass in front of him was a bald eagle, head cocked, staring him in the eye. "Don't move," a man's voice whispered behind him. The eagle spread its wings, flapped them for a few seconds, then it screamed. Softly, under his breath, Jacob started speaking to the eagle in his native tongue, Ojibwe, telling it how honored he was that it was there, how brave Eagle had been to intervene with the great spirit to save the world when the great spirit had been angry and had wanted to destroy it. He started when he felt a hand on his back. He gasped when he felt a spark of energy travel from that hand straight to his groin. "Hold on. His jesses are tangled in your braid." Jake nodded slightly and kept talking to the eagle, who had calmed down and was watching him intently. After a couple of minutes the warmth of the hand was back. "Okay, I'll get him, then you can get up." Jake told the eagle what was going to happen, and waited for his first glimpse of the man who'd made him tingle. He was shocked to see a short, slender, blond step in front of him. The man held out his gloved hand and Jake briefly saw 196


the piece of meat he held before the eagle jumped up onto the glove and mantled, protecting its prey with its wings. "It's okay to move now," the man told Jake. Jake stood up and brushed grass from his jeans. He tried to figure out where the man was from—he had a slight, musical accent. "I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened. I was exercising him and he just took off. Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine." "I don't know what got into him. He's never done that before and I've been exercising him for a month!" "Don't worry about it. You work at the Raptor Center?" "Yeah. I've been volunteering there this summer. I'm working on my Ph.D. in Animal Science." "I'll be starting vet school this semester," Jake said. This young man intrigued him. "I'm Jacob Redhawk, by the way." "Oh! Sorry!" Jake was fascinated by how red the blond's cheeks got. "I'm Kai Maakotka. Pleased to meet you." Jake saw Kai look at his hands, one holding the bald eagle, and one holding the long leather jesses, and took pity on him. "I'll consider my hand shaken, you don't have to put anything down." "Thanks," Kai said with a grin. "Hey, Kai? Time to go!" Jake watched Kai turn towards the shout from further up the mall.

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"Yeah, I'm coming," Kai yelled then turned to Jake. "It was nice meeting you, Jacob. I'm sorry about letting Junior smash into you." "Junior?" Jake asked in disbelief. "Yeah, he's barely an adult and his father was treated in the clinic some years ago. Not my choice of names." "So is he going to be okay?" Jake asked. "Yeah, he just got a bit banged up. He'll be released in a month or so." "That's good. Eagle is important to my people." Kai nodded. "We don't have bald eagles where I'm from, but we have golden eagles and they're important to us." Jake couldn't help himself. "Where are you from?" "Finland." "Kai! Now!" "Sorry, gotta go. I'll see you around I guess." Jake nodded. "I'll be around the next four years at least." Kai laughed. "At least two for me. It really was nice meeting you, Jake. Take care." Jake watched Kai walk to the other volunteer, then he headed to the Vet Med Library to get a head start on reading for his classes. It was only after he got home that night that he discovered Eagle's gift—a white tailfeather was stuck in his braid. The next morning, Jake woke from a dream so vivid he knew it was important. He found himself in a pine forest and as he looked around, he heard drumming. He headed toward the sound and heard an eagle scream. He felt the brush of a golden eagle's wings as it flew over his head and toward the 198


sound. He followed the eagle and he heard someone singing along with the drum. It sounded familiar, so he listened intently, trying to recognize the words, but he couldn't make them out. He finally made his way to a clearing in the forest, and stopped in shock when he recognized the man standing there, singing, the eagle perched on his shoulder, and a shallow, painted drum on a table-like rock next to him. It was Kai. **** On Friday, Jake headed north, to the Red Lake Reservation. He really needed to talk to his grandfather. He'd had the same dream about Kai every night since they'd met and was at his wit's end. Five hours later, he parked in front of his grandfather's mobile home, got out of his pick-up truck and stretched. His grandfather opened the door as he started up the steps. "Jake! It's good to see you!" He pulled Jake into a hug as soon as he hit the landing. "Come on in. I'm just getting some supper. You hungry?" Jake shook his head. "I ate about an hour ago." "Grab some coffee, then, while I finish up." Jake sat at the kitchen table and watched his grandfather fry a chicken breast, then pull a salad out of the refrigerator. Jake raised an eyebrow at his grandfather; chicken wasn't his grandfather's favorite meat. "Janie's boy needed help," he said. "She gave me a chicken." "I was wondering what would make you eat chicken." 199


Jake's grandfather smiled. "It's a lot better than storebought and no extra hormones." "Yeah, I suppose it is." Jake stayed silent as his grandfather ate, his mind wandering to the dream and his strange attraction to Kai. He'd realized in high school that he was gay. He knew he was lucky that he lived in the city—he could always find someone to help him when his loneliness got too much to bear. If he'd been living on the reservation, life would have been more difficult. He'd hoped to find another Native American gay man to live the rest of his life with, but as the years went on, he slowly lost hope. Now he was torn between waiting for someone who understood his culture and wanting the slender blond man he'd just met. When Jake looked up, his grandfather was watching him, a concerned look on his face. "Are you well?" he asked. Jake nodded. "I've been having dreams, grandfather." "Tell me." When Jake finished telling his grandfather about the dreams, he couldn't meet his grandfather's eyes. He only hoped his grandfather wouldn't be upset with him. "Jacob, look at me." He looked up and met his grandfather's accepting gaze. "Who is this man who has wormed his way into your heart?" Jacob explained how they'd met. He wasn't prepared for his grandfather to get up from the table, walk over to him and lightly tap his forehead, then slap the back of his head. 200


"Ouch! What was that for?" "It seems that hitting you from behind may be the only way to get your attention. Think, grandson. I know you are intelligent. Eagle introduces you to a man who makes your blood stir, and your heart leap. Eagle gifts you with a feather. Then you dream about the man every night. I think you would be foolish to throw away the man Eagle has given you!" "But he's white and not even American!" "I'll agree with the 'not American' part. But white? Maybe, maybe not. I suggest, grandson, that when you get home you look up the word Sámi." Jake enjoyed the rest of the weekend with his grandfather, who brought him up to speed on the family gossip, and when he got home, he fired up his computer and did a search on 'Sámi'. He was astonished to discover that there was a European indigenous people, the Sámi, formerly known as Laplanders. The more he read about the Sámi, the more he realized how similar their history was to that of the Ojibwe. He stayed up late, fascinated by the information he found about the Sámi culture, religion and history. The next morning he stopped by the Raptor Center, only to be told that Kai had gone home and the people there didn't know anything more. The Animal Science Department couldn't give him any information due to privacy laws, so he gave up any hope of finding Kai, even though he was plagued by dreams every night. **** 201


Almost two months later, Jake looked around the North Star Ballroom in the student center and wished he were at home, sleeping, and dreaming of Kai instead of attending the annual Ethel Curry Pow Wow. He had a duty to be there, however, because he had received the scholarship as an undergrad and one of his cousins was a recipient this year. He'd worn his regalia and danced in all of the dances, but his heart wasn't in it. He knew his mother noticed, because she'd asked what was wrong. The only bright spot in the evening had been when he'd danced in front of some of the elders and they'd placed dollar bills on the floor to honor him. He'd seen them looking at the white feather he'd braided into his hair after creating a beadwork anchor around the shaft, and he was certain that the story of Eagle's gift had already circulated through the room several times. Now the women were dancing and he sat on a stool against a wall, waiting for the night to end. "Hello, grandson." Jake looked over at his grandfather who sat in a chair next to him. "Hello," he replied. "How have you been? Your mother tells me that you have not visited her recently." Jake shrugged. "Been busy. School's rough." "And?" Jake shook his head. "Nothing more." When his grandfather raised his eyebrows Jake knew he'd been caught. "Really?" "I'm still dreaming about him. That hasn't changed." 202


"Eagle doesn't like his messages to be ignored." "What?" "Look, grandson," his grandfather pointed with his chin to the slender figure in the doorway. Jake held his breath until the man walked closed. "Kai?" he whispered. Jake was startled when Kai turned to face him—there was no possible way Kai could have heard his whisper. When Kai spotted him, his face lit up and he walked towards Jake. "Jake! I hoped you'd still be here. I was going to be here earlier but a great horned owl came in and I was the only one who could keep it calm." "Kai? I thought you'd gone home for good? That's what they said when I asked about you." Kai shook his head. "No, one of my great-uncles died and my niece was getting married, so I had to go home for a while. I got back a week into the semester and I've been spending my time catching up. I kept looking for you, then when I saw the poster for the pow wow I figured it was my best chance of finding you." Jake heard the chair behind him move as his grandfather stood. "I'm glad you came, Kai. I'd like to introduce you to my grandfather, Lloyd." Jake watched their eyes meet and wondered what caused the shocked look to cross Kai's face when they shook hands. "I am pleased to meet you," Lloyd said. "I will leave you to talk. Jake, Kai, see me before you leave tonight. Please?" "I will, Grandfather." 203


"Sure," Kai said. Kai and Jake spent the rest of the evening talking. Jake persuaded Kai to dance one of the social dances and was very glad his regalia covered his groin because Kai sure knew how to dance. When the announcer thanked everyone for coming, Jake realized just how late it was. He looked around and spotted his grandfather sitting next to the Drum. "I hadn't realized it was so late. We should go see my grandfather and see what he needs." "Yeah, the time just flew by. Where is he?" "Over by the Drum. Come on," Jake said. Jake and Kai walked over to the Drum and when Lloyd saw them he rose and met them halfway. "Come with me. I have something for you, noaidi." Jake frowned, then as realization dawned—noaidi was the Sámi word for shaman—he glanced over at Kai who looked pole-axed. "How...? Oh! You feel like my great-uncle. I was wondering why you felt that way." It was Jake's turn to be stunned. He knew his grandfather was an elder and had a lot of 'medicine' but he hadn't realized that two medicine people could feel each other when they touched. Jake followed Lloyd and Kai over to the raised stage at one end of the ballroom where he'd left his stuff. Lloyd went to his own stuff and pulled out a round leather case. "This is yours," Lloyd told Kai as he handed him the case. Kai zipped open the case and gasped. "It can't be. This was my great-great grandfather's! How did you get it?" 204


"My grandmother's brother worked in the iron mines when he was young. He met a man there who had come from Finland with his grandfather when he was young. The young man was in mourning for his grandfather, and was upset because his grandfather had just started teaching him the ways of their people before he died. My great-uncle became close friends with the young man and brought him home and introduced him to the elders, who adopted him. They stayed together until they died; the no-longer-young man gave me the drum about a year before that. He told me that I would know who to give it to, that Eagle would tell me. When Jacob told me of your meeting; when he told me your name, I knew the time had come." "His name?" Jake asked. "My last name means 'golden eagle'," Kai explained as he pulled the drum out of the case and examined it closely. "We thought that we'd lost this forever when my great-great grandfather took it with him. Thank you." "No thanks required. I remember the love they shared and I was honored when I was asked to be the caretaker for his drum. Now I have a question for you. I remember my greatuncle's partner singing. Do you also sing?" "He sang?" Kai asked, a curious look on his face. "Yes, he said it was a special kind of singing, a song that celebrated an event, a time and place all in one." "Oh, joiking!" Kai said. "What?" Jake asked curiously. "Joiking. Yes, I also joik," Kai said 205


Lloyd nodded. "I suspected you might. If it's not improper, may I hear you?" "Improper? No, I would love to, but I don't have a drum and I don't want to use a shaman's drum for joiking." Jake went to his stuff and pulled out the drum he'd felt compelled to bring along. He'd made the drum right after his junior year in college, when he'd finally accepted the fact that he was gay. He handed it to Kai. "Will this do?" Kai took the drum and tapped it experimentally. "It's perfect," he said with a smile. "Good. It's yours." "What? I can't take this!" "Yes you can. I made it years ago and have never played it. I've always known it wasn't mine. Tonight I needed to bring it along and now I know why." "Thank you," Kai said softly, then he started tapping a complicated rhythm on the drum. Jake watched with fascination as the drumming carried Kai away and noticed that everyone still in the ballroom had stopped what they were doing and slowly came towards them. Kai started singing and a shiver went up Jake's spine as he recognized the song from his dreams. He listened in awe as he heard a sound like an eagle's scream and realized that Kai's song was telling the story of how they met. When Kai finished, he looked around at the crowd gathered around them and blushed. Lloyd put his arm around Kai's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, then introduced Kai to everyone. Jake was proud and 206


relieved when everyone greeted Kai warmly and several people wanted to talk to him more about his song. Seeing that Kai was occupied, he grabbed his bag and went to get changed out of his regalia. When he returned, Jake noticed that the building cleaning crew was getting impatient, so he went to where Lloyd and Kai were holding court. "Grandfather, it is late and the janitors are getting impatient. I think it is time for us to go." Lloyd looked at his watch. "You are right. Come, now, it is time to go," h told the gathered crowed, then he looked at Jake and Kai. "Will you help clean up?" "Of course," Kai replied as Jake nodded. As they worked, Jake asked Kai, "Do you need a ride home?" Kai looked at his watch and groaned. "Damn, I missed the last bus." "I can drive you home. My duplex is only a couple of blocks away, so I can go get my truck or you can come home with me." "Won't your roommates be pissed?" "No roommates. I live alone." "Okay, let's go to your place. Let me get my stuff—Damn! I forgot about the drums!" Jake was surprised by the panicked look that crossed Kai's face. "Jake, will you keep them for me? I live with four other guys in a two-bedroom apartment and I don't want them to get damaged." 207


"Four guys? Where do you sleep?" "On the couch. It was all I could get since I missed the housing deadline for the dorms." "Okay, let's go to my place and we'll talk and, yes, I would be honored to keep your drums," Jake said. They said goodbye to Lloyd, and walked along the silent sidewalks towards Jake's duplex. There was just a bit of chill in the mid-October night air, which Jake found refreshing after the warmth of the ballroom. When Kai shivered, Jake took off his jacket and put it around Kai's shoulders. "Won't you get cold?" Kai asked. "Nah, I'm fine. It feels good to me after a night of dancing." "I'm sorry I didn't get to see you dance more." "I'm just happy you came," Jake said as they reached the front door of his duplex. He opened the door to the lower half and motioned Kai inside. He turned to lock the door; when he turned back, Kai pushed him up against it and captured his mouth in a searing kiss. Jake moaned; the kiss was everything he'd dreamt it would be. He ran his hands up and down Kai's back, then he pushed them under Kai's shirt—he needed to feel skin. Kai moaned and pressed his body closer to Jake; pleased with Kai's response, Jake deepened the kiss and pushed his hips into Kai's. He'd never gotten so hard so fast, and he was feeling a bit dizzy. Jake moaned in protest when Kai pulled away. "Oh, Damn! Jake, we have to stop or I'm going to—" 208


Jake pulled Kai's head back down with one hand while his other pressed Kai's groin into his own. He felt Kai go rigid and felt his hips snap forward as Kai threw his head back and cried out. That was all Jake needed to trigger his own climax. Jake felt Kai go limp and grabbed him before he could fall. "Kai? You okay?" Jake breathed a sigh of relief when Kai nodded against his chest. "Good. Kai?" "Hmmm?" "You want to stay tonight?" "Yeah." "Good, 'cause I don't think I can move." Kai snickered. "Bed?" "Don't think I can walk that far. We'll have to sleep here. Hey!" Jake yelped as Kai bit his chest through the sweatshirt he was wearing. "Bed!" Kai said firmly, rubbing his cheek against Jake's chest. "Okay, okay, just give me a minute. You melted me." "Only fair, you melted me." "Yeah?" Kai nodded, then slowly pushed himself upright. Jake watched closely, ready to grab him again if he fell, but Kai managed to stand upright. Kai looked around then headed toward the bedroom. When he got to the door he looked over his shoulder; Jake felt his heart and dick both leap at the heated gaze Kai shot his way. "Hurry," Kai said. 209


"Oh, yeah," Jake said as he pushed away from the door and followed Kai into the bedroom. He noted in passing that Kai had put the drums safely on a table, then he turned his full attention on getting into the bedroom and getting naked. Jake froze in the doorway, the sight that greeted him made his cock instantly hard. Kai was lying spread-eagle on his queen-sized bed, his pale skin glowing against the black Egyptian cotton sheets that were one of Jake's few indulgences. He swore as Kai stretched out towards all four corners of the bed, then one hand reached for his cock, which was hard and leaking. "Beautiful," Jake whispered as he stripped off his clothes and watched Kai stroke himself. "I don't hold a candle to you," Kai said, his stare so hot that Jake could feel it on his skin. Jake licked his suddenly dry lips, then grabbed condoms and lube from his top dresser drawer before settling on the bed between Kai's legs. He ran his hand along Kai's legs, which were covered in soft, silky fine blond hair. Kai moaned and reached out to Jake. "Please, let me touch, too." Jake shook his head. "Later. I want to learn what you like first, then it will be your turn." Kai groaned. "Not fair!" Jake moved over Kai and kissed him. "I need to know you're real, Kai. I've been dreaming of you every night." Kai froze; his eyes went wide. "You, too? I've been dreaming that I'm standing in a clearing next to great-great 210


grandfather's drum, joiking, when a golden eagle flies up and lands on my shoulder. Then, when I look up I see you." It was Jake's turn to freeze. "The same. My dream was the same. I'm in the woods, and I hear drums. A golden eagle flies over my head and leads me to you, standing in a clearing." Kai reached up and pulled Jake down for a kiss. "Then the spirits are telling us something and I don't think we should ignore them, do you?" "No, I don't," Jake replied, kissing Kai again before he resumed his exploration of Kai's body. By the time Jake was done touching, stroking, kissing or licking every part of Kai he could reach, Kai was pleading with him to do something, anything to make him come. When Jake sat back on his knees and started preparing himself to take Kai's cock, Kai watched wide-eyed and started pleading in a language that sounded like it was mostly vowels; Jake suspected it was Finnish. When he rolled the condom down Kai's cock, Kai's eyes widened. Before Kai could voice the protest Jake saw in his eyes, Jake straddled Kai's hips, grabbed his cock, positioned it against his hole and pushed down, moaning as Kai's cock filled him perfectly. When Jake looked down, Kai had the oddest expression on his face. "Kai? What's wrong?" "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. I just never expected you to want me to—" Jake leaned forward, moaning as Kai's cock rubbed over his prostate, and silenced him with a kiss. He pulled back in order to look Kai in the eyes. "Why wouldn't I want this?" 211


Jake froze when he saw the expression on Kai's face. "Kai?" "Because I'm smaller than most guys, they take me. I've never..." Jake kissed Kai gently as he trailed off. "Good. It's past time you did this." He sat up and squeezed his ass muscles, smiling when he heard Kai's groan. Jake started to ride Kai's cock, squeezing it as he pulled off, moaning as it rubbed over his prostate. He was relieved when he felt Kai's first upward thrust and he rewarded Kai by leaning over and giving him a deep kiss. All too soon he felt the familiar tingle in his balls that signaled his orgasm "Close, so close," Jake gasped, then groaned when Kai's hips snapped up. He felt Kai go deeper than ever before, then felt him stiffen and his cock twitch in his ass. The thought that Kai was coming triggered his own orgasm and he shot ropes of come over Kai's chest, some even reached his chin. Jake fell forward, catching himself before he squashed Kai. When he looked down at Kai, he felt a tug at his heart; Kai had the most peaceful, content expression on his face that Jake had ever seen. He got off the bed as quietly as possible, because he didn't want to disturb Kai, and went to the bathroom to clean up. He brought back a warm washcloth and cleaned Kai up after taking off the condom and tossing it in the nearby trashcan. Kai opened his eyes as Jake gently cleaned his chest. "Hey," Jake said softly. "You okay?" "Better than okay. That was wonderful. Thank you." 212


"You're welcome," Jake said as he draped the wet washcloth over the wrought iron headboard. He stretched out next to Kai and pulled the sheet and a light quilt over them. "Tomorrow's Saturday, you gotta be anywhere?" "No," Kai said. "Good. We'll sleep in and talk more in the morning," Jake said. He turned off the light on the bedside table and snuggled next to Kai. **** Jake woke slowly, disappointed that he hadn't dreamt of Kai. He froze when he realized there was someone in the bed with him, then he remembered what had happened. He reached out and stroked Kai's arm. "Mmmmmm," Kai said before moving closer to Jake. "Hey," Jake said softly. "How are you?" "I'm good," Kai said. "How are you?" he asked, rubbing a hand over Jake's ass. Jake stretched and purred. "Great." He ran a hand down Kai's back and pulled him closer. He heard Kai gasp when their erect cocks touched. "Now I'm even better. Should we take care of these so we can piss and clean up?" "Please," Kai said. Jake rolled so he was on his back and Kai was on top of him, then he reached down and grabbed both cocks in his hand. "Show me what you like," he ordered. Kai nodded and started to move in Jake's hand, rubbing his cock against Jake's erection. It didn't take much time at all before they were both coming. Kai collapsed on top of him and Jake 213


wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. When he could think coherently, he turned his head and kissed Kai's neck. "Bathroom, shower and breakfast?" Jake asked. "Sounds good to me," Kai said. They had just finished breakfast, when Jake asked, "Can you stay the weekend, or do you have other plans?" "I can stay, but I should go home and grab my laptop and some clothes. I've got a paper due on Tuesday and need to work on it." "Sounds good to me. Let's go." As Jacob pulled into the apartment building's parking lot, he was determined to persuade Kai to move in. He was glad that his pickup truck was slightly battered; if it'd been new he was sure it'd be stolen and stripped down for parts within an hour. He wrinkled his nose at the stench as they walked down the hallway towards Kai's apartment. As Kai put his key in the lock, they heard a thump and a crash from inside. "Somebody's up," Kai said, biting his lip and opening the door. "Hey, look who's home! It's the fag—!" As soon as he saw Kai flinch, Jake grabbed the loudmouthed asshole and slammed him against the nearest wall. "Kai, get all of your stuff. You're moving in with me." "Jake?" "I couldn't look at myself in a mirror if I left you here, Kai. I've got more than enough room for the both of us." "Are you sure?" 214


Jake looked at Kai and met his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Last night was the first night since we met that I didn't dream about you and wake up lonely and wanting." "Oh! Me, too!" Jake looked at the man he had pinned to the wall. "Will there be a problem with Kai moving?" "Nnnno. No problem." "Good. Now help Kai get his stuff out of here, and you won't have to worry about sharing this dump with a faggot anymore!" The guy slowly nodded, and Jake realized that he was either half-drunk or hung over. "Anyone else around who can help?" Jake asked the guy. "Yeah, I'll wake 'em up." In a very short time, all of Kai's stuff was moved from the apartment and its basement storage area into Jake's truck and they were on their way back to Jake's duplex. "Listen, I'm sorry if I pushed you back there. I just couldn't stand the thought of you living there while I have space in my place." "Don't apologize. I'm glad to be out of there and I was afraid to ask you for anything more." "Kai, never be afraid to ask, okay? Eagle thought we'd make a good couple, yes? Let's trust in that." **** Jacob sat on a stool, watching the women dance at the annual Ethel Curry Pow Wow, when his attention was caught by the slender blond man walking towards him. He still 215


couldn't believe that it had been four years since Eagle introduced him to Kai, it seemed like yesterday, and their passion was still flowing strong. "So what did Professor LaPorte want?" Jake asked. "The INS contacted him as a reference regarding my green card," Kai replied. "He also wants me to joik at a couple of his Indigenous Music classes again." "Can't he use the CD you guys made?" Jake asked. It was that CD and the book that Kai had written about Sámi culture that were the basis for Kai's application for an 'exceptional ability' green card. While he'd gotten an extension on his visa because Dr. LaPorte had hired him to help with his indigenous music research when Kai had finished his Animal Science degree, it would be ending soon. "No, this time he wants me to lecture about the drum, too." Jake couldn't hug Kai because he was wearing his regalia, so he settled for throwing an arm around his shoulders. "I still can't believe your family told you to keep it. They're considered national treasures in Finland." "Yeah, but they need to be used. Grandfather and Uncle know that." When Kai had finished up his Ph.D., they'd gone to Finland, well, more accurately, to Sápmi, so Jake could meet Kai's family. Kai had been torn between returning home after getting his degree or staying with Jake in the U.S. Both his grandfather and his noaidi great-uncle told him his destiny was with Jake. While they'd been very pleased to hear about 216


the family's drum, they'd insisted that the drum stay with Kai, as it was already in the states. "I suppose it's a good sign that the INS is checking your references," Jake said. "Yeah, it is. I think they were surprised to find out that I've been formally adopted by your tribe." "Well if it comes down to it we can move to tribal lands," Jake said. The elders, after hearing how Jake and Kai had met, had formally adopted Kai, stating that if Eagle thought the two men were meant for each other, then so did they. "Speaking of land, your grandfather keeps telling me we need to start looking for a place so you can start your veterinary practice," Kai said. Jake rolled his eyes. "I told him that I was accepted to the raptor medicine residency program and that it would be another three years before I would be able to open my own practice." "I know," Kai said. "But he seems to think that we need to act now. You should talk to him about it." "I will. It's going to be tough to find a place where you can raise reindeer." "And for you to start your raptor rescue program," Kai said. "But I think we'll find something, don't you?" Jake nodded and saw a flash of white as his braid moved. He'd started volunteering at the Raptor Center after Kai had moved in with him and had been heartbroken when Junior, their matchmaker, had suffered a setback. He and Kai had spent hours nursing Junior back to health, and Jake had been allowed to release him. It was only when Kai pointed at his 217


braid that he discovered that Junior had gifted him with another feather. It was then that he'd decided to start a raptor intake center—someplace that people could call if they saw an injured eagle, falcon, hawk or owl. "Yeah, I think we will. We'll just have to wait for Eagle to tell us where we need to be." Jake said as he tightened his arm around Kai's shoulders. He had been so lonely before Kai came into his life and he thanked Eagle every night for giving Kai, the other half of his soul, to him. After four years he was more in love than he thought possible. No matter what happened, he knew he would be able to face it as long as Kai was by his side.

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Birds of a Feather by CB Potts My beeper went off just after two a.m., shrill, insistent tones cutting through a particularly wonderful dream. There's a reason why I went into ophthalmology rather than some other specialty. Namely, I hate getting woken up in the middle of the night. That's one of very few lessons I learned from my old man. He was a back-country GP, constantly leaving his bed before the crack of dawn to bring squalling little rug-rats into the world. Not me. No sirree, Bob. A little glaucoma, a little diabetic retinopathy, some laser surgery, and my day's done by three o'clock. "Banker's hours," the old man would invariably scoff, on those rare occasions we were forced to socialize, and failing any other common ground, would find ourselves talking shop. "Damn straight," I'd invariably reply, knowing the subtle entendre would hit him right where it really hurt. But banker's hours and a plum practice didn't mean I'd managed to escape all the on-call responsibilities of a physician. Having OR privileges at County General carries a price: I was on the hook wherever a car accident, random mishap, or God forbid, farm catastrophe endangered someone's vision. Which must be what was happening now. ****

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"Bayner here," I dug in my nightstand drawer for a pad of paper. "What've we got?" "Oh, Doctor." Trudy was a good nurse, one of the old school that thought some small measure of divinity was conveyed with the MD. "You're never going to believe this." This, I discovered upon reaching the ER, was a big barn owl, smoothly gray feathers and a moon white face, avian perfection marred by the aluminum shaft of a hunting arrow lodged firmly in one yellow eye. "Poor bastard." I looked up at Ranger Daniel Shad, who'd brought the bird to the ER. "But I'm not sure what you want me to do." "Well," he said, that Vermont drawl slow and sweet like syrup on a cold spring morning. "I'm thinking that we'd better start by getting that there arrow out." "Ranger..." "Dan." Green eyes met mine. Incredible green eyes. Not that I noticed. "Dan, I'm a doctor, not a vet. I don't know the first thing about birds. Not their anatomy, not their eye structures. Nothing." I glanced at the owl, victim of some fool's piss-poor idea of a joke. "I don't even know how to sedate him so he doesn't feel any pain during the procedure." "Doc, don't you think he's in pain right now?" Dan shook his head. "They won't work on him down to the animal clinic. Say they don't have the first idea what to do for him." His voice was flat. "But they'd be more than happy to put him down, without even trying." A shrug, resigned. "What's one less predator, after all?" 220


Even now, I can't tell you why I agreed. Everything I'd told the Ranger about my lack of expertise, about the difficulties operating outside of one's species, my misgivings regarding sedation was true—but there was something in his voice, in the set of his shoulders, in the way that forelock of black hair curled forward when he bent his head to look at the owl that made that truth irrelevant. "Trudy, is the small OR still available?" "Yes, Doctor." "You'll have to assist," I told Dan. "I'm not having that oversized parakeet of yours bite any of my nurses." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trudy smile. That old girl knows way more than she lets on. "And we'll have to work fast. Human patients take priority. If we get a car accident or something, you're out of here." "Fair enough." Dan was already moving, the owl cradled against his chest. "Lead the way." **** It wasn't the easiest procedure I've ever done. I had a small amount of confidence going into the OR—foreign objects are foreign objects, after all. They go in, they have to come out, preferably doing as little damage as possible along the way. That's on a good day. This was not a good day. Not really news to me, and I suspect that Dan and the owl were feeling the same way.

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Once the bird was secured and sedated, I got up close and personal. The bad news immediately apparent. There was no way to save the eye—at least, no way I knew of. "I'm sorry, man." I looked at the Ranger, suddenly reluctant to talk. "It's not going to happen for him." He leaned forward, peering intently at the arrow. "Why?" "Long story short," I said, pushing some feathers aside, "the tip has severed the major blood vessel that supplies the eye." I sighed, watching the downy curls flutter to the ground. "He can't do without it, and we can't really repair it, just circumvent it. It's the type of injury that requires major surgery on a human—and even then there's no guarantees. I'd need help—skilled help—to pull it off. On a person. On this guy?" I continued, letting my fingers trace over the top of the owl's head They were incredibly soft, softer than I would ever imagine. "I wouldn't even know where to start." Dan reached out, covering my hand with his own. The gentle squeeze he gave spoke volumes: volumes about longing and need, strength and tenderness. "If you can start with saving his life," he said, voice calm but insistent, "I can take care of the rest." "Dan, he's going to be half-blind." I had to be blunt. That's part of every doctor's job, the breaking of bad news. Believe me, none of us like it. "What kind of life will he have? He won't be able to fly, to hunt—nothing that an owl needs to do." "You let me worry about that." Dan's voice held no room for argument. "It won't be the first time I've played nursemaid." 222


**** Enucleation is always nerve-wracking. There's something about taking the marvel that is the eye and pulling it from the body, knowing that it's an irreversible, irreparable step that shakes me to the core. Trudy knew it. "You alright, Doctor?" Dan had left a few minutes before, after pressing his thanks and phone number into my hand. "That's never easy." "At least my troubles are over." I stared at the doorway long after the Ranger had left. "His are just starting." **** I could lie and tell you that the Ranger's place was on my way home from the office, but it wasn't. Fact was, Dan's place really wasn't on the way to anywhere. Tucked on the tail end of a dirt road, tucked deep into the Green Mountains, you only found this cabin if you were looking for it. "So, how's the patient?" "Cranky." Dan led me around the back of his place to a fenced in aviary. "There are two or three mice in there, but he's not paying the least bit of attention to them." "I bet they're paying plenty of attention to him." "Wouldn't you?" Dan smiled up at the big bird, the gaze frankly admiring. "Death on the wing. Kind of hard to ignore." "He's not the only one." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could catch them, one of the few times my tongue acted without my brain's consent. Dan raised an 223


eyebrow, not unkind, so I pressed on, awkwardly. "I mean, I, uh, was wondering..." "Yeah." A pivot on a booted heel, and the Ranger was facing me. "I've been wondering too." The kiss was a surprise—most guys don't, in my experience. That's not saying it wasn't pleasant, all velvet soft lips and late day stubble, the taste of black coffee strong on his tongue. "Actually," Dan continued, "I've been wondering for a while." His arms slid up around my neck, startling the owl. A great flutter of wings as feather-covered claws struggled to maintain the perch, the loss of depth perception clearly evident. "But this might not be the best place to satisfy my curiosity." "Then lead the way." I took one step back, reluctantly leaving the shelter of his arms. "You know where we're going." "Hope so, anyway." His cabin was small. Neat as a pin, with outdoor gear strategically stowed about. Snowshoes hung on a peg near the front door. Binoculars rested on the windowsill. That's not saying I spent a lot of time studying the décor. Once Dan had pushed the door shut behind us, my attention was elsewhere. "You've got the most incredible eyes, do you know that?" His mouth was everywhere, on my lips, on my ear, working down my neck. "So dark. So deep."

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"I was going to say the same thing about you," I told him, fingers fumbling over the stiff fabric of his uniform shirt. "Not the dark part. Green, like diamonds..." Ok, I know diamonds aren't green. But his hand had flattened over the front of my pants, putting just the right amount of pressure in important places, so you'll forgive me if I'm not up on my lapidary. Dan grinned, and moved that hand. "Tell me more." "As soon as I saw you, I wanted you." God, the pressure was intense. "I mean, we had the owl and all, but damn ... there you were, so hot, so fine..." I closed my eyes, arched my head back toward the ceiling. "Dan, I'm gonna lose it if you don't stop doing that." The blissful touch disappeared. "We can't have that." A half-mocking, half-chiding tone, sexy as hell. "At least, not until I see you." One perfect eyebrow arched upward. "Did you bring, you know?" I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket, fingers shaking uncharacteristically. I operate on people, for God's sake. You'd think I'd have better control. "I was hoping." He plucked a blue square from the leather and smiled. "Me too." My God, his mouth. What can I say about his mouth that won't make me sound like a teenaged boy in love for the very first time? I'm tempted to poetic language, and believe me, that's not a temptation I should go with. But Dan did things with his mouth that I never knew were possible. The way his tongue wrapped round me, sliding over 225


my length, squeezing like some displaced anaconda—it was flat out insane. The heat, the wet, the insistent suction constantly, constantly pulling me closer and closer to losing it all. All the while, he watched me. Those brown eyes kept looking up at me, careful, watching. Gauging reaction, guiding action. I'm not sure what was a greater spur to pleasure: his mouth on me or his eyes, equally weighty in their presence. And let us not forget his hands. Not gentle, no. Dan had woodsmen's hands, callused and worn yet tender. Knowing. Insistent. Could I resist him? Could I hold back? God knows I tried. The devil knows I didn't try hard. After that, when air returned to my lungs and he'd clambered upright into my waiting arms, there are no words for that. Only the whirlwind rustle of clothing to the floor, as I stripped him the way a spring gale denudes the trees. Too much fabric was between us, closely woven threads keeping me from what I wanted. What I needed. His body—a delight. Vermont pale, that creamy complexion and well placed freckles ever a goad, even to one so recently spent. Cranberry nipples rearing erect to greet my tongue, a stomach far more muscled than one would imagine possible. An intoxicating hollow of muscle, just above the hips, directing my questing mouth further, further, down. I may be an eye doctor, but I know anatomy. This, presented to me, was perfection: the shaft proudly erect, roped round with thick, healthy veins. The head flaring 226


outward sharply, the deep, velvet crevasse underneath just begging for a tongue. When indulged, the throaty moans Dan issued were the purest music, a guttural symphony of need. A swipe of the tongue, then another, pausing only briefly to take the proffered condom from his hand. There's a certain pleasure from a substantial weight on the tongue, a thickness that pushes your lips to their limits, the bliss of a broad cock head flattening against the back of your throat. I came to know these pleasures well, exploring them as far as possible. And yet there were more delights to discover: the furry weight of Dan's balls, cradled in my grasp, the silky-slick skin just behind his scrotum, delightfully responsive. "Now, Doc," he growled, at long last and yet far too soon. "Here it comes, now!" **** Familiarity makes any journey go faster: soon the twisting turns to Dan's house became well known to me. We'd settled, somehow, into a routine without agreement. I'd stop by after office hours to check on the owl. Dan would bring me to the aviary, explaining the day's progress. It took a while, but soon the owl was taking mice from his gloved hand. "Hunger will overcome anything, even instinct," he explained. "When the growling in your gut gets to be too much to ignore..." 227


I turned toward the owl, half hunched over his rodent appetizer. "I know how he feels. I didn't know how hungry I was until I saw you." A shrug, a smile. "And now I can't get enough." "Well, I'd say that's a good thing." Dan reached for my hand. "Wouldn't want you cutting out on me after you've had your fill." "Mmmm." I pulled him toward the cabin. "I don't know if I'll ever get my fill. But it'll be fun trying." He was behind me, on me, in me. "God, Dan." There was no discerning between the two, not at that moment. Divine and man had merged in one, and they had me at their disposal. "Please don't stop." His hands were hard on my hips, controlling my motion. "No worries." A slow slide forward, pushing deeply inside, was accompanied by a groan of pure pleasure. "I could do this all day." He paused for a moment, and then hitched his hips another half inch, reaching that narrow point where I was perfectly full; capacity strained to the utmost, my body aching with accomplishment. The mattress caught me, cushioning the impact when I collapsed from pleasure. "You okay?" He stilled, grip loosening a fraction. "Cause I can..." "No." My hips cantilevered upward, my flesh enveloping his once again. "Give me more, more."

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"Here." His weight covered me, hot and sweaty against my back. Again, I was filled, pushed to open deeper, wider, more completely than ever before. "Here's more." "God." Some prayers go unanswered. This one was met with the sharp edge of his teeth, slowly sinking into the flesh of my shoulder. A half-growl marked what was rapidly becoming my most favorite moment in the world; when the defender of animals surrendered to inevitability and became an animal himself. "Now, babe." He was barely coherent, voice tight with need. "Now." "Yes!" My hips went up as his came down, bringing us together at the pivotal point. He was hot inside me, I was hot against myself. Heat and noise and crashing bodies; all of the primal ingredients of need collided in us then. It was enough to drop the pair of us, exhausted, into each other's arms. **** Silhouetted against the charcoal gray of an autumnal sky, the owl was an impressive presence, watching over Dan's front yard from a substantial perch. If you didn't know, the way he cocked his head to one side might seem natural, the expected posture of a predator scanning the horizon. "Do you think he'll ever fly?" It was a cold night for the hammock, but snuggling close to Dan made it bearable.

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"I don't know. He tries his wings every now and again, but I think he's scared. It's a big risk for him." Dan shrugged. "If he crashes out, he's gonna hit that ground hard." "But you're there for him." "He doesn't know that." Long fingers laced through mine, comforting in the darkness. "But I do." "Good thing." His kisses still were as good as ever, always tasting of strong coffee, no matter what time of day I claimed one. "Because I don't want you flying off on me." "No danger of that. No danger at all."

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Horseplay by Sean Michael Micah Orion cleaned out Daisy's stall while she was busy in the ring with Lucy and Heather, Dr. Hamilton's patient. All the horses were gentle, but Daisy was a real sweet paint, and he put some extra hay in her box before grabbing a handful of carrots and giving the rest of the horses a treat. "How are you doing, Miss Ellie? How's that back leg of yours?" He rubbed her nose, and she snorted at him. "Yeah, yeah, I'm stalling. But that pretty man is out there, and I'm gonna watch him more than I watch Lucy walk the kid around the ring, and he's going to watch me back and then leave without a word. Just like always." She snorted again, nose soft as she nipped at his shirt. "All right, all right, I'm going." Chuckling to himself, he headed out and took up a place at the fence, a few feet from Dr. Hamilton. He watched Daisy trotting in a slow circle, Heather's face all lit up. It made him smile. That's why he ran the farm, had the kids come in and ride. When that connection between rider and horse was made, it was a beautiful thing. His gaze cut away to the man beside him. Now that was another beautiful thing. Dr. Hamilton was pocket-sized, quiet, nut-brown from top to bottom with the softest, deepest voice he'd ever heard. Jesus. "So," he said casually. "You've been coming here once a week for what? Six months? Nine?" 231


"Almost a year." Dr, Hamilton's gaze dragged over him, almost a touch. Micah nodded, and tried not to react to that voice, that almost touch. And he figured after almost a year it was pretty clear Dr. Hamilton wasn't going to be taking the first step. "Almost a year. And every time you come here you watch me, but you never say anything beyond the usual pleasantries." Dr. Hamilton looked like he'd just been beaned by a linedrive. "Pardon me?" Micah closed some of the space between them. "I mean I've seen you more than any of my last dates and I don't even know your first name." "Byron." Dr. Hamilton swallowed, licked his lips. "My name is Byron." Christ, even the man's name was something else. "Is it now? I like that. Byron." He took another step toward the man and offered his hand. "I'm Micah." "Hello, Micah." Byron nodded, stepped closer, shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you." "Yeah. Yeah, it's really nice to meet you, too." He grinned, still holding onto Byron's hand. "Finally." "I ... I should check on Heather..." Those fingers brushed the inside of his wrist. Running away already. He didn't let go. "Maybe you should come back this evening without a patient." He could see a bulge in Dr. Hamilton's incredibly expensive slacks, could see the flat belly go tight under the cashmere sweater. "Maybe I could." 232


Bingo. He'd known it wasn't all one-sided. Even if the man hadn't responded to any of his signals. "I could take you riding." In more ways than one. "You think you can? It's been a very long time..." Hot little tease. Micah held that lovely brown eyed gaze. "If you think you remember how, then oh yeah, I can." The look in those eyes was pure fucking sex. "I'll do my best." "Cool. I'll see you this evening then. Around six?" He wanted Byron for dinner. He might even feed the man first. Or second. "Yes. Should I bring anything?" "Dessert if you want." He lowered his voice. "But really, I just need you." "Oh..." Byron's cheeks went hot, but those hot goddamn eyes didn't slide away. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?" he asked, bending toward Byron. "I'm working." Those dark eyes held his. "And there's a parent pulling into your drive." Reluctantly, he stepped back, and let go of Byron's hand. "I guess it'll have to wait until this evening, then." "I suppose so. After a year, you might change your mind..." He chuckled, but shook his head. "I haven't yet." In fact, if anything, the nearly a year of waiting had only whet his appetite. "No. No, I haven't either." 233


Daisy came to a stop near the fence, blowing air out of her nostrils and neighing softly. Micah didn't quite jump away from Byron, but he had been somewhat startled. Lucy gave him a look, which he ignored, choosing instead to watch Byron with the girl on the horse. Speaking gently, Byron helped the girl down, his entire demeanor gentle, professional, caring. It had impressed him from the start, the way Byron was with the girl. And he wasn't an expert of course, but it seemed to him she was happier from week to week. Lucy clucked and Daisy followed her back toward the barn. "I'll be along in a minute," he told his assistant. "Promises, promises." Lucy grinned over, winked. "Whatever you say, boss." The doc helped the little gal into the car, spending a long moment speaking with the mother. They were the ones he felt the sorriest for—the parents—most of them looked haunted. He waited until she'd driven off, not wanting to infringe on her or her daughter at all, and then headed over, Dr. Hamilton not going directly to his car for once. "So, until tonight then?" Dr. Hamilton looked over at him, then at the heavy gold watch. "I deserve a fifteen minute break, I think. You still interested in sealing the deal?" His blood started flowing faster. "I am, Byron." He did like the way the man's name tasted on his tongue, would Byron's mouth taste as good? 234


"Well, then. I suggest taking the bull by the horns, so to speak." Micah's eyebrows rose. For a man who never said anything for a year, Byron was pretty eager. Maybe the man hadn't realized they both swung the same way—not everyone read signals. He stepped forward and took Byron's face in his hands, tilting it slightly, and brought their mouths together. Byron's lips were soft, warm, the kiss gentle and tentative, almost chaste. Hardly the kind of kiss to seal a deal on. He pressed harder against Byron's lips, his tongue sliding along the place where they met, asking to be allowed in. The moan that pushed into his lips was heated, rough, a complete surprise from the retiring, gentle man. Those lips parted, the doctor letting him in, letting him taste. One hand sliding down to touch Byron's neck, to feel the rapid tattoo of Byron's pulse, Micah deepened the kiss. Once allowed in, his tongue swept through Byron's mouth, exploring the white, even teeth, playing with Byron's tongue, teasing it into response. It was like a dam breaking, the way Byron pushed close, joined into the kiss with a need that had his toes curling, his belly tight as a board. His mouth filled with Byron's flavor: cinnamon and nutmeg with cloves, spicy and sweet at the same time. He made no move to end it, his tongue playing with Byron's, his fingers stroking the warm neck, his body growing tighter, needier the longer it went on. He couldn't remember the last time a kiss had made him lose his head like this. Of course, he'd been looking for months now: waiting, wanting 235


to see that controlled son of a bitch spread out on his sheets, bent over a saddle, hands and knees on the hay. Groaning, he tilted Byron's head further back, tongue pushing deeper, lower body pressing closer. Oh, fuck. That pretty cock was right there, hard and hot in those thin-as-shit slacks. He started rubbing, going way farther than he'd ever intended this kiss to go, but his body was leading him, pulling him along, and Byron's wasn't doing anything to slow him down. No sir. "Boss? You want me to saddle Charger up for ... Oh." Goddamn it. Byron stepped back, holding his eyes. "I should let you work." He stroked Byron's cheek a moment, and let his hand drop as he sighed. "I would rather you didn't, but I guess we've waited nearly a year, we can manage another few hours." Though now he'd had his taste and felt Byron's body react to his own, he didn't want to. "We can. I'll bring dessert." Byron shook his head, smiled. "You have my cell number, if you change your mind." "I won't." He managed to close his mouth before he added 'and you'll be dessert'. He didn't want to scare the man away by coming on too strong. "I hope not." Then Byron turned, slipped into a little black BMW and backed away. He watched until Byron's car disappeared at the end of the lane and then turned to head back to the barn. Lucy was still standing there, one hand on her hip, eyebrow raised. "Hush, you." 236


"He's hot. He's queer?" He rolled his eyes. Straight men did not kiss like that. "No, but I figure if I kiss enough of them, they'll turn and we can take over the world." "You think? Can I watch, because damn, that was hot." Oh, little bitch. "Don't you have work to do?" he growled. "I'm sure I do, boss..." She chuckled and waved, bouncing off. He shook his head, but couldn't stick with the growling. He had a date with a hot doctor tonight. He was whistling by the time he hit the stables. **** Micah had the table set, wine breathing, salad made, garlic bread in the oven, waiting to be turned on, and the steaks marinating in the fridge. He'd fire up the grill once they were ready to eat. He glanced at the clock. Ten past six. He was sure they'd agreed on six and was talking himself into believing that Byron was merely late and hadn't changed his mind. He swept an eye over the living room again, searching for anything out place; cleaning at least would keep him from pacing. The glare of headlights caught his eye, caught his attention as his cock went sproing. Man, as eager as he'd always been before Dr. Hamilton's patient's sessions with the horses, that had nothing on tonight. 237


He looked down at himself. Slacks nicely pressed, his shirt was clean and ironed. He'd do. Even if he was leading with his prick. He headed for the front door. There was a storm coming from the north, the clouds beginning to roll way off in the distance. Dr. Hamilton slipped out of car, a cake box in hand. The man looked as good as ever, and he'd be embarrassed about the way his own trousers were tenting, except he'd felt Byron's prick equally hard this afternoon. He smiled and waved, calling out "Hello." "Hey. Sorry, traffic out of town is insane and there was a line at the bakery. Carrot cake?" He grinned, taking the box from Byron, the brush of their hands sending a jolt straight to his cock. "No problem, I'd barely noticed you were late." "Barely, huh? Well, that's more promising than not noticing at all." "Let me put this in the kitchen," he said, letting Byron in. "It doesn't need to be refrigerated, does it?" He mentally patted himself on the back for not jumping Byron immediately. "I don't think so, no." Byron followed him, slipped the raincoat off. The man looked fine, in loose dark slacks and a tight white sweater that showed off lean muscles. "I've got steaks. They can go on the grill anytime." And the grill was under the overhang so the rain shouldn't matter. So they could take as long as they wanted. Needed. "Would you like some wine?" he asked before he forgot his manners entirely. 238


"That would be wonderful, thank you." Byron smelled good—soap and musk and something woodsy. He approved. He wanted to know what that skin would smell like with the hay from the barn, the leather... He grabbed the wine opener and leaned against the counter, pressing his prick hard along the edge in an effort to make it back off a little. Of course the wine was already open and he rolled his eyes at himself as he grabbed the wine glasses he'd set out and filled them both. "I'm no connoisseur, but I know what I like and this one is really nice." Some wines tasted icky if they weren't served with food. "I don't mean to make you nervous, Micah. The wine smells wonderful." He chuckled. "I'm not nervous," he admitted. "More ... trying not to be rude." "Oh." One hand slid over his upper arm. "I have a very high rudeness tolerance." "Yeah?" He put his wine glass down and took Byron's, putting it down as well. "I think maybe I should test this tolerance of yours." "Do you?" Byron stepped closer, eyes searching him. "I think I might find that exceedingly intriguing." He just smiled and brought their mouths together as his fingers found Byron's waist and wrapped around it. Lord, that kiss blistered him down to the root, Byron's need fierce, sharp. He forgot about polite, about not jumping the man the minute he walked in and just went with it. His hands slid down to cup Byron's ass, tugging him closer. 239


Byron's hands buried in his hair, tugging him close. They'd make a picture, he knew, Byron's dark, lean lines against his muscles. He could feel the heat of Byron's prick against his thigh, the man as hard as he was. It made him groan, rubbing them together as his tongue danced with Byron's. Byron leaned back against the counter, pulling him in close, body hot as August wherever they touched. "Been watching you for nearly a year," he muttered, mouth sliding over Byron's jaw. "Yes. I've been having the most incredible fantasies..." "You never said anything." Not one word, just the looks he could feel down to his toes when Byron thought he wasn't paying attention. "No. No, I. I didn't want to overstep." "Overstep?" He shook his head. "You're not overstepping." Too much formality. Too many clothes, too. He slid the fingers of one hand up beneath Byron's sweater. That belly was flat and ripped, skin smooth and silky and hot. "Can I take this off?" he asked, his other hand tugging at the hem. "We're not children, Micah. We knew what we were going to do." He chuckled and pulled the sweater up over Byron's head, admiring the lines of muscle. "So why did it take us a year to get here, hmm?" "Because I was altogether too caught in a cycle of desire instead of attempting to get what I wanted." "Ooo, dirty shrink talk." He winked and slid his hands up along Byron's ribs, heading right for the dark brown nipples. 240


They tightened up for him, drawing up and reaching for his fingers. By the time he got there they were hard and hot, and he took one between his fingers, tugging on it experimentally. Byron shivered, groaned right into his kiss. Mmm. Somebody liked that. He tested the other one as well, just to make sure it was as sensitive. Byron grabbed his wrist, tugged his hand down. "That's too big." He raised an eyebrow, fingers creeping back up as he rubbed their hips together. "Too big?" "Mmm ... Mmmhmm..." "Too big can be good." He tweaked both nipples at the same time. Byron cried out, hips jerking, the scent of want sudden and strong. "Christ, By." He tugged again, hips rubbing and rubbing, pushing Byron up hard against the counter. "You..." Byron's lips crashed down on his, those hands dragging him in close enough that he couldn't breathe. He pinched Byron's nipples again and again, soft, hard, twisted and tickled them. Byron got his shirt tugged from his waistband, worked his belt open while feeding him one little cry after another. He returned the favor, getting Byron's pants open so they could rub flesh on flesh. Then he went back to Byron's nipples, letting Byron feel his nails. He could just imagine little gold clamps against the dark skin. "You're. I." Those pretty dark eyes rolled, cock moving furiously against his. 241


"Exactly." He groaned, gaze glued to Byron's face, the pleasure dancing across it the same as the pleasure surging through him, gathering in his balls. Hot and wild, the smell of man filled the air, made him rub and tug harder. He felt Byron still, felt the hard cock swell against his own. Close. Goddamn. He could do close. He found Byron's lips again with his own, and worked those sweet, sensitive nubs harder. Heat spread over his lower belly, hips jerking, come sliding over his skin. The scent was something else, strong and heady, and pure male. Groaning, he gave in, his own climax taking him, adding to the heat and the scent between them. His mouth softened against Byron's. "This was an amazing appetizer..." Byron grinned against his lips, eyes warm. He chuckled softly and tugged on Byron's lower lip. "Yeah. Not bad. Not bad at all." "Mmm. I can't wait for the main course." He reached past Byron and grabbed a couple of paper towels, admired the cut of Byron's hips, the heavy prick as he cleaned the come away. "I hear that. You want to eat dinner first?" "Yeah." Byron actually laughed for him, eyes dancing. "I'm starving." He tucked them both back into their pants, and offered Byron his wine again. "I hope you like steak." "I'm a carnivore, yes please."

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"You wanna help me grill?" he asked, feeling mellow and easy in his skin. Except for the small of his back where anticipation sat, waiting. "I can do that." Byron's hand landed there, right on his back, warm and solid. He grabbed the steak out of the fridge and led the way out to the deck. They stuck to the end with the awning, keeping out of the rain that poured down. Byron settled on the swing, watching him, watching the rain, laughing away. The man looked good happy. "How am I cooking yours?" he asked, spreading sauce over the meat as it started to sizzle. "Medium well, please. That smells amazing." One hand reached out, just stroked his hip. "I make my own sauce." He shifted, just a little closer to Byron. "Mmm. How can you make that sound so sexy?" "You've just got a dirty mind." Flirting quietly with Byron had been enjoyable, if frustrating after time. Flirting when they'd already had a taste of each other, when he knew what was coming was fun and sexy. "Moi? Surely you jest." Byron's dark eyes caught the reflection of the flames, just made the man look attractive as hell. It was almost enough to make him forget about the steak, but hey, it was steak. He flipped them over, moving his own off the heat and letting Byron's cook just a little longer. He looked sideways at Byron. "More hope than jest." 243


"I can appreciate a hopeful man." That touch brushed his ass again. "Well, consider me hopeful." He pulled the steaks off the grill. "Let's eat." Byron nodded, stood and took one plate, fingers brushing his. "Have you always raised horses?" "Sort of. My father ran the stables of a rich man, I used to accompany him to work. I loved the horses from the first moment I laid eyes on them. But it was always a rich man's game, you know? I wanted to do something different." He settled at the table and served Byron some salad, added some to his own plate. Damn, he'd forgotten about the garlic bread. He was distracted. It didn't seem like Byron cared much, eating easily. "You do an amazing job, you know? I can make more progress with some children after one hour here than I can in a year otherwise." "It feels good, being able to help in some small way. Now, what you do..." He shook his head. "You work with those kids everyday. Without you they wouldn't be able to come here to ride at all." "It's rewarding work. It can be solitary, but I hope I'm making a difference." "I've seen that girl today change for the better in the time she's been coming—you're making a difference." "Thank you." Byron stared over at him, focusing on him like he was the center of the goddamn world. It was heady, arousing. "You're not here to talk about work though, are you?" 244


"No." No, he imagined altogether too much of Byron's life was about work, about being sensible and smart. He could do something about that. "Have you finished your dinner?" he asked, eager to find out what kind of noises Byron made when he was bent over and needing. "I am." He got a smile, a long look. "Tell me you're not going to ask me to leave yet." "Leave? Who said anything about leaving? You haven't even seen my bedroom yet." He stood and held his hand out to Byron. Jesus, that smile made him randy as a stallion in a pasture full of mares. "Do you have a sturdy bed?" Byron's fingers twined with his. He tugged, bringing Byron in close. "I'm going to show you just how sturdy." "Promises, promises." Byron pressed closer, cock beginning to fill. "I don't break my promises." He held Byron's eyes and began to walk Byron backward toward his bedroom. "You're the sexiest man I've ever met." "Good." He kept walking, mouth taking Byron's in a passionate kiss. Byron's tongue pushed alongside his, following him nice and slowly, steadily. He cupped Byron's ass with one hand, enjoying the way the high, tight flesh fit in his palm, the way it moved with each step they took. Those muscles were tight, hard, sensual and sexy. Byron's eyes searched his, just a little unnerved, a lot needy. 245


He stopped the kiss and their forward motion long enough to turn the lights on, his bed made with fresh sheets, turned down and ready for them, lube and condoms there on the side table. "Gonna love you so good, Byron." "It's been a long, long time since anyone said that to me, Micah. A long time." "Then I won't make you wait any longer." He pushed Byron's sweater off, and started working on the fancy slacks. So hard, so hot—that pretty prick throbbed, pushing against the silky boxers, trying to get at him. "I want a taste," he told Byron. He dropped slowly to his knees, tugging Byron's pants and boxers down. He leaned in, but stopped just short of Byron's cock. He glanced up. "I don't usually do this." "Do you like it?" "Sometimes. When I want it. Like I want it now." He slid his tongue across the tip of Byron's cock, the pre-come almost delicate in his mouth. Byron's eyes rolled, lips opening. "I ... You feel so ... Oh." He chuckled. Incoherent already—damn, he was good. Wrapping his lips around the head, he began to suck. Byron stared down at him, eyes wide, huge, hungry. He wrapped his hands around the man's hips, mouth opening wider as he slowly went all the way down. "Micah." The single word was groaned, nearly breathed out. That sound, the musky scent, the way the hot flesh felt in his mouth and under his tongue, they all combined, made his own prick throb. He sucked harder, thumbs rubbing the 246


hollows next to Byron's hips. Byron thrust, humping up into his mouth, hips pushing against his hands. He took Byron in his mouth, over and over again for a moment or two, and then he came off, hands tightening on Byron's hips, stilling them before either of them could lose control. "I want you bent over my bed, Byron." Byron groaned, tanned skin flushing dark. "What else do you want?" "What else?" He slowly stood and began to undo his buttons, working his own clothes off. "Everything else. I want to feel you around my prick—your mouth and your ass. I want to bend you over a saddle and take you with the smell of leather and hay all around us. I want to tie you to my bed and make you scream." Someone was right with him, stomach taut, cock throbbing, entire body into it. As soon as he was as naked as Byron, Micah advanced, hands sliding over muscles as he pushed them back the few feet needed to hit the bed. Byron was sexy and beautiful, cock glistening with his saliva, nostrils flaring. Micah wanted. Now. He took Byron's mouth in a hard kiss. Byron groaned, tongue sliding against him, yielding, letting him in. He pushed the kiss hard and deep, hands sliding to cup the high ass again. He squeezed it, one fingers sliding along Byron's crease, making promises. Byron's ass squeezed him, cock throbbing against his belly. Groaning, he pushed Byron onto the bed, arm around the man's back to keep the fall gentle, controlled. 247


"You want me to turn over?" Oh, his sweet lover wanted that did he? Maybe needed it. To be turned over and taken. "Yeah, Byron. Turn over and let me at that ass." Byron moved, nice and easy, offering that ass like a mare offered to a stallion. He rubbed it a little, fingers digging in and feeling Byron up. "Can't wait to be inside you." "It's been a while. I like it. I like it deep and hard." Byron's back grew warm beneath fingers, the flush traveling up his back. "Good," Micah growled, voice gone husky and rough with his want. He reached over for the lube, slicking up his fingers and then rubbing them along Byron's crease, his free hand holding both cheeks apart, so he could watch as that little hole winked, trying to get his attention. With a grin, he pushed the tip of his index finger in. "Oh, fuck." He chuckled, that word didn't sound natural in Byron's voice. He pushed his finger in further, wiggling it inside the tight, clinging heat. "You're going to feel amazing around my cock, Byron. Tight." "Yes. Yes, please. I need." Byron braced himself, rocking up against him on the bed. Micah loved that, loved that Byron was so into it. He pushed a second finger in with the first, scissoring them apart, beginning to stretch Byron to take his prick. That little hole was the tightest thing he'd ever felt, squeezing and 248


squeezing around him. Leaning over Byron, he set a kiss at the base of the man's neck, and then began to whisper into Byron's ear as his fingers took their time working Byron. "Gonna fill this tight little hole all up. Gonna drive into you until you come all over my sheets." Oh, fuck him. He could feel that, feel how Byron's hole clenched and gripped his fingers. Groaning, panting, he curled his fingers a little, searched for that little bit of flesh inside Byron's body. When he found it, Byron arched, bucked wildly on his fingers, right them for him. "Micah! I. More." He could do more. He slipped a third finger in, using all three to stretch and to rub against that little spot as his cock leaked against Byron's skin. Byron rocked and groaned for him, needing like nothing Micah'd ever seen before. "You're gonna be such a sweet ride, Byron." He twisted his fingers a few times and then let them slide away so he could glove and lube his prick. He took a second, just to stare at Byron, arched and spread and slicked for him. Goddamn. "You should see yourself, Byron. You look good bent over my bed." "You say the most amazing things." "I do the most amazing things, too." He spread Byron's ass cheeks with his fingers and pressed his cock against that tiny little hole. "Promise?" Byron pressed back, trembling, begging for him. "No promises. I'm just gonna do." He pushed in slowly, Byron's eager body taking him right in until his hips were pressed up tight against Byron's ass. 249


He closed his eyes for a moment as he stilled, feeling Byron's body tight and hot around his cock. Byron clenched and squeezed, massaging his prick, driving them both higher. He stroked Byron's back, waiting as long as he could to move, building the anticipation as Byron's ass moved on his cock. Finally, groaning, he couldn't hold still a moment longer and he pulled almost all the way out, Byron's ass clinging the entire way. He pushed back in, gasping as he sank deep. "Again." That rich voice throbbed. "Oh, yes." He did it again, and then again, hands holding onto Byron's hips and pulling him into each thrust as he found a rhythm. Byron cried out for him, again and again, pushing up on the bed, riding him like a cowboy. "That's it," he grunted. "Let me hear you, Byron. Let me know just how fucking good it is." "Jesus, you're..." Byron's shoulders hunched, thighs tight. "This is so..." "Fucking good," he suggested, moving a little faster. And it was fucking good, Byron's ass so damned hot and tight, like fucking heaven. Micah nodded, over and over, even as that tight ass pressed back against him. He wanted to do this all night, make it the best damned fuck Byron had ever had. He panted, and both their bodies began to glisten with sweat, the smell of man strong. Byron stilled, ass so tight it almost hurt, the muscles clenching tight. Micah stilled as well, groaning. "Not until I say so," he warned, one hand sliding up along Byron's spine. "I." Byron shuddered, squeezing hard. "Yes. Yes, okay." 250


"Good man." Very good man. Byron was a keeper. He continued to rub Byron's back until the man's body eased a little, and then he began to move again, finding that good hard rhythm they'd been enjoying. "Micah..." Byron whimpered, shuddered, ass working his prick furiously. He slipped one hand down around to Byron's cock, fingers circling it and letting their motions push it through the tunnel of his hand. "Now. You can come now." He received a sob for his troubles and fuck if Byron didn't make him feel ten feet tall, heat spraying over his fingers. His eyes closed as Byron's ass milked his cock, the sensations spurring his own orgasm. A few more jerks of his hips and he filled the condom, collapsing over Byron's back. Byron moaned, panting beneath him, hot and relaxed. Grabbing hold of the base of his prick, Micah groaned as he pulled out. He tied off the end of the condom and tossed it at the wastebasket before settling half next to, half on top of Byron. "Mmm..." He was feeling lazy and sated all through. "Yes. Thank you. That was ... most pleasurable." "I told you." He winked, hand sliding again along Byron's back. Byron chuckled, nodded. "You did. You very much did." "So you'll come back." It wasn't a question. "Yes. Yes, please." "Good. I want to see you over my saddle, ass warmed and stretched, and ready for me." "Oh, sweet Jesus." 251


Micah couldn't help the smile. They were going to have such fun. He patted Byron's ass. "Not quite, but I'm flattered." He winked and grinned wide at the sound of Byron's laughter. Such fun, indeed.

252


Puppy Tax by J. Rocci "I need a haircut," Sky murmured to himself, checking his shaggy blonde hair again in his rearview mirror. At five-footseven, in jeans and an old college hooded sweatshirt, he looked more like a frat boy than a respectable business owner in his thirties, especially with his hair in his eyes like that. The impatient chuff from the passenger's seat made him smile. "Okay," he conceded as he opened the car door, "so we both need haircuts." Phoenix just stood up on the seat, mismatched eyes eagerly following him behind the windshield as he came around to the passenger side to let her out. When he held the door open, the black and white Border Collie jumped down to sit on her haunches off to his left. Considering that she was sweeping the concrete parking deck clean with her bushy tail, he'd definitely need to drop by the daycare on the way home and toss her in the tub. Sky grabbed her orange vest from the back seat, calling her over to his feet. She came willingly enough, but fussed as he fastened the Velcro strap around her middle. Having none of that, he tugged on her collar and she settled, letting him smooth her vest so that the embroidered word "Therapy" was visible down her side. Not that the hospital staff didn't know her on sight by now. The two of them had been making the rounds regularly for almost a year. 253


"Are you ready to be adored and adorable in turn, Miz Phee-phee?" Sky asked her as he snapped on her leash. She thumped her tail, yipping up at him. The sound echoed loudly in the hospital's parking deck, and Sky couldn't help laughing at her expression. "C'mon, trouble." They took the stairs down to the covered walkway that connected the parking deck to the hospital entrance. Sky waited patiently, fielding questions and smiling as what seemed like every healthy breathing being within fifty feet had to come over and love on Phoenix as soon as they hit the lobby. Phoenix just wagged her tail and went sniffing at pant legs and fingers, planting herself in front of people like she owned the place. "Well, if it isn't Miss Phoenix and Mister Sky!" Barb, the volunteer behind the information desk, exclaimed. She came around to the front of the desk with his visitor's badge in one hand and a treat held behind her back. Phoenix, knowing the routine, jogged over and sat primly at the older lady's feet, gazing up adoringly. Normally, Sky discouraged people from giving Phoenix treats during her visits, but Barb brought her toy poodle to the daycare for grooming once a week and Phoenix was comfortable with her. "And how are you, sweetheart?" Barb cooed, holding out the cookie so Phoenix could pluck it gently from her hand. Barb scratched the top of the Border Collie's head as Phoenix inhaled the treat. 254


"Any requests today, Barb?" Sky asked as the older lady straightened. "You're going to be a very busy man," she said and handed over a room list. "As soon as people hear about your visits, they all want one for their family, too." "That's what I like to hear," Sky grinned and headed for the elevators. "C'mon, Phee-phee." First stop was Four South. Good. The nurses there were friendly and most of the patients were elderly people with cardiopulmonary problems. Phoenix could enjoy some quiet time doing the rounds there, then they could head to Pediatrics and she could wear herself out with the kids. He fell into the comfortable routine of knocking on doors and announcing their presence, Phoenix trailing at his side. Her obedience was one of the reasons he brought Phee and not his other dog, Anubis. Anubis listened, but the Great Dane mix was too easily distracted from listening to commands and his size often intimidated people. Phoenix was just a mediumsized ball of fluff with a tongue, plus she'd never gotten into the habit of jumping on people like Anubis. Sky kneeled beside one of the patient's wheelchairs and guided the older gentleman's hand to the top of Phee's head, treasuring the man's delighted expression. The reaction of people to a fuzzy face was Sky's favorite part of his work. He loved running his doggy daycare and going to shows, but this—This was what he did to set his own heart at ease. "Her eyes are different colors!" Mr. Gardner said, voice hoarse from his pacemaker. "I never seen that before. Is that normal?" 255


Since Mr. Gardner had just been admitted with pneumonia during their last visit two weeks ago and had been drugged to the gills, Sky wasn't surprised he didn't remember pointing Phee's heterochromia out before. He gave the same answer he usually gave to the question. "Lots of dogs and cats have it, Mr. Gardner. Sometimes even people, too." Phoenix, tired of holding still, nuzzled the man's outstretched fingers and got in a lick or two. Mr. Gardner looked tickled, chortling, and the cheeky little beggar scooted on her butt until her head was resting on his knee. "Huh. Who'd've figured, eh, girl?" Mr. Gardner murmured as he stroked her ears. "I have a schnauzer at home named Pippin. He's a yappy little thing. Likes liver. Poor boy's with the grandkids. Terrors probably gave him a heart attack or stuck him in a dress by now." "More like he's cowering under the bed, pop," his daughter said dryly from the doorway. Sky introduced himself as she came in and they got to chatting. After a few more ear scritches, Mr. Gardner was starting to look wilted, so Sky took that as his cue to move on. He and Phoenix visited four more patients on the floor, spending about fifteen minutes with each. One was eating lunch, so they came back to her last and then headed on to the next part of their list. Pediatrics was on Three West, and they waited in the floor's small lobby for the elevator to come, chatting with an orderly named Mike. Sky was never lacking conversation 256


when he had Phoenix with him, especially since she believed it was her god-given right to be loved on by anyone in the same room and she made sure they knew it. Paying the puppy tax, as Sky's employees called it. When the elevator pinged and opened, Sky just about stopped breathing. Dr. Tony had snapped a file shut and pressed the hold door button for them. Sky didn't even know the man's last name since all the kids called him by his first, but the man was gorgeous. Short dark hair, wire glasses that couldn't hide his bright blue eyes, and a physique that implied an active lifestyle. Lord bless whoever created scrubs, because they clung to his ass even with the long-sleeved jacket on. Sky probably drooled as bad as Phoenix with a rawhide every time he saw the man. Mike, the orderly, got in the elevator first, and then they were both looking at Sky expectantly. "Is it all right if she comes on?" Sky asked automatically, hesitating before entering. "No problem," Dr. Tony said distractedly and waved them on. "Thanks." The quick ride to the next floor was spent in comfortable silence. Mike rubbed Phoenix's scruff, and Sky got to stand next to Dr. Tony, inhaling his light cologne. It was something musky Sky had smelled before, but he couldn't place it. He honestly didn't care what the name of it was, as long as Dr. Tony kept wearing it so well. 257


Phoenix didn't like to sit in elevators, so she surfed the floor, paws braced. She didn't stumble when the car stopped anymore, but she was all too happy to beat feet out of it when the doors opened. Sky was dimly aware of Dr. Tony exiting behind them, but the nurses were looking up from their station and already starting to coo. Phoenix's tail stirred up a cyclone, and she let out an excited yip before Sky could shush her. "A dog!" Two small heads popped out of the lounge doorway, eyes wide. Sky stuck close to Phoenix as they entered the pediatric ward's wide lounge. Phee was good with kids, but he worried that she might get too worked up from all the noise and movement. There were four kids clamoring around them, and a bored looking teenager playing with the video game system in the corner. "Be gentle with her," he reminded the kids when some of the hands got grabby. A parent was there, too, and helped ride herd with a nurse. "What's its name?" A little girl with a wrist cast asked. "Her name's Phoenix, but we call her Phee-phee." Sky smoothly intercepted another kid's hand before she could latch on to Phoenix's collar. The other boy with them giggled when he got a tail in the face. "She's fluffy!" Throughout all the chaos, Phoenix just stood there with her tongue lolling, head turning this way and that as she was petted.

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"Look, Dr. Tony! There's a puppy!" Ashley called out excitedly over Sky's shoulder. He reflexively followed her line of sight. "I see that," Dr. Tony said with his brilliant smile that made Sky's knees weak and his cheeks flush. Sky refused to be distracted and turned back to Phee, willing his blush away. He wasn't a teenager, for crying out loud. The man was just too damn pretty. And probably straight, with a trophy wife and five kids waiting for him at home. Sky focused on Phoenix and the kids, but he could feel the weight of the other man's regard between his shoulder blades and knew the moment Dr. Tony left the doorway. Once the kids had their fill of petting and Phoenix started to get antsy, Sky announced that she had to go see all the kids that couldn't leave their beds. He wasn't exactly immune to the disappointed faces that followed, but he withdrew from the room with practiced ease, promising to stop back in before they left. He went to all the rooms on his list, heart breaking a little when the kids were too weak to get up but still so happy to see Phee or were just skin and bones from whatever ailed them. But they were smiling when he and Phoenix left, and that was what mattered. After they finished their last visit to the lounge, Sky checked his watch. They'd been at the hospital for three hours and he'd given Phee a bowl of water about an hour or 259


so ago. He was surprised she'd lasted that long without tap dancing to leave. "Leave it," he said absently, and she stepped away from the cleaning cart shelf she'd been eyeballing. When she saw that they were going back to the elevator, she picked up the pace. The elevator car was empty when it arrived, and Sky nudged Phee on. The doors were starting to close when he heard, "Hold the elevator!" Sky mashed the door open button, refusing to cheer when the doors pinged back open and Dr. Tony got on. "Sorry about that," the doctor said sheepishly, tucking his hands in his scrub jacket. "I didn't hear you coming, otherwise I would have held the doors sooner," Sky shrugged, tearing his eyes away from admiring how the stethoscope draped across the man's welldefined chest. "What floor do you need?" He lifted his gaze in time to see Dr. Tony glance at the lit button on the console. "Basement's fine." Phoenix chose that moment to nose the doctor's knee, demanding attention. "You must be the Phee-phee everyone talks about," Tony said to her, holding out his fingers for a sniff. When she nudged his palm, Tony started rubbing her ears. "All my patients love you, pretty girl. Yeah, they do," he baby-talked her. "We've been coming for a year," Sky said just to break the growing tension in himself. 260


The man liked dogs. He was so screwed... "I'm Sky Bower, by the way." He grinned and held out his hand, keeping his eyes on the doctor's, who didn't look away from his direct and appreciative gaze. "Tony Morasutti. Pleasure to meet you." Tony held his hand just a little too long, squeezing once before letting go. Sky's pulse picked up. The elevator stopped at the basement level, where the administrative offices and the hospital bistro were located. People were waiting to get on, so Sky quickly guided Phoenix out of the way. Reluctant to just walk away, Sky turned to see where Tony had gone and found the man right behind him. Sky slowed his steps even though Phoenix was straining to reach the green grass just beyond the doors to the outside. Tony paused when Sky did, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the floor, then up at Sky from over the rims of his glasses. Sky's stomach flipped like he'd just crested the hill of a rollercoaster. "I know this is a bit sudden, but I was just about to go on break, if you'd like to get some coffee..." Tony trailed off questioningly. Oh, score. "I'd love to, but Phee's not allowed in the bistro." At Tony's falling expression, Sky quickly suggested, "But the weather's nice and they have tables out on the patio, if you don't mind bringing the coffee outside? I can give you the cash for mine." "I'll cover it." Tony smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. "I don't want to impose—" 261


"You can buy the next round," Tony interjected confidently. Warmth unfurled in Sky's middle. "Fair enough. I take mine black with one sugar." "All right. See you outside." Phoenix hauled ass as soon as Sky started walking again, and he let her relieve herself in the grassy patch off to the side of the building, eyes tracking Tony's white scrub jacket through the tinted bistro windows. Well. The day was definitely looking up. He found a clean table in the shade, looping Phoenix's leash around his wrist but giving her room to roam a bit. Tony got through the line quickly, and found Sky easily since there were only a few other people outside. "Careful, it's hot," the doctor said as he placed Sky's cup on the table in front of him. "Only way to drink it," Sky said and took a sip. Tony shook his head but grinned, propping his chin on his fist and studying Sky. "So," he said as he cradled his cup with his other hand. "You and Phee have been coming here for a year. How'd you get started on that?" Sky shrugged, reeling Phoenix back in before she could get too acquainted with an unidentifiable lump on the patio. "I own a canine daycare, and one of my clients was volunteering. When Phoenix was old enough, I decided to give it a try. I'm glad I did." Very glad. The lady in question rambled back over to their table, sitting at the end between them and staring hopefully up at 262


the table's edge. She sniffed the air with her shiny black nose, and Sky laughed. "There's nothing for you up here, brat." "Is she an only child?" Tony asked as he reached out to scratch behind her ears. Phee-phee, ever the attention whore, groaned and flopped down at his feet, exposing her tummy. Sky could sympathize, since he'd probably do the same thing if Tony was touching him. "Ah, nope," he responded after a moment's pause, dragging his eyes away from Tony's broad hands. "Her brother, Anubis, is at the daycare right now." "Anubis?" Tony mused, bending over in his seat to reach her. "A bird that symbolizes rebirth and a god of the underworld. I'm sensing a theme." "The real ruler of the house is my cat, Cait Sith. They live in fear of her." "Of course," Tony laughed and looked up at him. "I miss having animals around. But with my long hours, it just doesn't seem fair, you know?" "That's understandable. At least I can take my babies to work with me." "It used to be worse, when I worked in the city. My schedule was so terrible; I couldn't even keep houseplants alive." "What city?" Sky asked, curious. Since she had lost her audience's attention, Phoenix rolled to her feet with a chuff and started exploring under the table. Tony straightened up, resting his elbows on the table. 263


"Baltimore. I had a position at Johns Hopkins, and I was doing work I loved, but things were just too crazy up there. I definitely prefer the slower pace of a county hospital." "Well," Sky said with a wry grin. "I don't know how much longer it's going to stay slower, with all the urban spread. We're mostly horse country out here, but DC is close enough for the yuppies to commute. Not that I can complain, since that's most of my profits right there..." Tony laughed with him. "That explains the housing market. My apartment here costs almost as much as my last one in the city." "That's because we're 'Historical Virginia'. I was lucky enough to get a house out in farm country dirt cheap before the housing boom. Not more than an acre, but enough for a Border Collie and a Great Dane mix." "Great Dane mix?" Tony tossed a puzzled glance under the table at Phoenix. "Oh, not her." Sky waved a hand. "Anubis, my great big beast. Eats me out of hearth and home." "Ah," Tony nodded with a smile, then frowned when he caught sight of his watch. With a sigh he stood up. "I have to get back in..." Sky cocked his head, standing reluctantly. "That wasn't a very long break." Abashed, Tony looked away while his cheeks heated under his olive complexion. "I was technically on my way to fill out some paperwork, but I decided to seize the moment." Oh, Lord, that expression was likely to kill Sky dead. 264


"Well," Sky said in a flirtatious tone. "Consider it seized. Now what are you going to do with it?" Tony's cheeks darkened further, but he grinned and pulled out a notepad from his jacket. He scribbled something on it and held it out to Sky. "Here's my number. I would really like to meet Anubis some time ... I have a soft spot for Great Danes." Sky carefully folded the paper, tucking it in his back pocket. "That can be arranged. When are you free?" "Friday, say around eight?" Tony looked hopeful, so Sky plucked the notepad from his hand and jotted down his number before handing it back. "Sounds good. I'll provide the food, you bring the wine." "Great. I'll call you for directions when I get off work." "In that case, I'll talk to you then." Sky watched Tony walk back into the hospital with a grin. Phoenix nudged his leg and he ruffled her fur. "I have a date, kiddo!" Butterflies burst out in his stomach. He hadn't had a real date in— Well, far too long if he couldn't actually remember. He'd been so focused on getting the daycare up and running after he broke up with his last boyfriend, he hadn't really done much beyond going to the Bourbon Room in town occasionally. The bar wasn't exactly a major hook-up spot for him, either. A date. Wow. "Time for that haircut, yeah?" 265


**** Friday at eight turned into Fridays, Sundays, and Tuesdays at eight for three weeks straight. Granted, all he and Tony had done during those dates was talk and neck on the couch like teenagers while 'watching movies', but Sky was enjoying himself. It had been far too long since he'd just let himself relax and have fun, and Tony made it easy. They were taking things slow, seeing where it led them, even though they'd spoken on the phone almost every day despite their busy schedules and spent pretty much all of their free time together. He had the feeling they were setting foundations for something much stronger than casual dating, and he didn't mind it one bit. Sky hummed to himself as he side-stepped a puppy tail with practiced ease. Two hopeful pairs of eyes followed his every movement, especially when he came close to the oven and the roast beef hidden inside. At the sound of Anubis licking his chops loudly and wetly again, Sky snorted and pulled two bones from the top of the fridge. He opened the back sliding doors, bracing himself against the frame for the stampede. "Y'all are pathetic," he said with a laugh as they barked excitedly around him. He waited until they were sitting still, whining through their noses, before giving them the bones at the same time. As they took off to their respective corners of the porch, he slid the door shut. 266


Mutts out from underfoot, Sky washed his hands again with satisfaction. He didn't have long to wait before the oven timer went off, and he hurried to get the roast out. Sky glanced at the stove clock and realized he'd actually be done on time. That was a first. Of course, he always started things early when he was nervous, and thinking about the purchase he'd made at the store earlier just made him fuss with his serving dishes some more. They'd talked about going further last week, and the mere thought of Tony naked made Sky's guts clench and his cock fill. Sky took a calming breath and artfully arranged the roast on a serving platter. The side dishes were already prepared, and all he had to do was set the table. His house wasn't as fancy as some in the area, but he kept it clean and neat, so the candles didn't look utterly ridiculous with his nicest plates. Tires crunching gravel set the dogs off, and Sky quickly covered the roast, taking it out to the table. "Don't even think about it, furball." He pointed a commanding finger at Sith, who was on one of the dining room chairs, little dragon eyes peering over the edge at the covered dishes. "Down. Now." The calico yawned at him and stretched, hopping down to the floor with a thud. He ignored the dirty looks as long as she complied, and hoped he wouldn't find a hairball in his shoes come morning. A car door slammed and the dogs kept going nuts, barks changing to ones of ecstatic recognition when Tony came to the back door. Sky could hear the doctor greeting them 267


lovingly, and checked his reflection in the hall mirror before heading back into the kitchen. "Something smells great," Tony said with a grin as Anubis and Phee trailed in excitedly behind him. "Roast beef and potatoes." Sky leaned in for a quick kiss, but Tony had other ideas, pulling him in closer and licking his way into Sky's mouth. Sky groaned as he opened readily for him. Oh, it had only been three days but he'd missed this something bad. Phone calls just didn't make up for kisses every day. Tony's hands settled on his hips, wrapping around him until their bodies were flush. Sky stroked up to his shoulders, pushing Tony's leather jacket off and sliding his fingers along the nape of Tony's neck, pressing against his silky hot skin. Anubis chose that moment to wedge his head between them, the Great Dane level with their stomachs. They broke apart ruefully, but Anubis didn't stop until he'd barreled his way in front of Sky. "Noob!" Sky growled in exasperation, shoving the wet nose away from his crotch. "Go lie down!" The dog blinked woefully up at him. Phoenix yipped from her corner of the kitchen. "Now, Anubis." With a heart-broken look in his big brown eyes, Anubis lowered his head and trudged into the living room. He flopped onto the floor behind the couch with a heavy sigh, staring at them like Sky was the meanest daddy ever. "Drama queen." Tony broke out in a deep belly laugh, shaking his head. 268


"I don't think he likes that his person has someone to distract him now." Sky wiped his lips absently with a sigh. "Either that, or he wants your attention all for himself, the way he carries on when you come over." "Too bad it's all yours," Tony murmured, catching his hand and squeezing it affectionately. Sky held on. "Good." He stole another kiss before releasing Tony's hand, heartened that the other man didn't seem to mind his occasional displays of possessiveness. Sky pulled away and herded his two troublemakers out the back door again. They went easily, used to being exiled during formal meals; the disadvantages of having a dog tall enough and sneaky enough to pull food straight off the table. "I hope you're hungry," Sky said as Tony retrieved his jacket from the floor. "You have no idea," Tony groaned. "Today was a nightmare and I missed lunch." As they settled down to eat, they traded their war stories of the day, Tony describing his patients from hell and Sky recounting the fight between siblings he'd had to break up. Sky took a good look at Tony and realized with a pang that he really did seem beat. Maybe his plans for after dinner should wait... They had to clear the table, otherwise the dogs would make a mess if given the chance, but when they had everything piled in the sink, Sky caught Tony's wrist, pulling him close. 269


"I'll do them later, babe," Sky promised as he braced his back against the counter. Tony melted into the vee of his legs, covering Sky with his solid mass. "Are you sure you're up for a movie, though? You look exhausted." Tony chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. With deliberate care, he removed his glasses and set them on the counter behind Sky, taking the opportunity to embrace Sky and lower his head. "I'm not that tired," he said against Sky's lips. "But I can think of something else to do besides watch movies." "Oh, really?" Sky grinned, fingers working the other man's button-up shirt out of his slacks, then his t-shirt. Firm muscle met his exploring hands and Sky deepened their kiss, tongue sweeping along Tony's pliant lips, tasting the wine they'd had with dinner. "As long as you're not too tired," he said slyly when they came up for air, grin evil. Tony's response was to grind his hips forward, cock already hard, and Sky moaned as the most delicious pressure was put on his own erection. "Do you think I'm too tired?" Tony murmured against his neck, breath teasing the sensitive skin. His hips pumping just enough to get Sky worked up. "I think we have too many clothes on," Sky panted back. "I brought an overnight bag," Tony said softly in his ear, tongue tracing the rim. "If you don't mind..." Sky groaned and caught those wonderful lips again. He figured his enthusiasm at the idea was as good an answer as any. Now if only his fingers would cooperate— 270


He got most of Tony's buttons undone, distracted by the corded tendons of the doctor's neck. Tony's skin was salty, his cologne making Sky light-headed, filling his nostrils. Tony's hands were under his shirt, long fingers splayed across his back, wandering lower until Sky clutched at the other man's shirt convulsively as his ass was massaged by those broad hands. Tony took over his buttons, yanking the shirt off roughly when he forgot to undo his cuffs. The counter was starting to dig into Sky's tailbone, so he pressed forward until Tony stepped back, then steered them towards the living room. The bedroom was too far away, but the couch was in easy reach— "I really want you naked right now," Tony moaned. Sky's hands stuttered, a full body shudder, then he was scrabbling to get his t-shirt off. Tony let him lift the shirt up, mouth latching onto Sky's collar bone, bending down to his nipples, teeth teasing them until they were hard nubs. Sky gasped and let the sensations roll through him, unresisting when Tony lowered him onto the cushions of the couch, grasping at the man braced above him. Their erections brushed again, Tony teasing him with a wicked grin. "Unn—" Sky's mouth tried to form coherent words, but he couldn't manage more than a few syllables, ripped from his throat by Tony's fingers pressing on his stomach, so close to the button of his jeans. Tony's lips were scorching, kissing a trail from his mouth to his ear, nipping his lobe until Sky groaned, shuddering again as goose bumps raised on his skin. Sky's cock was 271


straining in his jeans to the point of painful, skin sensitive to the smallest touch. When Tony's lips moved to his collarbone, biting lightly, Sky couldn't help it as his hips started rubbing frantically against Tony's muscled thigh. "You're so hot," Tony grunted, finally popping the jeans button. Those talented fingers had just slipped under the elastic of Sky's briefs when— Anubis started howling outside the back door fit to raise the dead. Phoenix's yips provided a counterpoint in the fugue. The baying echoed throughout the house, and somewhere in the dining room Sith was spooked into tearing down the hall. The groping hands disappeared, and Sky wanted to sob with frustration. Bracing his arms on the back of the couch and the arm, Tony pushed himself up. "They're not going to stop that, are they?" The doctor panted. His clear blue eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed, and he looked utterly fuckable. "Probably not," Sky groaned and maybe regretted having pets for the first time in his life. "We should let them in." "We should." Neither of them moved. Then Phoenix reached a pitch only other dogs could hear, and Sky sat up, Tony disentangling their limbs. "I'll let them in," he sighed and stood, adjusting himself. Tony trailed behind him as he went to the back door. Sky gave him a sultry look over his shoulder. "We could move this to the bed, anyway. I have supplies there..." 272


"Sounds like a plan," Tony grinned, reaching for the hem of his undershirt. Sky opened the door so the dogs could thunder in, but his eyes never left Tony's washboard abs and dusky nipples. He didn't even protest when Phoenix head-butted his leg. Tony stalked forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss. Sky swallowed a moan when the other man pulled away. "Why don't you lock things up, and I'll meet you in the bedroom?" Sky had never gone through his nightly routine faster, checking that the doors were locked and windows closed, turning off lights as he went. He made sure the dogs had food and Sith's dish was safe on her shelf in the laundry room. Two minutes later, he was standing in his bedroom doorway, admiring the naked man sprawled across his comforter and shutting the door on two nosy pups. "God, you're so hot," he said, shucking his jeans as he approached the bed. Tony smirked and ran a hand along his own stomach, briefly tugging on his engorged cock. "The view from here's not so bad, either," he said, voice husky. "Be better up close, though..." And after that, Sky couldn't really resist touching all that offered skin, could he? Sky ran his hands along the hard body underneath him, settling his knees on either side of Tony's legs. Tony hissed at the contact, cock straining as Sky proceeded to explore everywhere except where Tony wanted it most. 273


Sky took his time, tracing a finger across a thin white scar down Tony's ribs. He followed the path with his mouth, smiling when Tony shivered as Sky's lips heated his chilled skin. When Tony reached for him, Sky caught the other man's hand, turning it over to stroke along his arm. Tony grinned and relaxed back on the bed, letting Sky have control. Good. Sky wanted this to last, the earlier need banked to a slow burn, something for them to savor. "For a doctor, you sure have a lot of scars," he said against a line of raised flesh on Tony's forearm. "I, ah," Tony swallowed as Sky moved on to his hands, running his lips across Tony's fingers and sucking a tip in. "I went through an extreme sports phase in college. Plus, my brothers loved to see how many stupid things they could get me to do when we were kids." "Really?" Sky swirled his tongue around a knuckle, pleased at the hiss that drew. "I suppose that explains your choice of profession. Do I need to be mean when I meet them?" Tony chuckled. "Nah. We get along much better now that I have over twenty pounds on both of them." "Hm." Sky pressed a kiss to his palm. "Then their car tires are safe." Laughter rumbled in Tony's chest and Sky shifted his attention to the smooth skin across Tony's abdomen. "I love your skin," he whispered, rubbing his cheek Tony's belly, pleased when his light stubble left the skin red. Tony moaned, and Sky quirked an eyebrow, smirking. Maybe he wouldn't have to shave three times a day for Tony's sake like he had been. 274


He kissed his way lower, letting his cheek graze Tony's cock, grinning when it bobbed reflexively and Tony twitched. "You're gonna kill me," Tony moaned hoarsely. "Not till I'm done with you," Sky sing-songed, tracing a ropey scar through the light hairs of Tony's thigh. "What's this one from?" He murmured with a frown. "Mountain biking," Tony gasped. "Mmm," he growled into Tony's hip. "Accident prone, much?" Sky dragged his blunt nails down Tony's side, reveling in the goose bumps raised amidst Tony's shivers. "I'm thinking I may just never let you out of this house again. For your own protection, of course..." "O-Of course," Tony stuttered, hands clenching the comforter. "I wouldn't mind—" His words cut off in a gasp as Sky licked the crease of his hip. Hm. Someone liked that... Sky dragged his tongue along the skin another time, and chuckled at the way Tony's hips rose from the bed. He waited until Tony opened his eyes again, made sure he was being watched as he switched to the other side, breath ghosting across where Tony was desperate for him to touch. "Yeah," Sky breathed on Tony's cock before wetly latching on to his other hip. "I think I'll keep you." An incoherent moan was his only response, but from the way Tony was writhing underneath him, he was doing something right. His own cock was heavy between his legs, occasionally rubbing against the comforter as he teased himself. And the more his own desire spiked, the more he 275


wanted to draw it out for Tony, make him feel as good as he made Sky feel just by being there. He glanced up at Tony's flushed cheeks, the way his hair clung to his forehead, his fists clenched in the sheets. Beautiful. Finally, Sky took mercy on him and burrowed his face in the soft skin of Tony's balls, inhaling deeply the musky scent. Before Tony could recover his breath, Sky licked his way up, tongue pressing hard as he wet Tony's shaft with his lips. He propped himself on an elbow for a better view, and rolled Tony's balls in his free hand as his lips finally closed over the tip of Tony's cock. He sucked him in deep enough to taste the bitter drops, swirling his tongue. "Oh God," Tony groaned, back arching. His hands left the bed, reaching for Sky and tugging at his shoulder. "Wait—I'm gonna—" Sky let himself be dragged up, Tony crushing his mouth as soon as he could reach Sky's lips. Tony tore himself away and gulped in air, gripping his cock until he calmed down. "Too much teasing?" Sky asked sympathetically. "Mmm." Tony grinned at him, rolling Sky over to pin him to the bed. "Too much you, maybe?" "Heh." Sky looked over at the nightstand. "Why don't you grab that bag there, and we'll take the edge off?" Tony arched a finely-sculpted eyebrow and reached for the plastic bag. Shaking the contents out on the bed spread, he grinned and held up the lube. He popped the cap open and drizzled a copious amount into Sky's outstretched palm until some ran over onto the bedspread. 276


"Sorry," he said sheepishly. Sky shrugged. "It'll wash. Just so long as we don't run out—" "I have more in my bag," Tony chuckled against Sky's throat, sliding between his legs. "Oh good," Sky said, ending on a moan as he reached down to coat them both. The lube was cool, but warmed quickly as his fingers closed around Tony's cock. Tony pressed down, trapping Sky's hand there, lips blindly seeking his as the other man panted harshly. "Nnn," Sky moaned, wrenching his hand out from between them and grabbing at Tony's ass. He dug his fingers into the smooth skin, sweat breaking out on his chest as Tony grunted and bore down again. "Harder," he demanded, arching up to meet the next thrust. Their cocks slid together, blistering heat between them. Tony complied, grip on Sky's hip hard enough to bruise, stoking a growing inferno in Sky's guts that spread out to his limbs, tingling and throbbing and leaving him breathless. When Tony bit down on his neck, muffling his groans, Sky shouted and came, letting himself drown in the sensations. Before Sky's cock had finished spurting, Tony grunted and added to the flood of heat between them. They lay there panting, sticky with come and sweat, hearts racing, and Sky didn't mind one bit. He felt...

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Like he'd been broken down into his component parts and put back together, only things were just a little bit different now. More complete. Whole. "Oh, wow." Tony gasped into his ear, heartbeat thudding against his chest. "That was..." When Tony trailed off, pulling back to gaze happily down at him, Sky smirked. "That was round one," he said. "And since tomorrow's Saturday, that means I can keep you up all night. After a nap." With that, he turned his head and yawned, stretching a little so he could loosely embrace Tony. Eyes soft, Tony ran his fingers through Sky's hair. "Yeah. A nap sounds good." "Mmm." After a moment of rearranging, Tony curled up against his back, pulling Sky close. Sky sighed, limbs pleasantly heavy and sated. A whine came from the other side of the door, followed by a scratch. "The furry children want in," Tony murmured into his shoulder. "They usually sleep on the bed." "Will there be enough room?" "Doubt it." Sky yawned again and burrowed into the pillow, gripping the arm Tony had around his middle. "We'll open the door in a minute. They need to get used to you sleeping here anyway..." He could feel Tony's smile against the back of his neck. 278


"Yeah. They do."

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What We Leave Behind by Shanna Germain There is a dying dog the size of a small horse in my kitchen. She is nearly as tall as the kitchen table. Nearly as wide. A hell of a lot more long white hair. "I'm sorry," I say to the man who brought her here. "There's been a mistake." The man who brought her is on his knees on my kitchen floor, rubbing the dog's brown- and grey-tipped ears. He has bits of grey in the dark hair above his own ears. "It's okay, Annie," he says to the dog, who lets her tongue fall from her mouth and tilts her head sideways to listen. "This is gonna be sooo good for you. Okay, girl, it's all good." He doesn't seem to care that he's talking baby-talk to this polar-bear like creature in front of me. He doesn't seem to hear me saying that the polar-bear cannot stay in my kitchen. When the man stands, his knees pop on the way up. "Ack, getting old." He shakes his legs out and laughs. "Too much bending down to dogs is more like it." Even standing, he can't seem to keep his fingers out of Annie's fur. His fingers nuzzle the pads of her ears while he pulls a clipboard from his shoulder bag. I want to touch Annie too. She's almost all white, except for those ears. From here, her fur looks like soft fuzz all over. But I don't touch her. I can't. It's not that she's dying. That, I'm used to. It's that she looks so damn healthy. By the time Bella came to us, she was already missing her back leg from the knee down and was getting oral pain meds twice a day. Her owners had tried to save her by cutting off 280


the tumored foot. But when the cancer spread, they decided it was too much and turned her over to the shelter. That's when she came to Thom and me. It had been Thom's idea to take in a dying animal. A few years back, our local shelter had joined up with a group of vets to start a hospice program for animals—some strays, some abandoned—who were dying, but still have quality time left in their lives. The goal is to get the animals into a good final home, a place where they can die with love and compassion. "We can still do something good," Thom had said when he'd heard of it. "Think of it, these animals, having to die alone." He was thinking of himself too, of me after he was gone. That was after he got sick, but before we realized what it was. We'd thought it was AIDS, of course. As a gay man, you spend your whole adult life running from the thing you fear most, so fast that you don't see the other things on the way by. Until you get side-swiped by them. Car accidents. A guy in the alley with a knife. With Thom, it was lymphoma. I'd said yes to the first dog—Bella, a lab-something-orother—because I loved Thom, and I wanted to give him whatever I could, even at the end. Especially at the end. It made his skin ache to feel anything on it, but even so, it was Bella he let in the bed at night, Bella he reached for when the pain was bad. It was helping Bella toward her death that gave us something to focus on, that helped us move toward Thom's death in a way that felt, if not normal, no never normal, but at least with some kind of plan. 281


I didn't know that somewhere between those last days at home and his final trip to the ER that he'd signed us—no, signed me—up for another dog. I try again with the man in my kitchen. "Really, I can't take her," I say. He has finally let go of Annie's ears and is signing a clipboard with a big flourish curl. He holds the clipboard out to me. "Of course you can," he says. There is something in his dark eyes, a glimmer around the edges, that shows he doesn't have any doubts. I signed on for this dog. She is here in my kitchen with two months to live. Of course I can take her. I push the clipboard back at him. The ID tag clipped to his shirt pocket says, "I'm a Pawspice Volunteer!" Beneath that it says, "Seth." "Listen, Seth," I say. "I can't take her. My partner signed us up and..." It is too complicated, too much to say. The words pile into my throat like bones and stick there. Seth stays silent for a moment. Annie whines for the first time and pushes the side of her face carefully into his palm. I feel like I have to say something, so I say, "I can't do it alone." Seth holds the clipboard as though it's a Frisbee he'd like to wing at my head. I can understand the impulse. He probably sees this all the time—people who sign on for this venture and then decide they can't see it through. But he doesn't wing the clipboard. He just says, "You wouldn't be alone. You'd have Annie." 282


At the sound of her name, Annie pushes her cheek harder against Seth's hand. When she doesn't get a response, she turns her head my way. The kitchen is small, and she's so big that she nearly touches my thigh with her nose. Her eyes are so dark in all that white fur. I think what it would be like to have footsteps in the house again, noise at the door when I get back from errands. Somebody who needs me again. I need time, so I ask, "What ... what is she?" Seth doesn't seem to notice my change in subject. Or perhaps he's content to ride it through. "Great Pyrenees," he says. "Full-bred and papered." He doesn't say it with anger. He doesn't shake his head like I would have, to think of someone dropping off an animal, any creature, papered or not, just because it was terminal. "Pyrenees?" I've never even heard of it. Seth smiles for the first time. It's a half-smile, shy enough to bring out dimples on both cheeks. "It's Norwegian for small horse," he says. Annie wags her tail as though she gets the joke, and then drops herself to the kitchen floor at my feet. Her body makes a thud that's so loud I wonder if she's hurt herself, but she just puts her head down on her paws. I have to stare at her for a few minutes. She looks so healthy. Thom and Belle both, showed their illnesses. They were twins in the way their bodies responded. Losing weight no matter how much I fed them, until their knees were bigger than their thighs, until I could count every spine and rib with my fingers. Thom's fine blonde hairs shedding on blankets next to Belle's dark curls. Neither of them said anything, not 283


by mouth, but at the end, their bodies knew no language but pain. This is what I think: I can't do this again. This is what Seth seems to think: that I'm already doing it. He is unpacking her things from his bag onto my kitchen table. The bag says, "Pawsitively Pawspice" in green letters with a big paw print on it. Like some kind of bizarre Mary Poppins, he pulls out two leashes, cans of dog food, an unopened package of very large bones, a bottle of meds that shakes like maracas and makes Annie open her eyes warily. "She doesn't need the meds very often," he says. "I don't think she likes the way they make her feel." I nod. Thom complained of that all the time. The pain, he said, was easier than the disconnect. But then, the pain would come on, hard, and he would let me open the IV, watch the liquid drip-drip him into semi-consciousness. "She looks so healthy," I say. I don't even realize I'm going to say it. "Nasal cancer," he says. "It's all on the inside." "Nasal?" I'm not sure I know what that means even. I mean, I know what it means, but, "How does nose cancer land a dog on the hospice list?" "It spreads," he says. Seth keeps his eyes on Annie, who is, for the first time, starting to sound like a dog who might have something wrong with her. Her breath whines in, just a bit, only if you're listening in a quiet kitchen. Seth reaches into his canvas bag and pulls out a tennis ball punched full of holes. Then he goes down on his knees next 284


to Annie. I'm getting used to seeing the top of him like this. Even though it's not my instinct, I like a man who will get down on his knees. Thom was a gardener, always in the dirt. Even near the end. I realize that Seth is talking to me and Annie all at the same time. "C'mon girl, open up," he says. Then, to me, "Now, you'll want to catch her just before she falls asleep, and get the ball in her mouth. The holes help with the stridor, so she can breathe. She's used to it, so if you just ask her to open, she will. A bone works too, if you're out of tennis balls. Anything big enough to keep her mouth open while she sleeps." Annie takes the ball in her mouth and drops her head back down on her paws. Her breathing is noticeably quieter. Seth is still on his knees. I try not to look at his hands across her back. He has good wrists, muscled enough to chop vegetables and lift weights, soft enough to hold books and wine glasses by the stem. Seth is still talking about Annie. "You could give her one of the pain pills, too, if she's having an especially hard time, but the tennis ball usually does the trick." I realize I'm not listening. What I'm doing is eying Seth's back, the curve of his shoulders and hips. This realization makes me want to fuck and cry. While Thom was dying I looked at everything—everything—that walked by. I didn't touch; that was our rule. But, Jesus, I don't know if I'd ever been so horny in my life. We fucked some, then, almost to the end. Thom joked we were like pregnant women or little 285


old ladies. He was afraid I wasn't attracted to him anymore; I was afraid to hurt him. Near the end, sex took on this ritual: I would lie next to Thom, barely touching, and we would kiss. Just our lips and tongues. His lips still silver-soft from the chapstick he was addicted to. And then I would suck. As much as he was ashamed of his body at the end, he was always proud of his cock. I'm so grateful for that, that he had something to be proud of, always. And I loved to suck him. The only part of his body that didn't lose its weight, that stayed full and heavy and alive in my mouth. I'd run my tongue up the ridges and veins. Play over and over the soft curve of his head until his sighs changed from the long, slow release to a near-pant. Until he lifted his hips off the bed and put his fingers in my hair and said my name, over and over. And then, sometimes, he could fall asleep without the pain meds. Sleeping then, he looked like my Thom again. If I squinted, I could pretend I didn't see the IV poles, the hospital bed, the meds and tissues scattered around the living room. I could pretend he was just napping in the middle of the day. And then the truth would come back and I'd go down to the laundry room and put already dry clothes in the dryer. Beneath the loud clunk-clunk of jeans and t-shirts, I'd masturbate, hard and fast, without lube, chafing my skin into some kind of pain. Sometimes I came. Sometimes I just cried. But after Thom died, nothing. It was like my libido got dressed up in its best clothes, and laid down to be buried 286


somewhere between Thom and Bella. For it to come back now, sudden and with such force that my cock tightens in my jeans, it wrecks me. I back away from Seth, trying to shift my legs to hide everything that's happening inside me. Seth raises his eyes to the triangle of my jeans. I turn away and grab the first thing my hand finds. One of Annie's tennis balls. When I squeeze it, the air shoots out the holes into my palm. I pick up the cans of food, put then into the cupboard, so I don't have to turn around. "Well, I guess that's settled, then," Seth says to my back. I'm not sure anything is settled, least of all me. But I find myself stacking another can of food in the cupboard, saying, "I guess it is." Even as Seth gathers his things, I keep my back turned. It isn't until he says, "I'll see you both in a week then," that everything subsides and I can turn and meet his dark eyes. This, finally, is when I realize that somewhere between "I can't," and "you can", I've lost the battle. Annie is staying, and this man is going to be back in my house in a week's time. And I have no idea how to feel about either. **** For the next six days, Annie and I try to get acquainted with each other. She's learning to navigate the small house with her big body, and I'm learning to get used to the sound of movement in the rooms again. Every day, she chews her tennis ball at the back of my home office while I build websites and answer emails. Every 287


night, I make up the bundle of blankets for her to sleep on in the living room and every night, she stands at the foot of my bed watching as I read or do crosswords or try not to think about Thom. She doesn't whine or even beg. If she did, I think I could turn her away, make it clear that the bed, the bedroom is not her space. But she just watches me tongue hanging, until I sigh and pat the covers. "C'mon then," I say. And she does. Crawls on her elbows and knees across the covers like she's trying to make herself smaller. Which is nearly impossible for a dog her size. Even the bed lilts sideways at her weight. I give her one of the holey tennis balls and she chomps on it for a while and then puts her head on Thom's pillow to sleep. So far, we haven't needed the drugs, and I think that makes us both happy. It's a slippery slope, and slipperier at the end. And although Annie's chart says five weeks, I know that could mean anything. Belle lasted longer than she was supposed to. Thom didn't. Every morning, before our walk, I read the quality of life checkpoints off to Annie. It's a lot of H's and a few M's. Hurt, hunger, hydration, hygiene, happiness, mobility, more. It's supposed to gauge how she's doing, what her quality of life is like, if she's having more good days than bad. I don't know if we got one of these for Bella. I'm sure we did, but I don't remember it. I wish I'd paid more attention. I wish I'd had a chart like this for Thom. Although he probably would have thrown it across the room. He'd voted for calling the vet to put Bella to sleep as soon as she started showing real signs of pain, when she started having more bad days 288


than good. But he, he wanted to hang in until the end, no matter the cost. On our seventh day, the day that Seth is scheduled to come by for his check-in visit, Annie seems her usual tailwhipping self. Between breakfast and her walk, she manages to knock over the vase of yellow Calla lilies that I bought ... well, I won't let myself think why I bought them. The vase didn't break, but the Callas weren't salvageable. Sometimes I swear she knocks shit over just to say that she's alive. Today, I wonder if she's not doing it to spite me for running the vacuum last night. Or maybe she's as nervous as I am about Seth coming. The way my body's jumping, if I had a tail, I'd be knocking crap off every surface too. I tell myself that I'm just nervous because I've gotten used to having Annie in the house, and he could decide it's not working out. But the truth is I'm excited, too. Just to see. "Okay, Missy," I say as I give both of us a once-over in the bedroom mirror—the tip of her tail is soggy from its run-in with the vase and I've got a squeaky toy tucked in my shirt pocket, but otherwise we look pretty good. "We need to make a good impression today," I tell Annie, who just wags her tail at me. And then Seth's knocking on the door, calling. Annie and I nearly trip each other up trying to get to the door. Halfway across the kitchen, I calm myself and let Annie run ahead. Even so, when I swing the door open, we're both panting like fools. Seth's standing there, with a bone the size of Texas in one hand and what looks like a hand-picked bunch of black-eyed 289


Susan's in the other. Annie looks back at me like she's smiling. I take a big gulp of air. "Hey," I say. "Hi," he says. I'm not sure if I noticed his smile last time, but I do now: straight white teeth, a full bottom lip that I want to suck. We stand there while Annie's tail goes back and forth between the two of us. Seth holds out the bone. "For you," he says to me. We both look down at the huge thing in his hand. Seth realizes what he's done. "Oh, ah..." he says. The tips of his ears darken with color. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything so sexy. He tries to switch hands, to offer the flowers instead, but I take hold of his wrist. I don't mean to. If I'd thought first, if a vision of Thom had entered my head, I would not have done it. But my body moved first, took his wrist and now I'm holding his hand that's holding the bone. "Come in," I say. Seeing him redden, the way he fumbles through my doorway, is something Thom would never have done. I'm so grateful for the difference, for not having to compare him to Thom, that I pull him into the kitchen and press him back against the fridge. I find his mouth, that bottom lip, and I suck it my mouth. He tastes of peppermint and basil. Seth says something, but I can't tell what it is. Whatever it is, it must be good because his arms go around my back and he pulls me against him. The knotty end of the dog bone digs into my shoulder, but I don't care because our mouths are pressed together, our chests and cocks pushing into each 290


other. He's big and the feeling of him through his jeans makes me grow large, too. I put my hands in his hair, feeling the soft black curls, the coarse gray strands. Jesus, I want to unbutton this man right here, I want to bend him over the kitchen counter, and take him. I try to tell him these things with my hips, the curve of my cock against his. He answers with his tongue, scraping the edge of my teeth, licking the inside of my cheek. The fridge squeaks as Seth and I press into each other, harder and harder. The sound makes Annie bark, once, sharp. All at once, we're a tangle of flowers and dog bone and tongues and panting. I step back, away from Seth's dark eyes. A flower petal brushes my ear as I break from his arms. "I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know..." He smiles, and for the second time today, I am aroused by straight, white teeth. He seems to have recouped his lost confidence. His face is still flushed, but I don't think it's embarrassment this time. My own cheeks feel overly warm. Seth goes down on his knees to give Annie the bone. She pushes the healthy side of her face against his palm before she takes it between her teeth. Still on his knees, he holds out the slightly crushed bouquet of flowers. "Would you have a vase for these?" he asks. **** We do what's civilized. I refill the Calla vase with water and try to rearrange the flowers in a way that makes them look less like they were in the middle of a lust crush. And then I offer him lunch and he accepts. 291


I slice up cheese and salami. Pull yesterday's tomato and mozzarella salad from the fridge. He takes the knife I offer and slices a loaf of bread at perfect diagonals. "Beer?" I ask. He seems relieved. "I'd love one," he says. We eat while Annie gnaws her bone in the corner of the kitchen. We don't say much. It's the lunch of two men who were too nervous to eat all day. The lunch of two men who know that dessert is going to be the best—and longest—part of the meal. I watch his hands while he dips slices of bread into olive oil. I want to suck the oil from his fingers. Better yet, suck it from his tongue. But I hold myself steady. I eat. I mention how well Annie's doing. How healthy and happy she seems. At the end, we clear the table as though we've been doing this for years. There is no step-siding. Seth doesn't ask where the dishes go, or how to stack things. He just does. And then there is no more to do. Annie is asleep with the bone holding her jaws apart. Her breathing is nearly silent. Seth straightens a towel that's hanging on the fridge. "What now?" he asks, without looking at me. I touch his back, at the curve-in place just above his ass. His voice low, still looking at the towel, Seth says, "I want you to fuck me." His words make my cock pulse in my jeans. Oh Jesus. I bury my face in his neck. Even here, he smells of herbs. "I want that too," I say against his skin. I take his hand and pull him away from the towel rack. I mean to go to the 292


living room, something less personal, but that's where Thom is, the memories of his last months and days, and I lead Seth into the bedroom instead. I think it surprises us both, this wide, carefully-made bed waiting in the middle of the room. Seth stops in front of it. I realize that if I stop now, I'll back out. I'll send Seth on his way, and Annie and I will live out the rest of her days in the safe, lonely rooms of this house. Instead, I push my hands against Seth's chest. Somehow, in pushing him away, I pull him closer. My fingers open the buttons one-by-one. I'm shaking, and I have to hold on to each button tightly. Seth kisses my neck while I work. His hands slide down the back of me, from my shoulders to my waist. I hear my belt buckle open, feel the warmth as he slides it from my jeans. Everything's too slow for me. "Please undress, I want to see you," I say. Seth lets go of my jeans. He undresses quickly, dropping his clothes around him in piles. His body is lean, but muscled. His cock swings up, long and thin. The smooth head a beautiful pinky-purple. His body is so alive, so much muscle and blood pumping that I'm afraid to touch him. It doesn't matter. He comes to me, undresses me as fast as he did himself. Even so, I marvel at his hands everywhere: buttons, sleeves, sliding my underwear down my thighs so my cock springs up. "Oh," he says. And he never comes up from taking my underwear off. He stays on his knees, so I can see the lean muscle of his back, and just below that, the perfect curves of 293


his ass. He licks his lips and presses them to the head of my cock. It's been so long since I've felt anything other than my own hand that just the press of his lips there makes me want to grab the back of his head and fuck his mouth. I try to keep still. When he opens his lips, lets me slide inside him, against the press of tongue and teeth, it's almost too much. I grit my teeth to stem the rising pleasure. His tongue finds the sweet spot just beneath my head, laps at it. "Ah, Jesus," I say. Through my gritted teeth, it comes out as something less awed, more primal. I pull Seth up from his knees. His lips are cherry-wet. He licks a drop of pre-come from his big bottom lip. "What are you doing to me?" I ask, even as I'm laying him down on his back on the bed. He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. The way his cock jumps as I position myself over him, the way he puts his legs up to give me access, says it all. I lick my finger and use it to find the swirl of his asshole. I press against it, and Seth opens for me, already pushing down on my finger. "More," he pants. I enter with a second finger, let his body settle over it. He wraps his fingers tight around the base of his cock. The color darkens even more. My cock is jumping every time Seth's ass tightens around my fingers. It wants in. I want in. "Seth, I want..." "Yes," he sighs. "Yes." 294


I fumble in the nightstand drawer for lube and condoms, hoping there's something left over. Hoping I won't break down when my hand hits a cellophane wrapper. Thankfully, Seth puts his other hand around my cock. He's wet his palm and his fingers slide over my skin, slick enough to take my mind off everything that came before this moment. I find a half-empty bottle of lube and one lonely condom in the bottom of the drawer. Seth wraps his fingers around the base of my cock while I roll on the condom. He tightens his grip, a human cock ring that makes me pump my hips against his hand as I spread lube over the surface. "It's cold," I say. Seth's already raising his hips to me, the perfect circle of his asshole waiting. "Don't care," he says. I push my way inside him. Just the head at first. How much I've missed this entering is something that I feel in my whole body. This is how I try to be: Slow. Careful. But Seth is sucking me in with his low moans, with his fingers tight on my ass. The slide inside is: oh, fuck. And then I'm buried in him, his ass contracting and releasing around me. I stop. "I don't know how long I'm going to last," I say. "I can't promise—" Seth pulls my face down to his, offers me that big bottom lip to suck on. It shushes me. "Just fuck me," he says against my mouth. 295


I do, oh god, I do. Rising and falling inside him. Seth pushes his hips upward to meet my thrusts. We are greedy together, wanting it all. And then I close my eyes, just for a second, and see Thom's face. For some reason, it's okay, though, he looks happy. Or at least he doesn't look unhappy. When I open my eyes, Seth is pumping his cock at the same rhythm as I'm fucking him. His head is thrown back, and he moans low. Visceral. The sound, the feeling of his hot skin around me, I finally come. Coming is like this: Everything emptying. Everything filling. The long, slow release of something I've been holding on to for too long. It is liquid leaving and me becoming liquid and the way Seth says "aw, god", and Annie's low whine from the other room. **** When I wake up, I've got a big white paw in my face, and I realize that sometime while we were sleeping, Annie must have crawled in bed with us. Seth's already awake. His fingers are back in the fur at Annie's ear. "I need to tell you something," he says. My mind says: oh, shit. My mouth says: wait and listen. "I got assigned to you on purpose," he says. "What?" Seth drops his eyes, pretends to pick something out of Annie's fur. And then his words come out in a tumble. 296


"Thom came in to the shelter in person when he signed up. He was so sweet, told us the whole story. He wanted you to have something after. It was supposed to be sooner, that's what he wanted, but there wasn't a good match. I asked to be assigned to you." I shift Annie's paw off my shoulder, lean up a little. "Is that kind of creepy?" I ask. The tips of Seth's ears are growing a dark red. I can't help it. I think of his cock. "Maybe," he says. "But Thom was so nice, and I thought, 'a man who's in love with this man must be amazing too'. I just wanted to see if it was true." "And?" He swallows audibly. The sure man who was in my bed minutes ago has disappeared. "And ... you were not only nice, but you were so sexy. I got sucked in." His lip is pouting out so far I'm tempted to bite it. Instead, I ask, "Would you like to get sucked in again?" The tips of his ears still showing red, he nods. I run my finger along the edges of his lips. "Let me feed the small horse, then," I say. "And when I come back, I'll see what I can do." **** It's been three months and two days, and Seth has moved in. He's brought his life with him: paperwork and photos from Pawspice, a shed full of gardening tools, his ability to grow herbs and tomatoes like he's made of fertilizer. 297


Annie's days are switching from mostly good to mostly bad. Something has speeded up inside her, is pushing her quickly toward the end. Five times a day, we coax her to eat by cupping alfredo sauce in our palms and letting her lick it out. This morning, while Seth cooks breakfast, I mix up the solution to wash Annie's coat—mostly water, a little lemon juice and hydrogen peroxide. She lies on the rug in the kitchen, the ball between her teeth. She has it almost all the time now, and still she needs the meds. I wring out the sponge—my skin is permeated with the scent of lemons—and I run it carefully over Annie's face. She closes her eyes when I get near her nose, and I talk low to her, tell her I'm sorry if I hurt her. Seth chop-chops the onions on the board. The room smells of acid and tears. "I think it's almost time," I say. I'm talking to Annie and to Seth. Somehow, they both nod. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon, we will lose Annie and all she has brought to us. Well, not everything she has brought to us. We'll still have: Memories. Tennis balls filled with holes in every room in the house. A bed that sags on one side. Each other.

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Author Biographies Sarah Black lived five years on the Navajo reservation in Arizona, and looks forward to throwing a line into Christmas Tree Lake this summer. Visit her website at www.sarahblack.net for new releases scheduled summer of 2007 from Loose ID and MLR Press. Dianne Fox has been writing nearly as long as she could read. Her first novel was nearly a dozen pages long and featured full-color illustrations by the author. It was about a caterpillar. Years later, she managed to get herself published in several college literary magazines, but she stopped writing due to a traumatic experience she likes to call "graduate school". With that finished, though, she's taken up writing again and, so far, it seems to be going fairly well. When she's not dreaming up sexy scenarios at her computer, Shanna Germain can be found walking the streets of Portland, eavesdropping in cafes and cracking a whip (lightly) over her writing students. Her writing has appeared in places like Absinthe Literary Review, Best American Erotica 2007, Best Bondage Erotica, Cowboy Lover, and Salon. Visit her at www.shannagermain.com. J.L. Jensen discovered the world of gay erotica while doing research for a historical romance where the characters decided to form a M/F/M relationship. After corresponding with several authors, J.L. finally submitted a short story called "Prospecting" to Torquere Press, Inc. which was accepted as a part of the publisher's Cherry Bomb line. J.L. keeps writing stories, and is currently cursing the characters from one story 299


that decided they wanted to have fun with characters from another story, making a third story a necessity! Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested U.S. Southeast, slathered in SPF 45, drinking colorful tropical, hi-octane concoctions served by thong-clad cabana boys. All right, the truth is that she spends her time locked in the dark recesses of her office, writing gay erotica while chained to a temperamental Macintosh, drinking coffee, and dreaming of thong-clad cabana boys. Sigh. Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago." A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys, writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark. Sean's webpage is at www.seanmichaelwrites.com/ Aaron Michaels lives in northern Nevada, where he's owned by several high maintenance cats. In between dishing up the cat food and serving as a convenient pillow, he's hard at work on his next novel. Aaron's blog can be found at aaronmichaels.livejournal.com 300


Neil Plakcy is the author of Mahu and Mahu Surfer, mystery novels set in Honolulu, and co-editor of Paws and Reflect: Exploring the Bond Between Gay Men and Their Dogs. His fiction has appeared in many publications, including Blithe House Quarterly, Verbsap and In The Family, and anthologized in My First Time 2; Men Seeking Men; Cowboys: Gay Erotic Stories; Travelrotica for Gay Men; Best Gay Love Stories: New York City; Ultimate Undies; and By The Chimney With Care. His website is www.mahubooks.com. CB Potts is the author of the best-selling Rockhounds Series from Torquere Press, as well as far too many silly short stories. She's got a soft spot for birds, and spends many enjoyable hours with her binoculars checking out her feathered friends. At least that's what she tells the cute guys who just happen to be working near her favorite birdwatching haunts. J. Rocci lives in the Washington D.C. area with the love of her life and their three furry children. She writes wherever her Muse takes her, usually in the form of her partner in crime (and best friend) demanding more smut. Her previous Torquere Press release is the fantasy Cherry Bomb, "Unbreakable," and she can be found on the web at jrocci.livejournal.com/ B.A . Tortuga enjoys indulging in the shallow side of life, with hobbies that include collecting margarita recipes, hot tub dips, and ogling hot guys at the beach. A connoisseur of the perverse and esoteric, BA's days are spent among dusty tomes of ancient knowledge, or, conversely, surfing porn sites in the name of research. Mixing the natural born southern 301


propensity for sarcasm and the environmental western straight-shooting sensibility, BA manages to produce mainstream fiction, literary erotica, and fine works of pure, unadulterated smut. More info is at: www.batortuga.com. Ansley Vaughan is a journalist, who has worked in print, radio and television news. She read history at university and trained as an actress. She writes erotic adventures and the latest, 'A Personal Statement', is an m/m story which deals with the rise and fall of a senior British cabinet minister who gets embroiled in a scandal. Her first novel for Freya's Bower, The Facility Trip is an m/m romance which was published late last year. Four others are due out soon. Without giving the game away, she's prepared to say that the events in her story are based on her own experience, as she's been through the training process described... KC Warwick: I'm as old as the hills and was brought up on Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, both of whom I still love. I've been writing male/male romance since the days of pen and paper. My home is in the heart of the English countryside, where I write obsessively, surrounded by animals. My story 'Learning The Hard Way' appeared in Iris Print's Connections anthology, and "Dead Cert" was in Bent Issue 3. "Thieves in the Night" will be an upcoming Torquere Press Single Shot. I have just finished writing a historical novel set in Elizabethan England, which is my other interest. Elazarus Wills is a journalist and used bookstore owner residing in a small mountain town in Western Colorado somewhere between Aspen and Telluride. He writes romantic erotica for enjoyment and is a student of the work and life of 302


Henry David Thoreau and early gay history. He believes that if Henry were alive today, he would be out. He would also be appalled at the state of the world. Writer and editor, Vincent Diamond is a Floridian whose work has appeared in print in Country Boys, Hot Cops, Love in a Lock-Up, Men of Mystery, Best Gay Romance 2007, Best Gay Love Stories 2005 and 2006; in the e-books Feathers, Chance Encounters, Under Arrest, and Play Ball from Torquere Press; and online at Fishnet, Clean Sheets and Ruthie's Club. Time away from the keyboard is spent riding horses, gardening, and pondering the inestimatable beauty of tigers. More info is at: www.vincentdiamond.com.

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Animal Attraction

Animal Attraction

Animal Attraction