Tunnel of Love

Praise for the writing of Willa Okati The Brotherhood: Amour Magique

What an intriguing story to start a series with! Ms. Okati has come up with a novel idea of an incubus who needs friends and wants to help them. But I’m not surprised, her stories are always creative and unique. I can’t wait for the next book. -- Joyfully Reviewed With a unique plot and a host of sexy characters, The Brotherhood: Amour Magique is a winner... From humor to intrigue, to sexual sophistication, this is a first-class read. -- Nancy Jackson, Coffee Time Romance

The Brotherhood 2: Bite Me Tie me up, tie me down, do whatever you want as long as I enjoy it as much I enjoyed The Brotherhood 2: Bite Me. The writing is fabulous, with thought processes that are just funny as hell, and when the characters start talking to themselves it ’s damn hilarious. -- Sin St. Luke, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

The Brotherhood 3: The Dragon’s Tongue

I'd have read this in one sitting if real life hadn't intruded. Ms. Okati knows how to draw in a reader and keep them engrossed. Collin is very lovable. You will find yourself rooting for him to find love, and have a few giggles along the way. -- Astraea, Enchanted Ramblings

Amour Magique, Bite Me, and The Dragon’s Tongue are now available from Loose Id.

THE BROTHERHOOD 9: TUNNEL OF LOVE

Willa Okati

www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (homoerotic sex).

The Brotherhood 9: Tunnel of Love Willa Okati This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © October 2006 by Willa Okati All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-295-0 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Olivia Wong Cover Artist: Skyewolf

Dedication To Rere, always there for me.

Chapter One “Boss, Keith is strung out on E again. He’s in the john, pukin’ his guts up.” “Oh, dear God. Someone get back there and watch him! I don’t want anyone falling out in my club. The kind of press we’d get, shit, some days it’s not worth even coming in ... And find someone to take his dance. Get Rich. Is Rich available?” “Rich is on stage right now.” “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Find someone to do the goddamn dance. You do it.” “Me? I’m not up for three more songs.” “Well, now you’re double-booked. As soon as that music cues up, you get your ass on stage, or you’re out of a job.” “But, boss --” “Didn’t I make myself clear, or do I have to spell it for you? F-I-R-E-D. Now move it, you fuckin’ Nellie.” Hands clapped briskly together. “All right, the rest of you ladies, get your asses in gear. Is someone keeping an eye on Keith yet? Okay, great. Andrew, no, you can’t wear the tangerine. Not everyone can pull it off, and with your complexion? Uh-uh. Who’s on after Rich? Christian? Christian, are you next?” Christian sat alone at a rickety table, gazing into the long mirror that had been placed on top of it. His chair was uneven, making it tilt to and fro. He rocked absently as he stared at himself and watched his own eyes staring back. There was a weird trick he could pull where he just sort of popped right out of himself if he did it long enough ... “Christian! You’re next. Are you dressed? Oh, good, at least someone in this place knows what they’re doing.” A giant hand slammed down on Christian’s shoulder. The paw had an incongruous manicure of crimson fingernails. Incongruous. Christian had used the word in a paper he’d written earlier in the afternoon. Out of place. “Are you ready to go?” “I’m ready,” Christian said absently, waiting for the moment when he’d pop out. He gazed into the mirror, waiting patiently. “Now what the fuck is wrong with you? Shit, don’t tell me you took a hit of somethin’, too. Are you sober?” The fingers with their irreconcilable nails snapped in front of his eyes, breaking his concentration. Christian looked up into the face of “Big Mikey,” the boss man. With his beer gut and his white hair shaven into a buzz cut, he should have been the epitome of gruff old manhood -- kind of like George C. Scott. Patton, Christian thought to himself. Patton was general in ... But Patton didn’t wear eyeliner and lipstick. As Christian gawked, feeling pale and gray around the edges, Mikey slung on a bouffant blond wig and pulled at the hair, adjusting here and tucking there. “I gotta get out front and make sure everything’s goin’ down okay. That goddamn bartender is ripping me off again, I just know it, and I’m gonna catch him this time. He’s keeping all the tips for himself instead of puttin’ them in the jar. But you’re good to go, right? Don’t need anything? You got your bra stuffed and your nuts tucked back?” Christian closed his eyes briefly. “Yeah,” he answered after a moment. “I just have to finish my makeup and I’ll be done.” “Well, hurry it up, shake a leg, all that good stuff.” Mikey adjusted his own C-cup, stuffed with twin bags of rice, and tucked his T-shirt into his jeans. The faded blue fabric had a logo across the fake tits reading Michelle’s Pleasure Palace. He smelled of cheap beer and cheaper cigars as he leaned over to check his lips, puckering them, then spitting on the floor. Mikey clapped Christian on the back again. “Okay, kid. You look great. Add a little more color and you’ll wow ’em. Oh, by the way, your song is Pressure. DJ’s choice. You cool with that?” He guffawed. “Not like it matters. Just move with the music, baby, move with the music.” He gyrated. Christian watched him dully. “I’ll move,” he said, knowing he sounded flat as an out-of-tune guitar string. “Shake my groove thing. That’s what it’s all about.” The hokey-pokey was lost on his boss. “You’re a good kid, Christian. Chris. God, I gotta get out there. You do your best, now, and ... well, you know what to do.” Christian nodded. There really didn’t seem to be anything to say. Mikey gave him a third hard, teeth-rattling thump, and pounded away, probably to chew a second asshole in the bartender. As if Christian didn’t know Mikey and Joe were screwing each other blind after the rest of the staff went home. He knew a lot of things other people didn’t know. Pressure, huh? Christian knew that song pretty well. Sometimes it played over and over in his head while he was taking an exam, or when he was putting on his face, or when he sat through one after another of the Brotherhood meetings. There would be times when he couldn’t get it to stop.

Strains of Alanis Morrisette chimed in his inner ear. Ironic. He’d used that word to describe Oscar Wilde. But what she’d sung about wasn’t ironic. It was unfortunate. Unfortunate. Another word. Christian liked words. He reached for a tube of “Harlot Red” and began tracing his lips with the oily stick, watching them turn carmine. The shade matched his outfit, a body-hugging red catsuit made out of spandex. He was better with the fake boobs than some of the other guys; his looked natural. Didn’t feel that way, not at all, but looks, after all, were what counted in this business. He applied kohl around his eyes and tried to regain his earlier focus. If he could just pop from his own skin, he’d be good for the dance. He could do this one more night. Get enough in tips to grab lunch and dinner the next day, and put some aside for the next tuition and fees bill that would be coming soon. His regular paycheck went toward the cost of the house he shared with seven other guys his age, all noisy as hell, but not nosy. Noisy/nosy. He combed his hair back, applying enough product to make sure it stayed in a smooth, flat cap. There was always the option of going down to a buzz like Mikey did, but he hated the way that looked when he was out of drag. God. Drag. Christian didn’t have anything against gay men who looked like this because they wanted to, but having to tuck it back so he could eat ... The wig came next. He had a feeling Mikey would want him to go for a blond -- customers liked blonds -- but he chose a rich brunet instead, not as pouffy as some others and longer. It fit closely to his scalp, the netting inside itching a little. Not as badly as his legs, though. He’d forgotten to shave them, and spandex was a bitch on stubble. They never mention that when it comes to superheroes and their outfits. Did his cheeks need some more color? Probably. Christian hurried through applying blusher, mostly because he could hear the end of the Creedence Clearwater song playing on the stage. “Proud Mary”? Probably. He cocked an ear, listening to the muted sounds. Who is Mary, and what’s she so proud of? The final notes played, and there was a smattering of applause from the audience. After a pause, Rich sauntered back in, trying to look cool in his tight black dress ... and failing completely. “Hey, so no one wanted to take you for a private dance, huh?” someone cracked. “Hmph.” Rich made his way to the mirror and stood next to Christian, examining his own makeup. “I’ll get someone before the night’s over. They can’t resist a lady in this kind of outfit.” “Probably have a better shot when you do your second dance in the cowgirl outfit.” “Save a horse!” The whole room whooped. Except for Christian. Rich nudged him with one bony hip, hard. “You have a problem or something?” he asked, his Puerto Rican accent coming through stronger and with a more guttural twist. “What are you staring at, pretty boy? Pretty girl? You having trouble getting it up again?” Christian let his eyes shut to the vision of himself looking like a ten-dollar hooker, Rich at his side looking like he cost five bucks more. “I don’t have a problem,” he said quietly. “Just ... leave me alone. Okay?” “Oh, he wants us to leave him alone!” Rich threw up his hands, backing away a few steps. “The princess wants some private time, eh?” “No.” Christian stood, opening his eyes toward the stage door. “But my number’s up next. I have to get ready.” “You ever have a problem with me, I’ll kick your skanky ass,” Rich muttered. He picked up an ancient, yellowing atomizer and spritzed himself with something that smelled like talcum powder gone bad. He preened in front of the mirror. “Don’t see how anyone could have turned this down,” he said petulantly. Christian ignored them. Ignore. He pushed his feet into stiletto heels, the same blinding red as his spandex, and strutted -God, you couldn’t help but strut in these -- to the stage entrance. The first bass notes began to sound, and he knew what he had to do. The Hero’s Journey. The Black Moment. Sliding one leg out from behind the curtain, he let the rest of his body ooze forward to the catcalls of the crowd. Christian didn’t dance like the rest of the men, and the audience knew it. He was one of their favorites exactly because he didn’t shake it all in their faces. I’m just doing this to earn some cash. It’s short term, really it is ... Christian took his slow, sweet time strutting down the catwalk, gyrating his hips to the low bass beat. When the vocals kicked in, he’d timed it just right to be at the pole, which he caught and began to spin around. When he danced here, his mind went on autopilot, autonomous of his body’s actions. Autonomous.

As Christian moved, he thought about a hundred different things, each one floating as lazily through his mind as a scudding storm cloud across a sullen gray sky. He thought about school, the paper he had yet to finish, and the lab he’d been in that afternoon. Rocks and minerals. About how David was getting to know him too well, asking too many questions, how he might already suspect the truth. He liked David but, God, if his secret ever got out ... maybe he could trust David. Maybe. About his first boyfriend, Thom, whom Christian’s parents had disowned him over -- and who’d left him but not before taking all his savings. About the Brotherhood, who bored him to tears when they weren’t making him furious, and how he’d die if any of them ever came in and saw him dancing. Would they? Any of them? Ever? Christian didn’t think so. David was too shy; Laurence wasn’t out; Micah, too prissy; and Collin, too cold. Bree? Bree might. A shiver went down his spine at the thought. Bree would actually be just the kind of person who’d walk in here for a laugh some night. Would he be able to recognize Christian behind all the makeup and the costume? Maybe. His heartbeat, already fast from the way he was fucking the pole with his dance, thumped a notch harder and faster. Liam. There was no telling what Liam would do, where, or when. And people didn’t give the man enough credit; Liam knew everyone’s secrets. They didn’t give Christian enough credit, either. He knew he was a smart guy, himself. After all, he’d noticed that one day Liam had been there when he hadn’t been the day before. Everyone had accepted the man as if he’d always been part of the Brotherhood. But Christian knew different; he just hadn’t figured it all out yet. Mystery. Conundrum. Enigma. He gave a last twirl around the pole and went to shimmy at the men surrounding his catwalk, blowing fake kisses at them and making their crumpled dollar bills disappear. For the most part, they all looked the same -- middle-aged, give or take a few years, worn and haggard, or just plain tired. They either didn’t have the cash to afford any other kind of club, or they put up with the drag for the boys inside the clothes, or pretended they were ogling women. Christian’s dance name was “Sunshine.” Illuminating. He doubted anyone believed for a second that that was what people really called him. But, then again, up there on stage, he didn’t matter. He was just a body, a face, a set of fake tits, a mouth. A dancer. Entertainer. He put on a show, and they watched or they didn’t. He brought his head up, the full mane of brown curls tangling in front of his eyes, and as he tried to clear it gracefully, he thought he saw something blue glinting toward the back of the club. As he shook the hair free, he got another look. It was a pendant on some kind of necklace. He couldn’t see the face of the man wearing it, but Liam had a piece of jewelry just like that. His heartbeat increased. No. God, no. Turning his back to the corner where the blue pendant was, Christian returned to the other side of the catwalk, cooing and pouting at the other row of men. One of them, a pale guy with dark-framed glasses and spiky black hair, had his mouth slightly open. He dug in his pocket and offered Christian a ten-dollar bill. Rules were rules. Christian bent low enough to give the man a kiss, leaving a carmine stain behind on his benefactor’s mouth. As he strutted away, over the music he could hear a kind of nicely rough voice asking Christian if he would stay after the dance, but for ten bucks? No way. Too bad. The guy had been cute in a chess club kind of way. A brain, probably. Oh, fuck, was he a student at the university? Did he recognize Christian? His thoughts sped up, but as he kicked, twirled, and thrust out his pelvis, Christian kept his face cool and his lips in a seductive pout. This was why he’d gotten the job, why he’d been able to keep it, and why he was so popular. He knew how to work the room. And sometimes, he got results. A thin, balding man stood at the edge of the walk nearest to the staff entrance. His grin knowing, he held up a one-hundreddollar bill and snapped it between the forefingers of both hands, showing Christian exactly what he’d get. Christian hesitated (indecisive, uncertain), then gave the man a curt nod. Grinning to himself, the guy disappeared backward into the crowd. Then, as the music ended, Christian did a split with his legs splayed wide, and it was over for the night. At least it was up on stage. Keeping his face implacable, he ducked back to where the rest of the “girls” were still arguing and bitching, grabbed a foilwrapped square from a fishbowl, and adjusted his wig. Once fallen, the damn brunet strands kept trying to come down in his eyes. Catcalls went up as the other dancers saw what Christian was doing. “Ooh, ooh, he got one!” “It was that red spandex. I told Mikey he should have let me wear that outfit.” “You’ll get your turn, honey.”

“Bonus time!” Rich cackled. Christian shot him the flattest stare that he could before stepping through the group and stepping high on his heels. He headed for the back entrance. When he got there, the balding man was waiting, along with someone small -- and wearing a blue pendant. Fuck the C-note. Christian backpedaled and almost tripped over one of his heels. He crashed into a garbage can and had to grab on to right himself. By the time he was steady again, it was too late. “Is this guy your pimp?” Christian’s trick wanted to know. “He says he’s here to keep an eye out for you.” Damn it all to hell. It was Liam. “Liam, go home, and don’t you tell anyone you saw me here.” “I had wondered for a long time where you worked and how you earned your bread,” Liam said, his strange accent thicker than usual. “There are other ways, Christian. You need not do this. Please. Come with me, back to my home. To Simon’s. Somewhere, but anyplace away from here.” Escape. Freedom. Prison break. “Liam, please go home.” Christian put his hands on his hips. “I’m a big boy. I know what I’m doing.” “Do you? I wonder.” Liam turned and plucked a bill out of the trick’s hands. “You will not be asking for this back, will you?” he asked, cheerful as if they were passing the time of day. Then he did -- something -- with his face. Christian couldn’t quite see, but the trick could, turning a whiter shade of pale. “No. No, it’s okay,” he said, taking a couple of steps backward himself. “Keep it.” “I thought you might be fine with Christian keeping this.” Liam extended the C-note. Christian knocked the money out of Liam’s hands. “I don’t need your charity! I was going to earn that.” “No one should have to earn their way through life sucking on cocks for business, not pleasure. Unless that business is their pleasure. And certainly not one of the Brotherhood. You know that I have a special interest in --” “Fuck your special interest!” Christian shouted. He could see the trick, a source of even more money, moving away, out of the service alley. Mikey would be pissed. He would have seen him go off with this guy, knowing what Christian was going to do, and he’d probably punch him in the gut when he didn’t come back with the big man’s share. Christian knew he could lose his job over this, and then what? Flip burgers? “I cannot leave this alone.” Liam sounded sad. “But I suspect I cannot extract a promise from you not to do this again, and I am not the sort who forces a man against his will. Take the money, Christian. I have seen you dance. You earned it with the shame written on your cheeks beneath that awful paint.” Christian stamped on the bill, grinding it into the dirty concrete. Let Rich find it when he brought his next guy outside. “Fuck you, Liam,” he said, his chin going up. “I do what I have to do to get by.” “I can see as much. But, Christian, you miss out on so many things.” Liam shook his head. “Go on, then. Dance and earn your living. I will not tell anyone what I have seen here.” “You swear?” Promise, vow, bind to. “Your hand to God, you swear?” “My hand to my mother instead,” Liam answered. He gave his pendant a gentle tug. “She gave me this, and I cherish it more than a stack of Bibles.” Christian made a face. “Whatever. Just -- keep this quiet.” “As you say. You will not miss our trip to Amour Magique just so that you may dance here, though, will you?” “I -- what?” Christian blinked. “Fuck, no. I’m going.” “Then at least you have some common sense left to you. Good night, Christian.” Liam turned on his heel to walk out of the alley. “Take care, please.” Christian watched the crazy little man go, and waited. Time ticked by on hummingbird wings, each second flickering past. Finally, Liam was gone and the sound of his footsteps had faded. Christian took in a deep breath, smelling the garbage in the alley, perfume, and a newly familiar cologne. Just as he’d suspected, his trick stepped back out of the shadows where he’d been waiting. He bent to pick up the hundreddollar bill and waved it at Christian. “That’s right. You know how to give a man good service, don’t you?” “I try.” Christian felt dead inside. “I’ve been watching you for over a week now, and I finally picked you.” More like you got paid today. The man waved his money enticingly. Christian tracked it with his eyes. Rent. Bills. Food. “I’ve got another of these if you treat me right.”

Christian put on his most seductive smile, red like a clown’s mask. “I’ll treat you like a prince, baby.” Christian kissed the trick, turning his lips crimson, too. “What do you want?” How much do you have? “Everything you’ve got to hand out.” “Mmm.” Christian closed his eyes and thought about Emily Dickinson. He finally found the quiet place inside himself and popped out, his mind floating free, leaving just his body to go through the motions. “We’ll do it your way, sugar. But we wear condoms.” “How much to do it without one?” “Club policy,” Christian lied. “I’ll get fired.” The trick made a noise of disgust. “Goddamn rules. Okay, fine. First, I want you to get on your knees.” The positioning was awkward, but Christian managed it, not even breaking a heel. He faced down the worst part of his job without a flinch. Shudder. Shiver. Break in composure. Time to earn his real money.

Chapter Two “Hey, there.” A palm came to rest in the middle of Christian’s back, rubbing in small circles. Why were people always touching him? Christian bristled and would have told the man to get his hands the fuck off, but this was David, and you just didn’t say things like that to David. “Ready for the big night?” Christian, his Brotherhood face carefully in place, tossed his head and laughed. “Are you kidding? I am so ready to rock, roll, and take this place down. Aren’t you?” David bit his lip. “Well, sort of. It kind of depends on a couple of things.” “Like what?” Christian turned to face the bigger man. He liked the big, shy bear, and he knew that David had a soft spot for him, too. “Have you got someone in there waiting for you?” A lover. Paramour. Dalliance. David’s blush gave him away. Christian hooted, but softly, so that the others -- caught up in some kind of argument -- didn’t hear him. “Fuck me, you do have a guy waiting on you. Who is he? How long have you been seeing each other? Is he cool? Is --” “Slow down, slow down.” David’s warm, easy smile parted his lips over white teeth. He looked like a friendly grizzly come out to play in the honey pot. “His name’s Jory. And I think he’s pretty cool. Sort of.” Christian folded his arms. “Trouble in paradise? Come on, David, spill. What did you do?” “Me? I didn’t ... oh, jeez, Christian.” David put his hands on his hips. Christian, giggling, hopped back, even though he knew David wouldn’t take a swipe at him. “It’s not something I did myself. We sort of got into this together. And I’m hoping once I see him here, we’ll get things worked out.” “You sly dog.” Christian leaned up against the brick walls of Amour Magique and grinned. “So, how long have you been seeing him?” “A few weeks. Long enough to tell ...” David blushed. “Well, I think it’s the real thing, Christian. He’s a good guy.” “Better than your last?” Christian asked softly. He knew the other man’s story. And even if he himself was on the small, slender side, he’d love to have kicked David’s abusive ex-boyfriend’s ass. David smiled again, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a shadow. “So much better.” “And the sex is good?” Christian tagged David and began shadowboxing with himself. “Ha! Yah! You have a good time between the sheets?” “Christian,” David chided. Christian could almost hear David’s cheeks heating up. “Give it a rest, huh?” “Aw, that’s no fun.” Christian stopped his boxing and settled down, hands in his pockets. He grew as serious as he let himself be around the Brotherhood. “Glad you found someone, David. Not everyone’s as lucky as you are.” He glanced at their motley crew, lingering over the sight of Bree with his multiple piercings. Ouch. Punctured. Stapled. Serrated. “Some of these guys won’t find anyone for even one dance.” “You don’t know that. Even money says everyone finds somebody tonight.” “Real money? How much?” Christian tried not to sound too eager. But, come on, a sure bet was a sure bet, and David made enough of a decent salary that he didn’t feel like he’d be cheating the guy. “Ten bucks? Fifteen?” He needed to do laundry. The outfit he had on tonight was made up of some of his last clean things. “Fifty.” David opened his wallet and pulled out a note. He pressed it into Christian’s hand. “That says everyone finds somebody for them. You hold onto it for now, though. And if you want a drink or something, you can go ahead and take it out of that.” Christian felt his face go hard. He pushed the bill back at David. “I don’t take handouts,” he said flatly. Then, with an effort, he grinned again. “I have my own cash, Davey. You don’t have to worry about me once we’re inside.” “You’ll be okay on your own, then?” “Je-e-e-ez, David.” Christian rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I need to be led around by the hand. I can take care of myself.” He held up his hand, two fingers upright. “Scout’s honor.” “I seem to be hearing that a lot lately,” David mumbled oddly, but gave Christian a nod all the same. “Okay. But if you want somebody, find me or one of the other Brothers. Liam, maybe, since he was the one to score the tickets. They’ll help you out. That’s what we do.” Maybe you do. But they don’t. And I don’t, except when it comes to you. And Liam ... I don’t trust him. He saw. He said he wouldn’t tell, but how do I know he hasn’t whispered it around here and there? He claims he looks out for our well-being, says so all the time. He’d probably see outing me as being in my own best interest.

No. I’m staying the fuck away from Liam as soon as we get inside. And ... oops, looks like we’re moving. A bouncer who appeared to be made of solid granite lumps glued together unclicked a velvet rope to let the Brotherhood pass. Christian got into line, smoothing his hands down the front of his tight jeans. He could feel David behind him, a big and comforting presence. Liam was back there somewhere, and Simon right in front of him. Christian took one step forward into the dance club, his first impression one of noise, lights, and music ... ... then came to a dead stop. So did everything else. “What the hell?” He turned around in a circle, staring at the four plain beige walls that had appeared around him. Each one featured an oil painting, post-modernist. Dancers. They were all paintings of dancers. And he was alone. “Damn it!” His heart pounding in his throat, Christian made for the door, but it was locked tight. Barred. Sealed. Enclosed. “This isn’t funny!” he shouted. “Whoever’s doing this, stop it. Do you hear me? Stop it!” “It is not meant to be funny.” “Fuck me!” Christian’s hand flew to his heart, and he whirled around to see Liam standing in the corner, where he definitely hadn’t been before. “What the hell, Liam?” The small man shook his head, autumn-colored curls swaying. “That is the question, is it not? I saw to it that you were separated from the others as you entered Amour Magique because we need to talk, you and I.” Christian tensed, going on the alert. “There’s nothing we need to talk about.” “Oh, but I think there is.” Liam had a walking stick in one hand with a carving on the top. Some sort of bird. He leaned on it, resting all his weight on the object. “Do you see the paintings? Do you like them? I picked them out especially for you. I know you are doing a course in the fine arts, you see.” “What do you mean, you picked them out? And, yeah, everyone knows that about me.” Christian took a couple of steps backward. “So what?” “Do you not like post-modernism?” Despite himself, Christian took another glance at the artwork. The pieces on display were some of his favorites. “Yeah, I like them. But, Liam, how’d you do this? Last thing I know, I’m walking into a big club, then bam! Here I am in a tiny cell. What the hell is going on?” “As I said, we need to talk.” Liam dropped his mask of cheery good nature and grew serious. “Just like your customer, I did not leave the alley entirely the other night after I saw you dance.” “Oh, God.” Christian felt his face turn crimson. He wanted to hide his eyes. Instead, he turned his back on Liam. For a second, it felt like he was back in the goddamn red spandex and stilettos, his face caked with makeup, instead of tonight’s tight black wifebeater, jeans so well-fitting they looked painted on, plus heavy boots. “You watched, didn’t you? Fucking pervert! Did you jerk off as well?” “There was more than enough perversion there. I would not add to such a thing. Christian, look at me. Turn around and look at me, I say.” Despite his determined intentions otherwise, Christian found himself obeying Liam, one grudging footstep at a time. He raised his chin, staring Liam down from a few inches up. “So I sucked a guy off for a little money. So what?” “So that makes you a whore, does it not?” The word hit Christian like a slap in the face, especially when it came from Liam’s mouth. “Do you do this often? And you did not just suck him. You let him fuck you up against that dirty wall, with the red catsuit down around your ankles. Your mouth and your ass were his for the right amount of money. It is as I have said. Whore.” “Liam, get off it.” Christian was getting over his shock and turning angry. Furious. Enraged. Incensed. “Everyone in the Brotherhood knows that you have more sex in one week than the rest of us do in a year.” “Except you?” “I don’t -- not that often. I mean --” “Not willingly, you mean?” “It isn’t like that.” “So many things often are not.” Liam hummed softly and rotated his walking stick between his hands. “The man asked if I was your pimp. That is incorrect, of course. I would never sell you for any amount of money. I will not ‘fuck’ my special interest in the men I call Brothers. It remains intact. And you, I think, need more care than some others.” Christian was opening his mouth to say something in return, when Liam flickered. It was like watching a TV go in and out. When he was solid again, Liam blinked and tried to continue, but Christian was shaking his head.

“No. No way, uh-uh. I don’t know what kind of freak show is going on, but I’m out of here.” “The door is locked. You are not going anywhere.” Liam looked even more real than he usually did, vital and full of life. “Forget what you just saw. It did not happen. Are we clear?” Christian felt something swimming behind his eyes, kind of like the way he felt when he popped out of himself at the dance club, then blinked. He’d been about to say something ... hadn’t he? Oh, yeah. He was going to give Liam hell about calling him a whore. “Be quiet.” Liam raised a hand, and Christian’s mouth snapped shut. “Some of the Brothers need my guidance before they even enter Amour Magique. You are one such. I want your promise, Christian, that you will not sell yourself for any amount of money here tonight.” Christian felt his outrage growing. “I’m not a two-dollar hooker,” he blurted. “Look, what you saw ... it’s just temporary, okay? And it’s just on the job. I’m doing what I have to do; I want to get through college, and I need the money.” “You could not find better employment?” “Find me something else that pays a hundred dollars for ten minutes of my time.” “Ah, I see.” Liam gave the pendant at his neck a small twirl. “So that is the way of it. I think, perhaps, you need a lesson. But I will not be the one to give it to you. It will come to you of its own accord.” “Yeah. Right. Whatever. Look, can I go now?” Music was beginning to filter into the small room, and Christian ached to get out there and dance like he couldn’t at the Pleasure Palace. Really become one with the music, like he did in interpretive class sometimes, not just wiggle his ass in the hopes of a bigger tip. “Come on, Liam. Please?” Liam flickered again. The memory jumped back into Christian’s mind, and he yelled, lunging for the doorway and wrenching at the knob, willing it to open. It stayed firmly shut. “You will behave yourself?” Liam asked behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I promise. I swear. Whatever you want. Just let me out of here!” Liam’s hand, still coming in and out of focus, reached past Christian and turned the knob. The door to the club opened, letting music and laughter come roaring in. Christian flinched at the thought of how close Liam must have been behind him. Probably still was. “You promised, remember that,” Liam whispered, then gave him a solid push. Christian stumbled to a stop a few feet out, and, gathering his courage, turned to face Liam. Except he couldn’t, because the small room was gone. Nothing stood between him and the main entrance/exit except a space of well-kept carpeting covered in men walking to and fro, partnering up, or saying goodnight. What the fuck? I must have inhaled something I wasn’t supposed to. Did Bree do something to me? No, we were standing pretty far apart. But then how ... Shaking his head slowly, Christian righted himself and headed for the vast hall full of men. He thought he saw Bree out there in the middle of a punk group, moshing to the pounding music, but there were plenty of other places to go and dance. Places that didn’t have the Brothers were exactly where he wanted to be. Letting the music be his guide, Christian found his way to the heart of another circle, picking a partner at random by putting his hands on the tall, dark man’s hips and grabbing his attention by swinging him into the dance. The guy had two horns pasted on, golden ones, and a pointed goatee. Horny little devil. I like it. Enjoy. Take pleasure in. Savor. “So, you wanna dance?” Christian shouted over the music. The devil-man grinned and began to gyrate, rocking his hips in time with the beat. And Christian ... ... Christian let himself go. He felt the music, some song he’d never heard before, flooding into his veins like a dose of heroin, turning his world inside-out. There was nothing but the sound, the bass beat, and his body moving, moving, moving. He was one with the night and the night was one with him. He came to himself when the song ended and found that he had switched partners somewhere along the way. Now he faced a sweating guy about his own age with floppy blond hair and a grin that was sexy as hell. “You dance like an angel,” his partner said in the brief hum between songs. “But more wicked, like you just came from hell.” Christian grinned broadly, unable to help himself. “That’s me. I’m the angel and the devil on your shoulder.” He shimmied up and down, nice and nasty. The man seemed to appreciate it, running his hands over Christian’s arms as he came back up. “Me? I think you’re a prince.”

“Thanks,” Christian tossed back, then the music began again, hard and driving. He kept ahold of himself this time, thrusting his hips with each pounding of the bass, watching the faces of the men he danced with as he switched from partner to partner. Each one of them wore the pasted-on horns -- some golden, some brown, some parti-colored. There were those who were good dancers, and he lingered with them. Others weren’t that great at all, and he barely gave them five seconds of his time. Eager hands passed him from one body to another. He was being manhandled, but not roughly; it was more like he was handed around the way a candy that everyone wanted to taste would be. Being shared and shared alike, but he didn’t care because this wasn’t the Pleasure Palace, and he wanted to be there. The music was in his blood and his body sang along. The crowd of men he danced with grew tighter and smaller, until Christian was alone in the center. He let himself go again, swooping in circles and fucking the air, rocking in time, and shaking his love-maker for all he was worth. God, it felt good to be alive. He felt like he was shedding the Pleasure Palace as if it were a snakeskin ready to be sloughed off. Stomping on it with his heavy boots. Killing it dead. When the music stopped, Christian felt more alive than he had in -- weeks, months, maybe even years. The energy around him was almost touchable, and he didn’t have to chant words to himself to keep body and soul together anymore. He could sense the approval of the men he danced with, a close-knit group he’d managed to wedge himself into. Wiping his forehead with his arm, he shared grins and nods with all of them he could see, and felt hands caressing him from behind -- not as if he were something that came with a price tag, but in appreciation. He realized then why Liam’s words had hit home. At the Pleasure Palace, he did feel like a whore. Out here, he was a god. So far, Amour Magique was all that Liam had promised and more. He gave a slight shiver at the thought of the creepy little man, who’d outdone himself tonight, but thoughts of Liam were quickly driven from his mind when Devil-boy took him by the arm. “You dance well,” he said in a low, smoker’s rasp. He smelled like honest sweat and some kind of tobacco. “I think we’ve found ourselves a king, boys.” A cheer went up from the men around Christian. He twisted, trying to see if they were making fun of him, but they began to slap their hands together in appreciation. The adulation felt heady as a good swig of whiskey, and Christian couldn’t help but ride the high. He couldn’t help riding something else a moment later as two of the men swooped down on him and picked him up in a chair made out of their arms. Laughing, throwing his head back, Christian let them carry him over to a small padded bench, where they set him down and backed away, bowing. Just as if he were a real king. Devil-boy came to kneel in front of him. “You are the best dancer,” he said in that ultra-sexy voice. “Tonight, you’re our king. You choose your partners in the circle. We all want a turn, but it’s up to you. You can do nothing but sit here and watch us, if that’s what you want.” The words went straight to Christian’s head. He laughed again, tossing hair out of his eyes. “No way. I want to dance. The only problem is, who do I choose?” Devil-boy stayed on his knees, looking hopeful. “Maybe later, with you,” Christian promised. “For right now, join us.” The DJ started up once more, pounding out another thrashing beat that set Christian on fire. “Dance for me,” he shouted, dizzy with the pleasure. “Dance for me, and let me see what you’ve got.” The horned men looked at him, then at each other, grinned savagely, and began to thrust and twist to the music. Christian leaned back against the cool wall, feeling beads of sweat run down his arms and back, and watched them go. God, they were all so good. And they’d said he was the best. Half of him wanted to get up and go join the rest of the crowd, but he was the special one that night. He got to be the one making choices. He’d choose wisely. Devil-boy looked like a good partner, the way he threw himself wholeheartedly into the music, but the blond would also be a good match. A redhead with white horns began his own series of spins and gyrations that took Christian’s breath away. He opened his mouth, all the better to breathe in the hot air of the club, and let himself go limp, the music washing through him like ocean waves. He felt his cock start to harden, something that hadn’t happened in public in about as long as he’d been -well, not since high school. He couldn’t help himself. This place got to you. For the first time in way too long, he thought about fucking and being fucked with anticipation instead of dread. And it was all because of these men who were dancing to please him. Him! The song ended, and the horned men rushed in around him, falling to their knees. Another set began, and they clamored for him to join them, to be the best among them, to choose whomever he wanted. Christian had half-decided on the redhead, with Devil-boy as the next partner in line, when he caught a glimpse of sparkling blue from the corner of one eye. He looked up sharply. Liam? No, no Liam in sight. Not that he could tell, anyway. But as his gaze swung back around, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

A tall man with spiky dark hair and black-rimmed glasses. Pale. He touched his lips when he and Christian locked gazes, then gave Christian a tentative smile. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That guy from the other night, the one who gave me ten dollars. I can’t let this get out. These men, they can’t know what I do for a living. Christian stood and started to walk forward. The kneeling men parted like water, their hands stroking his calves through the tight jeans, begging for his favor. “You first,” he said, tapping the tip of the redhead’s left horn. The man shivered and moaned as if Christian has stroked his cock. Grinning, he ran his finger around Devil-boy’s right horn. “You after him.” From the groan Devilboy gave, he was about to come in his jeans. The power was unbelievable. God, such a high. “But, first, take this one dance for yourselves.” He felt the men get up behind him, then finally came to a stop facing the chess club man. “I have some business with this guy.” Like making sure he doesn’t open his mouth about what he’s seen. I hope.

Chapter Three Panic. Fear. Trepidation. The music changed from a hard-rockin’ beat to a slow-moving ballad. The men in Christian’s group exchanged uncertain glances, then moved into one another’s arms. There were just enough of them to go around, leaving Christian out. “Be good until the next dance,” he called, trying to hang on to the power he had over them. Trying not to show how desperate he was. He hooked his fingers around one man’s horns and stroked them like little cocks. The look the man threw at him was that of someone desperate for a fuck. Someone who’d wait for him. The others grinned widely at Christian. He relaxed. A little. He still had to handle Mr. Chess Club, who stood unmoving at the periphery of the circle, his hands clasped together. Handle. Control. Contain. “You and me.” Christian felt a little of his Pleasure Palace persona slide into place as he pointed at the man and oozed his way over, then reached up and wrapped his arms around a neck that was actually pretty nice. Weirdly, though, the guy wore a sweatshirt, as if he were cold, but Christian was sweating even through his skimpy undershirt. The whole thing was bizarre, and he wanted nothing more to do with it than he must. Still, damage control, right? Self-protection. Defenses. Strategic maneuver. “You want a dance?” Christian purred, just as if he were back at work. It made him sick to be playing the part here in Amour Magique, but he always did what he had to do. It was part of the way he ticked. He got by. Always had, always did, always would. Mr. Chess Club blinked. He stared owlishly at Christian, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “You actually wanna dance with me? You’ve got a baker’s dozen of fauns who want you, and you’re choosing me for this song?” Fauns? Oh, right -- the horns. Christian shook his head and put a finger over Chess Club’s lips. “Do you want to talk, or do you want to dance?” he crooned. “Come on, now. Move with the music. Just let yourself go.” Unfortunately, unless you were into hardcore ballroom, there wasn’t much more you could do with a song this slow except sway. But Christian knew how to work a slow shimmy up against a man that would leave the man seeing stars. He started to dance, using the strength in his arms to manipulate Chess Club into following his movements. “My name -- God, you can move -- my name’s Ewan,” the man said, hands sliding down to take a tentative hold on Christian’s waist. “I’ve seen you around before, right?” Oh, shit. Disaster. Danger. “What do you say we don’t talk about where we’ve met before?” Christian suggested, sliding in nice and cozy. He had a good body, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. “There are so many more important things to do.” “But you kissed me, man.” Two spots of color bloomed on Ewan’s cheeks. “A good kiss, too. You tasted like lipstick and salt. Not exactly my flavor of choice, ya know, but I liked it on you. Truth to tell, I kinda like you as it is, full stop, know what I’m sayin’?” Fuck, but he had a strong Philly accent. Just about thick enough to cut. Not that bad, though. Wasn’t nasal or anything. Just heavy on the dialect. Still, his words made Christian wince. “I said, let’s not talk about it, okay?” He forced the tension to drain from his body and swung Ewan around. Plastering his body along the other man’s, he raised up on tiptoe and asked, “How much do you want to keep you from telling? I have some money, or I can treat you right, any way you want.” “You can treat me right all you want, if it’s like this,” Ewan answered promptly. “Just keep on dancin’, would you? You make me feel like I’m twenty-one again.” Christian frowned. The guy didn’t look much older than twenty-one. How old was he really? “Like a kid again, yeah.” Ewan stroked him tentatively. “Really much so. I’d love to finish this song with you.” Christian could deal. And he could deliver. “Then lighten up, big boy,” he said, moving his groin against Ewan’s. “We’re going to have a good time.” Wonder if Amour Magique has any nooks or crannies where I can take this guy to give him his payoff? God, I hope those “fauns” don’t smell sex on me when I get back. But, wait ... I promised Liam. God, what if he just pops up out of nowhere and accuses me of selling myself again? Christian’s lips hardened into a line. I’ll deal with Liam if and when he shows up. Right now, I’m going to dance. Afterward, we’ll just see what happens. The music played on, something soft and sweet about being in a heartbreak town. Christian closed his eyes and swayed. He

breathed in Ewan’s scent, noticing that underneath the clean, crisp note of some light cologne, there was the smell of rock. Strange. Did the guy work in a quarry, or maybe down in some caves? He tried for another sniff, attempting to be inconspicuous. “Hey, easy there. You’re definitely not a dog. But I gotta say, I like your scent, too,” Ewan rumbled softly. “Really nice cologne. I don’t know the names of these brands, though. Is this Old Spice?” Christian laughed despite himself. “God, no. Old Spice is what you give your dad for Father’s Day. This is patchouli, a male blend. Smell the spicy undertones?” And how creepy was it that they were discussing his scent? “I have a bottle at home.” A onetime indulgence that he’d almost used up. Only a third of an inch remained in the one-ounce bottle. “Patchouli, huh? I thought that was a girly smell, but what do I know? Works for you, anyway.” Ewan wasn’t such a bad dancer, once he got into the rhythm of the song. Then again, he was copying Christian move for move -- occasionally a beat or so behind, but not doing too bad a job. “Don’t got a dad, myself. Haven’t had one for a very long time.” “That’s so sad,” Christian said in mock sympathy, looking up into Ewan’s face as if he were the only man on the planet who mattered. “I don’t have a father, either.” Which was true enough. The old bastard had told him he no longer had a son when he found out Christian was gay, so vice versa ... “Guess that leaves us both to paddle our own canoe, huh?” Christian thought about Liam and shrugged wryly, not losing track of the slow rhythm. “I wouldn’t say that about myself. Not completely.” “Oh, so you got someone to take care of you already?” Ewan looked disappointed. “I kinda hoped maybe I could be someone you came to when you needed a hand. No, no, I’m sayin’ this all wrong. Sorry. I meant, maybe I could be someone you saw as a friend. Yeah?” And I know exactly what kind of friend you want to be. Yep, he’d been right. No money for this one, but he could still pull out with his reputation intact, if he could just find a good hiding place. “Oh,” he said, finger-walking one hand up Ewan’s chest, “I can be a very, very good friend. You just tell me how, and I’ll take you to a safe place.” Ewan blinked. “Buddy, this is Amour Magique. Every place in here is safe.” “You’d be surprised,” Christian replied, thinking about the weird room he’d been whisked into when he first arrived. He suppressed a shudder, contemplating the absolute strangeness of it all. Someone must have slipped him something. Good thing he was thinking clearly now. All too clearly, in his opinion. He ached to be back among the group of men, maybe wrap himself around Devil-boy and breathe in that good, peaty smoke smell. There was something wild and untamed about that whole group, something that called to Christian on a primal level. One dance, one ... trick, and you can get back to them. Return. Reunite. Rejoin. He could hear the music turn and figured it was about time. “Do you want to take this someplace a little more private?” he asked in his best cozening tones, the ones he used on customers who liked their “treats” a little too public. Ewan’s arms tightened around Christian. “Why wouldn’t we stay right here?” There appeared to be honest confusion on his face. “All I want is to dance.” Christian let go of Ewan in disgust. “You just want to -- damn you!” Ewan blinked again. “Listen, you,” Christian came in close once more to hiss fiercely in Ewan’s ear, “you don’t say a single word about where you saw me the other night, understand? If I hear a peep out of you about the Pleasure Palace, I’m walking out of here and I’m not coming back. Are we clear?” Ewan looked puzzled, but he nodded. “Okay, okay. Jeez, take it easy,” he replied obediently. “I wasn’t gonna say anything anyway, just so’s you know.” “Good.” Christian let go of the tall man and stepped away, heading back to his padded seat. “And goodbye.” “But --” Christian ignored Ewan, sitting himself down in comfort and style. He gave the man a passing glance, noting how he looked lost and forlorn without someone to dance with, then turned his head away. His heart was beating in his throat, rabbit-fast. Oh, God, that was a close one. And I still don’t have any guarantee that he won’t open his mouth. But at least maybe I don’t have to ... I mean, not unless I want to ... which I don’t. Take that, Liam. He watched the fauns dancing, admiring the supple strength in each man’s body and his flexibility. He’d swear that most of them were double-jointed. They were paying too much attention to each other for his taste, but he’d get his share soon enough. Besides, he caught a few coy glances thrown his way, as if the men were just waiting to see what would happen next. Wondering

who he’d choose. It startled Christian when he felt a cool hand on his arm. “Come on, man. We didn’t finish the song,” Ewan said plaintively. “Please, come back and dance with me? I swear I won’t make a peep.” Meaning you will if I don’t dance with you. Damn it! Christian sighed heavily and got up from his throne, letting the other man take his hand. A few of the fauns gave him an odd look, which made him cringe internally. God help him, if this walking danger zone gave him a bad rep among the circle, he’d bite the guy’s dick off when it came time to pay up. He moved back into Ewan’s arms, letting the sweatshirted arms enfold him. Ewan sighed. “You feel real good, you know that? So light,” he said, sounding utterly contented. “Like a butterfly in my arms.” Christian rolled his eyes. Like I haven’t heard that one a hundred times. “Thanks,” he replied insincerely, swaying against Ewan’s body. The song was drawing to a close, and he decided that he’d better step things up a notch. “Listen, you. I know what’s going on, and I know you’ll tell everyone if I don’t pay up.” “Pay?” “Don’t act so innocent. You were at the Pleasure Palace. You must know what goes on there.” Christian’s temper was rising. “What do you want? I’ll do anything, as long as it can be in private.” “How many times do I have to say this? I only want to dance.” Ewan was frowning. “Just dancing is what makes me happy.” “So ‘dance’ is a euphemism for getting it on, now?” Euphemism. Fake-out. Psych. “Getting it on?” Ewan’s frown deepened. “Pal, all I want to do is move with the music. This is fun, yeah?” “Oh, yeah. I’m having the time of my life. Look.” Christian grabbed Ewan by the collar. “I’ll be as clear as I can. What do you want? A blowjob, a quick fuck? Just tell me what you’re after, and I’ll find us a quiet space.” Ewan brightened. “No kiddin’? You want to be alone, just the two of us? That’s movin’ kind of quick but, hey, I could go for a quiet drink. What about you?” “No, I wouldn’t.” Christian bit his tongue. This wasn’t the way to charm a guy into keeping his mouth shut. You had to be sweet and tender, cozen them along until they thought they were special, and then give them what they wanted. But what if he doesn’t go away after that? The song ended, and the tempo changed back to a pulse-pounding rhythm. The group of fauns broke apart from one another and ringed back to surround Christian and Ewan, driving their pelvises to the beat. “You promised one of us this dance,” Devil-boy said in a voice almost like a snarl, but one that curled around Christian like dark smoke, luring him in. “Choose a male from our circle. Or do you want to keep on dancing with the troll?” Oh, shit. Trouble. Upset. Chaos. Christian paused. Why’d he call Ewan a troll? Is that some kind of club lingo I don’t speak? Double shit. I have to keep it together. Words, words, words. Christian flat-palmed his hand against Ewan’s chest. “We have some business to conduct,” he said, making his voice as charming as he could. “Ewan, would you excuse me? I want to dance with these guys now. I’ll pay you later, I promise.” “And what do you owe to a troll?” Devil-boy rumbled. “The fee to cross his bridge?” The horned men burst into laughter, but Ewan looked deeply embarrassed. Red spots bloomed on his cheeks, and he drew back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I only wanted to dance,” he muttered. Christian wouldn’t have heard him over the music, but he’d gotten pretty good at reading lips. “Later,” he replied with abandon, and then swirled into Devil-boy’s arms. “Right now, I’m going to have some fun.” This could be a problem. Dilemma. Issue. But if Ewan just keeps his mouth shut long enough, I can dance with these guys and no one has to be the wiser. Devil-boy laughed -- rather, chuckled -- and stole the first dance from the redhead. He swung Christian against him, grinding their pelvises together. Christian was startled to realize that Devil-boy was hard, but the contact didn’t put him off. It turned him on, knowing that the erection was all for him and the way he danced. Humping and thrashing to the music, Christian began to lose his head again. He tilted his throat back, letting his consciousness wash away on the tidal wave of sound and motion, and the feel of a good hard body that knew how to dance pressed tight against his own. God, this was the life. If he could just go on like this forever, he’d die a happy man. He blended with the music again, became one with the sound. So it came as something of a surprise when he realized that Devil-boy was talking to him. “... a turn.” Christian shook himself back to a conscious state with some effort and raised his voice for clarification. “Say it again?” Devil-boy leered. “I told you, you’re going to dance with each one of us in turn. But after that, what do you do? What if we want something else?” Hands slid up his arms, then held them tight. “You can choose, but one of us gets a little bonus.”

Oh ... hell. Christian’s heart sank. “We can’t just dance?” he asked despairingly. Devil-boy shook his head. “You joined us,” he said firmly. “We let you in, and we crowned you king, but you have to give the winner -- the best dancer -- a prize. A kiss from those pretty lips, a little show, a little tell.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Nothing is free. And here I am selling myself again. Damn Liam for putting that whole whore idea into my head! But did he mind? Really? A quickie was a small price to pay for dancing all night long in the arms of these supremely sexy men. “All right,” Christian said brashly. “I’ll give one of you a prize.” He shimmied against Devil-boy. “The kind of prize you could write home about, but wouldn’t want to.” Devil-boy grinned, his teeth flashing white. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said, whirling Christian around. “But first, we dance. It’s what my brothers and I were made for, spending the whole night long lost in the music. We’ll keep you here until dawn.” “Amour Magique doesn’t close?” “Until we have to leave,” Devil-boy amended. “It’s up to you if you want to stay with us after the first round, though. After you’ve danced with us all and done one of us a favor. We can dance through every song.” Christian sighed in pleasure. “Every single song?” “Until your feet give out.” “Not too damn likely.” Devil-boy hooted and sounded approving. “You’re a mundane, but I’d swear you were made to be one of us. I got you for this one, but who’s next? Our red-haired friend?” A hand appeared on Christian’s arm. “Me, please. He’s gonna dance with me next.” Christian glanced up to see that the hand was attached to Ewan, who looked intensely serious. “He and I, we have unfinished business, right?” Devil-boy rolled his eyes. “This troll isn’t going to leave us alone until you do whatever it is he wants,” he said in disgust. “Go ahead, king among us. Take care of your business, and we’ll wait for you. But make it quick. The music waits for no man.” Christian stared at Devil-boy. “But I -- I want to stay with you.” Devil-boy gave him a shove. “I said, do whatever the troll wants. Then we can keep you for ourselves.” The push sent Christian into Ewan, who grasped him from behind, nuzzling into the crook of Christian’s neck. “There,” he said. “This is better, right? Now you and I can finish what we started.” Oh, the hell with it. It’s not like half the other couples on this floor aren’t doing the same thing. And maybe I can show the fauns what they have to look forward to. “Sure thing, sugar.” Christian squirmed around. Standing on tiptoe, he pressed a hard kiss to the man’s mouth, tasting the stone that he’d smelled previously and puzzling at the odd flavor. Ewan made a noise of surprise, but then kissed him back eagerly, arms going around his waist. Christian ended the kiss before Ewan could deepen it. He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, making them glisten. “So, you want your payment, do you?” He felt the beginnings of a hard-on underneath Ewan’s loose jeans and knew he’d guessed right. “Fine. Everyone else can get an eyeful.” He sank slowly to his knees, working his way down Ewan’s body as if he were the pole back at the Pleasure Palace. Vaguely, he sensed that the fauns had gathered around the two of them, each one dancing in place to the music. So. The others wanted a piece of the action, did they? Christian’s face burned. Fine. Maybe he wasn’t any better than a whore. He’d act like a whore, then. Shove that up your ass, Liam. He gazed up at Ewan from the floor, making sure an expression of passion was on his face. “I’m all yours, darling. Tell me what you want.” Ewan was shaking his head. “I don’t understand. I wanted to dance with you, yeah, but not -- not yet --” “Sure, but I don’t have all night.” Frustrated, Christian reached for the zipper to Ewan’s jeans --- and found his hand being slapped away. He stared up to see Ewan goggling at him, eyes wide in shock. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was loud enough to rise above the music. “I didn’t ask -- I mean, come on, I don’t want --” “Yes, you do,” Christian insisted. “That’s the price, right?” He slithered back up Ewan’s body. “That’s what you want in exchange for not telling everyone where I work, isn’t it?” Ewan shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand.” “You want sex, so you won’t tell everyone I work at the Pleasure Palace!” Christian yelled -- just as the music stopped.

Oh, fuck. Heads turned in their direction from everywhere that Christian could see. He felt himself going scarlet, and stumbled out of Ewan’s arms. Turning to the fauns for support, he saw a sly grin on Devil-boy’s face. “So you’re one of the pretty boys who dress up like pretty girls?” he asked, his voice nasty. “No wonder you’re such a good dancer. You shake that tight ass for money every night.” “I pay my bills.” Christian heard his voice shaking as the music started back up. “Please. Let me dance with you.” “We don’t share our circle with anyone who does it for money rather than love,” Devil-boy said with disdain. “Go back to your Pleasure Palace, kid. God, and to think we could have given you everything.” When Christian would have grabbed his arm, he jerked back. “Go on, I said! We don’t want you anymore.” The group tightened again. Christian saw his big chance slipping away as the fauns began to dance with each other, losing themselves in the music. They shut him out completely, seeming to forget he was there. He felt utterly lost for a second, then rage bloomed behind his eyes. He rounded on Ewan. “Your fault!” he shouted. “This is all your fault!” Balling both of his hands into fists, Christian attacked the tall, pale man, battering him as hard as he could. Ewan raised his hands to protect himself but made no effort to fight back. Christian landed one last punch to the man’s stomach, and then stopped, breathing heavily. “Well, guess what?” he asked, his voice laden with irony and anger. Upset. Distraught. Distressed. “The secret’s out, so you get absolutely jack shit from me, understand? Stay away, or I’ll really kick your ass. You got it? Keep away!” “Hey, I so do not understand,” Ewan said, reaching for Christian. “Why’d you hit me? What in hell did I do wrong?” “Oh, God. Just -- hands off, and they don’t go back on. Leave me alone!” Christian slapped at Ewan’s hands. “Just leave me alone!” And, turning his back, he ran into the crowd, dodging dancers, hopefully leaving Ewan far behind. As far behind as his chances of spending the night wrapped up in the group of wild dancers, forgetting about the rest of the world. He couldn’t forget. He could never forget. He was a whore, and everyone was going to remind him of it as long as he lived.

Chapter Four Christian stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the cool air rushing from its vents drying the sweat on his skin and making him shiver. That’s the only reason, he swore to himself. He held a balled-up, wet paper towel in one hand; the other was curled into a fist. Slowly, he looked at himself in the glass. A young man gazed back, his eyes like two burned holes. He wasn’t crying, though. He was way too old to cry, and he’d been through enough without shedding any tears. Didn’t matter how he felt. He wouldn’t let himself go that far. He couldn’t. He stared, taking in all the details, from the disheveled light brown hair to darker amber eyes to full lips. Christian tried the old trick of popping out of himself ... but it didn’t work. When his eyes half closed, he could see himself the way he looked in the mirrors at the Pleasure Palace. Smoky eye shadow, dark kohl ringing his lashes, and heavy mascara. Red paint on his lips and dark smudges of blusher on his cheeks. He could almost feel the itchy weight of a wig settling on his scalp. What was so wrong with earning a living? His fist tightened around the towel he held. It wasn’t as if there weren’t other men in drag out on the floor of Amour Magique. He’d seen more than one pair of fake breasts and a few skintight leotards with the obvious proof their goods were well tucked back and fixed in place. No. They hated him because they knew what he was. Whore, Liam’s voice echoed in his mind. Hooker. Tramp. Slut. He’d tried his hardest to find some other group to dance with, but none of the other circles would let him in. He’d even tried elbowing his way into the rough moshers that Bree had been with, but Bree was nowhere in sight, and they’d pushed him back out again. When he found single dancers, gyrating alone and tried to join them, they’d turned their backs and kept on dancing by themselves. It seemed like everyone in the building had heard him blurt out his secret, and now he wasn’t good enough for any of them. Not because he danced in drag. Because of what he did for extra money. God, I wish I’d never come here. Christian raised the wet towel and began to scrub at his face, especially his lips. He could almost swear he felt the greasiness of lipstick staining him, and he wanted it off. He also thought he could taste the gamy skin of a hundred tricks, and felt as if their hands on him were all showing up like scarlet tracks along his skin. If I’d never come, I’d never know what I was missing out on. Those men, the fauns, God -- they had been so perfect, and they’d loved him. He’d ached for a dance with the redhead, the blond, the one with parti-colored horns -- he’d had a taste with Devil-boy, but it hadn’t been enough. And they’d promised him he could have danced all night long with them. If it hadn’t been for Ewan. Christian fought back an urge to punch his reflection. He’d done that once at the Pleasure Palace, when Rich was getting too far into his face. The cheap mirror hadn’t smashed, only dented, and he’d ended up with a sore fist for his trouble. It’d been hell to work the pole after that. Here, in Amour Magique, he’d get his hand sliced to ribbons by sharp shards, and then he’d have seven years’ worth of bad luck. Hell. Seven years. Didn’t he already have a head start? If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. Christian swallowed hard. Despite himself, he was beginning to remember things. The night he’d first walked into the Pleasure Palace, out of money and desperate for something, anything at all to earn a little cash ...

***** “What can I get you?” “Um, nothing. Really.” Christian shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d worn his tightest jeans, so it was hard to jam them in there. “I’m sort of looking for the boss. I heard he was hiring?” The bartender laughed, a short and choppy bark. “Better not call him ‘he,’ sugar. Around here, ‘he’ goes by ‘she,’ and you better remember it.” So, his potential employer was a trannie. No big deal; he could cope. Christian glanced uncomfortably at the stage, where a girl in an obviously fake bubble wig was undulating to Candy Girl. “Okay ... but is there any way I can find her?” Christian hadn’t been out of the closet long, but he knew enough to understand there were all types. “This place is way gay-friendly,” his friend had reassured him. “And it’s easy money. All you have to do is dance. You love dancing, right? Just get up on stage and shake your groove thang.”

The bartender paused to pour someone a rum and Coke, then leaned back toward Christian. “You want the boss, she’s over there by the stage. She’s usually there near the end of the dance, keeping an eye on things.” Christian scanned the scanty crowd surrounding the catwalk, his eyes widening a little when he saw a massive man with a beer gut wearing a long blond bouffant. “Holy shit,” he murmured. “That’d be ...” “Mikey, also known as Michelle. I suggest you introduce yourself to her with that in mind. And I don’t know if she’s hiring. Go and ask her.” The bartender turned to a paying customer, then nodded and reached for a bottle of Scotch. The cheap stuff, Christian noted absently before moving away and taking a deep breath. He could do this. He could. The girl up on stage wasn’t even taking anything off, even if her dance around the pole looked pretty obscene. To watch someone do that to music was like seeing a vandal take a can of spray paint to the Mona Lisa. It made his chest ache. You can’t afford to be squeamish, he warned himself. Nauseous. Indigestible. You have no money, no chance of getting anything else besides flipping burgers, and no way to pay the rent or even eat for more than a couple of weeks. Plus, the last day to pay tuition is coming up soon. You have to earn some money. Taking his hands out of his pockets, letting them hang loose and easy at his side, Christian made his way through tables half full of tired-looking men ogling the stage, toward Michelle’s side. He almost hesitated to approach because Michelle had an eagle eye on one man who stood at the corner of the stage. The guy held up a fifty-dollar bill and snapped it at the dancer, who blew him a kiss just as the final notes of her song ended. To Christian’s surprise, she disappeared backstage without taking the sizeable tip. Michelle chuckled and swung around to Christian as if they’d been having a conversation all along. “Keith there knows how to work ’em, right?” Christian blinked. “Keith?” “Yeah, when he ain’t strung out on poppers or E. So, you new around these parts?” Michelle thrust out a huge, square hand tipped with long red nails. “What can I do you for?” He eyed Christian up and down. “And I mean that literally.” Christian felt himself losing ground. “I-I-I --” Michelle roared with laughter. “Okay, I can tell you’re new. You ever been to the Pleasure Palace before? No? I could pretty much tell. So what brings you here?” “A job,” Christian rallied himself enough to say. “I heard from a friend of a friend that you were hiring.” “That so?” Michelle treated Christian to another long once-over. “You’ve got a pretty face. Anyone ever tell you that?” Christian glanced from side to side. “Um ... no?” “Right, sure they haven’t. Okay, here’s the deal. I’m short a dancer. Zeb fell out last night and they don’t know if he’s gonna make it. If he does, he’s out a job. I don’t want that kind of trouble around here. No drugs, no way; cigarettes are okay, but none of that other junk. Last thing we need is a raid.” “Yeah, sure, no problem.” Christian’s heart sped up. “Does this mean I’m hired?” “Not exactly. I haven’t seen you dance yet, right?” Michelle nodded to the next woman out on the catwalk, a slender girl with a head of curly red hair. “That’s Ross. He’s hell in those curls. Gets ‘em every time.” “Ross,” Christian repeated. Keith, Ross, Michelle. Things were beginning to sink in. “All the dancers are in drag?” Michelle roared with amusement. A solid hand hammered between Christian’s shoulder blades. “For starters. Come with me. We’ll go backstage, get you all dressed up, and you can make your trial run. If you’ve got the stuff, you’ve got a job.” He hesitated. “Just don’t, eh, say anything to anyone about the fringe benefits, okay? You can make good money if you’re a good girl.” Good money. Christian clamped down hard on any misgivings he might have had. He could dress up, sure, as long as he kept it on stage. Except he soon figured out that the real money wasn’t made on the catwalk. You might get a few dollar bills shoved down your fake cleavage, or hand out a kiss for anything less than fifty, but if the price was right ... He’d watched as Ross knelt in the dim alley light, unzipping a man’s pants. They’d fallen down the customer’s skinny legs to puddle around his ankles, and his thin, pencil dick had popped out of his Y-fronts as Ross pulled those down, all business. Then, acting like it was the best he’d ever tasted, Ross had ... Christian had walked out with the traces of makeup still on his face, a burning sensation in his chest, but he’d had a job and a check for his two dances that night. Plus a fifty-dollar bill of his own. He did what he had to do to get by.

***** Whore. No matter how hard he scrubbed, Christian could still feel the paint on his skin. He could feel Michelle -- Mikey -his hand pounding on Christian’s back. It wasn’t a gesture of approval. It was just a reminder of how things would go if one of his dancers didn’t fall in line. Christian had always done what he was told. He’d earned enough to get by, just, and took care of himself. God, though, at what cost? He lowered the paper towel, staring at his reflection. Everyone here knows what I am, now, and nobody wants me. I should never have come. “I would beg to disagree,” a familiar foreign accent commented from behind him. Christian jumped, not having seen anyone’s image in the mirror, and turned around. Liam was emerging from one of the stalls. “You were talking to yourself, and I could not help but overhear,” he said as if they were merely exchanging pleasantries. “I did not mean to be so harsh earlier, Christian. I ask you to forgive me for my bluntness. I see that it has caused you no lack of distress.” Christian sagged against the sink. “Liam, I really can’t handle you right now, okay? You with your ... and the weird ... fuck, have you been in here the whole time?” “Long enough to observe you in your misery.” Liam stepped forward, leaning on his stick. Christian eyed the thing. It almost looked like a cane, and from the way Liam winced as he walked, he could tell that Liam was in some kind of pain. “No, no, do not pay attention to my own small aches. Let us be concerned with the larger source of trauma.” Liam reached him and placed one small hand over Christian’s heart. “I believe it lies here.” Christian shook his head and took a sidestep. “You don’t know anything.” “No? I think I know a great deal.” The blue crystal at Liam’s neck caught a bit of light from the overheads and glittered at Christian. “Come with me, if you would. No one has interrupted us as yet, but ...” He let his voice trail off meaningfully. “The public stalls are perhaps not the best place for our conversation.” “Where is there to go?” Christian demanded. He clenched his hand around the clump of damp paper towel. “They hate me out there, Liam. I blew it. Everyone heard me. No one wants to come near me now.” “And should that stop you from enjoying the dance by yourself?” Liam lifted one eyebrow. “Tell me, Christian, what is it that you want?” Christian stared the little man down, but Liam met him gaze for gaze, his hazel eyes unflinching. After a long moment, Christian gave in. “The music,” he said, wilting against the row of sinks. “I want the music, and the power. I want to dance like I mean it.” “Then what is stopping you?” “What’s the dance without a partner?” “Hmm.” Liam tilted his head to a side. “I happened to observe you earlier -- you had stumbled into a dangerous situation, Christian. I know of the circle which you had integrated with, and they are dancers like you have never met before. They do not tire, and perhaps they would have carried you away when Amour Magique closed, to dance for them until you collapsed.” “Carry me away? Where?” “There are things it is best you do not know.” “Okay, fine.” Christian shook his head. “But Liam, they were good. And they liked me.” “So did the tall, pale man with whom you also danced. What fault did you find in him?” Christian’s other fist tightened until he could feel his nails biting into his palm. “Him,” he spat with bitterness. “He’s the whole reason the group kicked me out. Why no one in Amour Magique wants me.” “I think not. I have heard of this Ewan, too, and reputable sources have it that he is an honest -- man. He would never have thought of telling anyone where you work.” “Honesty usually goes hand in hand with being a bastard.” Christian unclenched his fists with an effort and crossed his arms. “What’s your point, Liam?” The smaller man sighed. “Very well. You will hate me for this, no doubt, but close your eyes.” “What the hell?” “Just close them, Christian!” Liam ordered, clearly out of patience. “And hold on to my arm. Otherwise, you will wish that you had. Hang on tight.” When Christian leaned back a little, Liam moved with him. Putting one small hand over Christian’s eyes, he grabbed

Christian’s wrist with the other. “Now,” he heard the other man say, very quietly. “Off we go.” Christian fought back automatically, but stopped in shock when he realized that suddenly, the room was warm, there was music pounding in his ears, and they were no longer in the bathroom. He choked back a shout of alarm as Liam stepped away. Shock. Fright. Disturbance. “What did you just do?” “I took a shortcut.” Liam leaned on his cane. “Tell me, Christian, besides the dance, what do you want? Who do you want?” Christian swallowed. “David,” he said automatically. “I want to be with David. Where is he?” “I thought you might say as much. He is in the bar just beside us. Look, if you will.” Christian turned to scan the packed alcove and picked David out with ease as the tallest and biggest man in the room. He didn’t seem to be as shy and diffident as usual, though, seeing as he was twined around a man roughly his size and much paler than Ewan. The two were laughing and talking together, reaching up to touch one another with light, fond brushes of skin against skin. “David has found his one true love,” Liam said quietly. “I would not wish to disturb him now. Would you?” Christian’s throat felt dry. “No,” he said, stepping back a pace. “I need -- but he doesn’t.” “No. David is happy. He deserves much. Would you deny him a single drop of what he has earned?” “No.” Christian shook his head. “But it’s just ... who do I ...” “There is always me.” “Yeah, there seems to be. But, Liam, I told you, I just can’t deal with you right now.” Christian dry-washed his face with one hand, as his paper towel seemed to have disappeared. “I want to go home.” “It is not time yet. The evening has just begun.” “For you, maybe. For me, it’s over. I’m out of here.” “Christian, hold a moment.” Liam seized him by the arm. Christian tried to tug himself away, but damn if the little guy didn’t have a serious grip. “There is someone here who would enjoy a moment of your attention. And you need not be anyone but yourself with him.” Christian laughed bitterly. “Yeah? And who would that be?” Liam nodded. Christian followed his gaze and felt his heart sink as he saw Ewan making his way through the crowd, anxiously looking left and right. “He’s looking for me,” Christian said with a sinking certainty. “He wants to pick up where we left off, doesn’t he?” “I would say so, yes.” Liam twirled his stick. “You could do much worse than to take up with Ewan for an evening, or longer. He is a good -- man, Christian.” “I’ve met a lot of good men. They all want one thing.” “Then you have met no good men at all. I --” Liam hesitated. He reached for the crystal at his neck. “Christian, I beg of you, please listen to me. The man approaching you means you no harm. Go with him and --” And just like that, Liam blipped out. “Shit!” Christian jumped away from where the nutty little fag had been standing, halfstartled out of his mind. “God! Why does he keep doing this?” “Hey -- you.” A light grasp settled around Christian’s bicep. “Why did you disappear? I’ve been looking for you all over the place.” Christian closed his eyes tightly, praying that he would not see who he thought he would see. He opened. No such luck. Ewan stood in front of him, more real than life, from the spikes of his dark hair to the black-framed glasses, sweatshirt, and baggy jeans. He had a look of honest concern on his face, but Christian knew better than to trust a surface impression. “You have?” He felt the dullness of the Pleasure Palace settle over him. “Yeah. You’s a hard guy to find, you know that?” Ewan shifted on his feet. “Oh! You want I should take my hand off? Because I can do that, you know.” Christian slid his own fingers up to cover Ewan’s own. He was in his own private subspace now, in the hole he had dug for himself, and where he ... belonged. His voice came out silky and seductive. “Your hand is fine right where it is. You can touch me anywhere you want.” Ewan jerked back. “There you go, doin’ that again. Criminy, Sunshine, I don’t want you out here like some kinda common -” He hesitated. “It’s all right. I know what you were going to say.” Christian lifted Ewan’s hand to his own cheek. “Everything’s all right,” he soothed. Whore. Trollop. Streetwalker. “Do you have money, Ewan?” “Whaddya mean, do I have -- well, yeah. I got a little.” Ewan dug in his pocket and drew out a messy wad of bills.

Christian caught sight of a few familiar dead presidents and let himself smile as enticingly as he could. “I could buy you, I don’t know, a drink maybe? What kind do ya like? I’d like a gin and tonic, or maybe a Seabreeze. Some kinda martini. I know, it’s not in style, but I kinda like to go with the classics, yeah?” He grinned and shoved the money back in his pocket. “Let’s go. There’s a bar right here. My treat.” Christian shook his head, feeling strands of hair wisp across his cheeks, covering Ewan’s fingers. He shimmied up close and personal, pressing his chest against Ewan’s. “What do you say we get out of here?” he asked in a low, tomcat purr. “We could go back to your place.” Never take a trick home, or go off alone! Christian could hear Mikey scolding. You never know what kinda trouble you’re getting into. Fuck Mikey. Michelle. Whoever. “Come on, Ewan,” Christian coaxed. “Be a good boy, and take me home.” Ewan blinked several times, his eyes large behind his glasses, then nodded. “You, uh, you sure about this? Because we could, I don’t know, maybe dance and stuff. I could go for a few turns around the floor. It’s been a while, but I liked what we were doin’ earlier.” “You’ll like it even better when we’re alone. I’ll be your private dancer,” Christian sang, taking Ewan by the upper arm. Damn it, if he was going to be a whore, he was going to do it right. He bet he could earn a lot of money turning tricks on the streets. He just had to take care of Ewan first. But he didn’t have all night. “Let’s go home,” he breathed into Ewan’s ear. Then he nipped at the lobe. “I’m waiting, big boy.” “Holy Mary,” Ewan breathed. “You really wanna -- okay. Let’s go. I’m game, I’m in. My place. It’s kinda far to walk; you up for that?” I can scan the streets while we travel. Multitask. Christian’s wellspring of words had dried up. Nothing mattered but the here and now. He curled against Ewan and let out a low sound, mimicking desire. “Okay, then. You got a deal.” Ewan took Christian by the hand, and Christian let him. “You’ll love my place. Kinda long to walk, and kinda hard to get in, but you won’t believe the setup I have.” Christian felt dead inside again as he let himself be pulled along. None of that showed in his voice, though. “Lead me to it,” he murmured, letting his lips curve up in a smile. “This is what I was born to do.”

Chapter Five The streets of Charleston seemed far too loud and way too bright, which was odd when they’d just emerged from a club like Amour Magique. Maybe it wasn’t so much the streets themselves as the contrast. Christian squinted and covered his eyes briefly. Maybe it was that, out here, the music was dissonant. Snatches of different songs blasted from car stereos. Sidewalk artists played everything from jazz saxophone to Irish pennywhistle. Ewan didn’t seem to notice a thing, least of all the way Christian slunk along at his side, hands and arms to himself. The other man all but bounced with excitement, like a kid who’d found an adorable puppy dog that was following him home. Well. Not so far from the truth, was it? “Hey, you want something to eat?” Ewan started walking backwards, keeping his eyes on Christian. Just look at that shiny coat. “Seriously, my treat. Whaddya want, a hot dog? I could eat a hot dog.” I’ll feed him and walk him, I promise. “There’s a cart right here. They have sodas, too. You like soda?” Can I keep him, please? Christian didn’t like to eat hot dogs -- he knew what was in them, and how high-fat they were -- but more weeks than not, it came down to a choice between the wiener or peanut butter. Hungry. Ravenous. Famished. He lowered his eyes, letting his lashes brush his cheeks, and murmured something unintelligible. Ewan seemed to take that as a “Yes, I’d like something to eat.” Which Christian did, not that he would have admitted it. Ewan clapped his hands together. “Great! The food’s on me. Not literally, I mean -- no, no, for real now. Don’t even think about paying for it yourself.” Pay. Exchange of funds. Compensate. Christian made another noncommittal noise. Of course I’m not paying for it. This entire evening is on you ... darling. “You like your dogs with everything on them? Oh, maybe you don’t want to get messy. Whaddya have? Mustard, relish? Oh, check it out. This stand has bratwurst. God, I like those so much better, ya know? Full of fat, but damn, they taste so good, and I love the way the skins burst when ya bite into one. You want?” Christian’s stomach gave a gurgle. Despite himself, he nodded. “Plain,” he surprised himself by saying. “Nothing at all? Just plain?” Ewan sounded disappointed. “Man, half the fun is getting it loaded with stuff, all the extras. You gotta use a lot of napkins, but what the hell, ya know? But, okay, we’re cool, whatever ya want. Me, I’m goin’ all the way.” He started to bound toward the cart, then hesitated. “You’re gonna stay right here, yeah? You’ll be here when I get back?” Christian reached out and tucked his hand into the crook of Ewan’s arm. “I’ll go with you.” Ewan blushed from ear to ear. He didn’t pull away, although he did give a start. “Hey, we’re kinda in ... well, we’re in the open, ya know? Ya sure ya don’t mind kind of a ... public display?” “Do you mind?” Christian turned his gaze on Ewan, who turned mottled with patches of pink. It was an interesting look on someone so naturally pale. Christian let himself smile seductively, the way he’d practiced, the way he smiled on stage. “I don’t mind a bit.” “Yeah, well, I gotta get the money out of my pocket. Sorry.” Ewan flashed an apologetic grin as he pulled his arm away from Christian. “Jeez, you know, it just occurred to me. I don’t know your name. What kinda guy am I, to ask you home without even knowin’ that? So, what is it? What’s your handle?” Christina, Christian was tempted to answer. Instead, he leaned up and whispered into Ewan’s ear, “You know who I am. Sunshine.” Ewan laughed a little nervously. “Nah, nah, I’m not talkin’ about that stage name. Who are you really?” Well, what the hell. What was the harm in him knowing? “Christian.” “Christian. It’s a nice name. Fits ya. Okay, you wait here. Won’t take a minute.” Ewan hastily crossed the few feet to the hot dog cart. It was close enough that Christian could hear him order two bratwursts, one plain on a bun, and one all the way -- slaw, relish, mustard, ketchup, chili, onions -- no, wait, hold the onions. And you got any breath mints? Nah? Okay, thanks. He stood alone on the sidewalk, idly twisting to and fro, watching Ewan. He’d promised Liam he wouldn’t sell himself inside Amour Magique, but they’d left the place now. He was up for grabs to anyone who could make the highest offer. So, if someone better came along while Ewan was busy ... Draping himself against a streetlight, Christian gave two approaching men the eye. They were walking closely enough he could tell they were a couple. That and the rainbow ties. Businessmen, probably well bankrolled. “What do you say?” he asked quietly as they passed. “You feel like a threesome tonight?” One of the men’s hands flew to his mouth. The other took his partner by the shoulders and ushered him away, muttering words of comfort and indignation. Christian slumped. Okay, so maybe he needed to work on his approach.

Ewan ambled back over, a brat carefully cradled in each hand. He passed one over to Christian, unadorned with any toppings, in a plain white bun. His own was a towering mountain of toppings. He bit in gleefully, using a napkin to dab off what he spilled. Chewing and swallowing, wiping his mouth, he nodded eagerly. “’S good! C’mon, Christian, have a bite. They’re the real deal.” Christian lifted the bratwurst to his mouth. Ever so slowly, he slid his mouth over the end of the long cylinder, then sucked on it, tasting meat juices and warm bread. Then he withdrew and bit down lightly on the tip. Ewan was staring at him. “Hey, you, uh, you’re supposed to eat the thing, not ...” Christian rolled his eyes. God, subtlety and the classics were lost on some people. Cross, he took a decent bite of the wurst, but almost moaned when he tasted the hearty flesh and the soft yeastiness of the roll. He hadn’t eaten all day, and the simple meal tasted like a banquet to him. “There’s a soda in my pocket,” Ewan said, twisting so that Christian could see the can bulging. “I couldn’t carry two, so I figured we could share, yeah? You like Pepsi? I’ll drink about anything that bubbles, man. I can’t get enough of the stuff. Great invention, just great. Still not tired of it after all these years.” He paused. “I mean, months. I mean ... aw, hell, just eat up. Don’t mind me.” Ewan’s grin was impish, daring Christian to laugh at him. Christian managed a chuckle to please the customer, and took another bite, trying not to show how hungry he was. “So,” he said after he’d swallowed. “Where do you live, anyway?”

***** “You live here?” Christian stared up at the tattered old sign that declared Fun For The Whole Family! “A carnival?” “Abandoned carnival,” Ewan corrected, grabbing the low security bar and vaulting over. From the other side, he offered Christian a hand. “And, nah, I don’t live here. ’S just a shortcut, yeah?” “Mmm,” Christian said, allowing himself to be helped over the rusted yellow bars. “So you’re a bad boy, aren’t you? Do you spray-paint walls, too?” “Do I what now?” Ewan gave Christian an odd look from behind his glasses. “Me, vandalize? Hell, nah. I wouldn’t do that. It’s illegal, right?” He fidgeted. “Okay, so maybe once or twice. But only where no one cares about stuff anymore.” “I like bad boys,” Christian purred. He tucked his arm into Ewan’s, who seemed comfortable enough now that they were out of the main strip. “Lead me to it.” “You serious?” Ewan turned to face Christian. “So maybe I shoulda asked this earlier, but you sure about comin’ home with me? I mean, I know I’m not much ta look at. There’s lots of guys who coulda showed you a better time than a hot dog and a soda.” Not in Amour Magique. They didn’t want anything to do with me in there. And I’m doing what I have to. Some of that money you’re carrying is going home with me, and I can have a hamburger tomorrow, as well as chip in for rent. Christian shook his head. His hair, once so carefully styled, was coming down around his cheeks in soft waves. He’d gotten it mussed on the dance floor, and a walk through windy streets hadn’t helped. But he knew the disheveled look only made him look a little more androgynous, pretty like one of the manga comic boys. He gave Ewan’s arm a squeeze. “I want to be with you,” he answered honestly enough. Ewan was the only one at the moment who could give him what he wanted. “Lead the way.” “Okay, yeah. If you’re sure.” “I am so very sure.” Christian looked up at Ewan through his long lashes. “I couldn’t be any more sure.” Never go to their homes! Mikey -- Michelle -- shouted in Christian’s mind again. Christian shook the voice off like an annoying fly and began to walk by Ewan’s side through the emptiness of the abandoned carnival. At least he thought it was abandoned. Everything was covered with chipped paint and red ochre rust. Signs creaked in the wind, and cardboard clowns with goofy faces declared that you had to be so many feet high before you could go on such-andsuch ride. He thought he’d heard about this place. Just outside the city limits. Yeah, yeah, it had been in a current events class. The Charleston council wanted to tear it down, but they couldn’t find the owner, who seemed to have vanished into thin air -- or probably to Switzerland. Who knew? Legally, it still belonged to the man, so they couldn’t do a thing except put up fences festooned with KEEP OUT signs. He laughed to himself. So he couldn’t dance the night away. This was kind of an adventure, right? Something he wouldn’t have done in any of his personae, whether as Sunshine or the Brotherhood’s version of Christian, or even his true self. It felt right, sneaking into a place where no one should have gone, to do his dirty work.

Christian figured he’d be seeing a lot of those kinds of places from then on. “Here, it’s over here. C’mon.” Ewan yanked at Christian’s arm. He was grinning broadly, pleased as a little kid. The puppy had followed him all the way home. He could keep it and play with it. “It’s kinda like a shortcut inside a shortcut. This way.” Christian glanced up curiously to see a tilted wooden sign declaring TUNNEL OF LOVE in painted red letters that were wearing off. He held back a hysterical giggle. Of course. It fit so well. “You want to take a joy ride?” he asked, holding Ewan as close as he could. “Well, you do kinda have to ride a little bit,” Ewan allowed. “For one, it’s fun, even if it does sorta smell in there. The water’s old, right? What’s left of it. But this is how we get to where I live.” A frown crossed Christian’s face. How on earth did you get to where someone lived through an old Tunnel of Love? Wait a second. Did I just go off with a homeless guy who squats in here? He pulled back a little, but Ewan was tugging him onward. “Come on, just a quick ride,” he begged. “Promise it won’t hurt you. You’ll have fun.” Christian wavered between flight and the urge to get his hands on some of that money ... and pride, or what tattered shreds of it he had left. If he ran away now, he’d never make the job full time. “No need to pull,” he said coyly. “I’m coming.” So maybe he’s a squatter. Homeless. Not indigent, though. Maybe he found a bankroll somewhere on the property. Doesn’t matter. He’s pretty nice, and I think I could take him in a fight if it came down to wrestling each other. Kind of cute, too, once you get to know him. No, this won’t be so bad. Not too bad at all. Christian slinked alongside Ewan as the man pushed open the gate for them. He did wrinkle his nose at the smell of stale water tainted by salt, making it brackish, but soldiered on. He’d never been put off by a bad odor before. Ewan caressed his hand -- well, more like patted it -- in approval. “Yeah, see? ’S not so bad. Once you get used to the smell, you don’t notice a thing.” He untangled himself and went to stand by the water’s edge. Christian noticed, with a shiver, how the little boats kept going around and around. Creepy. Or maybe it was like a Lazy River, with an artificial current from jets of water. No, that couldn’t be. All the power was out. Yeah, definitely creep-worthy. Ewan didn’t seem fazed, though, ambling over to the water’s edge and frowning down at the boats floating idly past. He seemed to be checking them out, possibly for garbage or debris. “Hang on just a minute,” he called. “Doesn’t make a big difference which one I choose but I do want something good and seaworthy, yeah? Some of these won’t hold both our weight.” “Are you calling me fat?” Christian asked, half teasing. He felt at his stomach with one hand. No, no blubber there. Surely Ewan wouldn’t ... “You? Nah, no way. You’re trim as a sailboat.” At first, Christian was so focused he didn’t get the joke. Ewan grinned at him as if he expected him to understand the humor, though, so he smiled back, throwing in a soft laugh. The sound carried eerily across the water, making Christian shiver. “Oh, hey, are you cold? Damn, I shoulda thought of that. I’m sorry, man. See, that’s why I wear these.” Ewan plucked at his sweatshirt. “And you’ve just got that skimpy thing. But, hey, don’t worry, I’ve got others downstairs. You can borrow one.” You want me putting on clothes? And what do you mean, downstairs? This was sounding less and less appealing to Christian, but he held his ground. He didn’t back down from a challenge. “Here we go!” Ewan announced, rubbing his hands together. “Good old thirty-three. I know this one’s sound. C’mon, Christian, shake a leg, huh?” Ewan jumped into the small boat and held it anchored against the pavement. “Trust me. This one’s big enough to hold us both.” Christian felt a tremor of nerves run through him. Resolutely, he shoved it down and started walking toward Ewan as if he were on the runway, hands in his pockets and hips thrust out. He could see Ewan swallow, and watched the man’s gaze run over the length of his body. At least he’s on the right track. God, if he were actually taking me home to show me real etchings, I think I might scream. When he reached the water’s edge, Christian accepted Ewan’s hand down into the boat. It rocked and tipped alarmingly, almost causing him to lose his balance -- but then Ewan was there, guiding him down into his seat. “Easy does it, there ya go.” Ewan lowered Christian into a seat that must once have been padded, but was now a mess of torn plastic and fluffs of matted cotton. “I know it ain’t exactly a Rolls, but it gets us where we wanna go, yeah?” Ewan’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses. Christian put a hand on the man’s leg, stroking up and down the inseam. “Can’t get

there fast enough for me.” “Whoo.” Ewan gulped. “You don’t take things slow, do ya?” “You saw where I work.” “Yeah, but I figured ... ah, well, nah, doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?” Ewan reached over to the opposite side of the boat and gave the concrete landing a shove. “Sit back and enjoy the ride, huh?” Almost hesitantly, he covered Christian’s hand with his own. “You really sure about this?” “Positive.” “Okay, then.” Ewan took a deep breath. “I am a lucky man, you know that? Me. You picked me. Right, let’s ride. Onward and upward and all of that shit. Anchors aweigh!” The boat began to glide forward on the spooky current. Another craft jostled it from behind, sending the hairs on the back of Christian’s neck upright. He had the oddest feeling that if he turned around, he’d see ghosts sitting behind them, making out. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Ewan threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “You don’t mind, do ya? I mean, you gotta be freezing. And I’m not the warmest guy, I know, but all the same it has to be better than nothin’.” Christian shook his head and snuggled into Ewan’s side. He stroked a little harder at the inside of Ewan’s thigh, laughing inside when he saw the man jump a little, and watched a bulge begin to rise underneath his zipper. Right on target. Oh, baby. If I can make you react just with a touch, wait until I get you naked. Or me naked. Whichever way you want it, I’m yours. For the night. He really wasn’t looking forward to the ride back out, though, probably alone, with Ewan sleeping it off wherever they were going. Hookers couldn’t afford an afterglow, but he’d have the money to keep him warm instead of an old sweatshirt. “Here we go.” Ewan pointed to an approaching covered tunnel. “It’s the ‘Tunnel of Love,’ get it?” Christian recognized a cue when he heard one. He readied himself as the dark channel drew closer, and when the blackness closed over them, reached out on instinct and found Ewan’s lips with his own. Ewan made a noise of surprise but, then, thank God, his arms went around Christian to hold him tight. He still tasted of stone dust, overlaid by the breath mint he’d dug out of one pocket after his meal, with just a hint of spicy chili. Mmm, flavorful. It actually wasn’t all that bad. I wonder how I taste? Flavor. Piquancy. Bouquet. No. No, no, no. I can’t go using words anymore. They aren’t any good now. I used to need shields so I could pretend nothing was real. But my eyes are open. I know what I’m doing, and I’m going to make this work. Christian ran his tongue along Ewan’s lips, hoping that the man would take the initiative. With a groan, Ewan did, darting his own tongue between Christian’s lips. Christian sighed in appreciation. When he put his mind to it, Ewan was a pretty good kisser, one who knew how to make the most out of an embrace. His tongue stroked along Christian’s, the tip prodding, then flattening out. Mmm, mmm, good. The other flavors faded, and all Christian could taste was stone. Which was beyond weird. How could a guy taste like rocks? He mentally shrugged his shoulders and carried on kissing Ewan, making sure the man got the most for his buck. “Hey, hold on a second.” Ewan broke off. Christian let out a little fake whimper, to show his “disappointment” at the loss of contact. “Damn, you’re good. Almost made me miss our stop.” Our stop? Christian could feel Ewan fumbling along the concrete, then a muffled grunt of satisfaction. Something rattled in Ewan’s hand, then a beam of white shot from a flashlight, making Christian wince and cringe back. “Oh, hey, sorry. It is kinda bright after bein’ in the dark. But you’ll get used to it.” Ewan hesitated. “You aren’t mad, are ya?” Christian settled himself in his seat, resisting the urge to reach up and tuck his hair behind his ears like a frightened girl rearranging herself. “What would I be mad about?” he asked silkily. “Well, that kiss, for one thing. I mean, you coulda just been bein’ friendly ... ah, never mind.” Ewan shone his flashlight around. In the broad bright sweeps, Christian could see that he’d gone mottled again. “Yeah, I was right. That little bump when you scrape over the concrete gives it away every time. Just about home. Hang on to your side of the walkway, okay? I’m gonna get out, and hold this thing steady while you follow me.” Ewan laid the flashlight down, illuminating the Tunnel of Love. Unable to stop, way too curious, Christian looked behind himself. For a sick second, he thought he did see a dozen shadows in the fleet of boats behind him -- men and women, incorporeal shadows, making out. Ghosts of lovers past. He blinked, and they were gone. “Oh, yeah. Don’t mind them.” Ewan rubbed at the back of his neck. “They kinda come with the territory, but they won’t hurt

ya. My hand ta God.” Oh, shit, they were real. Christian couldn’t help a full-body shudder. Out. He had to get out of that boat right away. Fuck, what if they’d been sitting in two ghosts? He scrambled out after Ewan, taking the man’s hand and huddling close. Ewan pulled him tight, protectively. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya, honest.” “I’m not afraid,” Christian lied. The hell I’m not. First off, all the weirdness with Liam, the circle of fauns, and now ghosts? This has been one hell of a night, and I have a feeling I’ve only just begun to experience the true nature of weird. “I promise. Now, you were saying something about home?” He finger-walked his hand up Ewan’s chest, teasing around where he figured one nipple to be. Ewan nodded, his mottling darkening. “Right here,” he said, picking up the flashlight and shining it on a service door. “Down these steps, and we’ll be home.” Yep. The weird just keeps on coming. For a brief second, something sparkled in the light. Something blue. Christian snapped his head up and stared sharply, but there was nothing hanging over the rusted old door. He had his suspicions, though. Keep out of this, Liam, he thought crossly. I’m a big boy. I know what I’m doing. Even if you don’t think so, I can take care of myself. See? Christian slid a hand into Ewan’s jeans pocket. He smiled, sweet as sugar pie. “I can’t wait,” he murmured. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Six “Home” proved to be down a flight of rusted stairs, definitely meant for people working on the Tunnel of Love. Christian resolutely refused to look anywhere except where he was putting his foot next, for fear of seeing the ghosts of workmen past climbing up and down. At the bottom, Ewan turned and grinned at him, beckoning with one hand. “C’mon! We’re almost there, yeah?” Christian kept a tight hold on the handrail. “Oh, yeah.” “Hey, you’re not scared of heights, are ya?” Ewan looked abashed. “Aw, shit, Christian, I’m sorry. If I’d have known --” “No,” Christian snapped. “I’m fine.” Quickly, he smoothed down the ruffled feathers of his temper. “You said it’s just down here?” Odd. From what he could see, there was only another service door, probably one that would lead back out into the park itself. Never go to their homes! Shut up, Mikey, Christian ordered his inner boss. “Right. I gotta warn you, it’s not exactly a picket fence kinda thing.” Ewan rubbed the back of his neck. “Still, it’s pretty cozy. We’ll get you a sweatshirt, something warmer than what you have on. Maybe a blanket. I could heat up some soup, too.” Christian took the last few steps. He walked up to Ewan, rolling his hips, and twined his arms around the man’s neck. Looking up into the wide brown eyes, he purred, “There’s only one thing I want.” “Oh? What is -- oh, jeez. Man, you’re hot off the trigger, aren’t ya?” Ewan put a hand on Christian as if to push him back, but instead, his touch lingered. Christian took advantage and reached up to brush his lips across Ewan’s, keeping the contact light and tempting. He flickered his tongue along Ewan’s bottom lip, not really allowing him access. Just giving him a taste. Ewan made a low noise and pulled Christian closer. When he embraced Christian in turn it was a whole different thing -kissing and being kissed -- taking the low road, down and dirty as a guy like Ewan could get. He swept his tongue through Christian’s mouth in broad, tickling strokes that startled Christian. This guy knew exactly how to turn him on, and he hadn’t even needed to show him by example. When the moment ended, Christian moved out of Ewan’s arms. The other man looked faintly flushed, but he was grinning. “Okay, Chris. Christian. Hey, can I call you Chris?” “You can call me anything you want,” Christian replied automatically, but despite his demeanor his heart was pounding and his breath was short in his chest. “Chris is fine.” “Hey, great. I like a nickname. Kinda makes me feel like we’re buddies, right?” Ewan beamed at Christian, then reached into his pocket and felt around. Christian heard the jingling of coins against coins, and then a duller clink. “Yeah, right here, got it.” Ewan fished out a key. It looked like one of the old-fashioned kind, the ones you saw in houses built around the turn of the century. Small in size, but definitely old. “You ready, Chris?” Christian licked his lips. “As I’ll ever be.” Come on, don’t lose your nerve now. It doesn’t matter if he’s a really good kisser or a genuinely nice guy. You can’t let any of that get to you. Just ... do your job, and then go home. Ewan didn’t seem to notice any of Christian’s inner turmoil. Christian found himself glad for the poker/sex kitten face he’d developed for the stage, eyes half-lowered and mouth pouting. Ewan gave him a grin, then turned to the service door. He swung the knob plate out of the way, revealing an old keyhole underneath. He fitted his key into the lock and pushed the door open. “Welcome to my home,” he said with no small amount of pride. Christian’s eyes flew open wide. Walking in, he stared around himself. He was in ... a cave. Yes, definitely a cave. But there weren’t any caves below Charleston. Had this one been blasted or carved out of the rock? No stalactites or stalagmites, no dripping water. Definitely a home made out of stone, underground. That wasn’t the big surprise, though. No, what really got Christian to gawking was the array of technological gizmos and gadgets lining the rough rock walls and arranged in rows on low tables. “What the ...” he murmured, running his tongue across his lips. “Where did you get all of this?” “Bought it.” Ewan looked askance at Christian. “I got money. I mean, just because I live down here doesn’t mean I’m a bum, ya know?” So he’s eccentric. Okay, I can deal. Christian ran his hand along a row of PDAs that were linked together by some kind of elaborate cable system, and shook his head. “What does all of this do?” “Keeps tabs on news all around the globe. They’re tapped into a satellite system. Anything big comes up, like an earthquake

or something, they go off.” Ewan looked proud. “And, hey, over here. These TVs? They’re surveillance cameras. Show me the whole park if I wanted.” He colored. “And other places. Just depends on where you point the lens and how you magnify it. Yeah.” “I see.” Christian deliberately wrenched himself away from the display, forced himself to stop boggling at Ewan’s weirdness, and forced himself to think of the whole nine yards as a charming quirk. He began his approach, hips swiveling gently. Ewan swallowed. “Hey, I’m no dummy. I know what you want, and what the hell, I want it, too. But I don’t wanna take advantage of ya. And it’s kinda soon, don’t you think?” “Not too soon for me.” Christian was getting tired of this approach-retreat thing. He quickly eyeballed the room and found what he thought was a bed underneath a pile of science magazines. Sweeping the glossy pages off, he found a clean blanket and a soft mattress underneath. He regarded it with pleasure. “I know what I’m here for.” “Hey, Chris, treat the magazines ... aw, hell.” Ewan’s voice died away as Christian stripped off his sleeveless T-shirt. Christian turned coyly, fingering his own nipples until they stood up in tight nubs. He would have thought it impossible, but he was turning himself on; his cock started to tingle. “Don’t you want me?” he asked in a husky, dusky voice. “Come and get me.” Ewan gulped hard. “Aw, Chris. I was gonna take care of you, man.” Christian’s hands hovered over his zipper. “I know how I want you to pay attention to me.” He undid the top button. “Don’t you want this, too?” “Hell, Chris,” Ewan said roughly, then crossed the space between them and caught Christian up in a hard, masculine embrace. He held Christian tight in a way that suggested he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon, and leaned down to capture Christian’s mouth. Finally. Now we’re getting somewhere. Oh, God, he can kiss. Christian felt dizzy as Ewan plundered his mouth, seeming to want to taste him in every corner. He wasn’t sloppy or slobbery, just very thorough, and totally in command. The sensation of being helpless, not calling the shots, made Christian’s knees go weak. “Hey. Hey, here. Sit down.” Ewan parted their lips long enough to ease Christian down onto the mattress. He followed close behind, sitting at Christian’s side, then, after half a second, grabbing him for another embrace. Christian let himself be manhandled, loving the feeling of Ewan’s broad, tough fingers running down his bare skin. He began to lean backward, trying to find himself a comfortable resting place on the bed. Ewan followed, guiding Christian down and coming along for the ride. He plucked at Christian’s zipper. “This okay?” he asked against Christian’s mouth, the words tickling and tingling. “Very okay,” Christian replied between kisses, arching up into Ewan’s hand. God, what was with him? He never got so much as a hard-on with any of the customers at the Pleasure Palace. Now, he could feel himself growing erect, his balls starting up a low, pleasurable ache. He rocked harder against Ewan, wanting more pressure, more touching, just more. He realized he was giddy. I sing because I’m happy. I sing because I’m free. Liam’s eye is on the sparrow ... and he’s not watching me. Christian giggled as Ewan pressed down, groping him. Ewan laughed in return, his eyes sparkling. Christian knew he wouldn’t get the joke, but what did it matter? Besides, there were so many other important things to focus on. Ewan was drawing down his zipper, running his fingers reverently over Christian’s stiffening cock in his fitted jockey shorts. Christian thanked God he had worn a good, almost-new pair that night. Moaning, he arched up into Ewan’s touch, shameless, and not regretting it for a second. Is this what it feels like to let go at last? Ewan jerked away into a kneeling position, and started to lower Christian’s jeans. They were too tight to move easily. Ewan burst into chuckles again as he tugged and yanked, sometimes shifting Christian along as well. Christian couldn’t help laughing himself, and gave Ewan a push. “Let me do this. I know how.” He licked his lips. “You undress for me. I want to see what’s underneath those clothes.” “Oh. Oh, yeah? Really?” Ewan went pink, but stood up. He reached for the hem of his sweatshirt, then hesitated. “Hey, you first, okay? Please?” Christian nodded. Yes. Affirmative. Definitely. The words flooded into his mind, but they didn’t have a bitter taste. They were light and bubbly, like champagne in his mind. Not bothering to hide his grin, he pushed the jeans down and kicked them off, following up by a quick peek-and-tease with his jockey shorts. “Come on, man, you’re slayin’ me here.” Christian giggled. He eased the shorts down, his cock springing free. He looked up at Ewan as his dick was revealed, hoping for some kind of reaction.

He got one, and in spades. “Oh, hell. Christian ... Chris. Christ, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. And you came home with me? Damn. Okay. Okay. Just -- you lie there, all right? I’m just gonna --” He tugged at his sweatshirt, lifting it over his head. Christian raised an eyebrow. Why did Ewan wear baggy things? His chest was pretty cut, with defined abs and a hard, flat stomach. Mouthwatering. Christian lay back and began to touch himself, unable to stop once the idea entered his head, running his hand up and down his shaft, pausing to circle the head for a bit of lubrication, then stroking again. Ewan gave a breathless chortle. “You keep on doin’ that, and it’ll be all she wrote.” Christian gave him what he hoped was his best wicked, come-hither look. “Finish getting undressed, and you can do this yourself.” “You’re gonna kill me,” Ewan shot back, but quickly undid the button-fly on his own jeans. He got them down and tossed them out of the way, the denim winging through the air to hit a computer chair on the other side of the cave. He stood, kind of shy but completely adorable, revealing a cock the approximate size of a freakin’ cudgel. Christian’s eyes widened, his stare taking in the appendage. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Are you for real?” He reached out, but couldn’t go far enough. “Bring that down here. I want to touch you.” Ewan was already halfway there. He pressed another bruising kiss to Christian’s lips, pushing him into the mattress, which was surprisingly soft. Once they were lying down, side to side, Ewan put his hard hand on Christian’s cock and guided Christian’s fingers to his own member. “Like this,” he said breathlessly. “This all right?” Christian ran his fingers over Ewan’s cock in amazement. Eight inches long and so wide that he couldn’t close his fingers around the diameter. He’d never seen one this big and could already feel an ache to have that monster inside him, plunging in and out. “Oh, yeah,” he breathed. “Please tell me you have lubricant.” “You’re a bottom?” Ewan sounded thrilled. “Me, I switch but, God ...” He cupped, then squeezed Christian’s ass. “I’ve wanted inside this tight little ass since I first saw it shaking on the dance floor.” “And now it’s all yours.” Christian arched as Ewan’s way-too-talented fingers pressed and squeezed his cock, maneuvering exactly right, touching him in a way that had to be calculated to drive him insane. “Just ... fuck ... hurry. Please, hurry.” “Such a rush.” Ewan sounded breathless. “Where’s the fire?” “In me. I don’t think I can last.” Christian rocked into Ewan’s touch, surprised to discover that it was true. He was young and he hadn’t gotten off for a few days -- too tired, too stressed, too busy -- take a pick. It startled him to be so aroused, especially under the circumstances, but maybe they could go twice. Value for the money, he thought. Then Ewan slid a finger between the crease of his ass, and Christian thought, Fuck the money. No, fuck Ewan. Or be fucked by him. Now, please? “Lube,” Ewan said suddenly. “I’m dry. Don’t wanna hurt you.” He fumbled underneath the spill of magazines, cursing when they skittered out of his grasp, and finally came up with a bottle of lotion. “This do for ya? It’s hypoallergen-- God.” Christian had signified his approval by fingering the head of Ewan’s cock, pressing a nail against his slit. “Okay, guess so.” A few pumps of the bottle and Ewan had a handful of the lotion. He slathered it over his cock, leaving it gleaming. Christian couldn’t help touching Ewan, sliding his hand up and down the slickness, aching to have it buried inside him. “Now,” he whispered. “Please, now.” Christian started to roll over onto his stomach, but Ewan stopped him with a slippery hand. “Hey, wait, no. You mind bein’ on your back? I kinda want to see your face when we, you know.” He went mottled. “God, I still can’t believe my luck.” “Believe it.” Christian rolled over to where he’d started, then onto his back. Gazing up at Ewan, he asked, “Will you take the glasses off?” “Nah. Can’t see you, then. And I gotta see you, Chris. Need to watch your face when I push inside.” Ewan ran a finger down Christian’s chest. “Can you lift your legs? I don’t wanna slip and drop you. And I gotta get more lotion.” He sat up so that he was braced on his knees, cock jutting upward. “Please, Chris. Gotta fuck you. Need ta do it now.” Christian knew how to do this. He raised his legs, slipping one over Ewan’s shoulder and winding the other around his waist, hugging him for a moment before tipping himself all the way onto his shoulder blades. The urge was too great. Christian gave in to the pulse of blood pounding in his ears, his heart, and his cock, and let himself be washed away. Just for a minute, he told himself, I’ll pretend that this is where I wanted to be all along. With a cute guy I picked up at Amour Magique, a good -- no, great -- dancer. Someone to be with instead of someone who’ll pay my rent. I can just let myself imagine because it feels so damn good. Thing was, Christian was starting to feel less and less like this was pretend. He had a genuine hunger for Ewan’s cock, that

stony-hard member, and was burning to get it inside him. He hadn’t looked forward to sex in over a year, and now he couldn’t wait. Grasping at Ewan’s arms with hard hands, he told the man so without using any words. “Condom first.” Ewan reached underneath the mattress and withdrew a box that was pretty squashed, but the foil packet he pulled out was intact. Christian kind of wanted to put it on him, but Ewan was too fast. “Gotta keep you safe,” he whispered. Christian closed his eyes in brief thanks. Sometimes guys tried to refuse the rubber. But, now, they were playing like they should. Points to Ewan. All the same ... “Hurry up,” he begged. Ewan nodded jerkily. “Almost there, Chris. Just gotta take care of you first.” Christian heard the pump-pump of the lotion bottle, then cool fingers were stroking at his hole, rubbing the slippery substance in and pressing down with a finger. A too-cautious finger. Christian felt himself flush with shame. “I don’t-don’t need a lot of preparation,” he said, somehow reluctant to let Ewan know as much. “Just go ahead. I can take you.” “Chris, I’m pretty big. Not to brag or anythin’, but --” “Go on,” Christian insisted, tugging Ewan closer with his legs. “Fuck me.” Ewan looked doubtful, but pressed the tip of his cock against Christian’s ass. Christian breathed out and let his body relax, opening up to let Ewan inside. He could feel himself flutter and pulse wide, then shut, then wide again. “Hurry.” “I don’t wanna hurt you.” “Swear to God, you won’t.” Christian tossed his head to get wisps of hair out of his eyes. “Please, just do it. Do it now.” Ewan pushed forward an inch. Christian gasped as he was breached. Oh, God, Ewan hadn’t been kidding. Big as he looked, he felt even larger. He was enough to make Christian burn with a brief flare of pain, but once the head was in Christian fought down the urge to draw back and bore down. “All the way,” he ordered in a rough whisper. “I can take you.” Ewan gave a despairing groan and slid forward. It was a smooth, slick glide until he was balls deep, his sac pressed against Christian’s entrance. He stopped for a moment, panting, his hands grasping Christian’s thighs. “You feel like heaven,” he said, his voice choppy. “Hang on tight. It’s been a while, but I don’t wanna stop now. Wanna fuck you so bad.” “Then fuck me real bad.” Christian fisted his hands in the blanket. “Come on and get some.” “The way you talk --” Ewan withdrew, then pushed forward again. His lips parted, but no words came out. He thrust again, dragging on the backstroke, doing this so very right that Christian became frantic again, rocking forward to keep that cock in him as long as possible. How long they went on, Christian didn’t know. Time seemed to stop, punctuated only by harsh gasps and the slick sound of flesh smacking against flesh. Groans and half-formed words bubbled out of both. The air smelled like sex and stone, and when Christian had to open his mouth to breathe, he tasted the tang of electricity and the sparkle of quartz. Ewan’s cock inside him felt like a rod of iron sliding in and out, pushing him hard into the mattress. Christian hung on for dear life, gripping with his legs and pummeling the bed with his fists. Then, even though Ewan hadn’t touched his cock, Christian began to feel an orgasm building fast within him. As soon as the knowledge dawned on him, it began to rocket up and out, leaving him with only a second to gasp a warning before he was spurting come out between their bodies, warm wet stripes landing on his stomach. Ewan made the noise of a man being tortured to death with pleasure, and snapped his hips forward. He let out a roar, one that almost seemed to shake the walls of the cave. Christian clung tightly as he felt the condom filling with pulse after pulse of hot seed, the thump of the blood rushing through Ewan’s body, and the rasping of his breath. Ewan began to shake as he stopped coming. “God,” he chanted, over and over and over again. “Oh, God, Christian, God, God, God ...” “Hey, easy.” Christian drew back so that Ewan could ease out, then slowly lowered his legs to Ewan’s sides. Reaching up, he tugged Ewan’s trembling body down against him, holding him close as his lover shuddered. “It’ll be all right,” he soothed, rubbing circles on Ewan’s sweat-dampened back. “Everything’s fine.” “Nah, everything’s already fine.” Ewan’s shoulders hitched. “I just can’t believe it, that’s all. You came for me. I was -- and you -- oh, God. Oh, God.” “Shh.” Christian petted Ewan, keeping him close. He could feel the beat of Ewan’s heart against his own. It seemed kind of ... slow. “Hey, are you feeling okay?” Christian drew back enough to ask. “Your heart ...” “Don’t worry. I’m fine.” Ewan drew in a deep breath of air. “Just coming down is all. You know how to drive a man crazy, Christian. I mean, I went to that bar tonight, thinkin’ I’d just take in the sights. I’d heard of it before. But then I recognized you -you’re so much better-looking without all that paint on -- and I thought, fuck, I gotta see if there’s any chance. I didn’t think I had a prayer, but here you are, and here I am, and, oh, God ...”

Christian let himself relax, hoping Ewan would follow suit. Slowly, the pale man began to ease up, his muscles losing their tension until he was slumped on top of Christian. “Thank you,” Ewan whispered. “Hell. Thank you.” Closing his eyes, Christian hugged Ewan tight. He made a decision in his heart and acted on it before he could change his mind. “Forget the money,” he whispered. “This is just for you and me.” Ewan stirred, his hair surprisingly soft on Christian’s chest. “Money?” he asked, sounding sleepily confused. “What money?” Christian’s lips parted. He thought ... and I -- fuck. Fuck. But ... he knew me from on stage; he must have known what I do for extra cash. And -- and it doesn’t matter, does it? I’ll find another way. This was just for him and me. “Nothing,” he said, patting Ewan’s back. “Forget I said a word. Just enjoy the afterglow.” I know I am. Damn. Who’d have thought?

Chapter Seven “So, what, are you like a collector or something?” Christian picked up a shiny thing with attachments. He had no idea what it was or what it might do. Probably either a bomb or a toaster. “Hey, hey, hey!” Ewan rescued the doohickey from Christian, handling it as carefully as an Easter egg. “Watch where you’re puttin’ those hands, huh? You might get yourself in trouble, what with all the junk I keep in the place. Hey, c’mere.” He pulled Christian in for a quick kiss. “Not all of it’s safe for hu-- for you. ’Kay?” Christian kissed Ewan back, grinning as he pulled away. “You’re the boss,” he answered happily. God, but he was floating (flying, soaring, zooming) on a cloud of endorphins. Making love to Ewan -- and it was lovemaking -- made Christian feel so damn good. He felt almost cleansed, as if he were becoming something new. Someone who didn’t dance at the Pleasure Palace or sell himself for money. What money? Ewan had asked. What money, indeed? Cash, dollars, dinero. I don’t need anything right now but to be here. Fuck, this is good. “Do you have a stereo in all of this?” he asked, standing back far enough to take Ewan by the hands once Ewan had put the gizmo down. “Out of all your toys, there’s got to be something that makes music.” “Yeah, I got a boom box.” Ewan swung Christian’s hands. “What, you wanna dance?” Christian felt a surge of excitement. “I always want to dance.” He thought briefly about his job. “Almost always. And, yeah, I want to dance with you now. I kept interrupting us back at the club.” “We’re both bare-ass naked,” Ewan pointed out. “So? We can go cheek-to-cheek.” Christian cracked up at his own bad joke. It took Ewan a second to clue in, but then he guffawed and gave Christian a push. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” “Let me find the thing, then.” Ewan turned to scan a shelf full of gleaming metal and chrome objects, puzzling through first one, and then another. Some were painted in bright colors, while others had matte black parts to them. Not a one looked like a stereo to Christian, but he was fast learning that nothing was what it appeared to be in Ewan’s home. A cave was a house, a gadget that looked like a cross between a can opener and a squirt gun wasn’t safe, and he wasn’t a whore. He was, at least for the night, a lover. “Not this ... no, not here ... man, I guess it’s been a while. I get to workin’, and the music distracts me.” Ewan tossed an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Sorry about the delay.” Christian leaned against a clear patch of wall. “Don’t be sorry. I get to enjoy the view.” “You get to -- oh, man.” Ewan shook his head. “At least tell me it’s decent scenery.” “Some of the best ever.” Christian admired the toned muscles of Ewan’s ass as he bent to a lower shelf and began searching through the stacked items there. “Why do you wear all those baggy clothes, anyway? You’ve got a great body. You should show it off.” “Well, I get cold.” Ewan shrugged, seeming uncomfortable with the subject. “Ewan? In case you hadn’t noticed, it has to be one of the hottest nights on record. I was sweating in my tank. You were cold enough to need a sweatshirt?” “Well, yeah. You’ve felt me. My body temp runs a little low.” “Mmm.” Christian folded his arms. He guessed that was true enough. Even while they were fucking, Ewan had felt kind of chilly. Speaking of which, if Ewan ever found that stereo ... “Ha! Right, here we are. I gotcha, you battered old thing. C’mere.” Ewan dragged out a black box that looked to have been made circa 1980, but was still in good shape. “I don’t have any tapes or anything, but the reception down here is gonna be great if I can just ...” He carried the stereo to a table, pushed a few things aside, and jacked a cord into a socket on the side. Music blared out. Both Ewan and Christian jumped, then burst into laughter. “Okay, so I’ll turn it down.” “Let me.” Christian sidled up to Ewan, kissing his shoulder, and quickly assessed the stereo. He lowered the volume, then fiddled with the tuner until he found a station playing Ricky Martin’s Spanish music. “Sí, es perfecto.” Christian took hold of Ewan’s arms and put them around him. “You hold me, just like this. There’s not much room in here, so we sway together. Yeah, you’ve got the idea.” Ewan made a soft noise when their cocks came into contact with one another. “You call this dancing, or a prelude to a kiss?” Christian hummed contentedly. “I don’t know. I could go again.”

“God. I’m not a kid anymore.” “You’re not ancient.” “Don’t bet the farm.” “Even if you talk like an old fogey from time to time.” Christian nudged his hips forward. “Look, I can tell that at least part of you likes the idea.” He leaned up to kiss Ewan. “Dance with me, and then ... we dance the horizontal tango. Sounds like a good idea, right?” Ewan moaned into his mouth. “Yeah, you’ll be the death of me,” he said. “Whatta way to go, though, huh?” “You said it,” Christian replied, leading Ewan back toward the bed. “Come on and dance with me.”

***** “Oh, yeah. Right there. God, yes. Again. Do it again, please, Ewan, harder --” Ewan’s hands skated down Christian’s back. They’d gone for a different position this time, with Christian on his hands and knees while Ewan knelt behind him. The penetration was deeper, satisfying a sort of primal need within Christian, one he hadn’t known was going unfulfilled. Plus, it put Ewan in exactly the right place to hit his sweet spot, which he was doing over -- and over -- and over. Ewan grunted as he thrust, each explosion of air and sound spurring Christian on. It was awkward, but Christian managed to grab his own cock and began to jack it, rough and tough, trying to time his pulls with Ewan’s pushes, but losing the rhythm almost right away. “Hey, hands off,” Ewan insisted, stopping to reach around and take over. “I wanna do that. My turn to play.” Christian closed his eyes in bliss as the man’s hard hand closed around his cock. Ewan might have claimed to be out of practice at some things -- yeah, right -- but he was a master at bringing somebody off. His cock throbbed inside Christian as he ruthlessly pumped away, bringing Christian so close to the edge that he was teetering, toes over -- and then he was falling, no, soaring, hearing a loud cry and realizing it was his own voice, plus a roar that was Ewan coming as well. When they collapsed the second time, Ewan quickly doing away with the condom, Christian felt more inclined to lie in the man’s arms, sleepiness weighing down his eyelids. “Just gonna --” he yawned. “Gonna take a little rest, okay? A quick nap.” Soft snores ensued. Grinning, Christian lifted as much of the blanket as he could and threw it over both of them. The cave was still bright, but he felt like he could doze off. He wouldn’t sleep for long, maybe just a few ...

***** “So you actually have a shower down here?” “Whaddya think, I wash up in the tunnel?” Ewan gave Christian a push. “Jeez, how long were we out?” “Do I look like I have a watch on?” “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Ewan paused, checking his own wrist. “Not more’n an hour, I don’t think. Shit, man. You don’t play around, do you?” “I’m insatiable.” Christian tugged at Ewan’s arm. “Come on, I want to get clean. Then dirty. And clean again.” “Slow down, slow down. We got all night.” “Yeah, maybe. But that just means we can do more.” Christian pulled harder. “Hurry up!” Ewan allowed himself to be pushed out of the main room and toward a smaller room. “Not too much water in the tank,” he warned. “It’s usually just me, so I wet down, lather up, and rinse off.” “Usually just yourself? Who else have you brought down here?” “Until you?” Ewan stopped, brushing a wisp of hair away from Christian’s face. “No one. You’re the first.” “Then let’s see how long the water really will last.” “It’s gonna be cold.” “Bracing.” “You’ll freeze your balls off, and I’m kinda attached.” “Not yet, but you will be.” “Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’ about being insatiable.”

“I never kid.” “Must make life hard, bein’ so serious.” Ewan stopped Christian yet again, pulling him into a hug. “But, hey, now you got me. And you’ve been laughin’ tonight. Maybe you’ll have to keep me around, huh?” Christian thought about the Pleasure Palace, all his bills, and bit his lip. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?” he asked, moving Ewan along. “I want to wash your cock off, and then I want to suck you down like a straw.” “Jesus! With the imagery, even. Okay, you’re on. Watch the first step down, it’s kinda -- oops, got you -- yeah, it’s a little steep. Hafta keep the water away from all those electronics, right?” Ewan led Christian into the far end of the room, where a clearly self-installed showerhead led from a small water tank via a series of pipes. Christian stared. “I didn’t know you could do that.” Ewan looked embarrassed. “Yeah, well, now you do.” He tagged Christian’s arm. “You were sayin’ something about getting dirty and clean?” Christian felt a gleam come to his eye. “Oh, yeah. Where’s your soap?”

***** The tank had just enough water for both of them to wash down. Christian had to admit that it was freezing cold. But the sex? Talk about hot. On his knees, the smooth rock cold underneath him, Christian took Ewan’s newly cleansed cock into his mouth. Although soft at first, one lick down the length and he began to stiffen. Ewan leaned heavily against the wall, his breath already speeding up. “You’re actually gonna ...” “Planning on it.” Christian pulled off to say. “And those are the last words you’re going to hear from me until I’m done.” “Jumpin’ Jesus.” “Mmmph.” Christian hummed around Ewan’s cock, loving the taste he was beginning to associate with the man -- rock. Sucking on him felt like putting a skipping stone in your mouth, and it had the same flavor, but beneath all that there was salt and the tanginess of male skin. Christian hadn’t done much willingly in a while, but back with his old boyfriend, he’d learned one thing -- he loved to suck cock when he had a choice about it. It had been some time since he hadn’t just been performing, but he used all the old tricks he’d learned and added a few to his repertoire. Playing the length of Ewan’s cock like a flute, with a few arpeggios for good measure, he made Ewan laugh in between his swearing. He cupped Ewan’s balls in his hand, feeling them draw up at the touch, and rolled Ewan’s nuts between his fingers. His lover was fully erect by then, and Christian took every advantage. He devoured the man’s cock from the tip up to the root, deep-throating him as far as he could, then applied suction and pressure on the way back down. Christian used his tongue, knowing it wasn’t playing fair, but doing it all the same, tapping out a rhythm with no blues and wishing he could lap up what he knew would be some seriously piquant precome. It would still taste a little like stone, but what did that matter? It was part of who Ewan was. Christian imagined the flow growing stronger as he sucked even harder. “Chris ... hey, Chris ... gonna ... gonna go off --” Christian sighed contentedly, then bit down ever so lightly. Ewan gave a shout, yanked on the water chain, and doused them both as he came like a geyser in Christian’s mouth. As he leaned back, panting, Christian drew off and pulled away the condom, tying it in a knot and tossing it aside. “Bet you’ve never had this much fun in the bath before,” he said quietly. Ewan tousled his hair. “Not even when I was a kid. But you make me feel like a real man. You got a gift, you know that?” Christian laid his head on Ewan’s thigh and sighed. He didn’t agree, but if he’d made Ewan happy, then that was enough.

***** Collapsing back onto the mattress, Ewan swore under his breath as Christian reached for him. “Give me a minute,” he said with a laugh. “Can I just hold you?” Christian felt oddly moved. “Yeah. Feel free.” “Thanks.” Ewan maneuvered them around into a spooning position, curling his body against Christian’s from behind. The man felt like a cool boulder behind him. Even his breath, blowing out against Christian’s neck, was chilly. And his heartbeat ... “Ewan, are you sure you’re okay?” Christian twisted his head around as far as he could to try and look at his one-night

lover. “Unless we’re doing it, your pulse is so slow. And you’re freezing.” Ewan mottled. “Cripes, I’m sorry. You want I should get another blanket? Maybe you wanna borrow one of my sweatshirts?” “Ewan, Ewan, calm down. I’m just worried about your health. I don’t mind the cool.” “Yeah? You sure?” Ewan settled and hugged Christian closer. “Don’t fret then, okay? This is normal for me. So just relax and enjoy, huh?” “How could I not?” The sentence escaped Christian before he could stop the words from coming out. He bit his lip, hoping Ewan would let his comment go by without remark. He didn’t. “Not much like dancin’ at that teaser joint, is it?” Ewan asked, holding Christian tight. “I saw your face, and that smile you had on was fake as your breasts. And then I looked at you tonight, at the club with those fauns, and I thought, ‘There is a happy man.’” “And when I look at you?” Christian asked softly. “Ahh.” Ewan’s hand opened and closed on Christian’s stomach. “You make me hope, Chris. Somethin’ I haven’t done in a long time.” Christian had to know. “Hope for what?” “Ah, c’mon ...” Ewan shrugged his shoulders. “You promise you won’t laugh or nothin’? Okay, then, but you asked for it. You make me hope that maybe this isn’t a one-night stand. You make me feel as if you like me enough to do this again sometime. Maybe even just come to hang out, or if you’d let me, I could go to your place.” “Ewan.” Christian put his hand over the man’s. He thought about the still quiet of the cave, broken only by the hum of electronics and, recently, the sounds of passion. Mentally, he compared it with the place he called home, where the seven other occupants were always pounding up and down the stairs, cooking something greasy, or blasting discordant music way too loud. “You could come over,” he said, feeling some last barrier give way in his chest, “but you wouldn’t enjoy yourself. I’d rather be here.” Ewan squeezed him. “See? You give me hope.” He paused. “You gonna go back and work in that club again? I kinda know what ...” Christian felt himself start to shake. “It’s not like --” “I know what it’s like. And, hush, okay? I’m not mad. But Christ, Chris, there’s gotta be another way. You could go into business with me. I’ve got all these inventions but I don’t know how to get them out to the public.” “Liar.” Christian’s heart slowed a little from its rapid pumping. “You could walk into a patent office any day.” “Actually, I couldn’t. Don’t ask me why, okay?” “Why?” Christian rolled over in the circle of Ewan’s arms and looked at him, eye to eye. His lover’s glasses were endearingly crooked from how he lay on the pillow, and Christian plucked them off, putting the black plastic frames to one side. He trailed his fingers from Ewan’s deep brown eyes down the line of his jaw, then raised up a little for a short, sweet kiss, finally lying back down and pillowing his head on Ewan’s arm. “You’ll be asleep tomorrow, probably, but any other day.” “I have my own issues,” Ewan said. He leaned forward, bumping heads with Christian. “Don’t push me on this, all right? The night is my time, and patent offices don’t stay open past the nine-to-five.” He got a better grip on Christian. “Just ... think about it, okay? So maybe it’s selfish of me, but I wanna keep you for myself. An’ if you love to dance so much, there’s gotta be a better place for you. We’ll put our heads together.” Christian nudged his cock forward, doing as directed. Ewan grinned and rubbed his hand down Christian’s back. “Big heads, ya dope. There’ll be a way. You’ll see.” “I don’t ...” “Shh. We’ll figure it out.” “Ewan.” Christian fought for words, stumbling over the truth but wanting to get it out. “When I came down here, I thought ...” “Yeah.” Ewan was silent for a minute. “I figured that out. But I know when someone’s playin’, and when it’s for real. What we had then and what we have now, none of it’s fake. You gave yourself to me, no bill of sale, and I took you in instead of puttin’ you on. I’m gonna keep you, too, if you’ll let me.” “Ewan ...” “Hey, hey, it’s all right. C’mere.” Ewan held Christian tight. “You’ve been through hell, I pretty much figured. But there’s a way out. We just have to find the stairs. Maybe take a few more rides through the Tunnel of Love. But we’ll think of somethin’.”

Christian closed his eyes tightly. He could feel something release, like a giant ball of tension unraveling beneath his ribs. “You promise?” “My hand ta God,” Ewan swore. “Now hush up, and let me hold you. We’re just gonna rest here for a few minutes. I’ll get you up before morning. And, hey, wiseass, I meant I’ll make sure you’re awake. Not that I’d say no to a quickie. But I want you to promise you’ll come back tomorrow night. Will you?” Christian knew he had a shift at the Pleasure Palace. All the same, he nodded his head. If the guys he worked with could call in sick when they were high, he could take a night off. He wanted to be with Ewan. Maybe they’d really think of something. “Good,” Ewan said, his breathing already evening out. “That’s right. Good ...” “Ewan? What time is it?” Christian blinked, yawning. “Oh, fuck, I fell asleep on you. I’m sorry, man. Didn’t mean to.” He tried to move, but Ewan’s arm was too heavy on him. “Hey. Hey, Ewan. Wake up, will you? You’ve got me locked down here.” Ewan didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t move. In fact, he wasn’t breathing. Christian began to panic, running his hand over the man’s hard chest. Too hard. No breath, no pulse. “Oh, God,” he started to babble. “Oh, God, fuck, Ewan! Don’t you do this. Ewan!” Christian wormed his way out from underneath Ewan’s arm, scrambling to his feet. “Cell phone,” he chanted. “There’s gotta be a cell phone in all this junk. 9-1-1. Ewan, don’t you leave me! I just found you. Cell phone, cell phone ...” A hand came to rest on his own. “You do not need one of those,” a familiar voice said. “Ewan is not dead, but resting. The moon is hidden behind clouds, and so he sleeps. But when the shadows move on, he will awaken. You need not panic, for he will return to you.” Christian yelped and made to cover himself with both of his hands. “Shit. Liam! What the hell are you doing down here?” He stared at Ewan, who hadn’t moved, and then back at the wavy-haired, nutty little queer. “Wait a second. You know this guy?” Liam took a step backward, leaning on his cane. “I know a great many things, Christian,” he said, sounding suddenly old. “Put your clothes on and see to it that Ewan is covered. The clouds should pass soon. Then,” he said, his look growing somber, “I will tell you everything you want to hear, and some things that you do not.” “Just ... first, what’s wrong with him?” Christian glanced back at his lover, who remained frozen in position, his arms still out as if holding Christian between them. “He’s like a ... a statue.” “Close enough.” Liam folded his hands over the head of his cane. “He is not a man, Christian.” “I can tell you he’s definitely a man.” “Not a human, then. He is a cave troll.” Liam sighed. “Now go ahead and mock me if you will.” Christian couldn’t find the words. He stood there with his mouth open, staring. Then he blurted, “Ewan’s a what now?”

Chapter Eight “A cave troll,” Liam said absently, picking his way through the litter of magazines that, by then, had covered most of the floor space. “My, but he is a reader, isn’t he? I must remember these titles and buy him a subscription for a journal he does not already take.” Christian stood rooted to the spot. “Liam, you want to back up there?” Liam took two steps backward. Christian resisted the urge to slap his own forehead. “I meant, back up with what you’re talking about. And you, you, you, with all the craziness and the confusion tonight -- weird little rooms and post-modern paintings -and now you’re telling me Ewan is a troll?” “A cave troll. Yes.” Liam bent and began picking things up. “Such a mess. But, of course, good sex should always be very messy, indeed. Christian, I am no longer facing you if you wish to put on your clothing.” Shit! Christian fumbled for his jeans and wifebeater, shrugging the latter on and starting his shimmy-wiggle into the former. As he tugged, he cursed his vanity. He didn’t have a single doubt that Liam was grinning from ear to ear as he heard Christian struggle to get the damn things on. “You may wish to consider something a little looser-fitting in the future. It is, after all, good to breathe.” “Liam ...” “Yes, yes, I will be quiet now.” Liam finished shuffling the glossy magazines into a slippery stack. He straightened. “Are you finished? Ah, there you are, Ewan. The clouds must have passed by. No bad thing. I had thought we would be in for a shower of rain, and that would not have done at all.” “Ewan!” Christian elbowed past Liam and stopped at the foot of the mattress. Ewan lay on his back, blinking nearsightedly at the cave ceiling, then across at Christian. “You’re alive.” Ewan closed his eyes. “Aw, hell. I went and did it, didn’t I?” “I am very much afraid that you did. Normally, you would not turn to stone until daybreak, but there are some unexpected clouds tonight. Your glasses.” Liam bent to pick up the black plastic frames and offered them to Ewan. “There, now you can see. A cave troll with poor vision. Very odd, I must say. But then, you are not exactly like most of your breed. You prefer electronic treasure to gold or jewels, and while you live beneath a bridge of sorts, it is hardly what I would call a likely spot to find you.” “Liam, do you know Ewan?” Christian demanded again. The small man tilted his head to one side. His smile was sunny, innocent and charming. “No, Ewan and I have not met before. I know of him, though. Everyone who passed through the doors of Amour Magique tonight, seen or unseen, was made known to me.” He fixed Christian with a long look. “And those who left. I have had quite the time chasing you down.” Christian felt abashed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But why did you come after me? And what difference does it make to you who I go off with? I told you --” “And I told you that regardless of what you say, I have a special interest in the Brotherhood.” Liam stood erect. “Ewan, if you wish to, put on your clothes. I am not looking.” “Jesus Pete,” Ewan said. Christian silently held out his lover’s sweatshirt. He crossed the room for Ewan’s jeans while Ewan put on his top, then passed them over. Ewan caught at Christian’s hand and held it for a moment. Christian looked back at him. He saw pleading for understanding, a need for patience, and more than a little embarrassment in the other’s eyes. Okay. Ewan had given him a hell of a chance. He’d do the same in return. Christian squeezed his hand and smiled at the look of relief that flooded the man’s -- man’s? -- face. Troll’s? He wouldn’t have believed it unless he’d seen it. Ewan, all but turned to stone in his arms ... “Start explaining, Liam,” Christian said, turning to face the small man. “Begin with how you knew where to find me, then go back to telling me what that little room was all about, and then go on to the part about the cave troll, because I’ve got to tell you, I am really interested in that. You’re talking about my ... my new guy, here.” “He’s right,” Ewan said shyly. “I am ... I mean, I’m not ... ah, hell, Christian. Whoever this is, he’s tellin’ the truth. Cave troll, in the flesh and stone.” He gestured at himself. “I didn’t want you to find out so soon. Thought I’d give ya some time, work up to things, but ...” “Yeah.” Christian reached down and thumbed Ewan’s chin. “Life got in the way. It does that sometimes.” “You’re not mad at me?” “Don’t be a jackass.” Christian bent down to kiss Ewan’s forehead, tasting stone. Oh, yeah. This was a night he’d never forget, but he’d gotten a hell of a lover out of it.

Now all he needed were explanations. “Yes, yes, I will tell you everything,” Liam said, turning to face them. For just a second, Christian thought he saw the man flicker, and flinched. But, no, Liam was solid. “But first, if you please, Christian --” He reached into the pocket of his tailored pants and pulled out a slightly crumpled letter. With a tch at its condition, he passed the missive over. Christian took it in bewilderment. The envelope had his name written on the front, all right, but the return address was for Amour Magique. “Who’s writing to me from the club?” “Go on and open it. You will find that it is from Silas, the owner of Amour Magique -- well, insomuch as one can own the place. Let us say he manages it, as well as it will be managed.” “Liam, you’re really not making any sense.” “Perhaps I am not. But go ahead, read.” Liam made encouraging motions. “It will not bite, I promise.” Christian took the letter out, casting him doubtful looks, and unfolded the thick paper. He ran his eyes over the neatly printed note inside and at the scrawled signature, then reached blindly for Ewan’s hand. “This can’t be real.” “Ah, but it can, indeed.” Liam twinkled at them. “I was with Silas when he made his decision. He saw you with the fauns -who, by the bye, are exactly what they claim to be -- those horns are not false at all, and their cloven hooves are hidden by clever magics. Silas made his decision when he saw you dance.” Christian gripped Ewan’s hand tighter. “But it can’t be real. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to guys like me.” “Falling for a cave troll rarely happens, either,” Liam noted dryly. Ewan tugged at Christian’s hand. “Are you? Falling for me, I mean.” He mottled. “Sorry. But what does it say?” Christian shook his head. “What do you think?” He bent to kiss Ewan, their lips clinging together for a long, sweet moment. When Christian straightened, he waved the letter at Ewan. “This is from a guy signing himself ‘General Manager’ of the club. He’s asking me to -- to dance there.” “Yes!” Liam clapped enthusiastically. “Silas has decided to put in cages and catwalks for those who have the talent to lead others in the dance. He is looking for those with strong ability, yes, but more specifically, those who can become one with the music. He saw such a gift in you, Christian, and as I think you will have noted, is willing to pay you well for the position.” Christian looked at the quoted figure again. It wasn’t a fortune, but it would cover his tuition and rent when you added everything together. Maybe even cover food, too. If not, hell, he would get a job flipping burgers in his off hours, those not spent studying, dancing, or being with Ewan. “Hey, do you like special sauce?” he asked absently, rubbing Ewan’s fingers. “Love it.” Ewan stroked back, but quicker, more excited. “This means you’re gonna take the job?” “One condition.” Christian refolded the letter. “Ewan gets a guest pass to come see me whenever he wants, and I get one dance an hour with him.” Liam tutted. “I think you can drive a harder bargain than that.” “A hundred more dollars a month, then. That’ll take care of everything I need.” Christian swallowed. “If that’s not asking too much.” “I think it is just enough.” Liam gave the pendant at his neck a spin. “I believe that Silas will be agreeable to your terms. You might say I have a special way of sensing things. He wants your dancing very much. No more of the ...” Liam trailed off. “I don’t have to go back,” Christian whispered to himself. Then -- “I don’t have to go back. Ewan!” Ewan whooped and lifted himself off the bed, grabbing Christian and whirling him in a circle. “Fuck, you’re strong,” Christian gasped, dizzy, when Ewan put him down. “Okay, Liam. Explanations now. If I’m gonna work at Amour Magique, I think I need to know a whole lot more than I already do.” He sat down on the bed, pulling Ewan close to him. Liam nodded and came to stand in front of them. “Amour Magique,” he began, “is a very unusual sort of club, even to those who work there, and you should know this much ...”

***** The room was dark except for the blue glow of surveillance monitors, and the flickering light of other cameras. Nine of the pictures had gone out, but three remained. Liam sat in the middle, clutching his Tear, shaking. He watched himself on the cameras, talking with the remaining men of the Brotherhood -- Alex, Allen, and Harrison. Each one needed his special care. They all had, and did. So many to be watched over, and so much to be taken care of. He began to shiver. A full-fledged tremor tore through his body, making him cough.

Behind him, a door opened. He winced as the bright light and music poured in from outside, then relaxed with a sigh when it was cut off again. Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Another held out a cup of strong black coffee topped off with even stronger rum. Liam took a grateful gulp and grasped for the hand that had given it to him. “Do not leave me,” he asked, knowing he sounded weak. “Please, it will only be a little while longer. Stay until I am done, and I can be at peace.” “No.” The voice was deep, rich, and black as the coffee. Liam heard the footsteps receding. “You know where to find me when you’re finished. Don’t take too long, though. You might come around and find that I’ve already moved on.” “Wait!” Liam begged, half-turning --- but his visitor was gone. And Liam was all alone once again, except for the monitors. “Bree, Collin, Simon, Micah, Quentin, David, Christian,” he recited to himself. “Alex, Allen, and Harrison.” His hand trembled around the warm mug. He spilled a bit of the beverage on his leg. “I can do this.” He swallowed hard. “I can. And I will.”

Willa Okati Although a relative newcomer to the field of e-publishing, Willa Okati has been writing since before she was old enough to pick up a pen. She thinks she knows where those dictated stories are hidden, but she'll never tell. Willa is also very interested in the paranormal: magery, Wicca, New Age philosophy, transgender studies, and of course, writing. You can drag her away from the computer if you really fight, but you'd better be prepared for a battle. Just so she doesn't sound entirely dull, Willa has her fun: she is a practicing member of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) and is involved in her community. She is owned by far too many cats, all of which have serious attitudes, and addicted to anything made out of chocolate or involving coffee. She is quiet, but has a very wicked sense of humor that springs out when you least expect it. A secretary for eight years, she now writes full-time -- and wouldn't trade it for the world. She loves to hear from readers, and always responds. You can contact her at [email protected] or visit her website to check out her work at www.willaokati.com.