A-Muse-Ing

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A-MUSE-ING

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.

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A-Muse- Ing 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 870 Market St, Suite 1301 San Francisco CA 94103-2907 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © November 2008 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 978-1-59632-798-6 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket , and MS Reader Printed in the United States of America Editor: Georgia A. Woods Cover Artist: April Martinez Chapter One

QWERTYUIOP? Harper squinted at the computer screen. He didn’t usually see it from this angle, above his face and perpendicular to his nose.

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QWERTYUIOP?his computer repeated, impatiently addingADFJKLDKJ;? for good measure. Harper lifted his head from his ergonomic, coffee-stained keyboard, staring blearily at the garbled text on his monitor through the slim, silver-rimmed glasses perched askew on his nose. Text thathad been an all-nighter’s worth of work due to production by no later than noon today or his ass would be chopped finer than grass. LXLDLDFOEU!!Harper’s computer mocked him. Dragging the hem of his sleeve across his mouth to get rid of the dried-on drool, Harper brushed twists of his overgrown copper-colored hair out of his eyes, set his glasses straight on his nose, fumbled for the mouse, and hammered the keys for the Undo command. Repeatedly. To no avail. “No, you don’t,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “No, no, no, no you don’t --” Harper’s computer flipped him the blue screen of death, emitted a small shower of sparks from somewhere in the fan region, and ground to a halt. Gentle wisps of smoke curled away from the wreckage, helpfully illuminating the open USB port where Harper had forgotten to insert a flash drive for backups. “Good morning to you too.” Harper slumped in his chair and gently lowered his head back down to rest on the keyboard, the imprints of keys on his cheek slotting perfectly back into place. Scrunching his hand in front of his face, he groaned. “I am so screwed.” He took a deep breath and tried to find his focus, the wellspring of creative energy that’d always come through for him on other jobs, and prayed he could babble his way through a decent plot twist. Something.Anything to avoid getting canned. “Okay, where was I last night…right.” As he kicked up the edge of the rumpled quilt hanging off the edge of his un-slept-in bed searching for his shoes, Harper let himself babble into the recorder, struggling for inspiration and coming up with…not much. “Rialto. Drama, back to square boned, day one. Notes from memory.In Outré . Characters: Salomei and Osborne. Note to self: Salomei is the tarot reader on Fourteenth Street. Memo: Come up with something that’s got more personality to it than ‘Fourteenth Street.’ Americana’s great, but genericism isn’t. Memo: Is genericism a word? If not, it should be. Oh! Note: Osborne likes words. We can set that up with his penchant for the daily crosswords. Does he go in for sudoku as well? I could do a scene where they’re arguing over the applicability of the Oxford English Dictionary to the real world. Good.” Harper paused. “Where was I?” He shook his head as he stumbled out of his bedroom and let his feet guide him. “Not a bad start. Um…um…oh hell… what kind of deck does Salomei use? Note: Look up the Kabbalah . Note: How do youspell Kabbalah ? I know I’ve seen at least three variations before. The word processing program’s going to hate that one.” He whoofed out a breath as he entered the kitchen, rumpling his hair with his free hand. “Whoa, hey, watch it, Artemas ! How’d you get out?” Harper’s pet turtle blinked sluggishly at Harper from six feet down. Small enough to hold in one palm and pugnacious enough to frighten pit bulls, Artemas managed to convey, without saying a word, that Harper was the one who should watch where he was walking and do it soon, or he’d find a sharp turtle beak gnawing off his little toe the next time he actually had a chance to sleep in his bed.

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“ Salomei…” Harper tried to continue. He stopped, eyes losing focus. Damn it, he’d lost his train of thought. “ Salomei? Sounds sexy. Exotic. I like the name. Anyway, she’s what, a psychic? If she’s the individual type, she probably doesn’t use the standard Rider-Waite,” the naked guy sitting on the countertop said as Harper walked by him. The naked man kicked his bare feet and plunked a slice of bread into the toaster as he addressed Harper, his head tilted to one side in thought. “ Dunnoabout copyright issues these days, but you could either make something up, maybe something unique to Salomei herself. Special to the scenes you’re using them for. Draw on that later as a plot point or maybe make how she got the deck a key part of her backstory . Want some toast?” “Good idea!” Harper quickly repeated the naked man’s spiel into his recorder. “Appreciate it. And no thanks on the toast.” Harper reached for the empty coffee decanter, head full of cards and Salomei , who he still thought central casting had botched with the actress they’d selected, and -And came to a grinding halt. Wait a second. I live alone. “Um,” Harper said, carefully not looking back at the naked man he’d never seen before, yet who was still very much present on his counter. “Coffee first,” Naked Guy chided. “I’ve worked with guys like you before. Your brain doesn’t function before two or three cups. Here, I’ll help. There’s an open can of dark roast coffee grounds one foot to your left.” “Um.” Naked Guy huffed impatiently and tilted his head, rough-cut hair the shade of tarnished silver, ash-black that shone nearly white, the shagginess of the cut the only thing keeping his pointed face handsome instead of beautiful. “Okay, so you’re one of the extra-special kid gloves types. Tell you what. You go shower -- please, God, would you go shower -- and I’ll start a pot of java going. Strong enough to melt the spoon is the way I like it. That sound good to you?” Harper opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, shook his head, and cautiously turned around to walk away without looking behind himself, making no sudden movements until he reached the blind corner of the hallway where he thought he could get away with peeking unobserved. His kitchen lay empty. At first look, it appeared to have been untouched since Harper had left around two a.m., his reheated leftovers half-eaten and discarded when a few lines of decent-sounding dialogue had crossed his mind between one bite and the next. At second look, Harper could see that his plate of pallid, thrice- rewarmedchicken asiago flatbread, carried home in a doggie bag from a network lunch the week before, had been tidied away. Coffee burbled merrily through his decanter, which sparkled as if brand new, clean and bright as a summer’s morning. A half-empty loaf of bread, its plastic wrapper folded neatly over, sat next to the toaster, which popped

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up two fresh golden rounds as Harper watched, the sudden noise making Harper flinch. There was not, to the best of Harper’s ability to tell, a naked man anywhere in sight. Artemasdawdled past, avoiding Harper’s bare foot with an obvious, irritated effort. “I imagined all of that, right?” Harper asked his turtle. “I hope so. That’d mean there’s some hope for my sanity. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?” Artemasfailed to move or react. Harper’s heart took a sickening lurch. “If I’m not hallucinating, then I’ve just spilled plot secrets to a random stranger. Artemas . Please tell me Iwas hallucinating. Okay?” Artemasfavored Harper with a flat black reptilian gaze and snapped his jaws. Harper took a third peek into the kitchen. Empty of life-forms, unless you counted his kitchen trash can. He scrubbed his hand over his chin, short stubble bristling against his palm, and ran over all his options. Maybe his best bet would be to take that shower. Maybe he could wash off the layer of crazy he appeared to have acquired while he slept with his face mashed to the keyboard. ***** Harper had always found showers to be a relaxing oasis in his increasingly insane life. If he’d reached the point of hallucinating naked men who made coffee, it was clearly time to break out the hardcore exfoliating oatmeal soap and his shamefacedly purchased, well-hidden loofah . “God, this is unmanning,” Harper grumbled as he scrubbed. He comforted himself with the reassurance that at least he hadn’t quite yet reached the point where he was willing to buy stock in Calgon and bath bubble bombs and candles and Indigo Girls CDs, but he had an uneasy suspicion he’d get there soon. He’d have to lop off his balls the day he walked into a Body Shop store, of course, but it wasn’t like they’d gotten much recent use anyway. Too tired to jerk the gherkin was way too damn tired to care about man-hunting. Harper gazed down at his cock, which refused to rise and meet him with its one-eyed stare. As with Artemas --for Pete’s sake, now I’m comparing my penis to a turtle ? -- he got the feeling that his manhood had started its own personal countdown to abandoning him for greener pastures. Harper groped his balls in an attempt to soothe and stimulate them. “I haven’t forgotten about you, I swear. Tell you what. As soon as I’m either fired or saved, we’ll go on the prowl.” He petted his cock so it wouldn’t feel left out. “Just the four of us.” “Are you talking to yourdick ?” Naked Guy demanded, his nose pressed to the opaque shower glass. “Wait, did you just say you have four balls? Can I see?” Harper jumped to the back to the shower, hair plastered over his eyes. “What the hell? No!” “Spoilsport.”

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“Whoare you?” “Are you in the mood to listen to a fairly lengthy explanation? Speaking of length, how are you in the size department?” Naked Guy craned his neck in an attempt to get a better view. Harper tried and failed to cover his crotch with soapy hands, too occupied with trying to keep his balance on the slippery blue-and-green shower tiles. “Get out of here!” “Shorted out in the genetic lottery, huh?” Naked Guy tapped the glass thoughtfully. “ Dunno. Not that I can see all that great from where I’m standing, but you don’t look too badly off to me.” Harper picked up the shampoo bottle and aimed it as threateningly as a man could aim VO5. “Whoever you are, get out of my apartment!” “Sorry, can’t exactly leave on my own. I’ll explain later. If you want some privacy --” Harper couldn’t see Naked Guy’s face, but he didn’t need to his eyes tosee his leer, suggestive of all the activities a guy could enjoy alone in a shower that didn’t involve washing his feet. “-- I’ll let you suds up in peace. Don’t forget to wash behind your ears. Coffee’s almost done, by the way, and it sucks once it’s burned, so hurry up.” Naked Guy rapped his knuckles sharply on the glass…and disappeared. Poof. Pop. Naked Guy was gone from the bathroom as if he’d never been there at all. The shampoo bottle slipped from Harper’s nerveless fingers and bounced off his big toe, and then off the tile, spewing fresh spring rain soap down the drain as a grace note. Harper wondered if the mushrooms on his chicken asiago had been the recreational type. Or had he just fallen down the rabbit hole while he slept on his keyboard? ***** When Harper padded back toward the kitchen, still briskly rubbing his wet hair with a towel and unable to locate any socks, he heard humming coming from within, something tuneless performed with the ecstasy of the truly tone-deaf. He almost lost the guts and turned to flee. He might have, if Artemas hadn’t planted all four scaly feet directly behind him. A half-chewed lettuce leaf dangled from Artemas’s beak. “Is this really happening?” Harper asked his turtle. Chomp, replied Artemas . “You think he’s dangerous?” Chomp, opined Artemas . The mouthwatering fragrances of hot coffee and fresh-buttered toast wafted out to greet Harper. “Get your ass in here or I’m eating all of it!” Naked Guy bellowed.

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Harper couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. He shot forward and stared around the corner, daring his eyes to deceive themselves. No such luck. Harper’s uninvited, birthday-suited guest had resumed his place on the kitchen counter, where he’d decimated half the stale loaf and gone through a small container of butter, lying empty on its side. Naked Guy grunted a greeting at him as he chewed and swallowed. “There you are. I thought you were gonna stay in until you morphed into a giant prune. By the way, you’re out of honey.” Taken off guard, Harper pointed to the fridge. “I think there’s strawberry jam in the back somewhere.” “Yeah? Awesome. Thanks.” Naked Guy hopped down and turned away from Harper, presenting him with an unexpected yet alarmingly appealing view of a tight, round ass that sparked a tingle of interest in Harper’s groin. Possibly unaware of the effect he had on Harper -- or not -- Naked Guy flung open the fridge with careless disregard for the hinges and bent over, rummaging through cheese and outdated eggs in search of his sugar fix. Harper would never admit to gulping with envy and a jolt of admiration laced with a dollop of lust when faced with the sight of Naked Guy’s ass raised high, impressively sized balls hanging heavy between thighs that Harper suspected Naked Guy could crack walnuts with. “See something you like?” Naked Guy swiveled his hips. “I figured you were the kind of guy who liked a morning pick-me-up.” Harper shook his head, bereft of anything to say. He had no words at all to address this kind of challenge. “Hah! Found it.” Naked Guy swiveled, kicking the door shut with his heel. He twisted off the top of the jam jar, stuck a finger in, and sucked it clean, humming with apparent approval and pleasure. Harper stared at Naked Guy’s finger slipping in and out between admittedly sensual lips, and resisted the urge to moan. It’d been along time. Naked Guy wiped his wet finger on his chest -- which didn’t do a thing to wilt Harper’s rising erection -- and flashed a strawberry-bright grin at Harper. “Name’s Rory. Pleasure to meet you. I’m your muse.” “My what, now?” “Your muse. The wellspring of your creative inspiration, the source of all things artsy and fartsy . I’m the part of your head that enables you to write, corporealized and here to give you some overtime help. Sure you don’t want any toast?” “No.” Harper’s brain had begun to process more than the mouthwatering visual of Rory’s body, and it was ringing a clamorous peal of alarm bells. “Wait. I have to have heard you wrong. Did you just say you’re my muse?” “Yep.” Rory cocked his head. “You’re a slow learner. Did you slip and bash your noggin in the shower,

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or are you still waking up?” “I have no idea.” Rory cocked his finger at Harper. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly why I’m here. I am the answer to your writer’s block prayers.” “No kidding.” Glassy-smooth calm washed through Harper’s head, soothing away his confusion. The simplest explanation had to be the most accurate: He’d gone and lost his ever-loving mind. And hallucinated up a naked sweets fiend with a body fit to make cologne ad models weep. Clearly, this called for outside assistance. “Would you excuse me for one second?” “It’s your house, pal, but unless you’re jerking off, hurry it up.” “What?” “Never rush a good handjob . Not all friction is your friend. Even so, I got a story idea I think we can do a lot with.” “A story idea,” Harper repeated to make sure he’d heard Rory correctly. “And that’s why you’re here.” “Yep.” Rory lathered a fresh slice of toast with jam, stuffed a triangle in his mouth and chewed, lapping dabs of artificial strawberry sweetness off the corner of his lips. “Told you. I’m your muse. I’m here to serve, so let’s get serving already.” “Right.” Harper hesitated. “Did I ask you to excuse me before? I forget.” Rory waved at him. “You’re excused, you’re excused, but hurry it up.” He plunked another slice of bread in the toaster. The last one. “Unless youare jerking off, in which case can I come watch?” The toaster caught fire. Harper made a tactical retreat. ***** Once safely out of sight of the kitchen, Harper rummaged through the toppling piles of past due bills, keys of unknown origin, and receipts, and found his phone in the last place he looked: the empty candy jar. Snatching up his outdated BlackBerry, he hit speed dial and prayed for a miracle. Lisa, general woman-of-all-work, his chief Personal Assistant, trusted associate from the old days, occasional cowriter , and ass-kicker without compare forIn Outré , equally out of her depth, answered on the last possible ring before diversion to voice mail, her husky cigarette voice deepened to a growl this early in the morning. “Whoever you are, make it damn good, and be on your way with coffee and bagels before I hang up.” There was a God. “Lisa, did anyone slip me anything during yesterday’s story brainstorming session?” “You mean the one through which you sat like a fish out of water with your mouth hanging open and your eyes glazed over? If someone had popped you a tab, how would I have been able to tell?”

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“Cute.” Harper jigged his foot in an uneasy rhythm. “Lisa, what would you say if I told you there’s a naked man eating toast in my kitchen?” “Huh.” He caught the unmistakable sounds of early woman discovering fire, also known as Lisa lighting her first menthol slim 100 of the day. “I’d say it’s about time, and then I’d ask if he’s hot.” “He’s naked. In my kitchen. I have bigger things to worry about.” God would strike him down for these lies. Lisa still didn’t need to know about Harper’s reaction to the nude stranger’s, er , assets. Then again, tact wasn’t so much in Lisa’s daily lexicon. “Wait. You honest-to-God do have someone over?” Lisa laughed. “The plague of locusts is next up if Harper finally got some.” “Hey!” Lisa inhaled. “You’re cranky for the morning after. Something wrong? He one of those guys who looked a lot better under bar lighting, or was he a bad lay?” “No! And I didn’t lay him. Or bang him. Or whatever you want to use for a euphemism.” “Bang. I like that one. Raw. Make a note.” A metallic clink signaled the ignition of a second cigarette. “Huh. So yougot banged instead. Crucial difference. Sorry. I never pictured you as a bottom. Live and learn.” “You’re not listening to me.” Harper peeked around the corner. Still in the kitchen, Rory ran his finger around the inside of the nearly empty jam jar, scraping up the last bits of sugary strawberry. His finger looked no less tempting when he sucked the digit again, and Harper was only human. He gave in to the urge to glance between Rory’s sprawled thighs, and at the… Good God. Harper coughed. Eight inches? Nine? Uncut. Thick. Erect. A silver barbell under the hood, glittering merrily at Harper. “Yeah,” Harper said, swallowing hard. “He’s hot.” And…gone.Pip ! Out like a light, like he’d never been. Harper’s jaw dropped. “Great. What’s your problem, then?” Lisa rattled on, oblivious. “Point your heels toward Jesus and let him bang you again.” “I didn’t bang orget banged by him in the first place, Lisa. I didn’t bring home anyone or get brought home. He was here when I woke up, but I swear to you I spent the night alone, all night long, trying to come up withIn Outré outlines that didn’t read like deranged See ‘n Says. I fell asleep with my face on the keyboard and lost everything when my computer burned out.” “Oh.” Pause. “You stupidass . You didn’t make backups? We can’t write all of that again! What are we supposed to do -- wait. Jesus Christ, Harper, you’ve got a naked stranger in your kitchen eating breakfast? Why are you talking to me? Hang up and call 9-1-1!” Harper licked his lips and stared at the empty spot on his counter where his naked strangerhad been seated moments ago. He paced his way to the spot and touched the faux-marble to find it cool, no traces of body heat.

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And yet the jam jar, licked clean, lay on its side. The naked man had left a message spelled out in toast crumbs. A simple message, as such things went, and one that fully convinced Harper he’d lost his mind. HY, HRPR! Looked like Harper’s muse couldn’t spell. Or possibly didn’t believe in vowels. At this point, Harper wouldn’t have trusted himself to say definitely one way or the other whether black was black or white was white. Harper waved his hand through the absence of Rory, who hadn’t walked away. Who had simply disappeared as if he was a trick of the light or a figment of Harper’s increasingly disturbed imagination. “Hi yourself,” he whispered. “Lisa, I --” “Morning, handsome,” Rory said in his ear. Like a Cheshire cat in reverse, Rory fadedin from his voice to his firm, lean body draped over Harper’s back. “Miss me?” “Lisa? I’ll take care of calling whoever needs to be called.”Or maybe not. They’ll cart me off to a rubber room. I am so screwed . “Actually, you know what? Don’t worry about me, um, I don’t see him here now --” Not a complete lie, as Rory was behind him. “I bet I was dreaming, I’ll see you on the set this morning. Gotta go, bye.” Harper clicked the phone shut. He turned, dislodging Rory and retreating with his back to the kitchen island. Rory chortled and leaned nakedly on the refrigerator, crossing his legs at the ankle. He eyed Harper from top to bottom. No one, no matter how distracted they might otherwise be, could miss the frank appraisal and all-male appreciation in his gaze. “Anyone ever tell you that you suck at dissembling?” Rory asked. Harper tried discreetly to feel behind himself for something he could use as a weapon. What did a guy need to win a one-man battle of wits against a figment of his imagination? Whiskey? Lots of whiskey? “Not that you’re going to find anything more threatening over there than yesterday’s junk mail, but you might as well know baseball bats and such don’t work too great on my kind. Physical assaults will just wear you out, and I’ll bounce right back,” Rory said casually. He examined his fingernails and chewed off a fragment of cuticle. Harper froze midreach . “Are you reading my mind?” “ Pfft. Iam your mind.” Rory made a face and waggled his hand. “Sort of. After multiple repetitions involving a crapload of patience on my part, you do finally accept that I’m your muse, right?” Harper licked his lips. He fully expected little cuckoo birds to start flying around his head at any second. “For the sake of argument, I’ll agree.” “That’ll do.” Rory gestured as he spoke, underlining and emphasizing and elaborating. He had slim, strong fingers, nimble and quick and sensual despite the ragged nails. “Most of me is justme , myself, and I. Same way as a vase is made of pottery, glaze, paint, that kind of thing. An empty vase, though, is just empty, you see what I’m saying? It waits to serve a purpose and gathers dust until someone shoves a few roses in there.”

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Bizarrely enough, Harperthought he understood. “So you, what…” “I exist in a way that matters only when an artist needs inspiration. When the creative block is strong enough to attract extra-normal attention, I get tapped and I come to life. When that artist’s masterpiece is completed, I cease to be. Simple. Well. Notthat simple. There’s a whole union thing; I don’t pay attention to many of the bylaws, but you get the gist.” “Don’t muses generally stay locked up in people’s heads?” “That’s the working theory.” “Great. Stop eating all my food and get back in my head.” “It’s kinda painful once I’ve taken actual corporeal form, but if you want me to try --” Harperknew Rory was the type of guy -- muse -- whatever -- who was going to say something like he’d try, dick first, to see if that fit and if it did, they’d move on. Most likely to his balls. Rory waited, smirking. Harper glared. “You done denying my existence yet?” “No,” Harper snapped. “Not even close. This is impossible, and therefore you’re not real. You don’t exist. You’re chicken asiago .” “I’m what, now?” “Or maybe pad thai ! I had a buffet lunch the day before yesterday. How should I know?” Harper grabbed his coat and flung the slithery leather weight over his arm. He flipped open his laptop case and began stuffing in memos, mail, his handheld recorder, and a blank spiral-bound notebook, ranting as he packed: “Want to know what I am? Late. That’s what I am. And I don’t have a single damn synopsis or breakdown or even an excuse, thanks to wasting what little time I did have on talking to a figment of my imagination.” “Jeez, calm down.” Rory crossed his arms, eyeing Harper with a mixture of wariness and amusement. “Breakdown, I don’t know about that…looks like you’re in the middle of one just fine on your own --” “Not anervous breakdown --” “Synopsis, though, those I can do.” Rory looked around the kitchen, turning in circles. “You got a pencil anywhere?” “No.” Harper found his shoes under the breakfast table and stuffed his feet in, leaving the laces undone. “And you’renaked . In mykitchen .” “That’s what bothers you most? Jeez; you should have said. Methinks you’re too uptight. Nudity is very freeing, and I’m all about the free when I’ve got a body to roam around in.”

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Somehow, Harper didn’t doubt that. The muse’s -- the naked man’s -- Rory’s -- blatant sensuality couldn’t exactly escape his attention. Rory inspired him, all right, not withIn Outré concepts, but with the notion of mapping out every last ridge of muscle and square inch of creamy pale skin with his tongue. Harper groaned and tried, unsuccessfully, to quash his rising libido. For one thing, he didn’t have time, and for another, he was going crazy and Rory did not, could not possibly exist. Schtupping a figment of his imagination was a step down from RealDolls or their blow-up plastic counterparts, and if he was going to go fuck himself he had a good working right hand to get the job done without benefit of hallucinations. “You’re thinking so hard I can almost see smoke rising from your ears,” Rory observed. “Just so you know, I’m doing you the courtesy of not reading your mind anymore. I get the feeling it freaks you out. See? I’m a good guy, and I can compromise. Now let’s get busy already.” Harper’s mind substituted many, many pleasant mental images for which “getting busy” would have made a great bit of innuendo.Stop it, Harper , he ordered. “Please get dressed.” “Sure, if clothes would make you feel better.” Rory snapped his fingers; a forest green Henley and a soft-washed pair of jeans appeared on him, clothing him with modest decency, yet theystill left nothing to the imagination. Then again, with a muse, wasn’t that the whole point? To clarify your dreams and give them focus? “There,” said Rory, turning around in a slow faux runway model’s circle. “Poof. Happy now?” Harper couldn’t help but notice, even more so now that it was encased in soft, tight-fitting denim, that Rory had the kind of tight, rounded ass that could stop traffic or bring a horny man on a long dry streak to his knees to worship at the globes. “ Nngh,” Harper said, displaying all the word savvy that earned him a living. “I could always take ‘ emoff again,” Rory offered. Harper had had a rough morning, and blamed what he did next on extreme stress: He grabbed his notebook case and hit the door running with no greater plan than to escape the complete collapse of his questionable sanity. Chapter Two

No naked men following him? Harper bent to tie the trailing laces of his sneakers and swept the area surreptitiously. The coast looked clear, the brownstone edifice of his co-op comfortingly grungy. Good old familiar graffiti, misspelled, and no Rory in sight to critique the anatomical impossibilities of the graffiti’s suggestion or to waggle his eyebrows at Harper. Okay. Fantastic. No…muse…to be found. Outside, with the soothing ruckus of horns blatting and cheerfully shouted obscenities, the sun bright and the air ripe with ozone footprints and coffee and mustard, Harper could almost wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

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The Magic 8-Ball in Harper’s head told him:Uncertain. Ask again later. Harper checked the near-automatic work he’d done on his shoes and noticed he’d managed to toe his way, without looking, into one blue Converse and one yellow. Paired with a navy suit jacket and jeans. No tie. He’d forgotten to comb his hair. Could be worse. Maybe he’d look like a trendsetter, or at least a wannabe. Better than that “guy who dressed in the dark” or “nut job,” although that last might be accurate. Still hunkered over, Harper checked his hip pocket for the BlackBerry. Ha! Found it. He hit speed dial for Lisa as he stood, gathering his paraphernalia back under his arm. “Lisa here. Leave a message. I’ll get back to you. Or, you know, not.”Beep . “Lisa, hi. It’s Harper.” Harper did a subtle -- he hoped -- one-eighty scan. “April Fool’s, or something like that. It’s not April, I know, but why not share the joy all year round?” He coughed. “That is to say, sorry for freaking you out. Some jokes are probably best left uncracked . I’ll see you in the studios, and you can kick my ass there.” End call. Harper pushed aside a probing finger of guilt over his lie. Lisa worried. He shouldn’t have touched base with her in the first place, and as it seemed more and more likely out in the brightness of the real world that he truly had hallucinated Rory, he felt guilty for freaking her out. Damage control, check. No naked guys -- Harper looked to the left, and then looked to the right -- 100 percent check. Late to work? Double check. Subway tokens in his pocket, where he thought he remembered leaving them. Aha! Triple check. The day might be looking up. One last check for random, naked strangers, finding none, and Harper made tracks for the nearest station, where the craziest thing he would run into was a bag lady who claimed to be immortal. Harper kind of looked forward to seeing her again. Her kind of crazy he could deal with. ***** The subway spit Harper back out three blocks from the television studios, the fresher city air a huge relief. Immortal Ida made refreshing company, but her hygiene on a crowded car left a lot to be desired in the way of soap. He checked his watch. Only half an hour late. He might escape with most of his hide intact. Did he have time for a coffee? He hadn’t actually drunk any of the pot Rory, um, his imagination had brewed for him, though of course his imagination couldn’t have fixed coffee, so… “Oh, forget it,” he mumbled. Downtown, caffeine vendors set up shop well before dawn. Good old reliables . Coffee like your grandma used to make, if she’d used roofing tar. Harper summoned up his best, least crazy smile and approached his usual. One of his favorite stands was open for business and not too crowded, manned by a goateed type with a perpetual suspicious twist of the lips. “Hi!” Harper tried to project friendliness. “Good morning. I’ll have the usual, thanks.”

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The goateed vendor squinted at him. Harper read the body language and could almost see the cartoon question mark over his head quickly replaced by words they’d have to spell with asterisks in newspapers. “Sorry. You must see a lot of people every day, huh? Seriously, you don’t recognize me?” The vendor scowled. “Okay.” Harper gave up. “A large coffee with extra cream, no sugar.” “Grunt,” said the vendor, finally taking up a cup and scribbling on the side in heavy black marker. “Shame I didn’t put any money on it. I’d have bet my nuts you’re the kind of guy who loves him some cream.” Rory popped out from behind the vendor, smile broad, bright, and horrifying. Harper flinched. He would later, he decided, deny yelping. He didn’t make a noise that sounded anything like a scared little girl, nope, no sirree . The goateed vendor shot him a dose of hairy eyeball and snorted wetly.Yeah, right. “Just make the damn coffee,” Harper snapped. He dragged his hands through his hair, then hissed through his teeth to his pet hallucination,not gone, damn it. “What the hell are you doing here?” Rory’s forehead wrinkled. “Following you.” Which, Harper guessed, was as dumb a question as Rory’s dubious tone indicated. “Right. What else would a muse do?” He reached for his coffee. He missed. The vendor had a death grip on the paper cup. “Three-fifty.” “He’s a tough one, huh?” Rory studied the vendor. “ Yeowch. That’s a scary tattoo you have on the back of your neck there, pal.” The vendor shot Rory the finger. Harper, who’d started to reach for his wallet, stopped. “Wait a second.” He pointed at Rory. “You can see him? He’s really there?” “Three-fifty,” the vendor repeated. “Of course, he can see me. I’m as real as you are, Harper. For a writer, you have very little grasp on suspension of disbelief.” Rory clucked his tongue. “Pay the man, and let’s get moving.” “Three-fifty,” the vendor enunciated. “All right, already.” Harper thrust his hand in his pocket, reaching for his wallet -- and encountered nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Uh-oh. Someone forget his wallet?” Rory asked cheerfully. He leaned on the side of the coffee cart. “Let that be a lesson to you on the importance of trusting your muse. If you’d drunk what I made for you,

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we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?” “There’s nowe . I’ve got some money here somewhere, I --” The vendor made the cup of coffee vanish. Harper refused to: a) swear, b) lip quiver, or c) launch a kamikaze assault. “Look. I buy coffee from you every day, and I know you remember me. I will pay you tomorrow. I’ll come back this afternoon and buy enough coffee for the production team. Just give me this cup. Please?” “Grunt.” Harper’s fingers twitched in time with a tic in his cheek. “Jeez, Rambo, calm down. I got this one.” Rory turned a sunny smile on the vendor. “You have money?” “Uh, no. I just corporealized this morning. Haven’t had a chance to hit the ATM yet.” Rory made a face at him, and then turned the full force of his charisma on the vendor. “What do you say? One freebie. It’ll go to waste anyway now it’s been poured, and hey, I’ll vouch for him. He’ll be back to pay you. Hand to my heart.” He held up two fingers, Boy Scout style. The coffee reappeared, in the vendor’s hand. He narrowed his eyes to slits and took a long, deliberate chug from the cup. Harper counted to ten, patiently, turned on his heel, and stalked away. “Sorry about that, Harper.” Rory appeared at his side, slightly out of breath, cheeks tinged a faint pink. “It’s been a while.” Harper stared at him through the copper twists of showered-but-uncombed hair falling over the rims of his glasses. Rory’s hair, sleek and ashy-shiny as ever -- compelling, the near-silvery gloss of its not-quite-black -didn’t move in the wind. “A while since what?” Harper asked carefully. “Since anything. Sorry mostly about not explaining before that I can’t inspire anyone else. Figured I’d give it a try, though.” Rory clapped Harper firmly between the shoulder blades. “Too bad they don’t trade on charm in the -- where are we? -- New York street marketplace. Manhattan or the Bronx? Nice. I like it. Anyway. Would’ve hooked you a free cup if I could have.” Harper tried to unscramble the logic in there, failed, gritted his teeth, strode forward, and said nothing. “That’s a fine way to say thank you,” Rory called after him, ripe with pique. “Would you wait up for me? I’m not chasing your bubble butt again.” “Good!” Harper walked faster. “Great. That sounds fantastic.” “Come on, I’m just trying to help.”

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“Yeah? Thengo away .” Rory huffed. “Go screw yourself.” Harper made tracks instead. Fast. ***** “Harper?” Clattering heels heralded Lisa’s rush to his side. “Harper, thank God. My phone went dead, screw me for ditching the landline, and yours went straight to voice mail.” “Figures.” Harper grimaced at her in apology. “You got my message, though?” Lisa balled up one fist and socked him in the arm. Hard. Ow . “That’s for giving me gray hair, you dick.” Harper eyed Lisa’s spiked magenta ‘do. “Uh-huh. How would anyone ever be able to tell?” “Up yours. If you ever scare me like that again, I’m hanging you out to dry.” Lisa shook herself terrier-style, visibly throwing off her aggravation, and offered him her paper cup of coffee, still half-full. “You look like you need this more than I do. I could pack for a trip to Europe with those bags under your eyes.” Harper drank deeply and gratefully. “God, I love you.” “Then marry me and make an honest woman out of both of us,” Lisa shot back. With both hands free, she was better able to juggle a sheaf of paper she’d previously been carrying stuffed under one arm. “You didn’t get here a minute too soon. Janie’s on the warpath.” “Again?” “Yeah. So far she’s taking her wrath out on wardrobe, but she’s carrying her cell around with her and glaring at it like it’s to blame for all the world’s ills.” Waiting for that call fromRialto . As were they all. Schrödinger’s cat had nothing on yes-or-no TV and film “green lights.” “She’s no crazier than you,” Lisa told him. “You know they’re going to pick upIn Outré . This is the big time, Harper.” She almost bounced, stopping before any serious jiggling occurred and catching her lip between her teeth. “Harper…that stuff about losing all the scripts and storylines was a joke, right?” Harper hesitated. Lisa popped him in the chest. “Moron!” She tugged at a spike of her hair. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep the secret as long as I can. I’ve gotta go smoke. Just…just avoid Janie, okay? If you run into her, then lie. Lie through your teeth. If she knows you’re this far up shit creek --” “Trust me, I’m not in a hurry to hurl myself on the gridiron.” Not that he’d be able to avoid it for long. The last swig of coffee, though gritty with sugary dregs, went down sour. Harper crumpled the cup and made a long shot into a nearby trash can. Huh. Nothing but net. Maybe that was a good omen.

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He rubbed Lisa’s shoulder, careful not to muss anything. “I’ll take care of it. There’s got to be someone who’ll be able to pull the info off my hard drive.” “ Nuh-uh. No way. Confidentiality clauses for theTwilight Rising storylines alone --” Lisa started. “Harper, crap! TheTwilight Rising plotlines we spent last weekend at your place working on. You didn’t lose those, too?” “Um.” “Harper,” Lisa wailed. “I know. I know.” Harper rubbed his face. “We’re both idiots. Meet me in the writers’ room in half an hour. We’ll put our heads together and…” Lisa shook her head, silver ladder of earrings jingling. “Forget it. I’ve got some rough drafts encrypted on my laptop.I’ll polish them up.You get your ass to work onIn Outré because Janie’s going to want to know where you are on development and if you’ve got bubkes , we’llall feel her wrath. We’re so screwed,” she muttered, brushing past him. Harper watched her go. “Tell me about it,” he mumbled. “What was that I heard?” Harper stiffened. Oh, no. No no no -Rory swaggered into his peripheral vision. “That sounded like the dulcet sounds of someone who’s… lookin’ for some inspiration, lookin ’ for some inspiration,” he warbled to the tune of Talkin’ About My Generation . The guy -- muse -- thing -- whatever -- did a passable impression of Roger Daltrey . Harper shunted aside thoughts of guitar smashing, big blue eyes, and long twisty curls and rounded on Rory to look at, er , big dark eyes and tarnished-ebony tousles. Only the strength in Rory’s jaw saved him from being pretty instead of mouthwatering -- um. Rory cocked an eyebrow. “Whatever you’re thinking, your aura says it’s plenty fun. Wanna share with the class?” Harper shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the brain cobwebs. So Rory was tasty enough to throw down and lick. He’d deal with his libido on his own time. Honest he would. “What are you doing here?” he asked instead. Rory frowned at him. “Seriously, Harper, I’m getting tired of answering the dumb questions.” “Ha!” Harper couldn’t help himself, regardless of the odd looks he caught coming their way from burly men hauling props around. So they could see Rory too. “You’re here to save the day, is that it?” he asked, teetering on the brink.

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“Yeah,” Rory answered, so painfully earnest that something in Harper’s chest twisted a little. “Why do you have such a big problem with that?” “I want his head on a plate!” a contralto bellowed behind them and to their left, the dulcet tones of Janie in a Bad Mood. “Where the hell are the writers? Anyone want to tell me if we’re gonna have an actual script to storyboard today?” Rory caught Harper by the arm. “Can I inspire you to a decent hiding place while we work this out?” Harper wanted to argue. He did. But would he rather face Rory, or Janie with smoke billowing from her ears before he’d come up with a solution to their new problems? No contest. “Okay. Sure. As long as you hurry before --” “Harper McClellan, I see you over there --” “Race you?” “You’re on. Move!” Chapter Three

The trouble with an open-design set studio was that there weren’t many places to hide unless you wanted to get close and cozy with brooms and mops. In the end, Harper dragged Rory to the story room, a.k.a. his office, when he needed some quiet, and locked the door behind them. He tugged down the blinds, turned the lights off, and leaned on the door, watching Rory. “You’ve got a face like a funeral,” Rory said, his good cheer at three-quarter wattage. “I caught some of what that foxy lady said. Lisa, wasn’t it?” Rory crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Harper. “You really are in trouble, aren’t you?” Harper looked away, his resolve wavering enough to bite off a “Yes.” “Huh.” Rory tapped his foot as if in deep thought. “Nothing to go on except what’s in your head, a few notes on a tape recorder -- which, by the way, you forgot along with your wallet -- stop groaning -okay. Hmm.” He nodded decisively. “Not impossible. I’ve worked tougher cases.” Hope surged in a rush, almost rocking Harper on his feet. “You’re serious?” “I am. As for you, Mr. Skeptic, are you about ready to trust me and let me do my job already?” With that question, spoken minus any note of pity that’d raise his hackles, Harper gave up. Nothing he did seemed to stop Rory in any way anyhow, and he’d already seen and heard enough to make subterfuge pointless. “Yes.” Rory cupped a hand to his ear. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught that. What’d you say?” “As long as you keep your clothes on. Yes.”

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“Still didn’t quite hear you. There was more to that, wasn’t there?” “You’re an incredible dick, Rory.” “Yeah, you know it.” Rory groped his crotch. “Come on, Harper. I’ve earned this. Let me hear those dulcet magic words.” He had Harper over a barrel and they both knew it. “Fine. You can help me.Please help me.” “And…?” Ah, jeez… “And ‘thank you.’” Harper tugged off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and pointed at Rory. “And, if you push it any further, we’re going to find out if muses splatter just like humans when they hit the pavement from this high up in the skyline.” “Ouch. Points off for rudeness, points on for creativity. That’ll do for now.” Rory clapped his hands and rubbed them briskly together. “Where to start, where to start…” He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Sit tight here, okay?” Before Harper could form a reply, Rory vanished. Harper should have been used to it by now, but he still flinched. “How do you do that?” he marveled, crossing to the spot where Rory had made his stand. He tested the floor by bouncing on his heels. Nothing wobbled or creaked. Considering that it was cement, he’d have worried more if there had been instability. No traces of body warmth to be found in open air. No proof Rory had been there except for a faint, spicy hint of something like cloves and cardamom. Maybe aniseed. Aniseed? A vague idea floated across the forefront of Harper’s mind. Spices?Spices . “That’s what we need on Fourteenth Street! Osborne could work there!” He made a dash for the writing table, caught up a dry-erase marker, and rounded on the giant whiteboard that took up half the near wall. Uncapping the marker, he attacked, muttering to himself all the while. “Okay, spice merchant, fantastic, hand-carved mortars and pestles, dusty bottles…old medicine bottles, Fingerhut trinkets… Hey, wonder if he could carry tea leaves, too? Salomei might be into reading tea leaves as well. Why not?” He tapped his chin with the ink end of the marker and winced at the cool sensation of purple streaks on his cheek -- those would take work to wash off -- but who cared about impromptu tattoos when the words were coming? Half an hour later, Harper had plunged through the setup of Main Street that’d had him blocked for days, delved into backstory , and had just come to a sudden understanding of Osborne’s secretive past when his nose twitched. Puzzled at first, he wondered if he was going to sneeze. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.” Rory opened the door to the script room like an ordinary human being, a cardboard tray balanced in one hand. “Look at you. See? Those writerly juices are flowing already.”

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Harper capped the marker and tossed it in the whiteboard’s tray. He leaned against the wall, shaking out his tingling fingers. He found himself grinning at Rory. “You know, I bet if you’d thought for days, you couldn’t have come up with a less appealing way to put that.” “Gripe, gripe, gripe. Here, I brought you actual coffee. Lots of cream.” Rory leered at him. At least he didn’t strip down. Harper dropped the marker in the whiteboard’s tray, accepted the coffee, and took a long, grateful swig. Not too hot. Perfect temperature, going down smooth and milky. “ Gottasay I like the looks of that, too,” Rory murmured, his gaze fixed in the vicinity of Harper’s throat. “ Hotcha, hotcha .” “Classy.” Harper rolled his eyes, glad of the excuse to play off his body’s rapid reaction to the sensual growl of Rory’s delivery. He collapsed in the head writer’s chair, stretched out his legs and sighed. Relief was a sweet, sweet absence of weight on his shoulders. The caffeine surging through his bloodstream made him nigh giddy. He nudged out a second chair. “Want a seat?” He groaned at his choice of words while Rory cracked up. “I so very do, but professionalism in the workplace and all.” He spun the chair around backward and plopped down, propping his chin on the high back. “See? I’m not all bad, am I?” The traces of milky coffee lingering richly on his tongue inclined Harper to mellowness, and at the same time the clean, spicy fragrance that hovered around Rory imbued the air with something indefinable that kept his brain wide awake. “Don’t count your chickens. I might still come to my senses after the caffeine rush passes.” “Uh-huh. Denial. It’s not just a river in Egypt, my friend.” Rory trailed the pink tip of his tongue over his lips, definitely not addressing his comment to Harper’s face. “Now you’ve let me in, you and me, we’re a done deal.” Harper coughed and tried, surreptitiously, to adjust himself under the table. “Dream on.” “You adore me and you know it.” “Keep telling yourself that.” A thought occurred to Harper. “Where’d you get the money for this?” He tipped his cup. Rory’s ears turned red. Harper blinked. Was that… Was Rory embarrassed? “Don’t tell me you stole it. Did you steal the --” “No.” Rory sounded offended. “I’m not a thief. I don’t take; I give.” “But you said you were broke, before.” “Was. Am.” Rory reached to the whiteboard tray, hooked a marker, and twirled it between his fingers. “I knew the coffee would make you feel better, so I panhandled loose change until I had enough.” He made a face and waved off any reply before Harper could make one. “Shut up and drink it while it’s hot.”

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Not for the first time in recent memory, Harper found himself with no idea of what to say. Rory showed up naked, harassed him in the shower, followed him to work, incurred the wrath of a coffee vendor who probably had an arsenal stashed in his closet and knew where to find him… and went out with cap in hand to earn enough to buy him a cup of quality coffee. Two inches tall was roughly an inch and a half taller than Harper felt right then. He took a deep draught from his cup. “Um. Thanks.” He hesitated, offering lamely, “It’s good stuff.” “And so am I, baby. Only the best.” The sparkle returned to Rory’s aura. Twisting the chair around, he propped his feet on the table, legs crossed at the ankle, and leaned back with his fingers laced behind his head. “Ready to get to work?” In for a penny… “Ready if you are. Where do we start?” Rory gave the question due thought. “Let me have a rundown. Quick précis. I get the gist that you’re developing a concept for a TV show -- not the one you work on now, so this is a pitch to another network, yeah? Something about tarot cards and” -- he scanned the whiteboard -- “a spice and tea shop, and I remember you babbling about someone named Salomei , but outside of that I got nothin ’. So fill me in.” He wiggled his butt, getting comfortable, and waved at Harper. “Go.” Harper’s BlackBerry vibrated in his pocket, far, far too close to his groin, oversensitized in Rory’s presence whether or not the man -- muse -- was naked. He slapped his hand over the device. Rory cocked an eyebrow. “Ants in your pants?” “Cute.” Harper checked the caller ID. He resisted the urge to a) groan and b) throw the phone across the room. A new BlackBerry was out of his price range and if he didn’t take this, the person on the other end wouldn’t think twice about hitting redial multiple times. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” “You sure look like you don’t want to. Who is it?” Rory dropped his legs and leaned on his arms on the table. “Tell ‘ emto take a hike. We’re busy.” “It won’t take long.”Compared to, say, the Spanish Inquisition . Harper turned away from Rory, wondering if he could get up subtly enough to turn his back. He really didn’t want his muse picking up on a conversation with -- “Patrick. Hi.” “He answers on the first attempt? The next thing you know, pigs will fly.” Patrick chuckled, working his deep, melodious tenor to its best advantage and well aware of it, too. “Harper! How’ve you been? I hear you’re walking down the street in mismatched Converses talking to yourself these days. How’s that going for you? Off the record, of course.” “Good to hear from you again, Patrick.” Rory whistled softly. “Muses can see auras, you know. I mentioned it before. Anyway, yours looks like I could play ‘hot lava’ on your head. Hang up on whoever that is. That kind of headache, you don’t need.” “Do I hear a new voice over there, Harper?” Patrick asked, silky as the inside of a luxury coffin. “Is he an actor or a director? An ingénue on set ofTwilight Rising ? The target demographic ofGlitz Nightly would love to get the inside scoop.”

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Harper dug his hands through his hair and stood, forgoing discretion. “Cut the crap, Patrick. You know you’re not getting anything out of me.” “That’s rude.” Patrick tsked at him. “I’m just calling to see how an old friend’s faring. Nothing harmful in that, is there? I have a right to be concerned about your losing your grip on reality, chatting to invisible people while trying to con an innocent vendor.” “Not to mention it’d make the headline news segment.” “There’s that, too,” Patrick agreed, almost purring. “I --” Harper stopped as a specific set of tumblers clicked into place. “Wait. You saw that?” Indignation flared. “You’re stalking me now?” “It’s not stalking if you happen to work on the same block and catch a glimpse across a crowded street,” Patrick snapped. “I’m not surprised you didn’t see me. Too busy talking with the transparent space men from Mars, weren’t you?” “Wait, wait, wait.” Harper tugged at his hair. “You saw me. You didn’t see the guy with me?” How was that possible? The vendor had known Rory was there. Harper covered the mouthpiece and hissed at Rory, “What’s up with this?” Rory didn’t try to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “Wasn’t necessary for anyone else to get a look at me at the time.” “That’s great. Super. Now everyone on the block thinks I’m as crazy as the vendor.” “One seriously scary guy, let me tell you.” Rory waved off Harper’s alarm. “Calm down, would you? No one gave us a second look, except whoever that dick is.” He pursed his lips. “Actually, I think I recognize his voice. What is he, a skinny guy with beady eyes? Tall, creepy owl eyebrows?” “No. That’s the traffic guard.” “Got it!” Rory snapped his fingers. “Young, urbane, dressed snappier than a rubber band, eighty-dollar haircut and polished wing tips?” “That’s him, all right. Have you met?” “Hell, no. I just described 50 percent of the foot traffic out there.” Harper resisted the urge to bang his head into the wall. He uncovered the mouthpiece and addressed Patrick instead. “Thanks for your concern. I’m fine.” “Of course you are. Not,” Patrick replied. Rory waved to get Harper’s attention and mimed something. Harper tracked his movements, baffled. What ? he mouthed. Rory sighed, long, drawn-out, and put-upon. He tapped his ear. “Tell him you had a Bluetooth in if you’re so worried about what he thinks.”

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“Bluetooth,” Harper blurted, relief washing through him. “Who is this putz ?” Rory looked to be getting bored, doodling on the back of his hand with the dry-erase marker. “Sorry to disappoint you, Patrick. I was taking a conference call on a Bluetooth when you saw me.” Harper found his stride again. “Thanks for calling, and sorry to disappoint your viewers. We appreciate your interest, and invite you to check us out on the World Wide Web at --” Patrick told him what he could do with his double-u double-u double-u and disconnected. Lacked the punch of the olden days when someone could bang a phone down nice and loud, but he managed to convey the mood fine and dandy on his own. “Ouch,” Rory remarked. “That sounded about as fun as a barrel of monkeys. Rabid ones. You okay?” Harper sat, tossing his phone across the table. “Really, really not.” “You want I should go see if I can squeeze out a nightmare or two for him?” Rory leaned forward, peering at Harper as if trying to see inside his skull. “Seriously. Why’s that dickhead got you so worked up?” “Because that,” Harper said, pointing at the phone, “was Patrick.” “Sounds like you want to make that rhyme with ‘asshole,’“ Rory observed. “Is there a rhyme for -- never mind. You don’t know what he is?” “Not a clue, Sherlock. Fill me in.” Harper’s mind supplied a flurry offilling in imagery that had nothing to do with conversation. He shook it off. More important matters than his sex drive were at stake here. Damn it. “Patrick is the network sweetheart and prime-time anchor ofGlitz Entertainment Nightly , the premier gossip half hour. He’d do anything to get his hands on inside information onTwilight Rising and he’s gotten wind of my pitching theIn Outré concept toRialto .” “That’s bad?” “Incredibly bad.In Outré is…it’s a long shot. They have no reason to look at or want anything from a no-name like me, and if Janie hadn’t pulled more strings than a puppeteer the concept never would have landed on a desk. If gossip starts flying, they’ll drop me faster than a hot tamale.” “You do love your similes but that makes sense, yeah,” Rory said, nodding. “Behind-the-scenes, hush-hush.Rialto’s not gonna want dish about maybe-or-maybe-not, especially when it’s a big ‘maybe.’ And Patrick would make it sound like it’s a done deal just to humiliate you when they get annoyed by his coverage and decide it’s ‘not,’ yeah?” “Yep. And as forTwilight Rising , everything here on this set is top secret until airing dates. If Patrick got his hands on anything he could use against us, it’d be worse.” “He’d torpedo you.”

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“Hole-in-one.” “So, is that it? Huh.” Rory tapped a disjointed rhythm on the tabletop. “ Dunno. Sounds like there’s more to the story. What aren’t you telling me? Why’s he got such a hard-on for you?” “Ah-ha-ha. Truer than you know.” Harper rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Patrick was a P.A. with ambitions. First, he tried out for a new lead role. Didn’t get it. He can’t act his way out of a paper bag. He thought he’d get slick and steal some scripts to sell to the tabloids. Got his ass handed to him in a sling. But…he’s good with the smarm, so he twisted the reports of what really happened, traded on a few outstanding favors to get back at us, and landed a second-best onGlitz Nightly . They love him.” “Wannabe golden boy with a grudge.” “It gets better.” Harper pinched the bridge of his nose, a good, old familiar headache starting up behind his eyes. “Patrick is also my ex.” Rory knitted his hands together under his chin. “Problematic, to be sure. Add writer’s block to a pissy former squeeze and mix in the pressure of keeping secrets. I don’t get all the details yet, but that’d keep you tied up in knots, if nothing else. Not much good for writing. Yet you need as much as you can to submit to the network while they consider your pitch. And Janie’s put her neck on the line with thisIn Outré deal so she’ll hound you for updates, yeah?” Harper nodded. “Okay. I’ve worked tougher,” he said, a phrase Harper was beginning to recognize as Roryskrit for “I’m thinking.” He waited for his muse to get back to him. Should there be elevator music playing at a time like this? “Got an idea.” Rory shook out his fingers. “First things first. We’ve gotta detox some of that stress. Turn around, put your back to me, and hold still. This won’t hurt. Much.” “What are you doing?” Harper wasn’t keen on blind obedience after a warning like that from his muse. “Helping you relax, which won’t work so great if you’re all tense and touchy. Turn around.” Harper obeyed, though he had to ask, “Are you inspiring me to obey you?” Rory thwacked him gently on the back of his head on his way to stand behind Harper. “Ooh. Nice thought, but no. I can give you all kinds of ideas, but what happens with those ideas, that’s all up to you. There’s a lot you don’t get about me yet, and a lot I don’t get about you, so that makes us even.” “Huh.” Harper fidgeted. “I still don’t know what you’re up to -- ohh .” He wilted forward, dropping his forehead to the table, and moaned. “You like?” “Oh God. God. Rory. Don’t stop. Don’t you ever stop that.” Rory snickered. “Note to self: Harper’s a slut for a good neck rub. Maybe you should have Osborne

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take some night classes.” He paused. “Do you have any other actual characters?” “Shut up and keep massaging.” Harper rolled his shoulders and groaned, albeit trying to keep it quiet. “Did you have any muse gigs in Sweden, by chance?” “Not since before they invented spa treatments.” “Really?” Harper tried to look over his shoulder. “How old are you?” Rory poked him in the base of the neck. “Older than my teeth and younger than my tongue. You want a back rub, too?” Harper could have kissed him. “You could, you know,” Rory said quietly, a barely audible rumbling burr. “I wouldn’t say no.” He hmm’d before Harper could reply but after he’d flinched. “Sorry about the mind-reading thing. My bad. Lower and to the left?” “Yes. Please.” Harper was glad he didn’t have to look at Rory. His head buzzed and hummed under the muse’s influence, and not with story ideas. Rory seemed to want him. Good God, did Rory ever seem to want him. There was no “seem” about it. Harper’s hard-on attested to an equal interest, and then some. So, what sort of grade-A moron would turn down a hard-packed firecracker with a clever wit, passion, and magic fingers? Harper sighed. That kind of moron would be one who still wasn’t wholly convinced that Rory was real. A crumb-sized corner of Harper’s mind couldn’t believe, no matter what his body told him. More, he had an uneasy feeling that this might be part of the artist-muse relationship. One of those bylaws he hadn’t talked about, sexual inspiration and implied consent without Rory’s say-so on the matter. If that was the case, he wanted no part of it. Then again, considering Rory’s basic nature as witnessed so far, Harper would bet the offer came 100 percent from Rory’s pure, unadulterated horn-dogging heart. Still…how could he be sure? “You’re thinking too hard for me to be doing this right,” Rory grumbled, applying his thumbs to tender spots that melted Harper. “That’sbetter.” Silent moments passed, Rory’s clever hands working tension Harper hadn’t even known he possessed out of knotted muscles and stiff shoulders. “Look at you. Almost purring like a kitten. See, this is how it should be. You’re not happy with your job, are you? There’s a writer’s soul in there, though. I can see it as clear as day, so where’s all the conflict coming from?” Harper bit his tongue. Tell Rory about wanting to jump his bones and ride him like a cowboy? Not such a great idea in the workplace, even if Harper thought it might make him lose his cocky cool for a hot minute. Listening to his body, that could be bad.

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He dodged the question instead. “I’m not ashamed of what I do.” Rory hmmphed , as if not buying the diversion for a second. He didn’t let up on the rubbing, allowing this one to pass. “No one said you were, or that you should be. Hold still.” “Patrick thinks I’m a laughingstock.” “Patrick is a walking advertisement for the advocation of birth control. Besides, he’s all sour grapes.” Rory kneaded Harper’s shoulders. “Take it easy, breathe, relax.” “ Mmm.” Harper’s attention had wandered, following its own stream-of-consciousness trail. Honesty being the best policy with a muse, what harm was there in out-and-out asking? “Question for you?” “Shoot.” “You know I’m, uh --” “What, gay? It’s kinda obvious given the ex-boyfriend, and I can tell you’re all about the cock. The way you kept staring at mine when I was naked was a good giveaway.” Rory tweaked Harper’s ear. “Hold still. What’s it matter?” Harper shrugged uncomfortably. “Helping me write is one thing. I don’t want you to think you’re obligated to do any, um, hands-on stuff.” “No one’s twisting my arm.” Rory goosed him. “Quit goofing off.” Blushes warmed Harper’s face. “Just tell me what normally rings your bell. Straight or gay?” “Gay if you want me to be,” Rory answered without hesitation. “Wait.” Rory stopped massaging and pulled Harper about-face to better study him. “You’re asking for real? Huh. You are.” He studied Harper in new interest. “It’s been a long, long time, but I like guys. I like women, too, but guys suit me finer than fine.” He treated Harper to a long, assessing, approving look. “If you’re asking about you, my friend, I’d tap that like the fist of an angry god.” “Thank you.” Harper’s lips twitched as he tried to swallow a chuckle. “I think.” Rory perked up. “Does that mean you wanna ?” Did he ever wanna . Didn’t mean heshould . At least…not yet. Harper smoothed away the smile that wouldn’t stop trying to cover his face. “Writer’s block to attend to,” he reminded Rory. “Deadlines. An angry boss on the warpath. Lisa ready to tweezer out my nut hairs in revenge for losing the files.” “True enough. But…” Rory slid smoothly over Harper’s lap, boneless as a cat. He seemed lighter than a guy of his size should be, though solid and sturdy, not breakable. The blood heat of his skin radiated warmth, and without making a production of it he’d gotten close enough for his eyelashes to brush Harper’s cheeks and to catch the scent of his breath from his white, openmouthed, confident,sexy smirk. “But you do want to. I can tell. Right here. Right now. Don’t you?”

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“Maybe.” Harper’s fingers flexed, itching to tangle themselves in Rory’s hair. “Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Doesn’t mean I will.” “ Pfft. Where’s the fun in that?” Rory rocked in Harper’s lap, swinging his feet around. Twin thumping sounds and a hitch of the chair let Harper know Rory had hooked his sneakers around the back chair legs, trapping Harper there. Not that Harper would have been able to get up at the moment, anyway, due to an advanced case of instant, aching hard-on. The nearness of Rory, the heat of his body, and the smell of his skin were addictive, drugging him into a sort of haze where right and wrong shook hands and didn’t matter as much as they did in the real world. I should work up a storyline about that, he thought foggily. “Stay with me.” Rory cupped Harper’s groin, molding his palm and pushing down. Harper’s hips jerked up. A hiss escaped him. “Much better. There’s a time and a place, Harper. Gotta learn that.” The words shocked Harper out of his fugue. He licked his lips, abruptly gone dry, and tried to shake his head. “Exactly. This isn’t the one for…for what you want.” “What you want, too,” Rory reminded him. “Stop reading my mind.” “I’m not. Don’t have to. It’s written all over your face, and I can feel it in the way you’re shaking.” Rory rolled his hips and stroked Harper’s arms, surprisingly gentle, as if coaxing a skittish horse to his hand. “Quivering like an aspen. It’s a good look on you.” A hint of wickedness returned to the tilt of his smirk. “Then again, I think I look good on you, too. Maybe I’d look goodin you. Whaddya say?” “I say you need to get off of me before I do something dumb. Dumber.” Harper pushed at Rory, dismayed to find the strength in his arms barely rivaled those of wet noodles. “Stop it, Rory.” “You don’t want me to. Not really,” Rory said over Harper’s ear. He nipped the shell and soothed away the sting with quick flicks of his tongue. Harper shuddered. “Thought so,” Rory said with an audible smirk. He leaned back, holding Harper’s shoulders for balance, and studied him. Too intently. Harper thought he saw far more than he ever wanted known. Weaknesses, flaws, failures, and oh yeah, he saw the craving for this clouding Harper’s thoughts with brilliant streaks of color. “You came from inside my head,” Harper said, grasping at a straw. “It’s too weird. I can’t --” “You can. Stop fighting it.” Rory spread one palm over Harper’s chest. “Galloping. I can almost hear the beat. And you should see your aura now,” he murmured. “Like a thunderstorm. You ever go running around under the lightning clouds? It’d rock your world.” He rolled his hips. When their cocks bumped haphazardly, Harper gasped. “I’m not kidding.” “Nope. You’re trying to lie, and failing pretty badly. Told you before, you suck at dissembling.” Rory

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encroached without seeming to move at all, the last word spoken in daring brushes of air over Harper’s mouth. Inviting him. But with strings attached, or without? “No.” Harper bucked in an attempt to shake Rory off. He bit his tongue to stop himself from groaning when hard flesh ground into unyielding, equally rigid flesh. Rory huffed. “Writers! Harper, pal, why fight so hard? A hard-core coring would do you a world of good, and it’s not like I’m unwilling.” “I’d noticed.” “Then get with the program.” Rory poked Harper in the chest. “The muse tells you to relax. Sex is awesome for chilling out, and a good endorphin rush goes a long, long way. You, my friend, need to get laid.” He slapped his hip. “Giddy up. Have at it.” Harper could have stopped himself, he knew that. He didn’t want to. One taste, just one small taste… He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the hollow of Rory’s throat, glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. Salty spiciness burst over his tongue and rolled through his head, tangling his thoughts hopelessly beyond repair. Rory hissed. He rose and fell, riding Harper like a wave. “Yeah,” he said, breathless. “Like that. Only more.” He had lost the ability to control his actions, or forgotten how to. Harper didn’t know, only aware of the need to grasp the tight globes resting on his thighs and dig his fingers into the soft skin over firm muscle. His fingertip brushed the cleft of Rory’s ass. He could give in. He could. Rory wanted it as much as he did… “There you go,” Rory crooned, voice breaking, hot beyond compare. “Knew you had it in you. How about you get it in me now?” Harper closed his eyes and ran his mouth over Rory’s collarbone, nosing the open collar of his Henley out of the way. “This is so damnweird .” “Yeah, I know. I get it. I do.” Rory arched his throat to give Harper better access. His shirt wentpoof , and his jeans went the way of his shirt. Emerald green boxers were all that separated his cock from Harper’s fly. “I don’t know what to…” Harper jerked. Rory’s hands had found their way under the tails of his shirt, riding their way up bare skin, dry heat scorching him. “Let me do what I do best. Inspire you.” Harper breathed against Rory’s throat, snaking another taste. “You’re crazy,” he mumbled. “Yeah.” Rory laughed brokenly. “But isn’t it fun?” He pressed a finger to Harper’s lips. “Yes or no, Harper. It’ll be so damn good, you’ll never forget.” “I --”

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The door to the writer’s room banged open. “Whoa! Holy crap!” Harper jerked away from Rory, heart hammering against his ribs. “You just about gave me a heart attack, Lisa! Knock first!” Lisa stared at them, eyes wide, white showing around her hazel irises. A horrible thought occurred to Harper. “Lisa, can you see him?” “I can see a lot of him. Who is he? Hi. Who the hell are you?” Lisa fumbled for the cigarette pack outlined in the hip pocket of her jeans. She blinked and shook her head and snapped a rubber band around her wrist. “Harper, what the hell?” “You’re a little more freaked out than most people who walk in on someone,” Rory observed, sitting back more firmly on Harper’s knees. He arched an eyebrow. “Hey, wait, you two aren’t --” “No!” Harper said hastily. “God, no!” Lisa said, nearly in unison. “Then why --” No way was Harper going to let Rory start in on the questions with Lisa. “It’s okay.” He patted Rory’s forearm, praying to anyone or anything who might be listening that Rory would take the hint and zip his lips. “He’s cleared to be here. This is Rory, my new, um, P.A.” He nearly sagged with relief at having come up with a hopefully decent cover story without thinking. Maybe therewas something to having a muse around. “My personal P.A.” “Uh-huh. Why am I just now hearing about this?” “Lisa --” The dark look she shot Harper warned him that he’d get the grilling of a lifetime later. “Janie wants to see you. Her office, double-quick-time. A couple of the actors got wind of some fake rumors about character arcs and they’re pitching a fit.” She grimaced when Harper groaned. “I know, I know.” No better method had ever been devised for killing an erection. “Get off.” Harper pushed at Rory, who, this time, let him go, sliding off Harper’s lap and offering him a hand up. Harper brushed it aside. “Lisa, don’t get pissed. Please?” “Who’s miffed? Not I. You know damn well how much grass our asses will beif you’re doing something as stupid as this looks, sneaking a boy-toy into work, and I know you do. Men. Always thinking with their dicks. So that whole song-and-dance about ‘who’s this naked guy in my apartment? Help, help!’ was a big ol ’ joke, huh? Sheesh .” Lisa tapped her foot. “ Gottaadmit, though… if you were going to sling your ass on the grill for apiece of ass, he’s worth the risk. Hotcha .” Rory leered at her and waggled his eyebrows. “I like this one.” “Right back at you,” Lisa said without missing a beat. “You can’t keep me, so don’t even ask. And find

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yourself a P.A. badge before you go anywhere on set. Capiche ?” “Roger that.” Harper snuck a look at Rory out of the corner of his eye. Rory was mussed, dark smudges already forming on his throat, marks no one in their right minds could mistake for anything but love bites. Harper would bet half a week’s pay that if he had a mirror to look in, he’d see he appeared no less fucked-out. The close call made his overheated blood run cold again. Lesson learned. “Harper!” Lisa clapped her hands. “Seriously, snap out of it. Go find Janie before she burns the joint down to flush you out.” Rory sniggered. “Burn the joint,” he said under his breath. He coughed. “Sorry. Lead the way, boss.” “After you,” Harper hedged, waving Lisa out. “I’m right behind you. Cross my heart. Just have to have a word with Rory here first.” She snorted. “Yeah. If you’re not out in five, I’m coming in with a fire extinguisher.” The writer’s room door banged closed behind her. “Now that’s a woman,” Rory said with awed respect. His clothes reappeared, smooth and unmussed . “Sweet and wacky, yet she’d rip off your balls quick as a wink if you made her mad. Feisty, not afraid to speak her mind. Good character archetype. You should add one of her to the lineup.” He thumbed his lip, slightly swollen from kissing. “You could learn a thing or two from that one.” “Excuse me?” Harper halted in his reach for the door latch. “You heard what I said.” Rory appeared between Harper and the door, where he hadn’t been a half second ago. “How do youdo that?” Rory stood his ground and refused to veer off topic. “I see it now. A big part of your problem.” He poked Harper’s forehead. “Indecision. You know what you want, and you’re good for it, but then you think ‘Oh, hey, maybe this is better’ or ‘Maybe I shouldn’t go with my gut,’ and you know what? That’s bullshit. Take a note from the pistol who just shot out of here. If you think something’s right? Make up your mind, grow a pair, and do something about it.” Harper’s mouth hung open. The nerve of this guy -Rory turned smoothly, more fluidly than a human should be able to move, maybe out of spite or maybe to drive home his differences for a change, reinforcing how he knew some of Harper’s tangles inside and out. “Three minutes and counting. She’ll honest-to-Dog show up to hose us down if we don’t show, and I think there’s a lot more I need to know about the soap opera biz now that I’m a P.A. Move out.” He wrenched the door open and strode forward, head held high. Harper gaped after him, offended. Who did Rory think he was, anyway? Oh, right. A muse. On the loose in New York. On a sound stage.

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Crap. Harper hurried to catch up. Chapter Four

By the time Harper reached Rory, he’d earned a few curious glances for his flurry from the tech crew milling about, but nothing more than mild interest at a writer acting nuts. Rory stood as if he belonged there, and they accepted him as easy as a snap of the fingers. He looked over his shoulder at Harper, and for once Harper was the one who could read Rory’s mind: Take a stand, and see how easy it is? It was, Harper, thought, completely unfair. He crammed his indignation and aggravation in a small knot and buried them. Rory had the right idea in shaking off the tension. Besides, if Harper didn’t dive into something else right now the odds were good he’d tackle Rory, make him cry uncle, and end up having angry sex under the spotlight gels. He’d love to see Janie’s reaction to that. Or not. Definitely not. “Are you coming?” The faintest of smirks tweaked Rory’s lips. “No. And yes.” Harper scanned a nearby table for any kind of label. He found a marker. “Give me your hand.” “Treating me like a lady now?” Rory asked. He let Harper take him by the wrist. “Careful with the knuckle-kissing. I chafe.” “Very funny.” Harper uncapped the marker and scribbled over the back, in large, bold letters: P.A. Rory studied them upside-down. “P.A. Personal Assistant, huh? Jeez. It’s like you just hung a bell around my neck.” “Don’t start, Rory.” Rory, predictably, ignored him. “Unclean! Unclean! Or maybe it’s more like ‘Do not taunt the P.A. Do not walk on the P.A. Never get the P.A. wet and never, whatever else you do, never feed the P.A. after midnight.’“ “Rory --” Harper cut himself short. “If you don’t like it, tough. No one’s allowed on set who hasn’t read them, signed them, and had them notarized.” “Yeah? Security at the door and all?” “Supposed to be. He wanders off sometimes.” “And Janie hasn’t fired him, why?” “She does. At least once a week. Some bigwig’s his uncle and to be fair hedoes have the body mass and sunny temperament of Bluto . He makes sure the main doors are locked, sticks around during call

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times, knows our faces, and keeps out anyone he wants out.” Rory, attention diverted, scratched the ink with his thumbnail. “And this ink’ll convince them that I belong here, how?” “It won’t, if they look deeper than the surface.” “Huh,” Rory grunted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Harper speared his fingers through his hair. “I’ll do some creative recordkeeping later. When there’s time. Right now, this is all I can think of, and this is how it’s got to be. If you don’t like it, either inspire me with something else, or the door’s right over there.” “Aren’t you the grumpy one?” From the bounce in Rory’s step, no one would ever know he’d been cock-blocked like a champ bare minutes ago. Apparently, muses bounced back well when taking on new challenges, or maybe that was just Rory. He clapped Harper on the back, alight with interest and the rising surge of his usual enthusiasm. “Where do we go first? I wanna check everything out, really get my hands dirty, y’know ?” Seeing the glow in Rory’s eyes, Harper swallowed back a lump of regret and told himself, in no uncertain terms, that it was relief instead. Business as usual. Good. Better than taking chances. “Where do you want to start?” “Lay of the land, I think.” Rory rubbed his hands together, smudging the black ink. “Okay, can do, but first things first. You’re right about the ink not being enough.” Harper snagged a junior P.A. -- Shelly, he thought her name was, a perky blonde who might have had her headset surgically implanted, since he never saw her without it. “Got a second?” “Give me five,” she addressed her mouthpiece, and looked up at Harper with nigh-blinding, toothpaste-ad enthusiasm. “Hi! What can I do for you?” “Coffee,” Harper said on impulse. “A big cup.” “Sure thing!” Harper remembered now that Shelly tended to talk in exclamation points. Sometimes two or three at once. “And for your friend?” She craned her neck. “Oh, hi! You’re a new P.A.? I hadn’t heard! Awesome!” Shelly was a microcosm example of how pretty women turned Harper into a blob of wary jelly. “New P.A.,” he answered, trying not to step back, tactfully or not. “Yep. Mine.” Rory chuckled under his breath. “Possessive now, are you? My, how the worm has turned.” “As the World Turns?” Shelly cocked her head to a side. “We’reTwilight Rising . It’s okay! I got confused too when I started. Don’t worry! You’ll have it all figured out in no time!”

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“With a lady like you to show me the ropes, I have no doubt I will.” Rory caught Shelly’s hand and kissed the back of her wrist. Shelly swooned. The hairs on the back of Harper’s neck bristled. “Rory, flirt on your own time.” Rory flashed Harper a quick smirk. Jea-lous , he singsong mouthed. “Sorry!” Shelly chirped, missing the byplay. “All yours! Do you want that coffee now?” “I think he might have had enough caffeine for one day, actually.” Rory winked at Shelly. “Tell you what’d come in real handy, though.” He showed her his ink. “Got kinda crazy this morning --” “When doesn’t it?” Shelly giggled. “It’s so wild working on a real daytime drama set! I had no idea!” Harper gritted his teeth. “Shelly!” Sometimes you had to fight enthusiasm with enthusiasm. “We need a new P.A. badge for Rory. He, uh, lost his.” “ Aww, too bad! I don’t know where the digital camera is, but if you hold still --” Shelly fished a cell phone out of her pocket and aimed it at Rory. “Say cheese!” “Gorgonzola!” Shelly snapped the picture and dissolved into giggles. “I like you, Rory!” “Right back at you, sweetheart.” Everybody loved Rory. Looked like he loved them, too. Harper’s jaw ached from clenching and his temples pounded. Why should he care if Rory got his groove on with a willing woman? Jesus, he ought to be dancing if it got Rory’s insatiable libido pointed in another direction. Oughtn’t he? He grabbed Rory’s arm, perhaps more roughly than he should have, and jerked him away. “We’re done here. Shelly, put the ID on my desk when it’s ready to go.” “Thanks, cutie!” Rory called over his shoulder, hurrying to keep up. He bumped hips with Harper. “So, I’m yours, all yours, huh? I like.” “Shut up,” Harper growled. “Caveman influences, too. Better and better. I should get you riled up more often.” “Do you want this tour or not?” “Tone down the shouting, would you?” Rory waved to a tech guy who’d abandoned any pretense of working to stare at them. “I’m getting vibes here telling me this is way out of character for you. Don’t wanna get people thinking you actuallyare nutso .” “The jury’s still out on that one.”

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“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Youknow I’m real, so cut the crap.” Utilizing his freaky stop-motion powers, the wet flick of Rory’s tongue under Harper’s ear came and gone without Harper seeing him move. “Real enough to get you so hot and bothered you were five seconds from bending me in half. Don’t think I’m letting up on that, and not just because I wanna take a bite of your sweet ass. You need to get fucked within an inch of your life.” Harper tried his best not to stagger, not even a little bit, and failed. He licked a faint trace of sweat off his upper lip. “Is that true, Rory, or do you just want it that badly?” “Six of one, a half dozen of the other.” Rory shrugged. He’d acquired a clipboard somewhere, jammed with dog-eared pages. A précis ofIn Outré , notes scribbled in the margin, was on the top. He ran one finger under each line as he skimmed. “Huh. Uh-huh. Okay, helpful.In Outré . Stories about the beatniks, postapocalypse -style. Bohemians. Quirky yet likeable types. Human like the rest of us --” “Most of us,” Harper mumbled. “Shut up.” Rory scanned a wardrobe invoice. “Looks like they wear a lot of hemp. Location, a Village-type section of a big city. Mary-Sue much, New York boy?” “Hey!” “No, no, it’s cool for now. Write what you know.” Rory flipped the page and came across a printout of an e-mail. Harper recognized the sender’s address as his own, reading his private notes over Rory’s shoulder. “That’s personal. Where did you -- give me that!” “Too slow, bucko. Too bad, so sad.” Rory dodged Harper’s swipe at the clipboard and walked backward, still reading. “To Lisa, CC to Janie, from Harper. Ahem.In Outré is meant to tell the story of an underground networking of telepaths and magic practitioners, etc. etc. etc., taken prisoner, yada , yada , freedom fighters who specialize in working with the strange and unusual,” he quoted. “What d’you think?” “Huh. Not sure. Let me finish.” Rory flapped the papers. “A tarot-reader who was missed in the internment drives when written off as a fraud discovers she’s actually got the gift. What does she do with it? What happens if she uses her powers for evil instead of good thinking it’d be okay in the short term because it’s tohelp someone? What if someone who could use that against her saw or found out? What if that person told another person who decided to play the heavy and use her as a tool? And so it goes.” Rory tapped his chin with a red pen, also seemingly snatched out of the air. Harper could smell a critique coming. He stopped walking and waited for it. “Not bad,” Rory said. The breath whooshed out of Harper’s lungs. “You think so?”

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“‘Course I do. Muses don’t lie. We drive writers up the effing wall, we’re so honest.” Rory batted his eyelashes at Harper. Harper thought he should be offended. He wasn’t. More like tempted to smile again. “It’s not perfect.” “Hell no. Nothing is.” Rory chicken-scratched a few notes of his own on the page. “I said it was ‘not bad,’ not ‘it’s great.’“ “Oh.” “Chin up. Fat lady hasn’t sung yet.” Rory snagged his new P.A.’s badge from Shelly as she passed, very muchnot looking at Harper. He got the distinct impression that he’d just been snubbed. “Cute kid. Lots of personality. And hot? Damn. Seriously impressive rack.” “I actually hadn’t noticed,” Harper fibbed. A prickle of, okay,jealousy needled at his spine. Rory snorted. “Sure.” Harper’s face warmed. “So maybe I have. They don’t do anything for me.” “Didn’t figure they would. No harm in general observations, though, is there?” Rory scribbled a line, frowned, scratched it out, and bit the tip of the pen. “Tell me more. I need some context. What’s up with In Outré that goes deeper than the surface? What makes it such a big whoop?” “Outside of making or breaking my career?” Rory jabbed the pen at him in warning. Harper threw up his hands. He brushed off the edge of an empty countertop, one of the set pieces yet to be placed, and half-sat, propping up his weight. “You’re exhausting to argue with, you know that?” “Yep, and I always win.” “I’m starting to get that. Fine. Okay.” Harper rubbed his face. “What makesIn Outré different? The whole dark, gritty look and feel I’m trying to dig my way to. Some gay characters, some lesbian characters, too. Not that the one implies the other, and we have straight folks, too, but heavy duty on the nonvanilla sex of all flavors. As well as sword guns, electro-nun chucks, and secret police.” “ Sexin’ it up, huh? Naughty.” Rory leered. “I like it better already. Keep going.” Harper warmed to his topic, gestures growing animated. “They like the concept. That’s all well and good. The writing, though. If I don’t have at least three months of scripts completely nailed --” Rory’s eyebrows headed for his hairline. “Threemonths ?” “-- and so well planned that no one could possibly poke holes in my stories or do a better job, I’m shunted to the side and someone else takes the reins for my baby.” “That sucks.” Rory winced. “No wonder you’re wound up tighter than a Slinky.” He produced a pencil and handed it to Harper. “Bite. Ruins your teeth, helps your jitters.”

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Harper took the pencil, surprised to see familiar-looking gnaw marks on the length. “Where’d you get -never mind.” He gripped the comforting Faber, thumb over its #2, and let go. “That’s what I’m up against, and with writer’s block and a fried hard drive…” “You’re screwed.” “In a nutshell.” “Up shit creek without a paddle.” “Yes.” “Eyeball deep in aquatic dragons who think you’re crunchy and taste good with tartar sauce.” “Rory.” Rory snickered. “Calm down, Cujo . I’m just yanking your chain. Still here to help.” He took the pencil away from Harper, tossed it in the air, and caught it neatly. “So you’re working on all this hush-hush stuff yet still expected to put in the same hours and effort onTwilight Rising . Lisa’s good, but she’s not Superwoman. Am I right?” “She’s been fantastic, yeah. I can’t ask her for more. I have to start pulling my weight around here again, too.Fuck .” “Don’t hyperventilate on me.” Rory flashed the few inches separating them and appeared at Harper’s side, his palm warm and solid on Harper’s back, grounding him. “Sorry.” Harper rotated his neck, glumly noting the return of the stiffness Rory had massaged out before. “If a man ever needed a muse…” Rory said cheerfully. “One thing I can’t figure out, though. Why haven’t you pulled Lisa in on theIn Outré writing? Wow. Saythat three times fast. Two heads are better than one, and she’s got fire. She could help.” Harper looked away, a knot in his throat. “ Ahh.” Rory drew out the universally recognized sound of comprehension. “ Shouldaseen the truth before. You don’t want to risk her future, no, but at least in small part this is about control. And pride. Someone handed you a once-in-a-lifetime chance to let your baby grow up, and you can’t handle being in over your head. More, you hate it like poison when something spins out of your hands.” Harper snapped his pencil in half. “If you don’t have a map and a solid hold on the wheel, you flip.” Rory chuckled. “No wonder you lost your cool when I showed up. Fighting like you do makes sense now. Bites the big one to be you today, doesn’t it?” “In a nutshell,” Harper mumbled, scarlet warm to the tips of his ears, shuffling his feet. “So now you know all there is to know.” “I doubt it. There’s always more left to learn. It’s cool. What I don’t get already, I’ll pick up as we go. Right at your side.”

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“Sweet merciful God.” “With you all the way.” Rory stretched his arms above his head, laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Your personal, personal assistant.” He leered at Harper, overflowing with good cheer. “Here to take care of all your needs, and I do mean all.” “You’re not letting the sex thing go, are you?” “Not on your life. You’re a challenge, Harper, and I love me a challenge. I --” “You!” the contralto bellowed at far too close a range. Harper squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn it.” “What?” Rory cocked his head. “Janie, that’s what. Or rather,who ,” Janie informed Rory, close enough to touch. Composed of one-half ninja and one-half cast-iron, Janie had no compunctions about using her sneaking skills when she had passed normal wrath and moved on to incandescent fury. “Who the hell are you?” Rory gulped. Janie snatched Rory’s badge between two short-clipped fingernails and held it to the light. “You’re not serious. A new P.A.? Who hired you?” Rory’s mouth worked. No sound emerged. That was disturbing. “I did,” Harper said, scoping Rory surreptitiously. Janie let the badge fall. “Harper, I ought to tear you open right down the middle. You know you have to clear new hires with me.” “I’m sorry --” “Too late for that now.” Janie examined Rory narrowly. All she lacked was a magnifying glass. “Pretty boy. Disturbing contacts, interesting dye job --” “The curtains match the carpet,” Rory blurted, then shut up with a clack of his jaw. “I mean, the carpet matches the curtains. I --” “I didn’t ask. Harper, does he have any useful job skills or is he here for decorative purposes only?” Rory shook off his momentary freeze. Janie had that effect on any man who valued his balls. “Absolutely. I’ve got years of experience with writing.” “Do you.” It wasn’t a question. Rory answered anyway. “Yeah. I’ve worked as a creative consultant on half a dozen movies.” “Really. At your age.”

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Still not a question. Rory still answered, either not knowing he was taking his life in his hands, or counting on his charm to win Janie over. “I’m older than I look.” Janie hesitated. Harper tried to watch without looking like a spectator at the French Open, zinging back and forth between the two. No. Was Rory going to get to the dragon queen too? Really? She huffed. “Fine. I don’t have time to argue. Harper, you pull another stunt like this, especially when if webreathe wrongRialto will toss us over and end our careers, and I will toast you on a gridiron before slicing you thinly from the toes up. Got that?” “Loud and clear.” “Andyou --” Janie swung around to glare at Rory. “Get me a coffee. Large. Bring back decaffeinated and I will dangle your big head from a pike and your smaller head from a gaff.” Rory nodded hard. “Verbalize! Am I understood?” As close to meek as possible, far closer than Harper would have thought possible, Rory said, “Yes, ma’am.” “Good.” Janie turned away, whipping out a PDA and stylus. “Harper, get with those actors, and I damn well better not find out the rumors I’m hearing about missing scripts are in any way true.” She swung back around, hair coming loose from its haphazard knot, not in the least bit alluring. More of the jungle Amazon queen lacking only a physical manifestation of a killing stick. Rory stepped, not highly subtly, behind Harper. “Speaking of which,” Janie started, with the gleam of a tiger who’d just spotted fresh meat on the move, “how’re those proposedIn Outré scripts coming? What about the breakdowns for future plot development?” Rory tugged at the cuff of Harper’s sleeve. “Breakdowns?” Janie pounced. “Thought you had experience.” “He does,” Harper hastened to say. “Rory’s just, uh, a little overwhelmed. Not that we’re saying you’re scary.” Oh, crap. “Breakdowns. Right. I’m working on it right now. We are. Together. Everything’s under control.” “Hmm. Sure as hell hope so, for your sake.” Janie hesitated, then softened. Harper stiffened. He knew what was coming next. As predicted, the hard lines of Janie’s tightly set expression softened. She reached up to pat his cheek, once again the comfortable friend and associate he’d laughed with over a pitcher of sangria in SoHo , hooting at the crazy odds of making a successful show pitch and figuring, why not go for it just for the giggles? That had been months ago, and a hundred, increasingly tense meetings before. The knot tightened in

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Harper’s throat. Had he changed more, or had she? “Harper… I love you. I do. You took a chance on me, and I appreciate it. I hope you understand that. So now I’m trusting you to do it right. Okay, hon ?” She ruffled up his hair. “That’s my boy.” Harper kept his head down as Janie walked away, stylus flying over her PDA screen. “Damn,” Rory breathed, reverent. “She reminds me alot of someone I know.” “Huh?” “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” Rory watched her go. “Masterful guilt trip. I thought your aura looked like a thunderstorm. Hers is more like the wrath of God.” He rubbed his forearms, goose bumps ridged on his skin. “I would hate to be the one to tell her you’ve got nothing.” He brightened. “Lucky us, we won’t have to. I thought of a few story arcs during that whole rant. Great ones. You’re gonna love --” This time, Harper didn’t wait for the invitation, or for loose lips to sink his ships. He seized Rory by the shoulders, hauled him in, and planted a messy smooch on his muse’s lips. Rory wobbled when Harper let him go. “What was that about?” “Here you come to save the day,” Harper explained. “Oh.” Rory slapped Harper’s ass. “I can get behind that. Get it? Behind?” “Don’t push your luck.” “Spoilsport. Where can we go to get started? Strike while the iron’s hot and all that jazz.” “I would get the one muse that depends on clichés.” “Smart-ass.” Rory elbowed him. “Clichés are clichés for a reason. They apply. Trick is to know when to hold ‘ em and when to fold ‘ em.” “Okay, now you’re just digging for a reaction.” “You’re getting better at this.” Rory swung around to face Harper, walking backward. Harper kept pace, amazed at the grace of his progress. Or was it regress? Either way, Rory never tripped over anything or lost his balance, and when he should by all rights have collided with a moving wardrobe cart or backed into a grip hauling some equipment, they missed each other by split seconds. Perhaps Rory cheated by flickering past the obstacle. Harper arched an eyebrow. “Creative use of quantum physics, there.” Rory pointed a finger at him in mimicry of a gunshot bull’s-eye. “See? Knew you were the brainy type.” “So you’re inspiring reality to shift?” “Duh. So where are we headed? I’m following your vibes.”

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“What does that even mean? Are you reading my mind again?” Rory shrugged. “Sort of yes, sort of no. More like picking up traffic signals. Light’s green, trap is clean. Point me in the right direction and I’ll turn off my scanner. Writer’s room again?” “Good as any,” Harper agreed. “You know, by now I don’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking most of the time, but I bet you still can’t read mine unless I’m” -- he cupped his hands around his mouth megaphone-style -- “ really broadcasting. Tell you what, if you can nail what I’m thinking right now, I’ll give you a cookie.” “‘Nail.’ You’re thinking about sex.” Harper rolled his eyes, amused. “Lucky guess. And quit grimacing all the time like a goon. Your face’ll freeze that way.” Rory nimbly back stepped over a tangle of cables. “Why don’t you have an office?” “Technically, I do.” “So why not use it? The writer’s room is soaked with you… I can tell you’re always in there. Like brandy in tiramisu. Damn, I could go for a sugar fix.” Rory’s expression flickered briefly, gazing at a point in time far away, ravenous in a way Harper had thought was reserved solely for perving on him. “Huh. So I rate about the same on the lust scale as an éclair, now?” “Crème filled,” Rory gibed. “Maybe so, maybe not. Office…” Harper cracked his knuckles. “Thing about offices is, even when the door’s closed, if someone knows you’re in there they’re going to interrupt.” “True. So how’s the writer’s room different?” “I honestly don’t know, but Lisa’s the only one who barges in on me.” “So good to know,” Rory murmured, undressing Harper with his eyes. Harper cleared his throat. Rory smirked even as his stomach grumbled, probably stuck a few phrases back on the thought of éclairs. “Semen contains mostly sugar. Did you know that?” “No, but a lot of things make infinitely more sense now.” “Harper, Harper. You’re gonna outdistance your teacher in a minute here. But you were saying?” “Nothing much else to add. I’m not a fan of my office. Right now it’s mostly used for storage.” Rory cocked his head. “There’s something more than interruptions putting you off your five-by-seven. Bad memories attached, maybe? Your aura just went Code Brown.” Harper flashed back on Patrick, bent in half over a stack of memos -- probably reading them and taking

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mental notes both before and after orgasm -- and made a face. “Writer’s room is just behind you.” He waited for Rory to let them in and clicked the door closed behind them. “What do you think?” “About what, and past, present, or future?” Rory put his hands on his hips, scanning the work-worn conference room. “I think more things than you could dream of.” He tapped his foot, eyeing the whiteboard. “Not enough room. Supplies, we need supplies. Pencils? Pens? Paper? Laptop would be even better. I promise I won’t let you fall asleep and drool the hard drive to death.” He clicked his tongue and winked in his best lounge lizard style. “There’s all kinds of ways to keep a writer up and running that don’t involve caffeine, if you get my drift.” “Kind of hard to miss. There’s a stash of office supplies back here in the case hidden behind the whiteboard.” Harper pried it away from the wall. Never easy; the size of the board made the maneuver awkwardly akin to unfurling a sail. “Ha!” Rory propped his hip on the conference table. “Not quite James Bond, not really even Agatha Christie, but not bad. Any gold doubloons back there? Age-old secrets? Portraits of Dorian Gray?” Harper stifled a laugh. “Pastel note cards are as exotic as it gets. Sorry.” He retrieved a spiral-bound notebook and a handful of ballpoint pens. After a moment’s thought, he included several pencils. “Fantastic.” Rory went straight for the pencils, tucked one behind his left ear, and twirled a slim, newly sharpened No. 2 between his fingers. “Grab me some of those. Nice open space here, decently big table.” He took handfuls of paper products from Harper and tossed them casually on the surface, paper fanning apart and pens rolling in wonky starburst patterns. “A comfortable work surface is key. I like to spread out, really get my hands dirty, ya know?” “I’ll bet you do. As often as you can.” Rory feigned a double-take. “Was that a dirty joke?” Harper considered. “It might have been.” “You do me proud.” Rory flicked away a fake tear. He turned to the paper, shuffling purple and blue note cards into a ragged pile. Hands busy, he muttered, “Hey, uh, thanks.” Harper paused in reaching for a pen that had rolled to rest by the tips of his Converse sneakers. “For what?” Rory’s attention was riveted on the notebook, flipped open to a fresh page where he’d already busied himself scribbling strange graphs that made zero sense upside down. “Never mind.” He looked up, wicked as a kid planning to rob a candy store. “Just…eh, hell with it. You’re not half-bad, for a neurotic-ass writer.” Harper tipped his head back, hooting. Warmth blooming in his chest made him want to relent and return the compliment, telling Rory he wasn’t so terrible as a hyperactive, sugar-junkie pain in the ass. As he opened his mouth, his pocket began to vibrate. Rory perked up at the vibration in proximity to his favorite location. “Harper, you been holding out on me? Is that remote controlled?”

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“It’s just the cell phone again, wise guy.” Harper dug in his pocket, pretending to ignore Rory’s “Woo-woo!” and “Is that a BlackBerry, or are you happy to see me?” comments. He flipped the phone open without looking at the caller ID and once again remembered immediately why that was never, ever a good idea. Too bad that particular lesson never stuck between calls. “He shoots, he scores, nothing but net and twice in one day. Either you really are slipping or you’re leading me on, Harper.” “Patrick.” “Hang. Up.” Rory dropped his pencil and upped his ‘ tude. “We’re not goin ’ another three rounds with that asshat . Harper?” “Oh, I’m sorry.” Patrick had his game voice on, the rich, sensual tones snaking tendrils around Harper’s senses and attempting to cozen and lull him into trust. “Were you in conference? Apologies for interrupting. Are you working on your new project? Care to offer me a sound bite?” Attempt didn’t equal accomplishment, especially when mutual loathing entered the picture. “Quit screwing around, Patrick. Tell me what you want so I can say no. It’ll save us both time.” “Rude, Harper. I’ve sent you an e-mail.” “And?” “And I think you may want to take a look. Are you on your BlackBerry? Good. I’ll hold.” Abruptly at his side without visibly crossing the room, Rory nudged Harper. He wrinkled his nose as if he’d caught a whiff of something rotten. For once, he said nothing, though he stood with a certain conviction that told Harper he wasn’t going anywhere before the conversation had come to an end. Harper thought he’d rather that was earlier rather than later. “Sorry. No can do. I’ll get back to you.” “Like hell. I’ll crack your password and delete his e-mail first,” Rory mumbled. He sounded almost…jealous? “Fine.” Patrick chuckled, far too amused by himself. “If you don’t want the link to the YouTube of the hour --” Harper stiffened. “You didn’t.” “-- featuring a prominent writer stumbling through Manhattan seemingly drunk before nine a.m. --” “Bastard.” Harper forgot Rory, shimmering heat waves of anger clouding his vision. “-- and funnily enough, no Bluetooth can be seen on either ear. Interesting. Tell me why it’s reallyso important that you have a sterling public image right now --cough, Rialto, cough -- and I’ll take it down with a formal apology,” Patrick replied. “I know you, Harper, and you’re hiding something big.”

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“If I was --” “There’s no ‘if’ to that.” Harper’s fingers twitched. “IfI was, what do you plan to do about it? YouTube me to death?” “For starters,” Patrick agreed. “A slow death by a thousand cuts.” “Harper, this isn’t the dark ages. I prefer a million mouse clicks instead.” Harper’s temples throbbed. “What do you get out of this, Patrick?” “More than a byline. Can’t say anything else, unfortunately. Confidentiality agreements. You know how those get a man by the short hairs.” “You’re unbelievable.” Harper speared his fingers through his hair and tugged. “Is the next step in your master plan to pull my pigtails?” “Of course not. That would imply I like you. I’d rather push you in the mud until you stay down.” Patrick rolled the syllables around in his mouth as a wine taster would savor a good Burgundy. “I last longer than you do, Harper. In everything. You know I’ll wear you down. One crumb at a time.” Mouth open, Harper hesitated. One throwaway. Didn’t even have to be the truth. If it got the prick off his shoulder for long enough to catch his breath -Flashing behind his mind’s eye, he saw Janie with her hair tied in a messy knot. “I put my neck on the line for you,” she whispered. Lisa popped her head up behind Janie. “Harper, you giganticass !” Harper shook off the temptation. “No.” “Your choice, Harper. I think you’ll remember I keep my promises.” “Actually, no. You really don’t.” “When I want to, I do.” “Go to hell.” Harper flipped his phone closed and breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Rory’s hand closed around Harper’s wrist, firmer than life. “Calm down for me, Harper. Shake it off.” Harper didn’t reply. Couldn’t, not in words. The phone burned his palm, its plastic stinging his skin, vibrating with the tension in his fingers. Calmly, he shook off Rory’s grip, raised, aimed, and sent his beloved BlackBerry flying across the room. The collision destroyed his phone. The casing ricocheted from the impact; the keys popped loose, pinging off the window.

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Rory’s “Holy shit!” barely skimmed the surface of Harper’s hearing. Not enough. Harper drew back his fist and aimed for the wall. Chapter Five

“You ever notice you have a small problem with overreacting?” Rory held his forefinger and thumb a quarter of an inch apart. “Just a skosh . Hold still.” “Sorry.” Harper shifted in his chair, looking anywhere but at Rory. He chose a spot three inches above and to Rory’s left, looking at a patch of graffiti in what he thought might be Farsi. “I always wondered why they kept these honkin ’ huge first-aid kits in business offices,” Rory mused. He screwed off the lid of a palm-sized bottle of dark glass, releasing a rolling whiff of eye-watering vapors. “ Whoo! Wow. Yeah, that’s iodine.” “How old is this kit?” Harper attempted to jerk his injured hand away from Rory, who slapped his wrist. “Not at old as me.” He spread Harper’s hand open, cupping it in both his palms, tipping it this way and that. Nudging his fingers and brushing blood off with his thumb. “Talk about a mess.” “I can always count on you for the truth.” Harper winced reflexively when Rory came too close to a scrape. “Damn skippy you can,” Rory said, still absent, worrying his lip between his teeth. He poked at the base of the nail on Harper’s index finger. “ Ow!” Harper exhaled heavily and sat back to watch Rory work. His lips twitched, amused yet touched by the serious concentration Rory gave to his patchwork. “Give it to me straight, doc. Will I ever play the violin again?” “Nope, but since you never did in the first place, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Rory winked at him. “I’m not telling you how oldI am -- no can do -- but trust me, I know my Jack Benny.” “Why can’t you tell me?” “If I told you, then that’d make the point moot. Suck it up and deal.” Harper regarded Rory, lost in thought and leftover adrenaline jangling his nerves with nowhere else useful to go. “I really can count on you to be honest with me, can’t I?” “Always.” Theduh Rory left implied, as if it should have been obvious and he gave Harper a pass on this one due to the remnants of temporary insanity. He prodded Harper’s hand once more and lifted his chin. “This looks easy enough. I can patch you all the way up here. No stitches. You okay with that?” “Are you a nurse, too?”

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“Muses provide all kinds of inspiration.” Rory rolled his shoulder in lieu of a proper shrug. “Do you trust me with everything?” That was the million-dollar question. “I’m not sure,” Harper admitted. “Huh.” If Rory hadn’t had his face down, intently examining the surface damage to Harper’s hand, Harper thought he would have missed the small droop of Rory’s lips and the shuttering of his eyes. A snapshot of time, less than a second’s worth, as bittersweet as burned almonds. “Rory, I didn’t mean --” “Yeah, you did. No sweat, Cap’n . Let’s get this fixed up.” “Rory.” “Iodine, yes or no? Eh, it’s probablytoo old. Shame. Good old alcohol wipes do just as well. Not as colorful, though.” Harper let it go, and did his best not to flinch or pull away from the invasive sting of alcohol-soaked swabs and the off-key melody of Rory’s humming. Looked like muses couldn’t sing, or at least his couldn’t. Maybe he’d traded in the ability for a tongue otherwise hinged in the middle, able to flap at both ends. He shifted his weight from one hip to the other, uncomfortable with himself more than the hard chair. What kind of ungrateful prick was he, anyway? “Sorry,” he mumbled. “For what?” “Flying off the handle. It’s been a strange day for me…I don’t usually --” “ S’okay. You push anyone hard enough, and sooner or later he’ll go ka-boom.” With his face tilted down, his eyelashes hid Rory’s changeable irises and muted his expression. “I tend to forget as much.” “Don’t put words in my mouth.” “Sorry, Charlie. That’d be my job.” Rory shushed him before Harper could form a retort. “Good thing you didn’t aim for a window. The drywall did its fair share of ouch, but at least I’m not picking out shards of glass. Your phone, on the other hand, is a total write-off.” “I figured.” “I’d ask if the whole violence thing helped. I suspect I already know the answer is ‘no.’“ Rory industriously blew on the surface of Harper’s hand, cooling the alcohol burn. “Something I wanted to ask you. Y’know , there are bad breakups, and then there’s Chernobyl.” He clicked his tongue. “You two are toxic on a toothpick. Sticks and stones --” “If you, a muse, dare to finish that rhyme, I’m going to pour the iodine down the back of your neck.” Rory’s small chuckle told Harper he’d won back a degree of approval. “You got me there. Maybe a butterfly bandage or two wouldn’t go amiss here. There should be some…” he trailed off, transferring

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Harper’s hand solely to his right. He bent to his left and rummaged in the Red Cross kit. “Ha! Gotcha.” He ripped open the packaging with his teeth, muttering around the paper what Harper took to be a demand for baklava in repayment. He spit the paper out. “Whydo you let him get to you so much?” Harper figured he owed Rory that much. “He hammers my hot spots; I turn the other cheek because that’s what drives him craziest. Rinse, repeat.” “That’s healthy.” Rory wrinkled his nose. “If he’d grow up, so would I.” “That a fact.” It wasn’t a question. More of a scoff dripping with disbelief like sickly NutraSweet syrup. Still, Rory’s touch gentled further, cradling Harper’s hand rather than seeing to business. Harper swallowed around a rising lump in his throat. Felt great. Too much so. Rory broke the tension by saying, offhand, as he got a better hold on Harper’s wrist, “Someone oughtta lock the two of you in a room and let you duke it out, then, instead of battering innocent walls.” Harper barked an unexpected laugh as he entertained a brief daydream in which he and Patrick stripped to boxing gloves and satin shorts, bouncing on their heels and toes on a center ring made of administrative directives. “Your aura indicates naughty thoughts. Share, share.” “Mostly the understanding of how stupid Patrick would look in slippery purple.” “Say what now?” “Take a closer look, if you want.” Rory’s eyes widened. A giggle -- a manly one -- escaped him before he pressed his lips tight. “Bad form, Harper.” “Uh-huh.” Harper shifted, propping his elbow on his knee and his chin in his free hand. “It’s still fun.” “You’re not wrong there. The guy’s a grade-A dick. Funny, though.” Rory nipped open and spat out a butterfly wrapper. “You’re gonna look likeReturn of the Mummy .” “I’ve written scripts for worse.” Harper forced out a deep breath, visualizing the last of his anger flowing out and dissipating. Rory’s touch, light as a dragonfly’s wings and warming as biting into a clove, just as spicy, was too good to waste by keeping his mind focused on staying pissed off at Patrick. “ Attaboy,” Rory murmured, closing the box of bandages. “Let it all go.” Harper hmm’d . “I think your impulse control issues are rubbing off on me.” Rory caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he chortled, nimble touch never ceasing to smooth and mend.

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“Okay, I asked for that one. The handjob ” -- Harper waited for Rory’s snicker to fade away -- “is warping my sense of self-preservation. You’re unbelievably good at this.” He remembered Rory’s massage and made a connection. “Healthy body, healthy mind?” “The Greek philosophers did get a lot right,” Rory agreed. “Almost done. By the way, I figured out what’s wrong with the show. I know what you’re doing wrong. We pull this creative cork loose, and it’ll be easy- breezin’ from here on out. Hand me the cap to the iodine, would you?” Harper sat up sharply straight. “Explain what you just said.” “If you’d ever cleaned up spilled iodine, you’d -- okay, okay.” Rory dodged Harper’s clumsy swipe at him. His new cheery mood failed to dull. “It’s not too complicated. A program likeIn Outré needs something to go deep and twisty with a toy surprise in every box, right? You gotta think ahead. Way ahead. Like chess. Not in noodle-doodle circles.” He twirled a finger at his temple. Remembering his broken phone and the dented wall he’d end up paying to repair, adding to them his fried computer and a distinct absence of usable flash drives in his life, Harper winced. “Hate to break it to you, but in case you hadn’t already noticed, patience sometimes isn’t one of my strong suits.” “Don’t sound like I just told you your pet poodle died. You can learn.” Rory patted Harper’s hand and let go reluctantly. “There. Good as new.” Harper examined his now multicolored fingers; Smurfs on the index knuckle and Roo on the pinky and some unidentifiable aliens on the back. “New and improved with 60 percent more cartoons.” “ Whatsamatter, baby doesn’t like the decor? It’d mean ripping off a lot of adhesive, but you want I should start over with the tan-colored crap?” Rory grinned at him, smug in his understanding of Harper’s pain thresholds. A laugh surprised its way out of Harper. “Fuck you.” “Ooh.” Rory wiggled. “Anytime, anywhere. Always on tap, my friend.” Weariness unbuckled the last of the ties on Harper’s tongue. He’d had a hell of a day. “I don’t get you, Rory.” “How so? I’m an open book. Write in me.” Rory hooked his ankles around the legs of his chair. “Or on me. I’m good for either.” “Be serious.” Rory’s eyebrows drew closer together, but he nodded. Maybe he’d worn himself out, too. Even hummingbirds had to rest every now and then. “Speak your piece. What’s the mystery?” “I have to know… all this, is it just me? And don’t ask me what I mean. The come-ons. The leering. The all but laying yourself out on a platter with strategically placed parsley garnish.” “You offend me, sir.” “Because you wouldn’t waste the parsley?” Harper tipped his chair back, mirroring Rory’s sprawl. “Do you do this with everyone you’ve played muse for, or is it just me?”

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Rory developed an immediate, fixed fascination with cleaning up discarded wrappers. It was almost cute. “I’ll just keep asking if you don’t tell me.” “Some things you’ve already learned too well.” Rory tidied scraps into a pile, scratched his jaw, and heaved a sigh. “It’s not, uh, I’m not. I don’t offer myself up on a silver plate for everyone.” Harper wasn’t sure if he liked that answer more or less than he would have another. “You do strange things to my head,” he remarked. “That’s the job,” they said, nearly in sync. “Then what is it about me?” Rory rocked his chair on its hind legs, balancing. He studied Harper. What he saw there, Harper didn’t know, but he waited for Rory to riddle it out all the same. “You honestly don’t know, do you? No. No, you don’t. Huh.” The chair legs dropped with athump . Rory moved human-slow, sliding over and into the V of Harper’s open thighs. He placed two fingers under Harper’s chin and raised it, turning him this way and that, as he had with Harper’s hand. Harper let it happen. “Harper.” Rory’s breath tingled on Harper’s cheekbone. He let his eyes drift closed at the touch of Rory’s lips to his. Though Harper had expected -- hoped -- for this, his lips parted on a soft inhalation of surprise. Rory licked once over the bottom one, tugging once with careful teeth, and only released him reluctantly. “Let me?” he asked, rough, whispering. “I’ll make it good. I swear.” “You don’t have to,” Harper said, catching Rory by the forearms. To keep him close or to push him away? Harper didn’t know. “I want to. Harper? Harper, look at me.” Harper’s eyelids drifted open. His vision cleared on a two-inch close-up of Rory’s irises, their color flowing from gold to green to blue to gray. “I’m yourmuse . Beyond a certain point, when you hurt, I hurt.” Harper inhaled. “Never thought of it that way.” “Blue balls are no more enjoyable when shared, believe you me.” Rory thumbed his lip. “ Whaddyasay, huh?” Harper licked his lips, gone dry. His throat burned and he doubted chain mail would have been able to hide his rising hard-on pressed full and thick, warming the tight globes of Rory’s ass through his painted-on jeans. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.” “Does it matter?”

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“Right now?” Harper let go and nuzzled under the shadow of Rory’s jaw, scraping his skin on Rory’s stubble. “No.” “Then let me,” Rory insisted. Harper closed his eyes and slid underneath, easy as breathing the tiger out of its cage. Relief brought with it a cool rush of spicy headiness. He’d hate himself in the morning probably, but he’d been there and done that plenty of times before. He’d hate himself for the rest of his life if he said no to Rory now. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Please. Just…not here, okay?” He caught Rory’s hand as it snaked toward his inseam, fingertips grazing his fly. Rory’s frustrated whimper did strange things to the inside of Harper’s head. “Come home with me.” Rory’s breathing hitched. “For real? No take-backs, Harper. You ask me in, I’m yours.” Harper’s eyelids drifted open. He pressed his forehead to Rory’s, fixated on the glaze to Rory’s eyes and the shiny, swollen fullness of his lips.I did that to him . “I got the memo.” “Want me?” “Too much. Come home. With me.” He stole a fast taste of Rory’s mouth. “Besides. You already wandered around bare-assed for no reason. The cosmic balance has to be set right.” “Soon. Only problem is, home’s miles away and I want you now.” Rory nuzzled his throat. “Think you can last?” “God.” Harper tilted his neck, baring more skin for Rory to taste. “No.” “You want to wait?” “No. Not going to go at it here.” “Scared?” Rory clucked at him, mimicking chicken noises. “Too much buried too deep in there still, Harper. Gotta dig it out, let it run free.” “Are we talking sex or psyche?” “Either. Both. Right now? I don’t care.” Rory curled his tongue in the shallow dip where Harper’s collarbones met, tickling wickedly. Mussed, silver-tipped curls brushed the point of Harper’s chin. He held Harper still and fastened his lips over Harper’s pulse, sucking. His skin prickled with the breaking of capillaries and ached. “There,” Rory murmured, bone-deep satisfied. “Marked you.” Harper couldn’t take anymore. “Off. Get off.” He pushed Rory away and fell back in his chair, breathing raggedly. “Not here.” “Do you want to tell me no?” Rory stropped his cheek over Harper’s. “ Gottasay it if you mean it.” “No.” Harper’s throat was too dry to swallow properly. “Come home with me?” “Like you mean it.” Rory skimmed his fingers closer to ground zero. “C’mon.”

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Harper wrenched away, thinking he should be awarded a medal for courage under fire. “You’re coming home with me. I’m keeping you.” “All I wanted to hear.” Rory caught Harper’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged. “Allow me to inspire you --” “To hurry?” “That, too. More with the stamina to go” -- Rory bit -- “all” --bite -- “night” --bite -- “long.” He licked over the tender mark and shook off Harper’s restraint to press his palm over Harper’s aching hard-on. Harper was the one to swallow down a groan. “Not playing fair,” he said, breathing too quickly. “Won’t make it home in one piece this way.” His fogged mind processed what Rory had said a few seconds too late. “Wait. It’s barely past noon. All night?” “All night.” Rory curled his fingers, kneading, not hard enough. “This is what I call getting a head start.” Harper’s hips jerked of their own accord, seeking more friction. There was only so much a man could take. “We’re out of here. Right now.” “Now that’s what I’m talkin ’ about.” Rory stood as gracefully as a cat. Halfway up, he laughed at Harper’s bitten-back whine of protest when he lost the tantalizing pressure, and licked over Harper’s lips. A fast flicker, and he knotted his fingers in the rumpled cuff of Harper’s suit jacket. “Should we walk or fly? Don’t answer that.” He sucked at the very tip of Harper’s tongue, his lips tasting of cardamom and cloves. “You’ll fly until morning light. For now, we’ll take the subwayhome .” Chapter Six

Harper wished he had a stopwatch handy to time the ride home to confirm his suspicions that it was the lengthiest subway trek on record. Had to be. He’d have noticed if it always took half of forever to get from work to home. “Still wanna wait until we get there?” “No.” Harper shuddered. “We have to. Not in public.” “ Gonnahave to work on those inhibitions.” Rory fingered the button on Harper’s fly, teasing, nowhere near enough, working him hotter. “Soon.” “Don’t make me come in my pants on asubway , Rory.” Rory chuckled darkly and withdrew. He licked the rising bruise on Harper’s throat. “Soon doesn’t mean now. Doesn’t mean later, either.” Harper couldn’t make sense of that. Handily, he didn’t care, and jettisoned thinking for the instincts

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yammering in his head.Home, home, home, Rory, Rory, Rory, now, soon, now now now -Kind of hard to keep anything in his head at all with Rory attached to him, limpetlike mouth hot on his, chest molded to his chest, a hand in Harper’s pocket, toning it down and revving it up, keeping him on a tightly thrumming string every slow mile of the journey. If there were others in the cars with them -- and there had to be in midday Manhattan -- no one bothered the necking men, and for his part Harper barely noticed any of them after Rory whispered hot in his ear, “All…night…long.” ***** Harper scanned the floor in a half second, saw no errant turtles roaming underfoot, and crowded Rory to the door that still vibrated from his slam. He caught Rory’s wrists and held them away, pinning them to the wood, taking all he wanted of his muse’s smart mouth and wicked tongue. Rory’s breath caught. He tipped his head to one side, making way for Harper’s neck. The tip of his tongue flickered underneath Harper’s jaw. “Where?” No waiting. Good. “Here?” Harper licked inside Rory’s mouth. “Nah. Got a bed, or do you sleep hanging on a rafter like a -- mmph !” Harper held the kiss until Rory’s lips stopped moving in word-shapes and clashed with his, searching for more. He slid their tongues together, stroking Rory quiet except for the “uh, uh, uh” that poured from one or the other or both. Intoxicating. Drowning. On fire. “Not like this,” Harper said, bracing his weight on the door. “Me. I’m not.” “Don’t have to woo me,” Rory scoffed, nosing under the open collar of Harper’s shirt. He worried the thin skin with his teeth. “Bed. Go.” “Fast as I can.” Harper stole a taste of Rory’s mouth, a snack between meals, to keep body and soul together on another way-too-long trek from door to bed. “You first. I’m right behind you.” “Better be.” Rory skimmed ahead, a wicked gleam in his eye when he looked over his shoulder at Harper. “Get a move on.” He slapped his own ass. “You know you want me.” Harper toed off his Converses. “Conceited much?” “It’s not conceit if it’s the truth.” Rory scanned the length of Harper’s body, head to toe. Harper thought he might self-ignite from the heat. “Told you once and I’ll tell you again. Hurry. Third time’s not the charm. I’ll blow you right there if you don’t --” Motion blurred. Rory appeared on his knees, searing palms skating up the insides of Harper’s legs. “Too good an idea to waste,” he murmured, breath hot on the bend of Harper’s knee. He slapped Harper’s calf. “Let me in.” Harper didn’t think he could move without falling. He drew in a deep gasp, not getting enough oxygen.

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His head spun, thumping back on the door. In the corner of his peripheral vision, he caught a foreign movement. He had to shake his head and squeeze his eyes shut tightly to bring it into focus. Artemas, trudging at a cold-blooded reptile pace. He stopped, as if he knew he was being watched, and faced Harper. A scrap of paper hung from his jaws, 16-point Arial font. He chomped the fragment, a slow grind, fixing Harper with his flat black stare. What is that? Harper squinted to see.Junk mail, or -- “Script,” he said on a ragged exhale. “Piece of script.” Rory made a frustrated noise and jabbed Harper’s ankle. “Leave him,” he said, nosing into Harper’s groin. “Script,” Harper repeated dumbly, the effect not unlike a cold-water douse. “Rory, get off. Rory!” “No. Uh-uh.” Rory tightened his hold. He mouthed the width of Harper’s cock, his breath warming the metal teeth of Harper’s zipper. “Stay with me.” “We can’t…work to do… Later. I promise.” Rory wrenched away and tipped back on his heels, claiming Harper’s focus. “Stop thinking.” He tucked his fingers in the waist of Harper’s jeans and tugged the fly open. The rush of cooler air on his engorged cock made Harper hiss. “Let me do the work,” Rory coaxed, rocking on his heels. “Make it so good for you, I swear.” “Rory…” “Stop. Thinking.” Rory’s tongue curled between his teeth. “Bet I know how to make you.” “What, you --” Harper arched his throat at the brush of tongue over his cock; Rory drew him out of the slit in his boxers. “Rory. Fuck!” “ Mmm. Better. Shut up.” Rory lapped the head, mixing his saliva with leaking precum . “Tastes so damn good…” Prickling teeth dragged down the length, hot-wet-tight sealing around him. His throat vibrated on a hungry moan, taking Harper deep. Harper rolled his head against the wood. He found his way to Rory’s head, hesitant. “Can I?” Rory kneaded Harper’s thighs. Permission granted. He pulled off with a wet, obscenepop and licked his balls. “Hard as you want,” he swore before diving back in, the tight seal of his lips hurting so good, better than Harper could have dreamed. He gathered a better hold on Rory’s head, twining his fingers through Rory’s hair, and pulled. His hips jerked, thrusting into Rory’s mouth. Rory moaned, shuddered, shifted. Harper couldn’t see, but knew Rory had pressed the butt of his palm to his cock, grinding down to stave off coming too soon. “Rory, you --” Harper forgot, two words in, what he’d meant to say. He quivered with the effort to go slow and slid deeper, bumping the back of Rory’s throat. His fingers tightened, loosened, and tightened again. Slow, slick slides over Rory’s tongue and as far past as he could go. Back, and there again.

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Velvety-smooth heat, suction, and a faint scrape of teeth. “God. I have to…Rory --” Rory settled like a falling leaf and let it happen, caressing Harper with his tongue, not moving. Begging for more with the tickle of his lips. Harper looked down, struggling to focus. Rory looked up through his eyelashes. His cheeks bulged with the heft of Harper’s cock inside them. Harper’s knuckles ached when he let go of Rory’s hair and traced the thickness of his cock through the prickle of light stubble and the soft skin of Rory’s cheek. Rory’s eyes slammed shut on a desperate noise, a begging cry. “Hold still,” Harper ordered. He didn’t recognize the voice as his own. “Can’t believe I…you…” No words came to him. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t care. Rory pinched him, breathing hard through his nose, hot air streaming through Harper’s wiry pubic hair. He released Harper’s leg, gliding up through the thinning trail that arrowed down to his mouth and tugged. Harper got the message.More. Now . “Okay,” he whispered, breaking on the syllable. “You. My God, you…” He slid deeper smooth and fast, drew back, and forward again. No telling which was better, the glide in or the drag out, or the sounds Rory made, low desperate whimpers and choked, hitching, half-smothered cries, or the roll of Rory’s shoulder and the sound of a hand on slick, turgid skin, moving slippery, moving fast. He couldn’t breathe, his chest rising and falling, doing no good. His thighs shook, straining to keep him upright. “Rory. Close. Get off.” He prodded Rory’s shoulder. Rory growled a negative and lashed Harper’s cock with his tongue. He stiffened, shaking violently, the seal of his lips too tight. “Can’t. Almost there.” Harper pushed him. “Off.” Rory withdrew, but only to look up through his lashes and rasp out, his mouth swollen obscenely and his lips reddened, “Want to taste you.” “OhGod ,” Harper groaned, cock pulsing. “Rory --” Rory tipped his face up to catch the spurt of cum, thick strings of white decorating his cheeks. He put out his tongue, cradling the underside of Harper’s cock, and shuddered as Harper striped his face. His eyes were closed when a wave crested the bridge of his nose, rolling heavy down his lids and spiking his lashes. He never let go, riding Harper through all he had to give and licking him sore. Harper growled, a noise he hadn’t known he could make, and hauled Rory away from his too-sensitive cock. “Get up.” Rory moved easily, pliant. Harper groped his groin, half-expecting to find the denim soaked warm and wet. He laughed, low and triumphant, king of the ever- lovin’ world, when he encountered hard flesh that jerked when he wrapped his fingers around the length. Instant addiction. Rory keened into his mouth between presses of lips to lips. When Harper licked a string of sticky, cooling cum off Rory’s chin, Rory jerked, swore, and flooded

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Harper’s hand with streaming heat. Harper delved deep into Rory’s mouth, licking out every trace of his flavor he could chase down, drinking Rory’s soft keens, rubbing the underside of Rory’s cock with his thumb to coax out more. “Stop it. Hurts.” Rory thumped his forehead to Harper’s chest. “God.” “Damn,” Harper finished or agreed, either one. His lungs were on fire, too much abuse in too short a time. He looked without meaning to, saw Artemas disappearing around a corner, and snorted a laugh. “What’s funny?” “Thinking about races. Turtles and hares,” Harper slurred, drunk on the afterglow. “Smarter to go slow but not now. Not you. You’re the sprinter.” “Yeah, you know what? I didn’t understand a word of that, but right now I don’t care.” Rory hooked his chin over Harper’s shoulder and draped comfortably over him, his dead weight solid and unyielding. Not that Harper wanted to move him. He could stay there the rest of the day, easy peasy . Sounded great, actually. Maybe even take a snooze, or get some writing done. What if Osborne’s fortune in the tea leaves -“Thinking again.” Rory snorted softly. He traced Harper’s collarbone. “Always thinking.” “Does it bother you?” Harper caught the back of Rory’s head and pulled him off, his throat forming a white arch. He studied his muse’s face, somehow managing to smirk even in the slackness of afterglow. “You win.” “Win what?” “Me. Anything you want. Tonight. All of it.” Rory laughed low in his throat and slid his thigh between Harper’s. He jostled their spent, shiny cocks together. Harper’s jerked, trying to rise and fill a second time. “Still think I’m chicken asiago ?” “What?” “You don’t remember?” Harper butted foreheads with Rory. “Remember what? Start making sense.” “Score. He honest to God thinks I’m a real boy now.” He gave up on coaxing reason out of Rory. Who cared, anyway? “If this is your method of inspiration --” “You know it is. I live to serve.” Rory brought his knee up and rolled his hips, coaxing Harper back to hardness, jostling oversensitive flesh and hurting him so wonderfully. “Let’s see what else I can make you forget.” Harper could get on board with that plan. Only -- “Writing?”

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“Later. I promise. Until our fingers fall off.” Rory traced Harper’s lips with his tongue. “Just not now. I promised you all night, and I’m gonna deliver.” There were innumerable reasons not to do this, to step back and congratulate them both on getting it out of their system, but it would have been a lie beyond any story Harper had ever spun. Also, he didn’t want to let go. He slid his hand under Rory’s shirt and skimmed up the smoothness of his muse’s back. “Deal. Gonna stay the night?” “Try and get rid of me.” “Not gonna happen.” “Good. Now shut up,” Rory purred. And Harper did. ***** A tickling at the sole of his foot woke Harper, not with a bang, but a whimper. He wriggled his toes, kicking from the ankle. “ Mmmmf.” Tickle. “’S not funny,” he mumbled, threshing his foot. “Rory? G’way .” Tickle. Pause.Chomp . “Fucking --” Harper fumbled up to one elbow, the closest he could get to upright, and peered blearily in the general direction of where he thought he remembered his feet were located. Artemassnapped his sharp turtle beak at Harper. After a year of keeping company with Artemas , Harper still wasn’t fluent in Turtle- ese, but the general air of crankiness that Artemas emitted -- more than usual -- suggested he had nothing to eat and that Harper would be wise to remedy that. Harper weighed the pros and cons of risking his toes versus more sleep and decided if it came down to a final choice, he could live without a toe or two. “Feed you later,” he said, breaking three times on a yawn and flopping prone. When he reached for his pillow, he encountered nothing. “ Wha’ the…” He squinted at his bed, which wasn’t so much a bed at all. In fact, it bore a striking resemblance to his hallway floor. Not that he couldn’t be mistaken. Without his glasses, up could be down for all he knew. He patted the floor in the near vicinity of his head, hoping that a) he’d remembered to put them somewhere close when he had, for whatever reason, passed out nowhere near his bed, and b) Artemas had not stolen them for their shininess. Or was that magpies? Lady Luck smiled on him. Halfway through a circuit, Harper’s fumbling fingers encountered the familiar, cool metal shape of frames and lenses. He shoved them on his nose, vaguely and distinctly proud of not jabbing himself in the eye, and, groaning, pushed up to a tailor-style seat, ankles tucked beneath. “What did I do last night?” He directed the question to the back of Artemas’s shell, the turtle in question

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busy trudging away in high dudgeon. A clock ticked heavily. Harper checked his wrist and found Mickey’s big glove on the eight and the small glove on the three. Yet it was dark. Harper ran the discrepancy over in his head and came to the conclusion that he’d achieved nocturnal remission. “Okay, all afternoon, not night. Why’d I sleep on the floor all afternoon?” Harper ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth and gagged. Tasted like refried ass, and was furry to boot. Maybe he’d chewed on a boot during his sleep. Or possibly on the blanket? If he’d decided to sleep on the floor, why a blanket and not a pillow? Harper picked at the soft gray knit, running a nubbly swatch through his fingers and frowned when picked spots caught on a handful of brightly colored Band-Aids. He winced at the soreness of his knuckles. “What the hell did Ido yesterday? Retrace,” he muttered. “Work, home, sex, lots of sex, damn good sex, didn’t know I could bend that way, and --Rory !” Harper vaulted to his feet sooner than his equilibrium preferred, staggered, and whacked his elbow on the wall. He didn’t let a minor funny bone crack -- ow , or maybe not so minor -- slow him down. “Rory?” he called. No second blanket by his side. No warm spot on the floor where he recalled his muse falling asleep before him, his head pillowed on Harper’s chest. He couldn’t remember dreaming. What if -- “Oh no. No no no . Don’t tell me I dreamed him?” Sourness flooded the back of Harper’s throat, his heart stuttering at the thought. “Be real,” he chanted under his breath, hurrying for the kitchen. After a few fumbling steps Harper realized he was starkers , various things that shouldn’t go without protection flapping in the breeze. Though his face heated painfully with embarrassment, he took his cock in hand and checked for signs of, er , recent gainful employment. Blast it; he couldn’t tell, and whether dream or reality nothing more than Rory’s nimble tongue had gone near his ass, so he had no proof there either. Harper moaned, swaying on his feet. Rory’stongue . “Pleasebe real,” he prayed as he staggered onward. He scanned the bedroom, the bathroom, and his teeny tiny study as he passed each, hitting the kitchen last. Empty. “Rory?” His voice echoed off the pristine void, spotlessly clean from floor to empty coffeepot to Artemas’s feeder, by which Artemas hunkered, glaring. “Cut it out. You’re worse than a cat. Rory?” No answer. Harper’s shoulders sagged. He caught himself before kicking the wall with his bare toes. “Should’ve known it was a dream.” He covered his groin with his hand, feeling oddly exposed and definitely idiotic given the reality versus his dreams of wearing his ankles for earrings while Rory applied his tongue -His cock twitched against his palm, more than interested in replaying the mental footage. Harper pinched

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a pube to snap himself out of it and turned, hangdog as a basset hound. “Where do you think you’re going?” A radio Harper kept nestled over the kitchen sink blared to life. “No way we’re sleeping on the floor again. My neck’s never gonna forgive me.” “Jesus Christ!” Harper whirled, caught himself a half second from falling, and gaped at the kitchen. The brightly lit kitchen, reverberating with doo-wop blasting from the radio, the emptiness eradicated by one completely naked muse getting his groove on. “Rory?” “Who else were you expecting, Santa Claus?” Rory smirked and blew Harper a kiss over his shoulder. “Hungry?” Coffee began to burble through the decanter, the smells of sizzling butter and toasting bread lovingly assaulted Harper’s nose, and he could have sworn he caught a whiff of sausage. Harper sagged against the wall, tasting copper from his heart beating nigh in his throat. “You’re real.” “Course I’m real. Thought you were gonna sleep all night. I wore you out good, huh?” Rory reached for a skillet Harper would have sworn resided at the bottom of a cobweb-festooned cabinet and shook it over the burner coils on the stove, sending up a sizzling, intoxicating cloud of sage and onion. “Um,” said Harper, cleverly. “I thought you were --” Rory wrinkled his nose and cranked up the music. “Not this again. I’m real; I’m not going anywhere, etc. etc. etc. I’ve got promises to make good on and a shitload of pencils all sharpened up. Are you attached to this paint job? No? Good. Lots of room to write on and we’ll need every inch; this is gonna get intricate.” Harper couldn’t help himself. He leaned his full weight on the wall in question and laughed, no, whooped, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Shake a leg. Our late night breakfast is almost done.” Rory twisted the radio’s volume knob as high as it would go and began to beat out the percussion with a spoon, a fork, and the countertop. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing.” It’d take too long to explain, and how pathetic would it have sounded anyway? “Turn it down, Rory. I have neighbors.” “So what?” Rory protested. “We’re in New York City. Trust me, this ain’t the loudest or weirdest thing they’ve heard tonight and no one’s complained yet.”Rat-a-tat-tat . Harper rested his shoulders against the wall and watched Rory go, man, go. “Sleep is our friend.” Rory waved his hand dismissively to the left. “ Bahhhh. Sleep’s for wusses and ants that go hungry when it snows. Or whatever. Aesop wasn’t my guy. I get fuzzy when it comes to aphorisms anyway. You want toast or bagels?” Harper bit his lip to keep from cracking up again. Surreal. “Sleep’s for pansies, huh? I seem to recall someone snoring in my ear around three o’ clock.” And it had really happened. The knowledge warmed Harper deep within. For one, he hadn’t gone crazy. For two… Well. “I snore? Huh. Didn’t know that.” Rory spun on his heel, playing air drums now. “ Womp-ba-ba-loop-ba-ba-lum-bam-boom! Tutti Frutti --”

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Harper lost it. He cracked up, clutching the doorway to keep from falling. “You’re alunatic .” Rory grinned at him, still grooving. “Note to self,” Harper said when he could breathe again, wiping tears of mirth off his cheeks. “Never let Rory near sugar after he’s gotten laid.” “Damn right I got laid, and righteously so. You, my friend, could give lessons on how to get maximum value out of a blowjob. And just you try to get between me and my sucrose. You’re a peach of a guy, but that could get ugly. Bomp , bomp , bomp --” “Rory?” Harper pushed off the wall. His kitchen wasn’t huge. He crossed it in four steps and caught his muse by the elbow midgyration , pulling Rory to his chest. No hesitation. Wrapping his hand around the back of Rory’s neck, Harper bent and kissed him, stroking his tongue inside. He remembered his “morning” breath too late. Rory didn’t seem to mind. He purred and opened for Harper, licking catlike around his lips. “Hello to you too, sunshine. You having a bipolar moment or is this another one of your wake-up quirks?” Harper kissed him again. He hadn’t had enough, and with enough effort it might either calm Rory down or rev him up for something besides harmonizing with Little Richard. “I should let you sleep on the floor more often,” Rory said, eyes slightly crossed. “And he does this without coffee, ladies and gentlemen. Should I pour it down the drain?” “Do, and I’ll slaughter you.” Harper let Rory go. “ Gimme.” Rory held the coffee pot out of reach. “Uh-uh-uh. Only if you’ve gotten enough rest to pull an all-nighter. You’re relaxed enough to laugh, loosened up enough to smooch. Think you’re ready to write?” Harper hesitated. He poked at the mental muscles that’d gone soft and flabby when not tied in knots during the Great Block and found them loose, limber, even agile. “Unreal. I think I am.” “That’s my boy.” Rory caught up a pen and tossed it Harper’s way. “You mind if we work naked? I hate clothes.” “Naked writing?” Harper asked dubiously. “Hell, yeah. Call us trendsetters.” “I reserve the right to lay a cloth napkin over my lap while eating toast.” “Where’s your sense of adventure?” “I left it in my other wallet.” Rory scoffed, though he couldn’t hide the light of approval and teasing in his eyes. “Smart-ass.” For you, Harper thought, pouring himself a mug of dark, rich coffee.Rory’s one hell of a muse. And he’s mine . The certainty tasted as sweet as his java. “Naked writing it is.” He wielded his pen and wrote

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the wordsIn Outré on the wall. “I had a thought yesterday about that whole tarot thing…” Chapter Seven

Two weeks later…

“The human mind’s a weird, weird thing, isn’t it?” Harper flipped through a cockeyed sheaf of loose-leaf pages covered half with his own scrawl and half with Rory’s script. He peered at one line over the rims of his glasses. Roryskrit seemed to be composed of one-part copperplate, one-part LSD-spider web, and one-part pictogram, mixed with an occasional tendency to Latinate absence of vowels. “Say what, now?” Rory stood with his back to Harper, hands clasped a hair above the top curve of his ass. Deliberately, Harper was sure. Hide his, er , assets beneath a bushel? Not Rory. Not that Harper could say he minded. He didn’t mind to the extent that he found himself seriously considering going to his knees behind Rory and taking a bite. “Never mind.” Harper crossed his ankles. Rory had relented and allowed him to wear boxers and a T-shirt as long as Rory got to go unrestrictedly naked. Harper guessed maybe there was something about muses, a sixth sense perhaps, which avoided all nut-pinching accidents. “No, seriously. What’s going on in your noodle?” Rory grabbed a pen and drew a heavy, crosshatched line through a half-formed plot arc scribbled on the wall at eye level. “We did decide to postpone the subplot with Salma and her affair with the newspaper kiosk slash undercover spy, right?” “Right.”What’s going on in my head is I still can’t believe you’re real, sometimes . Harper carefully smoothed out thirty-odd pages of proofs, tamping down wrinkles in the paper. “I didn’t know I had all these ideas until you dug them out,” he answered Rory’s first question. “I don’t think I had them at all. I think they’re all you.” “ Pfft.” Rory clearly didn’t buy that for a second. Uncharacteristically for him, he let it go, more focused on a set of notes on his favorite player. “You good to go with Mikhael listening from the shadows in episode six?” Harper considered Rory’s suggestion with due respect. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Mikhael , actually. The youngest and only remaining living son of a formerly powerful family, a man with too many secrets for his own good, he raised Harper’s hackles for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. Probably just one of those weird mental quirks that were all part of the writing process and Rory loved the guy, so… “Yeah,” he judged, no more able to damp the hopeful light in his muse than he’d have managed stomping on a kitten. “Wrap that one up.” “Woo- hoo!” Rory fist-pumped the air. “See? Told you we could do it. Six scripts down, done, sealed, signed, and on their way to being delivered tomorrow. Hell of a lot better now I’ve come on board, yeah?”

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“My fingers will never forgive me.” Harper pretended to complain, shaking out his hand. The bandages had come off and, aside from redness, he’d be good as new soon. “How about I let you wrap them around something that’ll make you forget all your woes?” Rory wiggled his hips, daring Harper to react. “How about we get started on that right now?” Harper leaned back in the kitchen chair he’d adopted as his own, the cushion nigh-permanently contoured to the shape of his ass, and his legs spread wide just to get a rise out of Rory. Pun fully intended. “No kidding?” Rory jettisoned his pencil, missing Artemas by inches. The turtle snapped halfheartedly at his toes and was soundly ignored. “Hot damn!” “If you think you can focus,” Harper challenged, stroking the inside of his thigh. “Success makes you bold. And horny. I like it.” “Going to keep your eyes on the prize this time?” While they’d never forgotten to eat or coffee up during the marathon writing session that had, so far, lasted two weeks, Harper’s newfound sex life had suffered. Kind of difficult to keep the mood when either he or Rory pulled off halfway through a suckjob to blurt out a character factoid. “I already am,” Rory replied, and in truth, he had Harper’s groin fixed with the sort of laser intensity that would, in other circumstances, make Harper more than a little nervous. As it was, he slipped his hand down the front of his boxers and gave himself a couple of lazy pulls, teasing Rory and humming at the pleasure of the shaft hardening in his grip. “The hell you say.” Rory blinked out across the room and blinked in skidding to his knees between Harper’s legs. He batted Harper’s hand away and helped him hitch up, drawing his boxers down. Rory gazed at Harper’s swelling cock as a zealot would the Grail, licked his lips, and reached. He wrapped his fist around the girth and leaned in, breath hot on the head, tongue ready to pop the obscene bubble of precum , and… Harper’s cell phone rang. He’d never heard some of those cusswords before. Most were nowhere close to English. “Don’t even think about answering,” Rory warned him with a death glare. Harper fidgeted. Hard-wired into his brain, as with most other Americans, was the inability not to at least check the caller ID when his cell went off. It was the same lack of restraint that made it nearly impossible not to respond to the siren song of “You’ve got mail.” “You answer, you’re gonna pay for it.” Rory trailed his tongue over the thick vein on the underside of Harper’s cock. Harper squeaked and dropped his phone. It landed caller ID side up, a name in block lettering blazing out at him: JANIE. Rory growled and thumped his forehead against Harper’s knee. “Fine,” he mumbled, muffled by flesh. “Answer. Hell if I’m stopping, though. Either make it quick or she gets to listen to you come. Your choice.”

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Harper’s heart stopped. “You wouldn’t.” “Watch me.” Rory applied himself to a long, smooth lick. JANIE, the cell insisted. “She could be calling about the network’s offer -- or about the script progress --oh, fuck !” Rory didn’t reply, his mouth far too occupied with other affairs. Harper bit his lip, thrust his fingers through Rory’s hair to steady himself -- oops, that didn’t help -- and thumbed the green light on his phone. “Hi. Oh! Um, hi.” The dryness in Janie’s tone would have shriveled a man without a muse slurping between his legs. “Am I interrupting something?” “ Yeff,” Rory verbalized around his mouthful of cock. “ G’fffay.” “We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Harper extemporized. “Rory.” “I see.” Harper could have dry-roasted peanuts on Janie’s tone. “Go…go ahead.” Changing tactics, he tried to push Rory off. Without success. “What’s up?” Rory sniggered filthily as he reached for Harper’s balls, the persistent bastard. “I’ve got the first three scripts you sent my way last weekend.” He caught the sound of paper riffling. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Harper slumped in utter relief. Rory took immediate advantage, deep throating him. The sound Harper made, he hoped, could be passed off as a gleeful exultation of a different kind. Rory drew off, a string of mixed saliva and precum connecting his swollen lips to Harper’s cock. He reached between his legs and pumped his own cock, the dark purple length sliding slickly through his grip. “Did you just whimper?” Janie demanded. “This news isn’t good enough for you?” “No?” Harper tried to lower his pitch. “No. It’s fantastic. I’ve worked my ass off” -- Rory chortled -“on this. Think we’ll be ready to float it past the execs soon?” “Soon? I’ve already e-mailed them toRialto and asked for a meet.” Janie’s voice sharpened. “These had better be the final drafts, Harper. If they aren’t and you didn’t tell me --” “Final. Oh, yes. Entirely final.” Harper gave up, let his legs go slack, and guided Rory’s bobbing head. He knotted one fist in Rory’s hair and breathed slowly through his nose, keeping his cool. Barely. “ Hmph.” Janie sighed. He could see her rubbing her forehead, frowning at the worry line that’d cropped up perpendicular to her eyes. “I’ll take your word for it, but if you’re not on the level with me --” “Straight, uh, level.”

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She snorted without pretense to ladylike manners. “I’ll call you when I hear fromRialto . Keep working. And for God’s sake, keep that Rory around. You write better when you’re getting fucked on a regular basis.” Harper’s jaw dropped. “You --” “I’m not dumb, Harper. I know a BJ when I hear one. Hang up and let him finish before I overdose on the sex noises. Or better yet --” Janie disconnected. Rory snagged the phone out of Harper’s slack grip and winged it across the room, fortunately away from the trudging path of any rogue turtles. The clatter coincided perfectly with his renewed assault on Harper’s cock, slurping his way up and down, meaning business this time. Muffled grunts vibrated through Harper’s flesh, reverberating down his balls and drawing them tightly wrinkled. “Wait --” Harper tugged uselessly at Rory’s hair. “Make it…make it last --” “Uh-uh.” Rory rocked back on his heels, eyes closed, lips slack. He fisted his cock. “Too worked up. Thirsty for it.” “Yeah? What if I am, too?” Harper tilted forward, trusting his muse to catch him. He tumbled to the floor, twisting about and manhandling Rory along the way. The two ended up nose to groin. Perfect. Harper dove for Rory’s darkened hard-on and let his tongue glide, velvet smooth and flat, until short hairs the shade of tarnished silver tickled his nose. Rory squawked. “Oh, you son of a --” Harper arched, back curving. “You’re…you’ll pay for --” He shook off the desire to speak. Words were overrated sometimes, particularly in the face of a thick, turgid cock leaking salty bitterness and within range of Rory’s desperate, swallowed-back moans. He kneaded Rory’s hip as he bobbed his head.Come on , he urged, coating Rory’s cock with his saliva, hot and messy.Come on, give me what I want. Rory stiffened and shuddered. Cum flooded Harper’s mouth, startling him into a near-cough. He spluttered and attempted to swallow as much as he could. To prove that muses did not play fair, even in midorgasm Rory had the presence of mind to thrust his forefinger against Harper’s nether hole and stroke. Harper shattered, hips jerking in rapid thrusts, and lost the rest of his control along with his payload. Which unfortunately meant he retained no ability to concentrate on swallowing his mouthful of salty cum, and -Before then, Harper had never known what it was like to snort semen out of his nose. It was an experience he could have lived without. Having a fuck buddy crack up postorgasm , rolling on his back and laughing helplessly, tears running down his temples, didn’t help. Harper decided his dignity could go screw itself and scrambled clumsily to Rory. He draped his weight over Rory’s chest and licked first the saltiness of the tears off Rory’s ears, then the heavier musk of his cooling cum off Rory’s cheeks and chin, and then the giggles out of Rory’s mouth. He only stopped, satisfied, when Rory groaned and wrapped his leg around the small of Harper’s back.

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“Turnabout’s fair play,” Harper informed him, nuzzling his jaw. “My turn to screw you stupid.” “I can live with that.” ***** Harper yawned, his already-sore jaw popping at the apex. “You’re the one who gets to recopy those last five pages. In English this time.” “Complain, complain.” Rory shoved him ineffectually. “I didn’t hear you bitching when you had your fingers up my ass. Don’t whine about it now.” “Recopying. As soon as --” Harper yawned again. “Later. Nap first.” “ Mmm,” Rory agreed, nestling his head under Harper’s chin. “You’re cuddly for a muse. I’m not used to it. Usually, muses are too fickle to snuggle up.” “I’m not your average, everyday muse, now am I?” Rory socked Harper in the armpit. “Pipe down.” “Hmm.” “That was a thoughtful noise. We’ll have none of those. I need sleep.” “Just wondered…” Harper propped his hand behind his head and idly swept his thumb over the soft skin between Rory’s shoulder blades. “What are other muses like? Corporeal ones, I mean.” Rory twitched. Irritably? He faked a snore. “I’m serious.” Harper jostled him. “Tell me more about muses. What are the others like?” “Why? You planning on screwing them, too?” Stung, Harper jerked as if burned. “What the -- you’d better have been kidding.” Rory grumbled under his breath and butted Harper’s sternum with his chin, and made no other reply. Harper pushed him away. “ Nuh-uh. Do you actually think I’m that kind of guy?” “No,” Rory mumbled. He shifted, trying to draw one knee up and not as a prelude to sex. “Leave it alone, Harper. This isn’t anything you need to know while you’ve got me.” “While I’ve got you?” A metallic taste formed thin and sour at the back of Harper’s tongue. “WhileI’ve got you?” “Oh God, here we go.” Rory rolled away. “Rory, what does that mean, ‘while’?” Harper’s pulse sped up. “You’re not staying? You’re my muse.” “Tell me something I don’t already know.” Rory stood, dusting off his legs. “Drop it, Harper.”

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“I can’t ‘drop’ the intimated threat that --” “End of discussion.” Rory walked away, pointed toward the bathroom. “I’m showering. Alone, fuck you very much.” Harper watched him go with the distinct feeling that he’d just taken a sledgehammer between the eyes. “What’s the matter with you?” In answer, Rory slammed the bathroom door. Harper sagged on his elbows, drool and drying semen streaked over chest and chin, feeling twice as stupid as he suddenly realized he looked. BING-BONG. Harper yelped and flipped over. The doorbell? He checked his watch. Time tended to lose meaning when he lost himself with the muse. Seven-twelve -- a.m. or p.m.? BING-BONG, the doorbell insisted, followed by three sturdy thumps. “Pizza!” his impatient visitor barked. Perplexed, Harper got to his feet. He snagged a pair of loose track pants within easy reach and shuffled them on. Peering through the peephole, he squinted at the distorted image of a middle-aged type with Elvis sideburns and a goatee, dressed in a red polo with a keep-it-warm box balanced on one arm. “I didn’t order any pizza,” he called. “Wrong apartment.” “No, you didn’t.” The deliveryman looked directly at the peephole, fixing Harper’s stare with a certainty that told Harper doors didn’t stop this guy from seeing him clearly. “Your muse did. We need to talk. About Rory. Do you think you might want to let me in now?” Chapter Eight

BLINK Harper’s apartment disappeared, replaced by the falling dusk of open New York air and green, green grass. The pizza guy, sans box, snapped his fingers to get Harper’s admittedly highly distracted attention. “First things first. Ground rules for the chat. I donot want to hear about the sex, okay?” “What the --” Harper turned in circles, staring at the outside world he distinctly didnot remember traveling to in person. “Temporal relocation.” The pizza guy resettled his cap over his ears. “You’re not allergic, are you?” He gestured at the trees. “We’re in Central Park.” “Stunning powers of observation, this one.”

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“No.” Harper stood firm, hoping the pavement beneath his foot would not choose next to fling him somewhere in Taipei. “I was in my apartment. You were outside with pizza. Now we’re in Central Park.” “Like I said. Temporal relocation.” The pizza guy crossed his arms. “No one can hear us. It’s not as if we’re physically present.” A Segway zoomed through him. “See?” Horrified, Harper stumbled back. “Who --” The pizza guy rolled his eyes. “Let’s skip the dramatic ‘Who are you?’ and ‘What have you done to me?’ speeches, shall we? Answers: for the third time, temporal relocation. Think of it as a step out of time and space. Or a dream. I’m Rory’s boss.” The Segway hurtled through the pizza guy, going the opposite direction. Harper pointed, finger shaking. “For the love of Pete. Step off the path, at least. I promise you won’t end up in where you were thinking we might. Taiwan, was it?” “Taipei.” “Irrelevant. We’ve got big stuff to talk about, so do you want to have this discussion or not?” “Not,” Harper replied without hesitation. “One hundred percent not. I want to be back in my apartment fighting with Rory.” He furrowed his forehead. “Minus the fighting part.” “That would be why I’m here.” The pizza guy -- geez, Harper couldnot keep calling him that -- folded his hands before him. “If you need a name for me, call me the Clerk. I’m not Rory’s top-dog boss, but close enough.” Harper tried to follow the one-sided conversation. “Muses have middlemen?” “ Noooo.” The Clerk drew out the single syllable as if catering to one of the genuinely thick. Harper supposed he couldn’t blame the guy. Wait. Yes, he could. “They have keepers,” the Clerk explained. “In special cases, anyway. I’ve been tracking you since Rory got here. Like so.” The peculiar blurring of a muse-type creature bleared Harper’s vision, his only warning before the surly coffee-cart vendor stood before him, glaring. “Grunt.” “Fuck!” Harper jumped back. The Clerk blurred again, growing a pair of boobs and long, shiny blonde hair. Shelly held up her camera phone. “And like this, too! Smile!” “ Gyah!” Harper made the shape of the cross.

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Chuckling, the Clerk resolved himself into his normal, middle-aged-man shape. “Don’t worry. I don’t spy on you two when I hear the moaning start.” He wrinkled his nose. “Trust me. That you don’t have to worry about.” “You intrusive son of a --” “Thanks.” The Clerk brushed off Harper’s anger. “Rory hasn’t told you much about muses, has he? How the day-to-day operations work?” “Beyond a weird analogy about flower vases and some bits and pieces, no.” Questions sprang to life in the forefront of Harper’s head, along with the bitter taste of suspicion. “Why?” The Clerk canted his head to one side, narrowly eyeing Harper. “Did he tell you he was on probation?” Harper stared at him. “The answer to that one would be a great big honkin ’ no, then.” The Clerk produced a clipboard much as Rory had at the studio, drew a pen out of thin air by his ear, and drew an exaggerated check mark on a list. “I’ll deal with him later. For now, how’s he been with the inspiration? Ideas coming to you on a regular basis?Don’t tell me about the sex .” “Wait.” Harper shook his head, hair flying over his eyes. “I’m confused.” “I’m not surprised.” “Go back to the word probation.Jesus Christ on a --” “Central Park pigeons are as notorious as promised,” the Clerk observed. “Count yourself lucky that load didn’t land on actual flesh.” If there was a more disturbing sensation in the known universe, Harper never, ever wanted to hear about it. He shook his arm. “You know what? Let’s keep this quick.” The Clerk waved his clipboard briefly at Harper and ran his pen down the list. “Rory is a muse. Rory is here to help you through writer’s block desperate enough to attract our attention. Rory is on probation.” “Explain probation.” The Clerk cleared his throat. “Pro-bay- shuhn. Noun. One, the act of testing. Two, the testing or trial of a person’s conduct --” “I know what the word means. In context, you’ve lost me. ‘ Splain, please.” “Simple version? His last two assignments, Rory screwed up. Creative differences. They asked for transfers and sent him back. And before you ask, yes, you can do that. The paperwork’s a nightmare, but it’s possible.” The Clerk wielded his pen. “Are you interested?” “No!” Harper’s tongue tripped in forming a new question. He swallowed down a lump of uneasiness. “What would happen if I did?”

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“To you? You’d get a new muse.” The Clerk shrugged. “To Rory? Three strikes and he’s out. That’s why I’m keeping a careful eye on him.” “Out of what?” “Out. O-u-t,” the Clerk spelled for him, making his clipboard vanish. “Of existence, if you want specifics. He would cease to be. He would be an ex --” “Are all of you smart-asses? Don’t answer that.” Harper backed away. “You’re not taking Rory away from me. The end.” The Clerk’s eyebrow rose. “Careful about getting too attached. He won’t be here forever.” “He mentioned. What does that mean? He’s me. My inspiration. He can’t leave. Can he?” “Can and will.” The Clerk took off his hat to better scratch his head. “Rory’s extra. More than your norm, corporealized by the need to get you past the hump that’ll make or break your career. When you’re on the right track and past the U-turn point, he’ll go poof. Is that simple enough, or do I need to use smaller words?” “But he’s mine.” “Oh- kay.” The Clerk checked off three boxes in rapid succession. “Writers are insane, I swear. Give me a cellist any day. A painter, even, if he’s not given to slicing and dicing his ears like that Van Gogh whack job.” He shuddered. “Don’t ask Rory anything else about being a muse. He won’t be able to tell you. Is he doing his job? Providing inspiration?” “Yes.” Harper stood his ground. “I’m keeping him.” “Sure you are,” the Clerk replied in absent tones with fully realized ‘dream on’ subtext. “We’re done here. Or I am. Note to self: Spray with Crazy-off before a follow-up visit.” “You’re --” The Clerk rolled his eyes. “Sweet Mary. Why do you even care so much? The sex? You can get decent booty on any street corner if you’ve got an itch to scratch. Trust me, you’ll get sick of Rory sooner rather than later. Everyone does.” Harper wondered if he could punch an incorporeal middleman in the gut, and if he did, would it make a sound? “No,” the Clerk replied. He eyed Harper narrowly and poised his pen over the final check box. “You can’t change the rules. Any of them. Don’t even start thinking it’s possible.” “But --” “But, schmut . We’re done here. For now.” Harper blinked --

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-- and found himself standing in the doorway of his apartment. He held a cooling pizza box in one hand. Artemas had two scaly flippers planted on his bare foot, focused on the scent of anchovies. “What are you doing?” Rory asked, popping into place by his side while scrubbing at his hair with a towel. Harper opened the pizza box to stare eye to eye with a plump anchovy that looked uncannily familiar and couldn’t think of a single thing to say except, “Hungry?” “Thumbs-up and fan-fucking- tasticidea.” Rory snaffled a slice of pizza from the box, sagging under the weight of its toppings. He hissed at the burn of melted cheese and stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking away the sting. Ten minutes ago, Harper would have followed the path of that lucky mozzarella and replaced finger with tongue to see how marinara and Rory tasted in combination. Probably darn tasty. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Rory was leaving him. Would be gone.I’ve gotten used to you. I need you. I lo… Don’t go. Please? “Something wrong?” Rory asked, muffled as he stuffed the pointy end of the pizza slice in his mouth. He moaned, a nearly pornographic noise of pleasure and pounded the floor with his heel. “So. Damn. Good!” “It’s yours,” Harper said absently. “I’m not hungry.” “Your loss, Fonda.” Rory rolled his eyes, chewed, swallowed, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. They still gleamed with a faint trace of grease. Harper knew if he kissed Rory right then he’d taste spices, piquant herbs, pepper, and tomatoes. That Rory would gleefully abandon pizza for home-cooked snacking. He didn’t, and wasn’t sure why. “Something is wrong,” Rory said, frowning at Harper. “This isn’t about us scrapping earlier, is it?” “No. So very not. And I’m sorry.” He traced the defined edge of Rory’s cheekbone, unable to resist the urge to touch, to make sure Rory was still real and still here with him. Rory transferred the pizza box from Harper’s arms to a precariously teetering perch on the coffee table. He pressed the back of his hand to Harper’s forehead. “No fever. Maybe I’ve been workin ’ you too hard.” He bit his lip and looked adorable enough, in a scruffy way, to eat with a spoon. “Get back inside, shut the door, and go sit on the couch. I’ll, um…soup.” “You’ll soup?” Harper repeated, confused. “I’llmake soup, dork. If you want some.” Rory seemed genuinely worried. “I’m okay. No soup.” Harper tested the inside of his head to see if the judgment held up. So-so. “Pizza’s fine. Maybe I could stand to eat a little.” “Dining a la couch okay by you?”

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“Yeah.” Absentminded, Harper left the door open and trudged to the den. He didn’t realize what he’d done until he heard tumblers clicking behind him. “You’re welcome,” Rory said, scowling. Still naked, Harper noticed. He must have been starkers all along, everything hung out for foot traffic to see, had there been any. Not that any of his neighbors would have been surprised by a harem of scantily clad boys trooping out of his apartment given the racket they’d made for days, but… Harper blinked exaggeratedly, eyes too wide, then snapped tightly shut. “Seriously. What’s wrong?” Rory sank to one knee beside Harper. He took Harper’s chin in his hand and turned him so they faced one another. “You’re freaking me out here. Your head is a strange, strange place, my friend.” Rory tore off a corner of crust and poked it between Harper’s lips. “Eat up. You need food. Calories, starch, carbs , grease, sugar. The five basic food groups. I don’t deal with pyramids. I’m old-school.” “You --”How old , Harper had intended to ask. The words dried up and crumbled on his tongue before they could be spoken. Rory picked a slimy piece of fish off the pizza. He pinched Harper’s cheeks open and plopped the anchovy inside. “Shut up and eat. Then you’re going to bed. Forsleep , so don’t even ask. I know you can’t resist this” -- he undulated -- “but for one night, sawing logs instead of popping wood might be the way to go.” “Yeah, all right.” Harper chewed, obeying the letter of the law if not the spirit. He couldn’t let this go. He wouldn’t. At his side, Rory huffed. Harper could taste his worry more strongly than the tart olives he chewed. “If you’re ‘fine,’ then I’ve got some beachfront property in Wisconsin to sell you.” “Rory --” “There’s all kinds of crazy muddy waters in your aura. Something go wrong?” Harper shrugged, attempting a cheerful smile and, he suspected, massively failing. “I have to work out some things in my head.”Like how to keep you. A spike of alarm hit sharp. “You’re not looking in there to see what’s wrong? That’s not like you.” “No, I’m not. Given the look on your face, I don’t know if I wanna peek inside your head.” Rory shook his head emphatically. “Strike that. Iknow I don’t. Executive decision of the muse. We’re officially calling it a day. Everything that needs to be written tonight has been written. All that’s left to do is clean up those self-edits before we send Janie the next three scripts, and we can tackle them in the morning.” “Okay,” Harper said, only paying half-attention. “Something is so not right here,” Rory muttered. He patted Harper’s chest and clambered off the couch. “You like hot toddies? I’m gonna make you a hot toddy.” As Harper watched him go, clothes shimmered into being on Rory, loose track pants hiding his bitable

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ass and camouflaging his runner’s legs. An old athletic T-shirt Harper recognized as one of his own, large enough that Rory swam in the soft-washed gray with holes at the hem, appeared to hide the elegant curve of his back and the width of his shoulders. He still looked sexy. Rumpled, worried, and like a locker-room fantasy, especially if your tastes tended toward the French rugby team. Harper opened his mouth to ask why Rory had abruptly abandoned his free-nudity policy, and then shut it, not really up to a wrangling embroilment at the moment. He crossed his legs tailor-style on the couch, bare feet beneath him, and stuffed in a healthy bite of pizza. Chapter Nine

Purrrrrrrrrrrr. Harper burrowed deeper into the fluffy softness of his pillow and made a face. His hand had begun buzzing, dragging him out of the half-slumber he’d managed -- too many ideas -- and someone had let a cat in. Heads were going to roll. Purrrrrrrrrrrr. “Only you would bring something that vibrates and isn’t fun to bed,” Rory griped behind him. His body warmth shifted away and took a protective layer of quilt with it, leaving Harper’s back exposed to a sudden chill. “ Gimme.” “ Mmmmf.” Harper pulled the far edge of the pillow over his eyes. “You are far less fun when you’re out of it than a guy might otherwise anticipate,” Rory informed him, slapping noises indicating a fruitless search. “Where’d you put your friggin ’ phone?” “Huh?” “Never mind, idiot. I’ve got it.” Rory dropped a wet- williesmooch on his temple. “Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of this one.” “ Mmmmf.” Rory grunted. “ Lookiehere who this is. What the hell’s he doing calling at four a.m.? Pfft . Dick.” He poked Harper in the ribs. “You mind if I talk to your ex and give him what-for?” Harper flapped his hand at the end of his wrist. He couldn’t care less as long as he was left alone to chase the elusive phantom of sleep hovering at the edges of his mind, not that it seemed likely. His brain was infected with visions of sheep galloping away from their counting fences at full speed. A small corner of Harper’s awareness coughed politely, tapped his shoulder, and gently guided his awareness to the phone cradled between Rory’s ear and shoulder.You might want to be aware of this. Wait. What? Rory punched the Call button. “Patty, baby, what’s shakin ’?”

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“Fuck!” Harper’s eyes shot open. He stared in bleary horror at Rory, who’d dragged himself upright, back propped against the headboard. Rory hooked his ankle over the back of Harper’s knee. “Who is this, you ask? I forgot, we haven’t been introduced. Call me Rory, or lucky bastard, whichever you prefer. That’s not enough? Clarification: I’d be the guy tapping the sweet ass you were damn fool enough to walk away from.” “Rory.” Harper made a clumsy, uncoordinated grab for the phone. Rory pushed his hand away without effort. “Ouch, buddy. Language. Do you kiss your momma with that mouth?” “Rory, I’ll skin you alive. Hang up or give me the phone.” “ Shh.” Rory dropped his leg over Harper’s back, pinning him. He tucked one arm behind his head and glittered with mischief as he settled in. “So, what’s up with the witching hour contact, Patrick? Drunk dialing or are you lonesome tonight?” Harper buried his face in the pillow and groaned. “What am I doing here?” Rory tweaked Harper’s hair. “I told you. I’m the guy who got plowed like the back forty miles of a country road last night. You were an idiot to let this guy go. Hung like a horse and rides smooth for hours, let me tell you.” Harper cracked one eye open and peered blearily at Rory. “Huh? I haven’t fucked you yet. Or you, me.” Rory covered the mouthpiece with his palm and leered at him with great good cheer. “Don’t worry. You will. As soon as possible. And often.” “I didn’t know muses could lie.” “What do you think storytellingis ?” Harper twitched. Rory didn’t notice, or was too busy planning his next line of attack. “Go back to sleep and let me do my thing.” He tucked hair behind Harper’s ear. “Just don’t suffocate. That’d be a turn-off.” His palm came off the phone. “Wow. You have one hell of colorful vocabulary there, Patrick. I’m almost impressed. ‘Course, I’m fresh from hearing the stuff Harper comes up with when he’s balls-deep in my ass, so you’re gonna have to kick it up a notch to -- oh, now that’s not nice at all.” This could not end well. Rory whistled. “Okay, that’s better. Anatomically impossible even for a contortionist, but I’ve seen you. Ten more years and you’ll have a paunch that keeps you from tying your own shoes. Hello?” He shook the phone. “Roger, echo, niner , niner . Huh.” A beep sounded. “ Lookitthat. He hung up. I am theman .” “You are themoron .”

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“Nice way to talk to someone who just saved you the hassle of a drunk-dialing ex with menace on his mind.” Rory sounded offended. “The dick actually asked ‘What are you wearing?’ instead of saying ‘Hello.’ Such a putz . He didn’t actually think he had a prayer, did he?” When Harper didn’t answer, too busy groping at mental damage control, Rory slithered down beside him and pried open one eyelid. “Harper. Did he?” “For the love of -- no. I’m not in the market for VD of the soul, thanks.” Harper wrestled away from Rory. “Then why are you pissed?” Rory curled closer to Harper, trying to drape an arm over Harper’s side. Irritable, itchy beneath his skin with the same off-kilter tilt to his senses that had annoyed Harper for hours, he shrugged Rory off. “Hey,” Rory protested. “Enough with the ‘ tude. What’d I do wrong?” Was that an honest question? Harper couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought it might have been. Harper propped his cheek on his hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No matter how close we are to sealing the deal withRialto we’re not there yet, and pissing Patrick off is still a bad, bad idea, Rory. Why do you think I haven’t put out a contract on his balls yet? He takes ‘no’ as a challenge, not an answer. Insults like those? Drunk or not, he’ll remember every word in the morning, and he’ll think of something big for payback. Maybe figure out some gigantic monkey wrench to throw in theRialto cogs. He does that, we’re screwed.” “Huh.” Rory gnawed at his thumbnail. “That sucks. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. A jackass like Patrick? He needs a few slaps. He’ll only keep gnawing your ankles until you put him on a leash. Ooh. Y’know , I wonder if --” Harper pointed in Rory’s general direction. “Do not finish that sentence. For the love of God and for the sake of my sanity, if you inspire me with thoughts of Patrick in leather --” “Strapped to a set of spreader bars, hands cuffed behind his back, a big ol ’ ball gag stuffed in his mouth --” Harper spasmed and pressed both sides of the pillow to his ears. “I hate you.” “You love me and you know it.” Rory ruffled Harper’s hair.Ruffled might not be the right word for something a squeak shy of a scalp burn. “Go back to sleep. Betcha twenty you’ll look back on this in the morning and laugh.” “Or not.” “Grouch.” Rory nudged Harper with his toes. “Sleep.” ***** A strange tickling sensation coaxed Harper out of the beginning of a dream. He didn’t so much mind escaping the sentient red pen preparing to chase him through the Bronx.

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He frowned, eyes still closed. The soft tickling trailed down his side, over the sensitive ribs and across his hip. Wetness brushed the beginning of a defined oblique he was darn proud of if he did say so himself. Tickling. Hair? Wetness. Tongue? “ Shhh.” Rory’s hand, fingers splayed wide, came to rest over his abdomen. “You’re still asleep. Enjoy the good dream.” “Rory, wha ’…?” “Told you, you’re asleep. Rock-a-bye writer.” Harper gagged. “Too saccharine? Okay, fine.” The sharp edges of Rory’s teeth grazed his hipbone. “You’re too awake to let this go, aren’t you?” He chuckled darkly and quested lower, brushing the tentatively hopeful rise of Harper’s cock. “Jeez, the stamina on you. I’d have thought we’d worn it out by now.” “Hey,” Harper protested. “Yeah, yeah. You’re in your prime, Captain Atlas. You’re not gonna catch me complaining.” The tickle of Rory’s hair, the tips trailing over Harper’s bare skin, brushed up over his nipple. He hissed. “You like, huh?” Rory caught the tantalized nub between his lips and sucked, then used his teeth to tug. “Love me a good hot spot. Bet you could come just from this. Wanna find out?” “ Wannaknow what you’re trying to accomplish.” Harper pushed at Rory, laughing. “What’s with all the kisses?” Even though you won’t tell me what’s wrong even when I asked you nicely, I’m kissing it better. Don’t laugh. At least I’m not taste-testing you looking for the tenderest , juiciest pieces.” Rory smacked his lips. “Although that can be plenty fun, too.” Harper rolled to his back. He squinted up at the fuzzy silver-and-pink blur that was Rory’s face, hair falling over his eyes, and on an impulse reached up to brush the strands away. Luck smiled upon him and he didn’t misjudge his depth perception to poke anything vital. In fact, the taut line of Rory’s face softened. That taken together with a white gleam told Harper that Rory was grinning at him. Harper stroked what he hoped was Rory’s cheekbone and studied him. “Harper?” Rory propped his weight on one arm. “Are you --” “Would you shut up and get back to kissing me?” Harper asked. “With toast, even, if you want. Anything’s okay if you’re interested. Just don’t get jam on my sheets.” “Been worse things than jam on these sheets recently, let me tell you that, and if you can’t remember I’m doing something completely wrong. And who needs toast at a time like this?” Regardless of bitching, the sparkle reentered Rory’s voice. He flopped over Harper’s chest, angling close for a real kiss. His tongue slid past Harper’s lips, stroking across the flat and tickling up over his hard palate. Viva la endorphins. Harper decided he was fine and dandy with a dose of distraction. He fell into the

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groove, shifting position beneath Rory to allow his muse better access, tipping his head back and moaning contentedly at the rasp of stubble along his jaw. Rory nosed over Harper’s throat, dotting him with marks that Harper couldn’t be bothered to protest. He lapped at a particularly sensitive spot and hummed from the chest, stilling. “What?” Harper asked, immediately suspicious. “I had a story idea. Hey, hey, hey, don’t be like that!” Rory caught Harper’s wrists as Harper would have growled and rolled away in a fit of pique. “I know I was the one who said we were done, but inspiration waits for no alarm clocks, right?” He flopped on his side, either ignorant of or temporarily ignoring the slide of his insistent hard-on up the length of Harper’s hip. Harper bit his fist. Rory took that as permission. “What if Outré isn’t on this planet?” “What?” “Give it a chance!” Rory gestured enthusiastically as he spoke. “That’d explain a lot about the culture and the family histories, right? Say they’re third or fourth generation off earth. Lots of knowledge got left behind. Maybe a cataclysm or something, and they all escaped the ugly rumors about them. Hoped they’d managed to leave the curses behind, too --” “What curses?” “Didn’t you read the fifth script? Jesus, Harper. We decided there’s a dark and ancient smackdown haunting Fenyx !” Harper struggled to recall. “I thought it was persistent bad luck.” “Okay, it is. But itcould be a curse, and --” “And no way in hell, Rory.” Harper dragged his hand through his hair. “Where are my glasses? Get off of me.” “Why not?” “Because I like my dick attached to my body.” “ Heh.” Rory let go of Harper and sprawled loosely, ogling him. “ Gottasay I’m a fan, myself.” “And if we go to Janie with script changes that huge, she will not only castrate me, but she’ll toss your huevos on the fire too.” Harper grabbed Rory’s nuts and squeezed -- lightly -- for emphasis. “Fuck. Fine.” Rory rolled his eyes. “What’s life without a little risk?” “That kind of risk, I don’t want to go within spitting distance of.” “She wouldn’t really, you know. Might yell at you loud enough to pop an eardrum, but I can’t see her with a pair of hedge clippers.” Rory mimicked a chopping movement.

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Harper, all too able to visualize Janie wielding the snips with a maniacal grin and a pen tucked behind her ear, cupped a protective hand over his groin. “The answer is no, nada, nuh -uh, not in a million years. Drop it.” “Spoilsport. C’mere .” “Rory, I’ve kind of lost the mood --” “I said c’mere ,” Rory insisted, yanking Harper back into bed. He manhandled, or would that be muse-handled, them about until he had Harper positioned, under protest, as the little spoon. “There. Sorry. Can I get back to the kissing now?” Harper nudged his elbow back but swallowed his vocal protest. Rory sighed, a surprisingly soft exhalation. “Harper, I’m working my ass off tryin ’ to cheer you up, here.” He licked a delicate trail over the shell of Harper’s ear. “You’re worrying me. Haven’t seen you with your chin off your chest since the pizza guy stopped by.” Harper flinched. “And what’s up with the nerves?” Rory demanded crankily. “Tell me what’s gone cuckoo in your Cocoa Puffs tonight before I worry myself sick, would you? Maybe it’s something I can help you with.” “I don’t think you can.” Harper rubbed his eyes. “You should be used to these situations. You’ve worked with writers before.” “Yeah, and you’re all nuts.” “Tell me something I don’t know.” “Nuts or not, I’m still invested.” Rory rolled his shoulders in a sort of supine shrug and insistently wormed his arm over Harper’s chest. They fit together as if they’d lain this way for years, forming a comfortable habit of long acquaintance. As if Rory belonged with him. “How about I give you something better to think about?” Rory mouthed the corner of Harper’s lips and sent his hand on walkabout. Harper jerked, trying to shake Rory off before -Too late. Rory’s questing fingers found his lack of ability to get excited about this with so much else worrying him. “Oh.” “I’m sorry.” “Relax, I know it’s not on purpose.” Rory thumped his head to Harper’s shoulder. “But this is in no way normal for the Harper I know and, um.” He cleared his throat. “You won’t clue me in, and yes, now I am curious enough to take a peek in there. It’s all this big gray blur that worries the hell out of me, thanks a bunch.” He exhaled noisily, the warm gust of air curling over Harper’s neck. Harper couldn’t take it anymore. He pressed his fingers to Rory’s temple placed his lips at the corner of his muse’s busy mouth. “Sleep,” he coaxed, sharing Rory’s air, the spiciness sharper than usual. “Forget tonight ever happened.”

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Rory eyed him warily but nodded and pillowed his cheek on his hand. For once in his life, he kept quiet. Harper fell asleep to the soothing rhythm of figure eights traced on his chest from breastbone to navel, over and over again… ***** Harper’s consciousness seemed to skip a beat. He squinted at the bright blaze of sunlight across his face, wondering who’d turned the dial on the sun past eleven. “Up and at ‘ em, hot potato!” Rory slapped his ass. “How’d you rest?” Yawning, Harper stretched his arms over his head and sat. He scratched his head, then pushed Rory lazily away, changed his mind, and tugged him back, tumbling his muse over his lap. There. Better. “Great, I think.” “No weird dreams?” “No. As far as I remember, I didn’t dream at all.” Sleep, the all-purpose do-over. If he didn’t let himself think about the Clerk, his upset faded to a vague disquiet, easily buried. Surely, they’d have time to figure something out. If Rory had taught him anything, it was that rules were made to be broken. “You in a better mood?” “Getting there fast.” Harper stroked the sinewy muscle in Rory’s thigh and rolled his hips, cresting his cock along the crux of Rory’s legs. “Now that’s what I’m talkin ’ about.” Rory beamed up at him, reaching to tickle Harper’s lips. He curled their tongues together and goosed Harper’s ass. “ Mmm. Better than angsting all over the place, huh?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get back down here.” For his part, Harper preferred Rory’s crow of delight when his balls were fondled to any amount of watchful waiting. Keeping him happy sounded like a plan. Chapter Ten

“See? What’d I tell you?” Rory flicked a puff of flour at Harper. “Work is great, and work is good. Healthy body, healthy mind. They don’t compare to chocolate, and some days you’ve just gotta say ‘screw you, world, I’m staying home.’“ Harper rested his glasses, fogged with flour, atop his head, partly to avoid white powder caking in his eyelashes, and partly to enjoy Rory’s involuntary reaction to a particular, unexpected hot button. Authority figures pushed his muse’s buttons, which was a whole world Harper didn’t plan on delving into unless his hand was forced. He put the hinky issues aside for the fun of planning a night in with Rory involving a ruler, a desk, and a plaid uniform. Somehow, he didn’t think Rory would have too much of a problem assuming the position.

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“I dared you to bake something edible, if you were going to survive on sweets. Not to buy out a store’s worth of sugar and flour and challenge Betty Crocker for the world title.” “Blah, blah, blah.” Rory attacked a bowl of mixed brown sugar and melted butter and stirred vigorously, syrupy spooge -like batter splattering his forehead. Harper tried not to snicker. And failed. “We’ll see who’s laughing later, pal, when I’m finishing off my third helping of warm peach cobbler with homemade ice cream and you aren’t allowed to have any.” Hmm. Maybe it’d end up being Harper bent over a desk, asking for a spanking with the rule. He thought he’d be remarkably okay with the turning of the tables. “I won’t even let you lick my fingers.” Harper wiped the smile off his face, passing his palm from nose to chin. “I’ll be good.” “ Aww. I like you better when you’re bad.” “Good nets me peach cobbler.” “Bad nets you booty.” “I can’t lose for winning, then.” “Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” Harper watched his muse moving about the kitchen, lingering over the slim strength of his fingers as he measured, tasted, and worked his undeniable magic. His teeth would explode from the sugar and he would in all likelihood spend the night holding Rory’s hair back while he revisited too much candy. Seemed like a decent trade-off if it meant he could spend these lazy morning hours doing nothing more than sipping bold, rich coffee decadent with cream, as sweet as sin and dark as death, and watch Rory at work. “I think I like being me today.” Rory replied with a knowing look, its sharp edges softened by mutual understanding. He hummed under his breath and splashed vanilla extract into his bowl, licked the spoon, and drummed out the bridge of “ Freebird” on the counter. Harper shook his head and addressed himself to his fresh cup of coffee. If Rory didn’t have the muse gig, he’d make one hell of a barista. Never burned, never sour, never weak. If he stayed, then maybe… “If doesn’t equal is,” Harper murmured into his cup. “Neither does it equal ‘must be.’“ “Say what, now?” Rory tossed three eggs up, juggled each one, and cracked them on their way down, one-two-three, yolk and white coming in for a perfect landing without a fragment of shell gone awry.

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“Nothing.” “ Bzzt. You’re a rotten liar, Harper. Your nose twitches.” Harper touched the tip of his nose. “Seriously?” “You don’t trust me now?” Rory poked the batter warily. “Doesn’t look like the recipe page,” he muttered. “Try again. What’re you babbling about over there?” “I’m babbling? That’s rich. I had a dream that’s bugging me. Nothing to worry about.” “What’d you dream about?” “Can’t remember,” Harper lied, hiding his nose behind his mug in a long swig of coffee in case Rory hadn’t been pulling his leg. “When’d you dream it?” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Harper muttered. Rat-tat-a-tat-tat. Tat, tat. Harper replayed the rhythm in his mental ears. “Shave and a haircut, two bits? That’s not in your usual repertoire. Or has the vanilla extract gone to your head?” “That would be thedoor . Distracted much?” “So answer it already.” “I’m up to my nipples in pie batter!” Rory huffed. “Fuck you for it.” “Isn’t that supposed to be ‘flip you for it’?” “It’s more fun my way. Finish your coffee.” Rory wiped his floury hands on Harper’s shirt and ignored Harper’s yelp of protest as he Tom Cruise- edhis way to the door. “Hi! We don’t want any.” “Not even if the first one’s free?” “Lisa?” Harper craned to see past Rory. “You made it.” “You knew she was coming over? Shoulda said, Harper. I’d have started baking earlier. We coulda had a real klatch here.” “I’m all verklempt with regrets. Come on in, Lisa.” Harper stood, stretching his arms over his head. “She’s here to hand deliver the next three scripts to Janie.” “‘She’ is standing right here.” Lisa stood on her tiptoes to wave at Harper over Obstacle Course Rory. “Are you decent?” “Not if my life depended on it.” Rory whipped gracefully as a Greyhound en pointe to the side and lifted

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Lisa’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. Unfortunately, he chose the one with a menthol light snugged between two fingers. “Jeez. Avaunt , foul fiend.” “Up yours, my love,” Lisa said sweetly, swaying her way past. She stopped three steps out of Rory’s reach, in the middle of a lazily swirling cloud of flour dust, sneezed, and came up with watering eyes. “Holy Christ.” “You can smoke three packs a day, and a little sugar bothers you?” Harper teased. “This is not a ‘little’ sugar. This is enough sugar to fire up a fleet of ADD rug rats. It looks like an accident in a Sara Lee factory in here.” Rory shut the door with unnecessary force. “Bite your tongue, woman. Sara Lee wishes she had my chops.” “You have chops?” “I havemad chops. Here, taste this.” Rory skidded to his fleet of sticky bowls, hefted the sloppiest in the crook of his arm, and thrust a spoonful of glop at Lisa. To Harper’s horrified fascination, Lisa shrugged and sucked the goo between her lips. There were things he’d hoped never to have to share with his cowriter , and pornographic moans over Rory’s talents would have been one of them. Harper squirmed in his seat and took refuge in his coffee, knowing he couldn’t blame the curling steam from the cup for his pinkening cheeks. “ Aww. Does somebody still have nightmares about vaginas with teeth?” “Theydo have teeth.” Harper gave her a dose of innocent, frightened eyes. Lisa flipped him off. “Just so you know, if you ever wake up with a bruised dick, I’m going to laugh myself silly.” “Not gonna happen while I’m around.” “If you’re wrong, then at least you can kiss it better.” Rory’s low, dirty snicker was the aural equivalent of the graffiti scribbled on a thousand locker room walls. “Would you two stop? Lisa, scripts are on the kitchen table.” “You’re kidding me, right? In that mess? Where?” “In the Tupperware box.” Harper pointed, hoping he remembered right. “Red lid.” “Professional.” Lisa used her fingertips to lift the box. “Give me a canary and a hard hat. I’m going in.” “Funny.” “Oh, shi -- Harper!” Rory leapt back from the oven. A gout of fire that would have been impressive if it hadn’t been issuing fromHarper’s oven curled after him. “Harper!”

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Could muses burn? Was it the same as dumping water on a witch? Harper moved so quickly he was aware of no space or time passing between knocking over his mug and arriving at Rory’s side. He hip-checked Rory out of harm’s way. “Lisa, fire extinguisher on the wall --” “Heads’ up!” Lisa plowed between them, nozzle at the ready. Harper watched glumly as his oven overflowed with white foam. “That was my pie crust,” Rory bitched. “Now it’s performance art,” Lisa comforted. “Sorry, Rory.” Harper kissed his temple. “It’s trash. Rescue the cobbler filling and try again.” “No fair turning my own advice on me.” Rory caught Harper by the chin and planted one on him regardless of viewing audience, slipping his tongue smoothly through Harper’s lips. He tasted of vanilla, cloves, and slightly scorched dark brown sugar. Lisa cooed. “You two are adorable. I think I’m going to be sick.” “Don’t you wish your boyfriend was hot like me?” Disaster forgotten, Rory shimmied his hips and tossed a hand towel over his shoulder. “ Wannastick around and watch me go for a back draft this time?” “I’ll pass, thanks. If the cobbler turns out decent, save me a bowlful.” Apparently resigning herself to sticky fingers and a dry-cleaning bill, Lisa gathered the Tupperware box under her arm and patted its snugly sealed lid. “I can hardly believe it, Harper. Six scripts in two weeks, and from what I hear from Janie, they’re good stuff.” She sniffled, and then pointed at him. “You’d better not forget the little people on daytime TV when you’re a big-shotRialto writer, mister.” “You’ll never be little people to me, and you know it.” Harper propped his weight on the table. He caught and squeezed her hand. “Who says I won’t hire you away, anyhow?” Lisa scoffed. “As if. I want the head writer position onTwilight Rising when you’re gone and you’d better not forget it. Once you’re all signed up, I can gossip about ‘I knew him when’ and his mysterious yet hunky associate who turned out the nextSix Feet Under meetsQueer as Folk meetsThe Riches meets --” “Meets enough hyperbole to choke a horse. Lisa, it’s notthat good.” Lisa’s jaw dropped. “Not ‘that’ good, and there’s an actual meet set up to talk contracts? Notthat good? Rory? Can I kill him? Just a skosh ?” “Sorry. I’m kinda attached to the guy.” Rory snugged up behind Harper, wrapping his arms around Harper’s waist and tucking his chin over Harper’s shoulder. “Oh my God. I’m out of here before I toss my cookies.” Despite her scorn, Lisa planted a kiss on Harper’s cheek and reached over him to tweak Rory’s nose. “If she likes these, and given the way she orgasmed over the first three I’ll wager she will, Janie’s going to be in a good mood and that makes for an awesome day. She said she’d try to arrange for a meeting between herself and a bigwig this week. Are you going to show?”

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“For what? To pace by the doors?” “You bet we’ll be there,” Rory butted in. “Moment of triumph, Harper. Shh . Don’t say ‘if.’ Have I ever steered you wrong?” He stropped his cheek on Harper’s neck. Harper tried to stifle a moan. Rory smirked against the soft skin beneath Harper’s ear. “Lisa, to spare your innocent virgin eyes, if you don’t want to watch this head into NC-17 territory I’d suggest you --” “Already on my way,” Lisa called, en route to the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob and turned back to them. An unusually soft smile, for Lisa, curved her mouth and made it beautiful. “Would that even a fraction of the world got as lucky as you two,” she said. “There would be no more war. Take it easy, kids, and do something to celebrate, would you?” She thumped the box under her arm. “The world is soon to be your oyster. I suggest champagne.” “She’s right, you know,” Rory murmured for Harper and Harper alone to hear. “You’ve just about got it made. What’re you going to do next? Disney?” Try and figure out how to keep you, Harper thought. With an effort, he shoved the worries to the back of his head. “I’m considering eating peach cobbler off your chest and ice cream off your cock.” “JesusChrist ,” Lisa complained as she shut the door behind her. “How are you two even real?” Harper hugged Rory tight enough to make his ribs creak. Lisa could see it as plain as he could. He and Rory belonged together. No way could he -- would he -- let this end. “Hey. What’s going on in there?” Rory prodded Harper’s head. “Nothing,” Harper fibbed, turning to collect Rory and finding him naked as a jaybird, hard, and ready, his cock darkening where it bobbed heavy between his legs. “Whoa!” “Is that a complaint?” Rory preened. “Absolutely not. Where’s the ice cream?” ***** Three more pie-crust accidents later, neither Harper nor Rory complained about necessary cleanup. At all. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep on me in here. You’ll drown.” The wet slickness of Rory’s tongue trailed a line up Harper’s back, his mouth cooler in comparison to the water pattering down around them and beaded on the tiled walls of the shower.

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“Can’t talk. In the zone.” Harper propped his forehead on his arm and groaned. Rory chuckled quietly. “Never met a guy who loves his showers as much as you do. Let me wash your back.” “Whatever you want, it’s all yours.” “Careful about those open-ended invitations.” Rory nibbled his shoulder. “I know you hide the loofah in some kind of katana space in here. Gimme . And the girlie shower gel. If you’re going to do a job, do it right.” “Under the seat.” Harper waved behind himself in the general direction of the shower’s small inset bench. “You could lather me with something rose scented and I don’t think I’d complain right now.” “Note to self: Harper is remarkably pliant when wet. Maybe you’re half kelpie.” Squishy noises filled a short pause, culminating in the rough, soft, slick scrape of the loofah over Harper’s back. He moaned without shame and arched his spine, giving Rory access to as much skin surface as he could possibly expose. “Big day today,” Rory remarked, scrubbing with a gossamer touch. “Ready to claim your laurels?” “There’re no guarantees. Down and to the left.” “This far down?” Rory tickled Harper’s ass. “Wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but I like this better. Don’t let me stop you.” Rory clicked his tongue. “Uh-uh. Eyes on the prize. Go over the list one more time to ease my mind.” Harper tucked away his disappointment at Rory’s deferment of his invitation. He spread his legs, giving his waking cock room to comfortably grow. “Synopses. Breakdowns. Treatments. Sample scripts. Real scripts. All in Janie’s hands. Two-thirty teleconference in her office. She’ll call me when she gets the word.” “And what’s the word gonna be, Mr. Neuroses?” “The bird is the word. Kidding!” Harper jumped away from Rory’s pinch. “You’re bad for my sense of humor. Or good. I’m not sure which.” “At least you know how to smile. I wondered, when I first met you.” “Sentimentalist.” “That’s me,” Rory agreed, sounding as lazily content as Harper. “I’d have calledyou a great big sap.” He draped himself over Harper from behind, molding his chest to Harper’s freshly washed back, and emitted a noise as close to purring as made no difference. “Nice.” “ Mmm.” Harper canted his hips, checking to see if showers affected Rory in a similar manner, and -aha! “Could be nicer.” “And they say romance is dead.” Rory licked the soft skin where Harper’s throat met his shoulder. He

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skated, soap slippery, down Harper’s abdomen and teased his now-rigid cock with one fingertip. “Then again, I’m not about to complain when I could fuck instead.” “Now who’s the romantic?” Harper scoffed. He rested his weight on his arms and bowed forward. Big shower, plenty of room for what he knew he wanted. “Speaking of fucking…” He might have imagined the sound, but could have sworn Rory swallowed, on the verge of but not quite hissing. “Wait. You want me to --” “That was the idea.” Curious, Harper peered over his shoulder. Through the dripping squiggles of his hair, he saw Rory had gone a few degrees paler save for two burning red spots high on his cheeks. “Rory? What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Rory coughed and turned hastily away. Harper turned to better study him, baffled and trying to conceal a stinging sense of hurt. “Look, if you don’t want to --” “Don’t want to?” Rory’s lips pressed tightly together. “If you knew how much Iwanted , you’d --” “So take it. No-strings offer.” “Harper…” Frowning, Harper turned to study his muse. “I’m not unsatisfied, Rory. Blowjobs, handjobs , rubbing off, there’s nothing I haven’t loved. If you don’t want to go this far…” “God, is it ever not that.” Worried now, Harper caught Rory by the back of the neck and coaxed him closer, reclaiming the inches Rory had moved away. His body confirmed what he’d said, cock straining toward his belly. “You never hesitate when you want something. What’s wrong with this picture?” Rory shook his head, stubbornly silent. He could not, if he’d tried, have disturbed Harper more deeply. “You taught me not to quit, too,” Harper reminded him. He shook Rory’s arm. “Spill.” “Not this time.” Rory’s cock twitched, belying his hesitance. Interesting. Maybe the way to getting plowed didn’t involve words as much as action. Harper applied thought to action and turned his back on Rory. Even after all they’d done together that would frighten the fish, they’d never switched up who pitched and who caught. He bent from the waist and grasped his ankles, feet far apart on the tiled floor, braced at the shower walls. Water poured from his spine through his spread cheeks. Rory groaned. He sounded like a man on a diet faced with a smorgasbord, inspiring Harper’s confidence. “I know you want in here,” Harper invited, his voice sounding strange to him, an octave deeper than he dropped even in the middle of a blowjob. “And it’s not half as much as I want it.”

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He waited through the tangible wave of tension and uncertainty, and sagged with relief when Rory’s palms ghosted over his ass. “No one I’ve worked for, they never wanted to…never would have let me even if I’d wanted to --” Rory had never topped? Was that what this was about? Virginal nerves? Virginal? Rory? He wanted to laugh, but no man would ever forgive another under the circumstances. “Lucky me,” he said instead. He shivered under Rory’s questing, hesitant touch and hissed when Rory brushed his hole. “More.” “You really mean it?” Rory fingered him, not yet penetrating and driving Harper mad with mounting hunger. “You do. You mean every word of what you said. God, Harper…your aura. Talk about teeth.” Harper laughed, spitting shower water. “I don’t bite unless you ask nicely.” “Maybe later.” Rory exhaled a shuddering breath. The kiss at the small of Harper’s back surprised him. “Got any slick?” Harper heard the unspokenthank you beneath the question. “Same place as the loofah .” “Just so you know, I reserve the right to mock the hell out of you when I’m not cross-eyed from blue balls.” “Knock yourself out. Later.” “ Gonnatake care of the blue problem first.” “I damn well hope so.” Harper undulated in lazy anticipation. Rory swore. The seat lid clanked loudly with the force Rory used to snatching it open. He might have chipped a tile. Harper could not have cared less. “More is never enough,” Rory muttered under his breath. Harper heard the lube cap popping open. He thought Rory might not mind if he stepped out of the way and took control. He’d probably enjoy being bent over and dominated. Not this time. Harper was too far gone. He shouted, loud and random nonsense, when Rory’s slippery finger thrust inside him. “Tight,” Rory grunted. “How long’s it been?” “Too long. Don’t…don’t worry about hurting me. Okay? Just give me more.” He yelped. “What the…why did you just tickle me? Quit it!” Rory thrust his free hand under Harper’s armpit and tickled unmercifully. “It got way too serious in here for me. Not my style.” “That’s how you want to play, huh?” Harper’s head went fuzzy with relief. “Give me your best shot, cowboy.” “Save a horse?”

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“Ideally, yes.” “If you can still come up with words like ‘ideally’ on your own, I’m doing this wrong.” Rory pressed two fingers two knuckles deep. “Bet I can strike gold on the first --” Harper’s toes curled. He shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming soprano. “Jackpot,” Rory bragged. He spread his fingers, the dark, fiery burn melting into something not pleasant, but better, and pegged Harper a second time. He flicked over the hot spot, timing his strokes with Harper’s heartbeat. “Damn. The noises you make…” Harper grasped his cock and squeezed the base, cursing at the pain but considering the effort worthwhile. “Now. Fuck me now.” “You’re not --” “I’m ready enough.” His hand shook, vibrations traveling the length of his shaft. “Can’t hold out much longer. Don’t want to come before you’re in me.” Rory swore softly and creatively. “You say something like that again, and I’m not responsible for…oh, fuck it. Okay.” He splayed one hand, fingers spread wide, on Harper’s left hip. Harper bit his lip, welcoming the slight pain that reeled him back from the edge he hurtled toward at the first broad, blunt press of Rory’s rigid cock at his hole. “Over the sphincter and through the bum, look out libido, here he comes.” “You didnot just say…oh, fuck, fuck. Rory!” Harper scrabbled for purchase. His muse, ladies and gentlemen, never one to take a nibble when he could stuff himself silly. “ Shh. I’ve got you.” Rory’s arm came around Harper’s waist, holding him up. “Okay?” Harper breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’d seen the size of Rory’s cock before. Appreciated it up close and personal on many a memorable occasion so far. He always forgot how vastly different the size of a man’s dick seemed when splitting him open. Nothing better in the world, though. He gritted his teeth and shivered. “I’m good. Go.” “Sogood.” Rory dragged out, a slow sweet burn, and thrust in, on the verge of tearing Harper in half. He peppered Harper’s shoulders with sharp, prickling kisses. “Never been anyone like you. Not ever. You’re gonna burn me alive.” Though Harper had a hard time thinking, he bore down, squeezing Rory’s cock when he’d buried it to the hilt. “Gets better,” he rasped. “Son of a bitch.” Rory latched on, sucking a ruthless bruise on Harper’s back. He rocked deep, drew out save for the head, and slammed his hips to Harper’s ass. The squelchyslap, slap, slap of his balls and the slippery, obscene sound of fucking echoed off the shower walls. The hot water had long since run out, barely warm, still strong enough a flow to drench them. “Mine,” Rory chanted, knocking Harper’s hand out of the way. His grip was clumsy as he wrapped his palm around Harper’s cock and jerked him off. “Mine, all mine, fuck, so hot, not letting you go --”

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Harper’s heart skipped a beat.Not letting you go either. No way . The pulse leapt from his chest to his groin. “Rory, gonna --” Rory buried himself balls-deep and bit down hard, breaking the skin in a rushing flare of pain. Harper bucked and bowed sharply at the rush of startling, white-hot pleasure. He covered Rory’s hand with his and sped up the pace while his cum splashed the tiles, ropes of creamy white vivid against their saturated blue. “Rory!” Rory hitched his cock deeper, as if he could melt into Harper and become one flesh, and let go. Heat flooded Harper’s insides while Rory pressed bruises into his hip, a five-finger memory to match to his own hand span later. Too soon, Rory shuddered to a stop, his cock still half-hard. A liquid sensation told Harper that Rory’s cum was already dripping from his ass, trailing down his legs. Rory’s low moan and eager jerk of his cock within told Harper that Rory had noticed. They’d forgotten a condom. Did it really matter when Rory wasn’t technically human and was largely composed of Harper’s inspiration given physical form? Harper rolled that one over briefly before deciding he was far too invested in a decent afterglow to break his brain at the moment. “Neverbeen anyone like you,” Rory informed him, slumping over Harper. Harper allowed himself a moment’s smugness. Never before, and never would be again, if he had his way. Chapter Eleven

Two o’clock in Janie’s office and all was possibly well. Janie coughed, not precisely politely. As a general rule, wise men and wiser women found a way to drop whatever activities might have otherwise engaged them and paid attention when Janie indicated a desire for their ears. Mostly because the odds were good her audience would get tokeep their ears, and everything else attached from the neck up. Harper fixated on the upper-right-hand corner of the crisp paper’s edges as they flipped over one by one. Rory elbowed him. Ungently . Harper oofed . Janie raised one plucked eyebrow. “Boys, do I have to separate you two?” “No, ma’am.” “Apple polisher.” Harper resisted the urge to tread on Rory’s toes.

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“You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this a nursery or a place of business?” Janie let drop the sheaf of paper, its pristine white with crisp black text unreflective of the blood, sweat, tears, and semen that’d gone into the creation of every page. Not that the sacrifice of semen had been a terrible burden to bear. Or that he’d ever say a single word about bodily fluids of any sort to Janie. “Sorry. We’ll behave.” “Damn right you will.” Janie shuffled the loose script pages together. “And not here. Out.” “Janie --” Harper started, arrested by Rory’s sharp jerk on his sleeve. Janie rubbed her forehead. The lines at the corners of her eyes had deepened, the dark shadows underneath not helping. “Boys, you’ve put in a lot of work here. I respect that. I’d even go so far as to say it’s good stuff. I cannot say I trust either of you for a second in the company ofRialto executives. Out.” “But we --” “Out.” ***** “In Outré,” Janie began, “has come a long way since its inception. I think you’ll find the changes and development intriguing, and it is my hope that you’ll take an interest in seeing more. The story beginsIn Outré , a branch of SoHo , in a spice shop with a family lineage traceable back to the Salem witch trials… Excuse me.” FZZT. “Damn it. She’s wise to us.” Rory passed over Harper’s new BlackBerry, alarmingly and illegally fine-tuned to pick up the most amazing things via other innocent phones. “I tried. My hacking skills aren’t up-to-date, I guess. Hey, she said ‘intriguing.’ Good words, right?” “I guess.” Harper pocketed his phone. He tilted his face to the sun, imagining the easy balminess of the clear morning light washing him with peaceful white light, the same shade that Rory’s silvery-dark hair gleamed when he walked past a window. “Midas.” “Don’t count your paychecks.” Harper’s lips twitched up. “That’s not what I meant. You want something to eat while we’re waiting? Meetings like these either run long, in which case we can load up on hot dogs and chips, ice cream for you, or they run short, in which case we’ll be making a stop by the liquor store on the way home. If we make it home before I throw myself under a bus.” “Drama queen.” Rory flicked Harper’s ear. “They’ll fall over panting. Maybe not panting. There could be a bead or two of sweat. I’d call sweat a win.” “You would.” Harper slung an arm across Rory’s shoulders. Payback for his still-protesting ear could

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wait. “Hot dogs it is, then.” “I’ll compromise and let you have a beer.” “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. I think.” Harper peered at his watch. “Doesn’t seem like the date can be right. How’s it been weeks already?” “Time flies when you’re having fun. Fruit flies like a banana. I like my hot dogs all the way, extra relish. Should be a cart around the corner as the pedestrian flees. Shall we?” Harper gave in to the urge and planted a wet, smacking kiss on the top of Rory’s head. “Hey.” Rory nuzzled him. “Hey, yourself.” “You know I wouldn’t be here without you. You did it. Thank you.” “Wait until you hit the big time. Swimming pools. Movie stars. Take your shoes off and settle in, ‘cause it’ll be nothing but up.” “You have way too much confidence in me to keep the size of my ego manageable.” “I find your consistent ego-bubble-popping charming, yet I want to slap you upside the head at the same time. Hella dichotomy there. The muse speaks: You’re gonna be a star, kid. Shut up and deal.” Harper laughed. He couldn’t help it. His muse was so alive, so vital, so damn hot with his changeable eyes glittering that Harper’s gait faltered a step. Rory drew a question mark in place of the cross, nimble in his pace as ever. “I still wonder if I’m crazy sometimes,” Harper admitted. “If all this is real. Seems too good to be true.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Rory batted him away, albeit with a poorly hidden grin, childlike in its gleefulness. “Thank me with lunch.” “Note to self: The way to a muse’s heart is through his stomach.” “No, that’s the way to his dick. You’re getting a celebratory lay in any position of your choice when the executives come back with a green light” -- Rory swung about and walked backward, hands in his pockets, no longer hiding his grin -- “which they will. Scout’s honor. Now feed me, Seymour.” “I amnot the Audrey in this relationship.” “Tall, skinny, neurotic…” “I’ll withhold your portion of relish.” “No, not the relish! Uncle, apologies, gesundheit .” Rory sketched the sign of the cross, or Harper thought it might be, with two random swooshes through the air. “Race you!” He kneed the back of Harper’s leg and, cackling maniacally, zoomed ahead. “You’re paying for that on your knees!” Harper yelled, righting his balance before he gave chase.

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“Promises, promises,” Rory taunted when Harper reached the hot dog cart. “My associate here would like a bottle of water.I will have three all the way, extra-extrarelish.” Caught between twin urges to throttle Rory and to kiss him stupid -- in other words, business as usual -Harper snagged Rory by the lapels and wound him in for a curtain-calling smooch. “Get a room,” the vendor grunted, his large mustache concealing an undoubtedly dark scowl. “ Outta relish. Slaw?” “Fuck. Okay, dog me. As long as there’s extra.” Rory propped his elbow on the cart’s handle, crossed his legs at the ankle and treated Harper to a double-plus-special leer with an extra layer of visible contemplation of the potential joy in fellating a hot dog under the pretense of eating his lunch. The vendor aimed a squirt bottle of mustard at Rory. “Pry him off before the shirt gets it.” “Sorry.” Harper offered Rory a hand up. Rory’s fingers were warm and dry in his, lacing between and curling tight. “You’re so hot when you’re behaving badly,” he whispered, knowing his lips tickled Rory’s ear. “I’d let you run naked, in circles, but trust me, you don’t want to get caught in the mustard crossfire. You look too sexy in your new suit and I want to see you wear it more than once without looking like we had a run-in with a Porta -Potty and lost.” “Note to self: Beware mobile food sellers.” “They can be vicious,” Harper agreed, smoothing down the rumples he’d made in Rory’s shirt. “No offense.” The vendor grunted and applied a hefty squirt of ketchup to a dog-in-progress. “You should keep a tighter leash on him, pal.” “He’s not a dog.” “Yeah, but he knows his place.” The vendor cut a glance at Rory, and at Harper, far too knowing. “Don’t you, muse?” “Shit.” Harper took two hasty steps backward, dragging Rory with him. The Clerk. “You?” “You were expecting maybe the Pope? Try again.” Harper’s throat scraped, too dry to properly swallow. “I think we’ll get our lunch somewhere else.” He pulled at Rory’s hand. The end result was somewhat akin to trying to pucker up and blow over a statue. “Rory?” Rory’s complexion had faded to milky pale. Harper had heard the expression “deer in the headlights” many times before, but not even when exposed toBambi had he ever felt so strongly for the buck. “You’re early.” “Don’t piss yourself. You’ve got a few left. Meeting’s still running.” Rory’s grip on Harper’s hand tightened until a small bone wentcreak . “I didn’t do anything wrong and there’s a hell of a lot of work left for us. You’ve got no right to be here.”

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“Correction. You’re on probation, and I have every right.” The vendor -- the Clerk -- wrapped Rory’s hot dogs in wax paper and passed them to Harper, who took them mutely. “You know the rules. Stick to ‘ em.” A squirt of mustard arced through the air. “Bye-bye.” The mustard splattered on empty pavement, no hot-dog cart in sight, missing Harper’s shoes by a fraction of a splotch. He said nothing. Rory said nothing. Overhead, the sunlight dimmed, passing behind clouds and casting shadows over Rory’s face. Harper appreciated Mother Nature’s contribution to the mood, though she’d have to wait for her thanks. Rory made a face. “If I asked you not to pay any attention to the man behind the curtain, would you listen?” “No.” Harper couldn’t sort through all the words clamoring in his head, each one struggling for first place, especially -- no. Harper bit his lip.Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. He said it. Asked it, rather. “What did he mean, we’ve got until after the meeting?”Not yet. Please, not this soon. Harper wondered if they sold nitro tabs at other, preferably grounded in the real world hot, dog carts. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start, given the contents of your average bratwurst. “Harper…” “You’re leaving. Like you said once before.” Rory’s smile faded. He looked away. Harper’s heart sank.Fuck . “Rory?” “Mary Poppins .” Rory grimaced. “I can only stay until the wind changes. I told you before that it wouldn’t be forever. I thought you were okay with it.” Rory spread his hands helplessly. “You never said otherwise.” “Rory, you…”You idiot. And me too, because I didn’t say a word. Too wrapped up in my own head and it was a damn fool mistake . Adrenaline rose strong and sour in the back of Harper’s throat. “It’s okay, Harper. I came, Icame , I did my job, and that’s all. It is what it is.” Rory stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking impossibly young and wide-open, vulnerable. “After this meeting, you’re heading for L.A., or Hollywoodland , or what-have-you. Possibly to Wilmington, North Carolina, depending on how the unions swing. You’ll have pretty boys hanging off your every word. You won’t need me.” Harper lowered his voice, but pitched it to carry to Rory. “After showering together this morning and doing what we did, you can still say that?” “Not fair,” Rory reproached. “And not cool. What about you, huh? Doesn’t sound like this is a spur-of-the-moment epiphany. You had your suspicions before I fucked you. Did you talk to the Clerk before? Damn it, youdid . Why wait until now to say something?” Rory drew up short. “Wait. Letting me

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fuck you in the shower. What was that, pity?” “No! God, no.” Harper took off his glasses and stuffed them in the breast pocket of his suit. “I’d have, um, anyway.” “Um, what? Let me shove my cock up your ass?” “Rory, shh !” “Now you want to be quiet? Embarrassed that someone topped you?” “Stop being a dick. You know what I meant.” Harper refused to budge. “Tell me why ‘it is what it is,’ would you? Yes, I talked to the Clerk, and he wouldn’t fill me in. Why do you have to go? You’remy muse.” “Yours, sure, and before you…after you I’ll…goddamnit, I hate these rules!” Rory flipped his bangs out of his face and shrugged helplessly. “I’m not…I can’t say much. It’s not allowed. I don’t have a choice here, Harper. I got tapped, got a body, got corporeal, and when we’re done here, I move on. End of story.” “There has to be a way.” “Never found one yet.” Rory swung hard away. “Never wanted to before you.” Harper’s BlackBerry trilled in his pocket. He jumped and slapped a hand over the phone. Too late. “That’ll be Janie.” Rory didn’t look back. “Go ahead, answer it. Let’s get this done.” Harper’s hands curled into fists. “Run if you want, but I don’t give a damn, Rory. I’m coming after you.” A tugging at the laces of his Converses surprised Harper into looking down, into the upturned, toothless face of a gender-slightly indeterminate person offering him a paper bag shaped to the bottle inside. “Go on, boy. Soun ’ like you need this more’n I do.” “Probably so, but you keep it. Here.” A foray of his pocket produced two crumpled dollar bills. He pressed them into the probably-a-man’s hand. “Thanks.” His shoelace came loose in the fellow’s hand. He grunted, satisfied, and wound the length around his wrist. “You want ‘ im, don’t pussy around here, boy. Go get ‘ im.” Acceptable trade for decent advice. “I plan on it.” Harper put his head down and, one Converse flapping, ran. Chapter Twelve

Rialto Network Inc., a division of Sinsan Inc. Television Enterprises, hereby wishes to inform you that we have decided to acquire the concept for the proposed dramatic series In Outré. Scripts for the pilot through episode six have been received favorably by our executives. A formal acceptance and contractual information will be delivered by courier pending in-house

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negotiations. On behalf of Rialto, let me be the first to offer congratulations.

Sincerely, Arthur Grudnik , CEO (Acquisitions)

“Quit hogging it.” Lisa snagged the e-mail printout from Harper and peered at the text in the dim golden light Caballeros Fine Dining deemed suitable dinner wattage. “Still says the same thing as it did fifteen minutes ago.” Harper rapped her wrist with the blunt end of his fork. “And? I wanna read it again. Gonna stop me? Nooope .” Lisa rested in her superior argument. “If the waiter comes back around while I’m busy, get me another margarita. Boysenberry.” “Ugh. That’s a crime against God and nature.” Rory toyed with a tortilla chip. Even if they’d been handmade and baked on the premises by virgins born on the seventh Sunday of the seventh month, he probably would still have been just as intent on crumbling the chip into as many tiny pieces as possible. If he kept going at the same pace, he’d end up with a pile of dust. What he’d do with it then was anyone’s guess. Knowing Rory, he might roll up a napkin and try to snort. Earlier that morning, Harper would have wagered good money that Rory would have gathered the dust into his palm, waited until Harper pretended not to be looking, called his name, and blown the particles in his face when he turned around. Harper would have sneezed, the table would have exploded in groans of disgust, and life would have been sweet. Then again, earlier that morning, Rory would have loaded the chip with secret recipe salsa guaranteed to singe your nose hairs, topped that with a glop of sour cream and a splat of guacamole, and shoved the whole mess in at one go. Or even better, they’d have grabbed an order to go and eaten naked in the apartment, crumbs in the sheets notwithstanding. Harper nursed his Corona and reflected gloomily that if he’d sunk so far as to contemplate the fate of a tortilla chip at such great length, he could go nowhere but up. “Earth to Harper. Hello?” Lisa waved two inches from his nose. “What’s with you? This is good news, and you look like you’re ready to whip out a fresh hankie and weep.” She pushed the basket of chips his way. “I get that you’re upset about their maybe or maybe not picking someone else to be head writer.” “Very kind of you to sympathize,” Janie remarked across the table. “Rory, do you plan to eat that chip or use it as performance art?”

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Rory’s grin came in for a landing at roughly one-eighth its normal wattage. “I could be the next big star at the Met.” “I thought that was opera.” Lisa plucked the fragment of chip remaining away from Rory and popped it in Harper’s mouth. Harper chewed and swallowed automatically, not tasting any of the corn or spices, but only the faintness of cloves that Rory carried with him. He cleared his throat to free it of residue and addressed Janie. “It’s been a long time since we were out together. Glad you could make it.” Janie’s edges had softened under the influence of a strawberry daiquiri made with fresh fruit that she swore, after three sips, tasted of sunshine in Madrid. Harper thought, for a second, about taking her hand and kissing the knuckles in play, as if paying homage to a queen. Nah. Just because the tiger was sleepy didn’t mean it had lost its teeth. Rory might be able to get away with it. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to eat dinner on someone else’s tab. You are still paying for the group, aren’t you, Lisa?” Janie chuckled to herself at Lisa’s gasp of horror and nibbled at the remnants of a crushed red berry. “Kidding. I do remember how to and I am still human, you know.” Harper sensed, rather than saw, Rory’s tiny flinch. No one else seemed to notice. Janie wiped her fingers on her starched white napkin and picked up her conversational thread, seemingly oblivious of subtext. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the head writer’s position. Odds are good the decision won’t come in for a while, not unless they’ve already got someone in line.” “But what happens if they don’t want him? Which theywill .” Lisa jabbed Harper in the chest. “It’s possible they won’t.” Janie cut a glance at Harper, who shrugged. “They could want their own person to take a different spin, in which case Harper should get a big check for selling the concept.” “He did all the work, though. That’s not fair.” “Such is the nature of the beast. I seem to remember you found your way toTwilight Rising in dead men’s shoes.” Janie sipped the mostly watered down tequila at the bottom of her glass. “I’m not worried. I do believe in being prepared.” “Okay, fine. Spoilsport,” Lisa huffed. “Harper, in the meantime, eat, drink, and be merry. Really merry. You get me?” Lisa propped her head on Harper’s shoulder. “I think I’m drunk.” “How many margaritas was that? Two?” Rory’s eyebrows knitted. “Does she normally have the tolerance of a church mouse?” “A teetotaling church mouse. Don’t worry, it’s not too bad. She’s not dancing on chairs yet,” Harper bantered back without thinking. He and Rory fell instantly silent. Harper itched beneath his skin, indignation growing in a storm cloud. For God’s sake, they weren’t

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teenyboppers ditched at a lindy hop. They were grown men, even if one of them was an abstract concept in human form, and they ought to be able to wrestle this out. Except he wasn’t about to concede his point and didn’t figure Rory would back down either, which danced them right back to square boned, with no lube. A second beer sounded like a fantastic idea. Harper drained his to the dregs, sucked the lime into his mouth, and bit. There. Now he had an excuse for his sour face. “ Pfft.Neither of you are any fun,” Lisa declaimed. “I’m not even involved, technically, and I’m ready to party.Rialto …the Rialto…likedyour concept and your scripts…yours --” “She grows italics like kudzu when she’s excited, doesn’t she?” Rory directed his question to Janie, not Harper. “I have noticed this over the years, yes.” “I’mtalking here!” Lisa protested. She attempted to brush her hair away from her face, the fruit-enhanced liquor she’d consumed so far making her forget she’d chopped it off into three-inch spikes. “It’s party time, Harper. You know they’ll contract you as head writer. Theyhave to.” “Nothing’s sure in life but death, taxes, traffic jams, and gravity.” “Okay.” Lisa leaned over the table, addressing herself earnestly to Janie. “What’s he gotta do to make it fact ?” She pounded the wood. “Grease some palms or cross them with silver?” “That’d be Salomei ,” Rory said quietly. “When she thinks she’s up against a rube.” “And Osborne’s the first one who fools her, instead,” Harper replied, equally hushed. He licked his lips. “Rory, I --” “ Shhhhhhhh.” Lisa pressed her hand over his mouth. “This isimportant . Janie? Lay it on me. What’s Harper gotta do to make that job his?” “Outside of blowing the veep ? No offense, Rory.” Rory mumbled something noncommittal around an abrupt mouthful of chip. “Technically? There’s nothing left to do but wait,” Janie concluded. “I’m not telling you this, mind, but if they come to you asking where the story goes from here, might be they’re looking for intel on where you saw it heading. Could do you some good to write a few extras. Good stuff, better than before. Blow ‘ emaway and show ‘ emyou’re valuable enough to keep around.” She peered at her empty glass. “Not that you heard that from me. Where’s our waiter?” Hope floats. Harper had suffered through the movie once and hadn’t quite gotten the point. Now he did, a thin slice of optimism rising like lemon through tea. Hmm. His metaphors suffered under the influence. But if he still needed Rory even though the show had been acquired… Though he couldn’t tell, he thought he could hear Rory not breathing. His hands flexed, aching to squeeze Rory’s.

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“You look so sad,” Lisa mourned, pouting at him. “Cheer up, emo kid.” “I’ll emo kid your ass.” Harper tweaked a tousled spike of hair. “I am happy,” he lied. “Happy as a barrel of monkeys. See?” He pasted on a Joker’s manic smile. Lisa seemed temporarily satisfied. Rory snorted quietly and Janie rolled her eyes. “There’s a lie if I ever heard one, and it’s starting to get on my nerves. I --” Janie interrupted herself with a sharp shake of her head. “It’s been a hell of a few months, children, and I for one plan to drink half my weight in tequila and soak it up in fajitas escarole. I suggest you join me. Senor?” She arrested the attention of a passing waiter as she did anyone crossing her path. A smart man with a sense of self-preservation, or possibly one who could smell a large tip, he stopped. “Si, senorita?” “ Quatrotequilas, por favor.” “No, no, no. Not enough. Make that --” Lisa counted on her fingers, singing a Sesame Street vintage jingle under her breath. “ Ocho! Ocho tequilas. Wait, wait…what’s the word for twelve tequilas?” “Stomach pump,” Rory replied. Harper smothered a snicker in his cerveza . In that brief moment, their eyes met, Rory’s the sparkling green of mischief managed to Harper’s. Rory’s grin faltered as Harper’s slid cleanly away. He attempted to reach past Lisa to his muse. “Rory, I --” “I need a smoke before the appetizers get here,” Lisa announced, shoulder-checking Harper. “Move it, hot stuff.” The moment shattered. Rory cleared his throat and turned his attention to a rapt study of the original, semiprofessional oil painting on the wall behind their booth. Harper wondered if he’d been around to inspire the artist’s hand, and the beer turned to the taste of ashes in his mouth. “Want me to come with?” “Not unless you want to go to the ladies’ with me as well.” Lisa found that funny for some reason -- who knew what went on in her head on occasion? She wiggled her way out of the booth as soon as Harper slid free. Wobbling on her feet, she scowled at Harper and pointed accusingly at Rory. “This is the biggest night of your life, and you two are sulking. Kiss and make up before I put a stiletto through each of your eyes. I have two. Enough to go around. Hmph . That’ll show them.” “Lightweight,” Janie muttered. “Something tells me I should accompany her to make sure she doesn’t fall in. Would you boys excuse me?” She tucked her purse -- no small, elegant clutch for Janie -- under her arm and made to slide out. “And by the way, I suggest you do what she said. The tension between you two, I could slice it like a tomato. Celebration or not we’re nowhere near done yet and you’d better not lose your edge. Do what you have to and get it back.” “Damn right.” Lisa hiccupped.

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The silence that fell when the two women left was palpable, thick and pulpy as mashed fruit, bitter as unripe figs. Harper worried the soft meat on the inside of his cheek and ran his finger around the rim of his otherwise untouched water glass, listening to the thin crystal chime.Talk to him, you idiot. Open your mouth and use your words. He couldn’t think of a single one. What was he supposed to say, anyway? “Sorry?” That’d fix everything, boy howdy. “You need inspiration for this, too?” Rory joked, his heart so far from in it that it wasn’t even on the horizon. “Harper…it’ll be okay. I promise.” “Somehow, I don’t think so.” Those weren’t the words Harper had wanted. He wasn’t sure which ones they’d be. Fuck this noise, anyway. Harper slid out of the booth, sure as shootin ’ that he’d pop off at the fists if he sat there any longer and drowned in the choking awkwardness. The innocent tequila shots arriving hadn’t done anything to deserve that kind of ill treatment. “I’m going to get some air.” “I could come with --” Rory started to rise. “No. Don’t. I’ve gotten out of the habit of being alone. I could use some practice.” He tried for rueful and came out bleak. “Maybe I could work on some brooding, too.” Rory snorted softly. “Trust me, you don’t need any help in that department, my friend.” Something tiny yet fully audible wentpop in Harper’s head. “Am I your friend? I’d thought so. Maybe I was wrong.” “Harper, don’t. If you’d shut your yap and listen to me for a minute, I could --” “Explain?” Harper laughed without humor, the sound scratchy. “That might have worked earlier today, when I ran after you and you turned the cold shoulder.” “I didn’t know what to say.” “And now you do. I don’t know if I want to hear it.” “Calm down, Harper,” Rory hissed, reaching for him. “You want to explain a catfight to Janie?” Harper had passed the point of listening to Rory. “Still calling me friend. That’s priceless, Rory. What was I to you? A walking dildo? A bonus in the real world, getting to scratch your itches when you’re human, for however long it lasts?” “You can be a real bastard sometimes, you know that?” “I’m inspired.” Harper kicked free of the booth. “And I was taught by the best.” “Fuckyou.” Rory wrestled his way out and past Harper, not looking back. “Find your own damn muse for the rest of this project. You won’t listen to me? Fine. I’m done. Have a good life, Harper.”

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“Go to hell!” Harper shouted after Rory. He waited until the door had closed behind his muse and dealt the table a vicious kick. Converse sneakers were not the best for this operation. Toes bruised and temper black, Harper headed for the exit. Not chasing his muse, no. Just…after that fresh air. That was it. Yeah. Chapter Thirteen

Outside, the night was cool and clear, the air thin as white wine and refreshing as spring water. Harper thumped the back of his head to the brick facade at the side of the restaurant door and looked up at the sky. “How’d things get this wrong?” he asked himself out loud. “Lover’s spat?” Patrick swung out of the shadows, smirking gleefully. Harper closed his eyes. “It’s the icing on the cake. Hello, Patrick. And good-bye. Sorry you had to leave so soon.” Patrick tsked . He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. Probably Gauloises , unfiltered, French. “Whoever your boy toy is, he’s a bad influence on your social skills.” “You have no idea.” Harper exhaled through his nose. “What do you want, Patrick?” “Me? Not much. I heard the good news through the grapevine --” “From whom?” “I have my sources. Especially when I have a personal interest. Smoke?” “Depends. Can I set you on fire?” “Ouch. And the claws come out,” Patrick murmured. “Harper, would you at least do me the courtesy of looking at me when offering death threats? Smile for the birdie.” Harper’s eyes popped open. “You’re not recording this.” Patrick smirked. The look didn’t work half as well for him as it did for Rory. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.” A fast scan showed no cell phone camera or LED gleaming anywhere on Patrick’s person. Didn’t mean he wasn’t packing. “You came to congratulate me.” Harper gritted his teeth. “Thank you.” “Was that so hard?” Patrick flipped his cigarette away. The ember rolled to the curb and tumbled down a gutter. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to a sound bite about what viewers can look forward to on the new venture you’re so obviously celebrating?” “Ask until you turn blue in the face. You won’t get a word out of me.” “So nothing’s official. You’re partying, yet things could still go wrong. Interesting. Say, how much have you had to drink?” Patrick held his hands up, framing Harper. “Up-and-coming scriptwriter a secret

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alcoholic? He does have a habit of talking to himself in public. You, the viewers, get to decide. Sources say --” “I have no problem telling the world about the size of your dick, Patrick. Microphallus , isn’t that what they call it?” “Only if you’re comparing penis length to horses or elephants. And that was childish, even for you.” “I’ve had recent experience to provide a decent contrast, Patrick. Horses wish they were hung like --” Harper stopped himself. “Hmm. Like the gentleman who rushed past a minute before you, zipping out of here as if his tail was on fire? Interesting. A bathroom blowjob not go so well? Too much tooth action?” Harper rubbed his eyes. “Are we going to stand around trading insults all night, or is there a point you think you could come to anytime soon?” “Harper, Harper, Harper,” Patrick chided. “What’s it going to take for you to realize that we’re not enemies?” Harper snorted. Eloquently. “Fine, I’ll concede the point.” Patrick rubbed a thumb over his chin. “We were good together, you know. What happened?” “February eighteenth of this year, you were caught selling confidential information to a tabloid. February nineteenth, you were fired.” “That’s the job. Not us.” “You were selling my storylines! Forgive me for being cross about it.” “Details, details.” Patrick withdrew a sleek leather cigarette case from the breast pocket of his suit -tailored charcoal, fitting him like a glove -- and tapped out a fresh smoke. “That’s all in the past. We should work together toward a brighter future.” “One in which I spill enough secrets for the network to jettison us before the ink’s dry? Sure thing. Where do I start?” Patrick’s lips thinned. “I’m trying, Harper. Fling all the sarcasm at me you want.” Huh? “Trying for what?” Harper asked, confused. Patrick gazed at Harper over the glowing ember of his cigarette. “We were good together,” he repeated. “Maybe I’m interested in reliving the old times.” “I think there’s something in my ear. I cannot have heard you right. You’re insane.” “It’s possible. Maybe you’re not as uninterested as you’d like me to believe,” Patrick went on, silky-smooth. “The man who went past me, the one I hear you’ve been fucking like a bunny on a binge, didn’t look too pleased, and as for you, I could package your mood and sell it to Dr. Kevorkian.”

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“The most telling part about this conversation is the unspoken understanding that you have no idea how completely unfunny that is. I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s dick, Patrick. Are we done?” “Not even close.” Patrick blew out a plume of stinging smoke. “You don’t want a roll for old times’ sake. Fair enough. How about revenge?” He slouched, one hip forward. “There’s nothing like sticking it to the one who’s done you wrong. You know we set the sheets on fire back in the day.” Harper’s tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. “What do you say?” Patrick moved toward him. “I’ll leave your precious wheelings and dealings alone if you come home with me tonight. My hand on a stack of Bibles, I won’t say another word until everything’s signed and sealed wherever you’re going next.” He reached Harper and ran a finger under Harper’s lapel. “We could be a team again. I can respect your need for monogamy, if that’s what it takes. No more running away and leaving you behind.” Up on tiptoe, he flicked his tongue over Harper’s ear. “What do you say?” “I say…” Harper swallowed, the sides of his throat grating. He thrust his hand between them and pushed Patrick off. “I say no way in hell. You’re not getting anything out of me, not if I can help it, and you’re not gettingin me even if that means I have to sew it shut.” “Hmm.” Patrick withdrew, looking…pleased? No. Better than good. A cat faced with a dish of canaries in cream. “Funnily enough, I hoped you’d say as much.” “What?” Harper asked, suspicion levels immediately rising to DEFCON 1. “Why?” “If you think I’m telling you, then you still don’t know me very well.” Patrick flicked his cigarette, still lit, at Harper. “See you around, kid.” There were, in life, certain lines that should not be crossed. Harper decided to lay the blame for their obliteration on the lethal combination of toxic levels of irritation, pent-up aggression, and Corona, would let the devil take the hindmost, and to hell with everything else because this would be worth it. Fist at the ready, he moved -“Don’t…you…fucking…dare,” Janie snapped, catching his wrist. Patrick’s quiet laughter drifted back to them. Harper jerked away. “Let me go.” “Not on your life. Harper, look at me. Harper.” Janie caught him by the chin and forced his head around, Patrick out of his line of sight and her anger wrathful in his place. “He wants you to go after him, idiot. It’s kindergarten-bully tactics.” “Janie --” “Shut up. You punch him, and he gets a bruise. Maybe a wobbly tooth.You get skinned knuckles and a reputation for being dangerous, and don’t you think for a second he won’t use every bit he can get against you.”

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Harper remembered, several seconds too late, that Janie had her own reasons for loathing Patrick. His double-dealing had carried a poisoned stinger for all he’d worked with. “I’m sorry.” “You can say that to me but not to your pretty boy? Men. I swear. I could end all war on this globe by draining every last one of you dry of your semen for future breeding purposes and then bashing you over the head.” Ouch. “I get the point. I’m being a jackass.” “If the ears fit.” Janie sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Take a lesson from a woman who’s been divorced three times, Harper. Forget Patrick. Get out of here, go find your Rory, and get down on bended knee if necessary to make him listen to you apologizing at length. Ah, ah, ah.” She stopped his indignant interruption before it could start. “I honestly don’t give a flying fuck if he’s in the wrong, or if you are. All I know is Lisa had the right of it. This should be the happiest day of our combined lives and your personal problems are harshing my mellow.” Harper blinked. “Wait, you have a mellow?” “I’m a child of the seventies. I have to reach for my mellow, yes, but it’s present and hurting from your mood. Find him, fix it, and let’s never have this conversation again. Deal? Now go.” She gave him a push. “Go apologize. Profusely.” “You’re enough to drive a man to drink.” “As long as I drove him home where he belongs, I’m fine with that.” Apologize. Harper shook his head. “Would you believe I don’t know how?” “Without difficulty. Helen Keller would be able to tell you’re head over heels for that man, so I’m not surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.” “No, I got the memo there.” Harper lifted his gaze to the street, half-imagining he could see the path Rory had taken beating feet away from him, like a firefly’s trail in the deepening night. “Do I have to tell you again, then?” “No.” This was going to suck beyond the telling of it, but… “I’ll see what I can do.” Janie shocked three years off Harper’s life by raising on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. “Good. And if you don’t get it back together to form the best writing team I’ve known in years, then I’ll skin you alive. Are we clear?” “There’s the Janie I know so well.” “All shall love me and despair.” Harper admitted that he might be dumb, but he wasn’t yet suicidal. If Rory was still around to find…if the Clerk hadn’t caught him first -Fuck. The Clerk. What if this counted as a violation of Rory’s probation?Fuck!

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“Harper? You look like you just saw a ghost or had a heart arrhythmia.” Janie sounded concerned. Her push changed to a grab. “Don’t you go fall-out-boy now.” “Oh, fuck.” Harper thrust his hands through his hair. “Janie. Look, don’t worry about me, seriously don’t worry aboutme , and if you see Rory tell himdon’t talk to his boss .” “I’m supposed to tell him not to talk to me?” Argh. “I’m sorry, I’ll explain later if I can, right now I’m a blur of greased lightning and I gotta go.” Harper kissed Janie on the lips for maximum stunning effect to better make his getaway from the mother bear he’d poked awake, dealt himself a hard kick in the ass, short, sharp and to the point, and moved. Fast. Chapter Fourteen

Thank God and all his little angels that New York hadn’t yet come up with a stoplight system for pedestrians. At least not one that Harper knew of. He could plead innocence in court, or possibly insanity. A hyperactive muse gone haywire and absent without leave would drive any man around the bend. Or motivate him with a burst of speed fit to give NASCAR drivers inadequacy issues. Harper had no clue where Rory might have gone, if he was still on the plane. He slowed to a sprint and pounded his ear once, just checking to see if there were any heavier weights in his brain that might indicate the presence of a reabsorbed -“What the hell am I doing?” he panted, stumbling to a stop. He braced his hands on his knees and shook away the perspiration that threatened his eyes. “If you asked me, I’d say you were trying to self-induce a heart attack.” Harper froze. Inasmuch as he could freeze while shock waves from pounding the pavement were still reverberating through his legs. The dulcet sounds of sarcasm. Couldn’t be. Could it? It wasn’t. Voice was different, tone was different, inflection was…familiar. He looked slowly over his shoulder and deflated -- then bristled. Not a case of “even better,” but nicely sufficient for “target acquired.” “You,” he growled. “Where is he? Where’s Rory?” The Clerk ignored him. “Funny. I didn’t know they held the marathon at” -- he checked his watch -“nine p.m., but good weather for it. Hold on, Gojira , I think that’s close enough.” Midrush, Harper staggered. His feet had grown as heavy as if he wore cement shoes. “Nice. Really cute.” At least he’d ceased to move positioned in a runner’s start. As soon as the Clerk took the whammy off, that pencil neck clipboard-carrier was goingdown . “Nice teeth.” The Clerk whistled. “Might have figured you for a biter. It’s always the quiet ones. Or the brainy ones. Or anyone who’s got an oral fixation, I guess. You do realize I’m not keeping you Krazy glued because I’m afraid of being hurt. I’m not even physically here. Mostly I don’t want you to hurt

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yourself. That’s what this meeting is about, Harper.” “You can start making sense any time now.” The Clerk clasped his hands loosely around his knee. “There are none so blind as those who will not see. I get that you’re attached to Rory. He’s like a…a favorite hero, isn’t he? The quirky point-of-view hero who rips off some ripostes and saves the maiden fair, or in your case the writer wacky. Always kinda sucks to write ‘the end’ even if by that point you’re ready to burn all the pages and hie thee to a monastery.” Several retorts, ranging from the clever to the incisive to from the gutter occurred to Harper. He used none of them, kept his mouth shut, and glared at the Clerk, praying that for once in the whole of existence, looks really were able to kill. “Nothing to say?” “One thing. Where’s Rory? Two things. I’m not done with him. Not yet.” “Technically, that was two with a subnote , but I’ll cut you some slack here.” The Clerk regarded Harper almost thoughtfully, with a trace of something far too close to pity for Harper’s tolerance. “I never expected Rory to get so far under someone’s skin, I’ll give him that.” “I --”I love him . Be damned if he’d say that first to the Clerk and not to Rory. Looked like he didn’t have to. The Clerk’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “You’re joking.” Harper clamped his lips shut. “Saint Peter on a cracker. That’s great. Harper…” The Clerk scratched the back of his head. “There are rules, and one of them is that muses like Rory don’t stay.” “How am I supposed to write without --” “The same way you always did, jackass. Stand on your own two feet, slap your fingers on the keyboard, and get busy. You’ll still have inspiration cooking around in the little gray cells. Always did.” “Then why did you give him to me at all?” “Here’s how it is, kid. You can be an obstreperous mule about this all you want, but it won’t change the end result. You stay. You take this golden opportunity to go forth and entertain the nation -- which is a hell of a lot more than most get, so I don’t know whyyou’re whining, over a dream coming true no less -- and you dedicate your first Emmy to Rory. Whatever toots your tug whistle.” Harper licked his lips, tasting the salt of his sweat. “And Rory?” “Rory moves on to his next assignment.” The Clerk raised his hands, palms up. “What do you want from me, Harper? This is the way muses have worked since way before Orpheus. The original cave paintings? One of us was standing over Ug’s shoulder grunting ‘You can do it’ in caveman- esewhile trying not to puke at the stench of uncured mammoth hide. I can’t change eons’ worth of rules that are rulesfor a reason because you have a crush.”

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“I’ll figure out something.” Harper bared his teeth. “You saw to it that I’m inspired. And you didn’t deny you were the one who sent him.” The Clerk mimed shooting at Harper with his thumb and forefinger, tapped his nose, and said nothing. “Who are you? Beneath the clipboard.” “Someone you don’t want to tangle with, and if you don’t pipe down, it’ll get ugly between us.” The Clerk’s level stare and lack of one-liners told Harper he spoke truth. Harper decided he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the truth. “Do your worst. He’s mine.” “ Sheez.” The Clerk sighed. “Look. You’ve got him for a few more days, at least. Until the high-you-might-a-mighty muck-a-mucks atRialto make their call about the head writer’s position, there are scripts to work on. Not even an idiot could call you writer’s blocked now, but since Rory got tapped to help you on the path of landing this fish, I’m being a really, really good guy and giving you a few turns of the clock to say your good-byes.” “How long?” “Until the wind changes.” “Rory already quoted Mary Poppins at me. It didn’t change my mind then, either. How do you think I got where I am before Rory came along?” “Luck,” the Clerk said flatly. “There are a million writers and a gazillion ideas that never see the light of day. You were in the right place at the right time. The end.” Ouch. “I’m not in the mood to run around in circles with you all night, kid. You want to find Rory? Go. Fuck like rabid weasels, write your fingers to the bone, feed him sugar until he pops. But when the word comes down, Rory’s gone. Deal.” Harper pounced. “He’s really not gone yet? I thought you’d --” “ Pfft. You think you’re the first to have a knock-down, drag-out fight with your muse.” “I thought…probation --” “This isn’t an infraction of the rules.” Harper huffed, attempting to shake the hair out of his eyes. “You keep saying that word. You and Rory both. ‘Rules.’ Maybe if you let me in on what these crazy rules are --” “Sorry. Can’t do that.” “Can Rory?” “Uh-uh.”

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“Then I’ll find out on my own.” “Knock yourself out. Literally. Please do. The world will thank you for a period of temporary unconsciousness.” He stood, brushing off his slacks. “I like you, Harper. You don’t believe me, but I do. You’ve got the kind of fire and passion I haven’t seen since the days of lyres and bacchanals. Granted, it’s the kind of zealotry that spells a messy end, but you win some, you lose some.” “Shut up, already. Rory’s still here. Where is he?” “If I ever go looking for happiness, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. There’s no place like home. He’s there. Probably wreaking havoc. You’re free to go. The next time we meet will be the last, Harper. Keep that in mind.” The Clerk disappeared. Harper lurched forward, slapping the pavement with both palms. He hissed at the sting of abraded skin even as he rolled with the fall. Heaving himself upright -- he could tend to his owies later -- he ran for the curb, arm up, voice raised. “Taxi!” ***** “Rory?” Harper rapped on his apartment door with one knuckle, the rest of his fingers flared out. He knew his muse was inside. Rory’s presence was, as ever, a tangible thing now Harper understood how to recognize him. If he hadn’t, the smell of scorched chocolate and burned toast wafting out in waves would have been a decent clue. “Rory, it’s me. I’m coming in.” He heard a growl, and then the sound of the couch springs protesting from the den. “Can’t stop you,” Rory said, surly, quiet yet loud enough for Harper to hear. “It’s your dive.” Harper swung the door open and scanned the entryway. Artemas stood foursquare in his path, snapping his jaw. Not that he hadn’t already suspected as much, but his place in the turtle’s heart had now certainly been usurped by a sugar-fiend abstract of the psyche given flesh. Rules. None of what he knew made sense. He’d find out tonight, or die trying. “Move, Artemas .” Harper toed out of his Converses and nudged his turtle out of the way. “I promise I won’t hurt him. Not on purpose.” The fierceness in Artemas’s attempt to bite his socked toes would have been a laugh riot -- how much damage was less than a pound of reptile going to inflict on a full-grown human? -- except there was nothing funny about tonight. Nothing at all. Rory appeared in the door to the den, leaning heavily on the jamb. “You look terrible,” Harper said without thinking. It was true. Hollowness, smudged with dark shadows, emphasized the dark slate of Rory’s irises. His stubble had grown maybe a millimeter longer, just enough to make him look down at heel rather than dangerously sexy.

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He wasn’t even naked, dressed instead in baggy jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt, and that put the fear of God in Harper’s heart. “Such a flatterer. You’ll turn my head. Stop. Stop.” Rory put his back to Harper and trudged -- at least his feet were bare -- toward the den. “Can we not do this?” Harper followed him, hands in his pockets, jingling his keys. “I can’t apologize for being a dick?” “You just did. Turn out the lights before you hit the sack, would you?” “Rory…” Harper stopped at the edge of the den, watching Rory stop five paces in, fists tightening. “Do you want to take a swing at me? Go ahead. I won’t stop you.” “A pity punch. No thanks.” Despite the scorn, Rory’s fists twitched. The anger satisfied something burning darkly in Harper. He let it feed his fire and raised his voice to a fitting echo. “Come on. Hit me. I deserve a good one. Let’s have it.” “Fuck you, Harper.” Rory said it so quietly that at first, Harper wasn’t sure he’d heard Rory or if it was only his imagination firing back one-liners in the absence of Rory’s usual scathing volley. “Excuse me?” “You know what? No. You are not excused, not this time.” Rory pivoted, his glare fierce enough to quell a forest fire. Harper didn’t flinch back, but it was a close thing. Good God. He’d been tugging at a tiger’s tail all along, hadn’t he? He’d be unnerved, if it wasn’t Rory. “Okay.” Harper inclined his head. “Then what can I do?” “You really want to know?” Rory’s lips thinned. “Yeah. You do want to know. Fine, you asked for it. How about some respect, Harper?” He drew closer with each word, the crackling force of his aura searing Harper’s nerve endings. Harper stayed put and let Rory rage. Wasn’t anywhere near enough, but it was all he could offer as yet. “I am not your plaything, I am not your pet, and I am sure as hell not your punching bag. I have ajob to do. Iam my job. I don’t work, I don’t exist.” He jabbed Harper in the sternum, then pounded his fist over Harper’s heart. “I know now there are rules you can’t tell me about.” Rory’s lip curled. “The Clerk tell you that?” “He did. And he swore up and down you’d have to go soon.” “Ha! Should’ve already been long gone. Did he tell you that, too?” Harper nodded.

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“He’s a fount of information tonight. He didn’t happen to pass along a recipe for marzipan fondue, did he? Never have figured out how to make that. Let go of me already.” Rory made to pull away from Harper. “No, Rory. Stay.” Harper caught his muse by the arm. Rory favored Harper’s hand with a glare. “Not in the mood. Let go.” “No.” Harper tightened his grip. “I don’t care what the Clerk says. Whatever the rules are, they can take a flying leap. I’m finding a way to --” “Damn it, Harper! You can’t.” “I can try. At least let metry .” “Why? So you can fail spectacularly? Because let me tell you, that’s the only thing that’ll happen.” Harper studied his muse, from his hollowing cheeks to the dark shadows to the shaking of his hands. “You’re just giving up. That’s not you, Rory.” Rory shoved him, or tried to. Harper held fast. “You think Iwant to go? I don’t. Does that make you happy? I like it here. I love working on scripts, I love these newfangled Pop-Tart things, and I lo --” He stopped, breathing too quickly. “I like you. If I could stay, I would, so don’t make this any harder by playing bleeding heart. You’re Juliet, I’m Romeo, and we know how wellthat ended.” “I’m not letting you go.” Harper pressed two knuckles to the softly stubbled underside of Rory’s chin, lifted his face, and slotted their lips together almost chastely. When they parted, Rory’s eyes stayed shut and his lips hung slightly slack. “I hate you sometimes.” “No.” Harper feathered the pad of his thumb over Rory’s cheekbone and spoke with confidence. “You love me.” He rested his lips over Rory’s. “Same as I love you.” “Don’t you dare say that. Not now.” “Why not? It’s true. I. Love. You. I could write it on the walls if that’d help. I --” He didn’t see the punch coming, and only registered the jarring flash of pain when he was already on his ass, gaping up at Rory. Rory shook out his fist, the knuckles abraded. “ Gonnareport me now?” he taunted. “ Gonnamake this easier on both of us?” “That’s not what you want.” Harper licked his lips, tasting blood. His or Rory’s? He couldn’t tell. Either or both, didn’t matter. The energy charged through him with the force of wildfire. “You want to stay. Don’t tell me ‘no’ and ‘don’t’ because maybe I can’t look in your head or see your aura, but I’ve sucked you off, begged you to fuck me, blown out my year’s budget on toast and jam, and I’ve spent days on end writing with you at my side. I know you.” “Stop it.”

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“You want to stay.” Harper rolled to his knees. “Repeat it until you turn blue, and it won’t change anything.” “Or maybe it will. Look, I don’t have the answers. Not right now. But I have you.” He rose, skimming his palms first up Rory’s tensed legs, then his stiffened arms, the whole of his body vibrating with tension. “How about you admit I win, we skip the rest of the argument, and --” Rory’s mouth crashed into Harper’s, splitting his lip; his hands slammed to Harper’s back, short nails digging into his skin; he hooked his ankle behind Harper’s knee and brought them both crashing down. “And what?” he demanded, his whisper harsh, and bit at Harper’s chest. “What then?” “Then, this,” Harper answered, rolling them over together, Rory beneath him. “I show you who’s in charge now.” Rory stilled. “Then do something about it.” “I will.” Harper slid his hand beneath Rory’s oversize sweatshirt and traced the ridges of muscle underneath, top to bottom. “Starting with this.” “You don’t have to.” “I want to. Don’t vanish your clothes this time. Let me strip you bare.” Rory swallowed, shivered, and nodded. He lay still and let Harper undress him. Arms up and the sweatshirt brushed off his shoulders, crumpling soft under his head. He watched Harper, a circle of white around his irises, his pupils blown wide. “Don’t be afraid.” Harper touched the tip of his finger to Rory’s lips. “I’m not scared of anything.” “Liar.” Harper thumbed open the buttons on Rory’s too-big jeans. He cupped his palm over the fat girth of Rory’s cock and kneaded his way up the length. “Don’t lie to me. Ever again. And I won’t, to you.” “Okay.” Rory’s voice was nearly gone. He stared at Harper as if he’d never seen Harper before, or never known he could be this person. “You’ve got my word. I promise.” “Good.” Harper hooked both sides of Rory’s open fly and pulled the denim down, letting Rory raise his hips long enough to slide them free. He backed down Rory’s body as he went and knelt at Rory’s bare feet when the jeans slipped free over his toes. Then, he sat back on his heels and looked his fill. Rory was gorgeous like this, not quite human, a wild thing flushed pink and sweat shiny with exertion, his cock curved up over his groin and his heavy balls pulled tight to his body. Rory prodded Harper with his toes. “This isn’t a spectator sport. I wanna see you, too.” “I can do that.” Harper stood, shrugging off his jacket. He peeled his shirt off and threw it who knew where without a care. The urge to tease came and vanished in the flicker of an eye when he brushed his

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aching hard-on. Rory’s gaze went dark, his eyelids hooded. “Naked. Now.” Harper shoved his jeans to his ankles and took his socks along with them. He wanted to stand over Rory and drink him in longer. Would have, if his legs had held him instead of bringing him to his knees, and then chest to chest with Rory, hands in Rory’s short hair and lips scraping raw on Rory’s stubble. His cock nestled in the ridge of Rory’s oblique and thrust through the channel, slickening its own way. “Fuck me. You have to,” Rory begged, his breath too hot over Harper’s eyelids. “Be in me, Harper, please.” Harper groaned and burrowed his forehead against Rory’s armpit, snaking his tongue out for a taste. “Nothing to use.” He thrust, the friction between their bodies incandescent. “Not getting up if the place is on fire.” “Don’t have to have any.” Rory caught Harper’s hand and dragged it downward. “Need it too much. Can’t wait. It’ll be okay.” “No.” Harper tried to wrench away from Rory’s grasp. “I won’t hurt you. Not again.” “I want it to hurt.” Rory forced Harper’s hand between his legs and led Harper’s fingers to his entrance. He pressed down, pushing Harper’s fingertip against muscle that didn’t want to yield. Harper bit his lip, tasted blood, and swore. “Just like this. Wanna feel you. For days. Know you were here. If --” “Don’t say that.” Harper captured Rory’s mouth with his own and replaced words with taste, fucking him with sharp jabs of his tongue. He traced Rory’s teeth and worried his lower lip. “Just don’t.” “Please.” Rory lifted his leg and hooked it around Harper’s, canting up. Harper’s finger skidded, bumping Rory’s hole. Both hissed, the sound of steam engines and too much pressure. Something had to give. Harper closed his eyes and pushed. Rory opened for him with a small grunt of not pain, not pleasure, something different. Harper rasped words that made no sense, his rough breathing heating the curve of Rory’s throat. “Not like this.” “You want it.” Rory tried to force Harper’s hand. “Don’t need much. Only you.” “Want it. Doesn’t mean I will.” He licked Rory’s mouth closed. “Like this.” “Harper, what are you --” Rory’s stomach jerked as Harper crawled backward, down him, knees knocking, legs tangling, the rise and fall of his breathing carrying Harper away. “Don’t leave me.” “I’m not.” Harper settled between Rory’s sprawled legs and thrust his arms beneath Rory’s thighs, lifting them. “Fuck, Harper,fuck --”

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“I am.” Harper put out his tongue and slithered over the small blind pouch, lifted Rory higher, and tasted where he’d touched. Rory’s back arched. “Harper!” Harper breathed out through his nose. He kneaded Rory’s hips, raising him higher still, holding him in place and thrusting his tongue as far past the rim as he could go. Saliva trailed down in slick strings, guided back up with the finger that joined his tongue, then two, coaxing Rory open, not forcing. Rory cursed, jerked his hips in a vain search for anything to rut against, the wet sounds of his cock slapping his belly driving Harper mad. He jerked Harper’s hair, the angle awkward and painful. “Stop it, Harper, goddamn it, stop. Too close.” Harper drew his tongue back the way he’d come. “I know.” He licked his lips, tasting Rory. “That’s the idea.” “What are you --” “ Shh,” Harper breathed. He slid his lips, swollen and wet, around the head of Rory’s cock, sucked, and slid down. Rory groaned, deep, the noise clawing its way from the inside out. His knees clamped Harper’s shoulders, too tight, bones creaking; his nails drew furrows on Harper’s scalp, trying to find a hold. “ Gonna,” he said between panting breaths, “ gonna, Harper, Harper --” Harper pressed two fingers two knuckles deep in Rory and bent them.I want you to. “Harper,” Rory said, not a scream, not a cry, not a curse, not a blessing, but something in between all of them. “Harper.” His hips cleared the floor in a harsh jerk, his stomach muscles rippled and his knees wrenched Harper shoulders askew. Cum flooded Harper’s mouth, thick spurts matched by a rush of noise. His ears roared and his heart choked him. Grinding the heel of his hand against his cock almost didn’t stop him from coming without a touch from Rory. He gathered the slippery fluid in his cheeks and didn’t swallow. Droplets escaped him, rolling down his chin, and the musky, spicy flavor burned his palate. He didn’t let go. Careful of what he carried, he slipped off Rory’s messy, softening cock and rose to press his lips to Rory’s tense, quaking stomach. With skin to skin, he pursed his lips and let the bulging mouthful of cum he’d held on to drip on Rory’s belly, puddling there, rising as he poured the cooling slipperiness. Rory’s cock jerked. “God.Harper .” He jerked uselessly at Harper’s hair. “Me. Give me --” Harper fingered ayes on Rory’s chest and rose with a grace he never possessed, hovering above him, a inch of air separating his body from Rory’s and the puddle of cum on his belly. He parted his lips over Rory’s and let the last of Rory’s jizz trail out. Rory opened his mouth and put out his tongue to catch the salty line, groaning on his swallow. “You,” he said, dazed. “Who knew you…”

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“No one. Except you. Because there was you.” Harper wiped his lips on the hammering pulse in Rory’s throat and retreated. “Like this,” he said, voice wrecked. He dipped two fingers in the pool of cum and rubbed them against Rory’s relaxing hole. “Where there’s a will…” “Oh, God.” Rory threw his arm over his eyes and shuddered violently, grinding his shoulders to the floor. “Don’t stop.” “Don’t plan to.” Harper rewet his fingers and added a third. He stroked Rory’s leg when he hissed with the sudden stretch and scissored his fingers without stopping to let Rory catch up. He wanted Rory like this, strung out, on edge. Rory’s chest rose and fell almost without pause before Harper stopped, and he only stopped when Rory’s cock had filled a second time and bumped his chin. Too sensitive still, he knew it had to be, but he lathered a long figure eight around the purpling length anyway. Rory swore, pained, and flinched back, and then forward. “Now. Fuck me now, Harper.” Harper shut his eyes and squeezed the base of his cock. “Give me a sec.” “Now, Harper, please --” “Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.” Harper rose to his knees and took Rory by his sides, dragging his ass up Harper’s legs. Rory’s legs parted, feet falling heavily flat to prop him. He shook sweat out of his eyes, couldn’t see for the stinging anyway, and guided his cock on a dragging trail through the cleft of Rory’s ass until he bumped the puffy, abused flesh he’d tasted and fingered wide. “Take me.” Rory nodded, swallowing fast and dry. “Yeah. Always.” He slid home on a long, smooth stroke. Rory opened for him, just enough to enter, still tight, burning hot. He loosed a noise that didn’t sound human, an animal’s cry. “Mine,” Harper said, dragging out. He thrust balls-deep. “Always mine.” Rory’s nails tracked scratches down Harper’s arms, his back, his sides, marking him. He caught Harper’s rhythm and urged him harder, faster, demanding more. “Say it.” Harper caught Rory’s cock and stroked. He twisted his wrist and pinched the head, forcing the slit gaping open. “Say it.” “Don’t --” “Say it.” “Yours!” Rory thumped his head against the floor. “Damn it. Yours!Oh --” His heels dug into Harper’s back, locking in place; his channel spasmed and clenched Harper’s cock with a flare of white heat. He screamed without breath, his eyes rolling back in his head and shot, splatters daubing his nipples creamy white. Harper’s fingers bit deep into Rory’s hips as he hitched him one inch higher and yeah, right there, that was where he wanted --

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His nails pierced Rory’s skin when he came. He’d have bruises, they both would, cuts and scrapes and bites and welts, puffy soreness, hyperaware nerves. Harper wasn’t sorry. If he could have made them permanent, he would have. All the strength drained from Harper’s body with the last pulse of cum he had left. He managed only not to collapse on Rory, but to lower himself until his head rested on Rory’s heaving chest. For a moment, he didn’t know how long, there was nothing but the rattling rasps of their breathing and leaking semen coating his still half-hard cock as it slipped from Rory’s abused hole. Rory clumsily stroked Harper’s hair. His fingers were still trembling with aftershocks. “Someone ate an extra bowl of Wheaties today, huh?” Harper licked the dip of Rory’s navel just to make him suck in a breath. “You of all people should know about plot twists.” He mouthed at the soft skin. “I’m done playing the hapless hero. I know where the story’s going now.” “Christ. If this is what riling up your temper gets me, I should piss you off more often.” Though Harper heard the unspoken forgiveness and the small flare of hope, he still flinched; Rory’s halfhearted smart- asseryscraped his already too-raw, too-exposed nerves. “Don’t joke.” “Can’t help it, Harper.” Rory tugged at Harper, urging him up. He licked Harper’s lips and palmed Harper’s cheek, his own lips pressed full and tight. “You should know what you’re getting into if you’re seriously gonna …I am what I am, Harper.” “No.” Harper bent and tasted Rory’s mouth again, pushing away the tension, drinking deep, not stopping before Rory let him in and tangled his fingers in Harper’s hair. “Not ‘what.’ Don’t you ever say ‘what’ again.” “But I --” “Who.” Harper kissed him. “You arewho you are. And that’s mine.” Chapter Fifteen

“You’d think New York would sound different by night.” “This is the city that never sleeps. Ever. Who’d think that?” Harper asked, forgoing covering his noisy yawn for winding a strand of Rory’s bangs around his forefinger. “Beautiful. I give it a six-point-five.” Rory splayed his hand over Harper’s belly, parallel to his head, at rest on Harper’s pectorals. “You failed to groan and add the necessary ‘Oh, Lord!’ to the end.” “To spare your delicate sensibilities.” “Thanks ever so. Least you didn’t fart in my ear.” “Manners are of the utmost importance.” Harper’s jaw popped on his second yawn.

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“You’re a civilized piece of work, aren’t you?” “Says the guy who just got off on being tied up and dildo fucked before taking it freestyle. You wore me out. Don’t gripe.” Harper chortled when Rory grumbled, conceding the point. “Anything you want to slip to me, minus watermelons --” “Watermelons?” “I’ve known some kinky freaks over the years. Watermelons are the least disturbing.” “Huh.” Harper toyed with Rory’s hair. “Zucchini, carrots, corn on the cob, bananas, none of these would I recommend to anyone with an ounce of common sense --” “Damn, you’re a chatty lay.” “Says you.” Harper tweaked Rory’s ear. “The mouth that never stops.” Rory chuckled, his shoulders rising and falling with the quiet amusement. “You love my mouth and you know it.” “Did I say I didn’t?” Harper wriggled in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkled sheets beneath him. No luck. “Uncomfortable?” “I’m good.” Harper’s arm tightened around Rory, curling protectively. “Not a girl here, Harper.” “Already got the memo on that one, thanks. I’ve got you. I’m fine.” Rory mumbled something. Harper didn’t have to look at him to know he’d gone deeply pink. What he said might have been “me too,” though Harper spared his dignity rather than asking him to speak up. He got the gist, anyway; he didn’t need more. Groaning out his own yawn, Rory finished by licking the top of Harper’s navel. Harper’s cock gave an interested twitch. “Maybe you like melons more than you say you do,” Rory murmured, wrapping his fingers around Harper’s cock. He thumbed the head, taking his time. Harper breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. He was almost too sore for this, too worn out. He combed his fingers through Rory’s hair, not sure if he urged Rory on or reprimanded him. Rory was going to be walking funny for at least a day as it was. That last part, Harper didn’t mind. At all. Rory walking with a hitch and a limp, still feeling Harper’s cock buried balls-deep inside him every time he took a step… Harper hissed between his teeth and hardened. “Insatiable,” Rory crooned, sliding down to lap at Harper’s cock. He cupped Harper’s balls and curled

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his fingers, prodding the middle two at Harper’s hole. “Want in here again. Can I?” Harper’s hips jerked up. He raised his head to watch Rory licking delicately at his cockhead, catching thin strings of creamy white precum on his tongue. “Anything you ask for, it’s yours to take.” “I like the sound of that.” “So do something about it.” “So maybe I will. Starting with this.” He sucked Harper’s cock between his lips, rolled his tongue as if Harper were a juicy plum and ducked his head, sinking down. The pressure of his throat when he swallowed drew a not-quite shout from Harper, who shook with the adrenaline rush and the shock of two fingers’ worth of penetration, shallow still, so good he wanted to come and never wanted to come at the same time. Wanted to stay strung out like this forever, naked and sweaty, tangled up with his muse. “That’s my boy,” Rory rasped, dragging his tongue under Harper’s sac. “Like I said. Insatiable.” ***** Rory gleamed with sweat, his chest rising and falling like a furnace bellows, on his back in sheets halfruckedoff the bed, his legs splayed over a growing wet spot, Harper’s cum trickling from his ass. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” Rory licked his lips, looking puffy and dry from too much kissing. “I like that in a man.” “ Mmf,” said Harper, burrowing his head in Rory’s armpit. “ Shh. No talk. Sleep.” “ Aww, is someone tired?” “ Mmf!” “Fine, fine. Wuss . The younger generation has no stamina.” Harper bit the soft meat on the underside of Rory’s arm. “Just fucked you twice,” he grumbled over Rory’s yelp. “Yeah, and I came three times to your two.” Harper wished he could purr. Yes, Rory had come three times, one without a hand on him, nothing but cock pegging his prostate and hips grinding. He’d taken Harper’s breath away, keening spitted on his cock, toes curled, and tearing the sheets with his tangled thrashing. His cock made a valiant attempt to rise. “Jesus Christ, no,” Harper groaned, cupping himself. The organ subsided at the contact to sore skin. “I could go again,” Rory said hopefully. “Not unless you want it tofall off , Rory. I’m too attached to both mine and yours to take the chance. Lights out. Go to sleep.”

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“ Pfft.” Rory rolled to his side, tucking his arm under Harper’s head. “Whippersnapper.” Harper closed his eyes and hummed, pleased. He rubbed his thumb over the wing of Rory’s shoulder blade. “What did you mean before, when you said you thought NYC would sound different at night?” “Quieter.” Rory was the one to yawn this time. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seenGuys and Dolls .” “Young Brando,” they said in harmony. Harper threw his arm over Rory’s chest, fully content with playing the girl for once. “Say good night, Nicely-Nicely.” “ Eww. Stubby Kaye. Nice guy, but that mental image right there pretty much took care of any lingering desire to fuck again tonight, thanks.” “Mission accomplished.” “Harper?” “Mm-hmm?” Rory hesitated. “All this stuff I can’t tell you about my past, about how the muse gig works, the rules, and me being what I am, you honest to Dog really do want to keep me around?” “Not want.Will .” “ Heh. Okay, then.” “Rory?” “ Whaaat?” Harper snickered. “Sorry, chump. You keep me awake, I keep you awake. I had a thought.” “Don’t hurt yourself.” “Jackass.” Harper pinched him. “Can you tell me what you’re not allowed to tell me?” “Say again?” “I mean specifically.” Rory clued in after a moment’s baffled silence. He tugged Harper closer and spoke against his forehead. “Clever son-of-a-gun. I’m not telling you how old I am, which I can’t say is numbered in centuries, not decades. Definitely not telling you I’ve worked with Poe. Guy was a friggin ’ fruitcake. And I’m not at all telling you the Clerk’s got a stick up his ass the size of Long Island when it comes to rules and regs .” “That much I’d already noticed,” Harper said dryly. “He mentioned ‘probation.’ I’m saying it, not you. He told me if you screwed the job this was your third strike. What’d happen after that?”

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“Nothing. Forever. “ The two words rang hollowly in Harper’s ears. “And if they give you a five-star rating for what you’ve done with me, and you leave? What then?” Rory spoke almost too softly to hear. “Nothing that matters. Ever.” Harper kept his eyes firmly shut and pressed his forehead over Rory’s heart. “Rory? Is there any way to rig it so you get fired with a retirement package in New York?” Rory sighed heavily and shook his head. “That’s something I can’t ‘not tell you’ about. Not even if I wanted to, and I can’t ‘say’ I do. It’s a compulsion I can’t fight. My tongue goes numb and I can’t breathe. They take staff retention seriously.” “Damn.” Harper wilted. It’d been worth a try. “One thing I’ve learned, Harper…you’re a smart guy. Let the brain work while you sleep.” Rory planted a sleepy kiss atop Harper’s head and settled. His breathing evened on a count of three, muscles going slack. Out like a light. “Hummingbird,” Harper gibed, quietly, not wanting to wake him. He breathed deeply of the smell of Rory’s overheated skin, the pepperiness of cloves almost too sharp, burning his nose. He rested his hand on Rory’s hip and stroked over the bone, caught by an unpleasant thought. Was this the way it’d be when Rory disappeared, if he couldn’t stop it? Softly out, like a snuffed candle, leaving Harper to wake up alone in a bed already gone cool? Harper shivered. “ Gottawork inside,” Rory mumbled in his sleep. Or was he really asleep at all? “Think…way he thinks. Clerk. Sneaky…sneak it by him.” Harper raised his head. “Rory?” Rory snored softly. Sounded genuine. “Huh.” Harper lowered himself to rest again on Rory’s arm. Though he was tired enough to sleep the sleep of the dead, he never more than dozed before the sun came up. And when it did, he was no closer to understanding than he had been before. Chapter Sixteen

“Three times to voice mail and four rings before you finally picked up. Persistence really is the key.” “ Mmf.” Harper cracked open the eye on the half of his face not buried in his pillow and immediately shut it against the blinding blaze of sunlight. “Lisa? What time is it?” “Time for lazy asses to get out of bed, no matter how well fucked.”

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“Lisa.” Certain things were not conducive to early morning conversations with a woman he considered in many ways a sister. Her rich cackling told Harper she knew exactly what was going on in his head, and enjoyed every second of his embarrassment. Harper revised his opinion of her to sister who moonlighted as Satan. Better. Rory snored fruitily next to Harper, flopped on his side, and head butted his ribs. “ Wha’sshe… zzz …” Lisa finished her snickering. “I’m playing messenger chick again today. That Shelly girl, the P.A., totally flaked. Hasn’t shown up for work in over a week.” The reminder of Shelly a.k.a. the Clerk woke Harper faster than an intravenous shot of caffeine. Minus the technicality of that being fatal.What’s he up to now ? Harper didn’t like the sound of it. He cleared his throat and hoped not to betray his unease. “And?” “And Janie told me to tell you, quote: ‘If he thinks he can pry his ass out of bed, he might want to get down here.Now .’ Emphasis hers, prurient curiosity all mine. What’s up, Doc?” “Got me.” Harper rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Give me a land-speed motivation. What was her rage level, on a scale from ‘lukewarm coffee’ to ‘heads will roll’?” “That’s the creepy part. She was smiling, Harper. Smiling like a kid with a strawberry lollipop and a bowl of ice cream. I’d say if you could achieve warp speed, do it. Oh, and bring Rory with you. She asked for Rory. Toodles !” Lisa disconnected. Rory scowled at Harper, his hair disarranged from sleep and spiked at bizarre angles. Harper had an almost irrepressible urge to smooth it down, and possibly while he was at it, lick his finger and try to wipe a smudge off Rory’s nose. Mostly, he wanted to stay where he was. Forever. If he didn’t hear yea or nay about the job, he could keep Rory for at least a little longer… “Guess we’re goin ’ to the studio, huh?” Rory pressed his lips to Harper’s bare shoulder, his touch gentle. “Hey,” he said, quietly. “Don’t flip out.” “It has to be something to do withIn Outré .” “No kidding, Sherlock. Trust me on this one. Whatever it is, it won’t be bad. We did good work.” “I know we did.” Harper gave in to his baser desires and brushed Rory’s hair out of his eyes. He refused to spill the thought pounding at the forefront of his mind: If Janie wanted to see him with an update on the head writer’s position, and if they’d decided to hire him… God, he wasn’t ready. “Thanks to you.” Rory nuzzled Harper’s shoulder and sighed, deeply contented. Harper tried for a grope that turned into a caress and became a solid grip. “We could, instead --”

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“No. Sorry.” Rory kissed his throat. “Go get dressed. Me too. Although I wonder what she’d say if I showed up naked? Watch and see if I don’t, one day.” He hesitated. “If I had time, I mean, I would. If I knew I could stay, I’d…” “Rory.” Rory smirked, and it looked forced. “Never mind.” “Yeah.” Harper tucked his hands behind his head. “I’m not kidding. We could stay here.” “And waste all that hard work? No.” Rory climbed out of bed, not looking back. Harper flopped on his back. Christ. Who would ever have figured the job opportunity of a lifetime would make him want to hurl or that he’d hope and praynot to be hired? ***** Rory wore a faded T-shirt with a cartoon junkyard dog and jeans that were more hole than jeans. At Harper’s insistence, he’d produced a pair of flapping-at-the-heels Birkenstocks. Every stitch of it argued over. Harper could translate, and knew that no matter what he said, Rory didn’t want to go in and get life-changing news any more than Harper did. They hadn’t had enoughtime . Sacrificing his dignity, Harper wore a polo shirt Rory made unmerciful amount of fun of him for, khakis, prompting Rory to ask in a phony Nob Hill accent if they were heading to the country club afterward, and mismatched Converses because Rory never mentioned those for some reason, but which Harper suspected he got a huge kick out of. They could use the laughs. Lisa quirked a newly plucked, almost invisible yet brightly magenta eyebrow at Harper, wolf-whistled at Rory, and ushered both into the writer’s room. Janie waited for them. Coiffed, artfully made-up, polished, and immaculate enough to eat off of, if a man were so inclined. Muffins sat on a faux-silver platter next to a decanter of coffee and a pitcher of smooth, sunshine-colored orange juice. “That can’t be good,” Rory muttered behind Harper. He shook himself like a dog and stepped out, cocky grin to the fore and ogling Janie with trulyPlayboy -worthy sleaziness. “What’d we do to rate the five-star treatment?” Janie casually wrote on a notepad and pushed it toward him while gesturing to a laptop set up for teleconference. They had a fine view of a cluttered office and an empty desk chair on the other end. Harper read over Rory’s shoulder: BEHAVE, OR IWILL MAKE YOU SORRY YOU WERE EVER BORN. Good luck with that in regards to someone who was never actually born, Harper thought. “Morning, Janie. What’ve we got going on?” Janie daintily poured herself a doll-sized Styrofoam cup of orange juice. “Have a seat, you two. We’re waiting for Mr. Grudnik to get back from his smoke break.”

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“Mr. Grudnik ?” Rory asked, flipping one of the chairs around before parking his tush . Harper could almost see gears turning and switches flipping. “The guy who wrote fromRialto ? The letter guy Mr. Grudnik ?” “One and the same. Harper? Do you need some water?” Janie leaned on her crossed arms and frowned at him. “I’m fine,” Harper replied, carefully not returning her direct stare. Rory’s warm palm came to rest on Harper’s thigh as Harper sat down. “Take it easy,” he murmured for Harper’s ears only. Harper wasn’t entirely sure Rory hadn’t transmitted the words directly into his head. “Don’t flip until there’s reason to flip.” Harper nodded. He would have replied in kind, but for the sudden appearance of a man of considerable size filling the screen. At first glance, the heaviness deceived the viewer into thinking he was built like a linebacker. At second glance, the heaviness revealed itself to be less of a footballer’s build and more of a WWF wrestler’s. Good times. “So this is the infamous Harper,” the man remarked with no inflection. “Pleasure to meet you.” “Likewise.” “You look nervous, Harper.” Someone kicked him under the table. Had to be Rory, though Harper wouldn’t have put it past Janie to bend the laws of time and space to stretch her leg three feet longer than normal in order to reach him, and look perfectly professional all the while. “Absolutely,” Harper replied. “This is a big day for me.”If only you knew . Mr. Grudnik grunted, seeming satisfied with that answer. “We’re all busy folks, so I’ll cut to the chase. You should get the contracts by courier today.” Janie’s lips parted slightly. Harper understood how she felt. Without actual paper in hand and signatures on file, the arrangement still carried a small edge of surrealism. “Any decisions on the head writer’s position?” Rory butted in to ask. He leaned across to tap at the computer screen. “Wow. I love technology.” Mr. Grudnik recoiled, as if Rory had literally flicked his nose. Then he chuckled. “I see what you meant, Janie. He’s a character.” “A joker,” Janie confirmed. “Mr. Grudnik , since he’s asked, what about the head writer’s position? Any word? Since you specifically asked for Harper to come to the meeting --” “In his position as the show’s creator,” Mr. Grudnik clarified. “As to the other, it’s still up in the air. One of our bankables has taken an interest. We’re waiting to hear back from her.” “I see.” Janie deflated a fraction of an inch. Harper’s heart pounded in his throat. At rest on his leg, Rory’s hand shook. “And if she declines?”

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“Then we’re all decided Harper’s our man.” Rory’s fingers dug into Harper’s muscle. “When will we know?” Janie asked. “Not sure there. Soon. We’ll be in touch.” Mr. Grudnik pointed a pen at the screen. “You. What’d you say your name was? Rory?” “Aye-aye, sir.” Harper figured only he could tell that behind the bravado, Rory was ready to implode. “What can I do you for?” “Janie says you’ve done more than your share on this project. Is that right?” “Right enough. I helped Harper write almost everything and rewrite the rest.” “Modest, aren’t you?” “You don’t have to be modest if you’re good. Ow .” Janie smiled sweetly as sugar pie at him. “Rory is about as good as he claims,” she admitted. “They make a hell of a team.” “I’m inclined to agree, but Iam curious…” Mr. Grudnik pointed back and forth between Harper and Rory. “Is there a vibe here? You two involved?” “Yes,” Harper answered, no waffling. “Will that be a problem?” “I could care less, as long as you don’t let it affect your workif you’re hired.” Mr. Grudnik held up a thin sheaf of paper. “I like what I see here from the both of you. Your two styles mesh well. Inspiration and dedication. Good work, gentlemen, and you, Janie. I wondered if you’d lost your mind when you pitched this our way, and I’m pleased to have been proved wrong.” He reached out, presumably toward the power switch of his computer. “We’ll be in touch.” ***** “So. Uh.” Harper coughed as he shut the door to the writer’s room behind them. “What’d you think?” “I think he thinks we’re hot.” Rory waggled his eyebrows. “ Smokin’.” “Tough for him. I don’t share.” “Hello, Ebenezer. Possessive today, aren’t we?” “I have reason to be,” Harper muttered. “Harper…” Rory had swung around to walk backward in front of Harper, but stopped. “Put the rest aside for a second, okay? Thisis the opportunity of a lifetime. You don’t appreciate the potential, it’s like taking a crap over my reason for being. Try and show a smidge of enthusiasm, would you?”

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Harper blinked. “Never thought of it that way.” “No doubt you didn’t. You’ve got amazing tunnel vision and a stellar ability not to see the forest for the trees.” “Sweet talker. Stop. You’ll turn my head.” “Hope not. This isn’tThe Exorcist . Not evenPassions , last time I checked.” Rory studied him in great assessing sweeps. “Surface scan indicates that yeah, you are jazzed about it, deep down. And you’re thinking it’s a betrayal. To which I say, balls. For God’s sake, Harper, why not enjoy what you’ve got?” “Because I’m staring at the trees and I don’t give a damn about the forest right now.” Rory growled, catlike. “Okay, champ. You’re way too tense. Follow me.” He seized Harper by the crook of the arm and pulled. Harper kicked the motion centers of his brain on and followed. They got a few curious stares from grips and second-unit staffers, the only other employees around at this time of day. He ignored them. “Where are we headed?” “It’s a surprise.” “Uh-huh. Where?” “If I told you,” Rory said, stopping in front of a closet markedJanitor , “it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it? Luckily for you, I have the patience of a gadfly and I’m clever like a fox. Get inside.” Harper peered at the shadow-shrouded mops, brooms and neatly arranged shelf of supplies. “And why am I doing that?” “Because I also have the libido of a cat in heat, and like I’ve said from day one, there is absolutely nothing better for chilling you out than a good orgasm. Quick-step-march.” Rory ran his tongue over his upper lip, smug as a cat in the cream. “Don’t tell me you never wanted to have sex in public. I’ll know if you’re lying.” “Then I won’t lie.” Harper’s blood warmed in anticipation of the illicit thrill. “I won’t do it if it’s just for me, though. Does this turn you on, too?” “You know me well enough by now to know that’s a truly stupid question and that on occasion, I appreciate a truly good cliché.” Rory planted his hand at the small of Harper’s back and pushed. Laughing, Harper staggered nearly to the back of the broom closet before he regained his balance. By then Rory had shut the door behind them, the latch catching with a quiet, firm click that left them in near-total darkness. “At last, my pretty, I have you alone.” “Are you twirling a mustache while I can’t see you?” “An effective dastard never relies on such trite imagery. Haven’t you read the Evil Overlord list?”

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“Often. Why aren’t you kissing me already?” “Huh. Damn good question.” Harper abruptly found himself with a double armful of warm, energetic muse who seemed to have more limbs than an octopus. An arm around his waist, a knee hitched to rest on Harper’s hip, a hand at the front of his khakis, palm molded and rocking his rapidly hardening cock. “Jesus mercy, Rory.” Harper traced Rory’s face with his lips before biting the point of his chin. “Warn a guy next time.” “Nope. This is more fun.” Rory snaked open Harper’s zipper. “Doesn’t feel like your objections are really heartfelt here, pal. Feels more like you wanna fuck me like an animal.” “If you start singing Nine Inch Nails covers, there is no guarantee that I’ll be responsible for my actions.” “Why sir, is that a threat?” Rory drummed a staccato rhythm up and down the length of Harper’s body, beating him like a tom-tom, which was far more of a turn-on than it sounded, each muffledclap of his hand, curved so the blows would sting rather than hurt, vibrating deep in Harper’s muscles. “Or is it a promise?” “More like a forecast,” Harper said. He caught Rory’s head, palming both sides of his face, and held his muse still to dive in and drink the sassy comebacks and naughty quips right out of his mouth. Rory moaned and caught Harper by the ass, kneading the globes. “Bring it, then.” “Already brought.” Harper bit Rory’s lip and tugged. “I want to suck you.” Rory’s stifled gasp made his hard-on throb. “You like the sound of that, hmm?” “Not fair, Harper.” “All’s fair in love and war.” Harper lowered himself to his knees. He reached for Rory and encountered one of the many tattered holes decorating Rory’s jeans, this one provocatively close to the rigid bulge behind the zipper. Pressing his nose to Rory’s groin, he inhaled deeply of musk and man, of salty sweat and spicy cloves. He’d say the devil made him do it, but he’d rather give credit where credit was due, and his next move was all inspired by Rory’s hitched gasp and the abortive thrust of his distorted fly, cock trapped beneath too many clothes. Harper opened his mouth and latched on through the denim, sucking and licking a wet spot while he held Rory’s hips inflexibly. Rory whined, trying to bat Harper’s hands away. “Not…not fair. I can’t see you and…oh, God. Suck me for real.” “All you had to do was ask,” Harper murmured. He flicked his tongue, moving upward with each taste, and swirled it around the head of Rory’s cock, protruding a quarter of an inch above the waist of his jeans. “Hung like a moose,” he said appreciatively. Rory laughed and wobbled, steadying himself with a hand in Harper’s hair. “If you’re just now noticing, we’ve got problems.”

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“Feels different in the dark.” Harper sucked thoughtfully at the head, grinning around Rory’s cock when Rory made a noise like a startled cat and tugged his hair. The sharp prickle of the tug to his scalp went straight to Harper’s cock. He palmed himself, pressing down to enjoy the small hurt and to warn it they had a ways to go still. He doubted somewhat his ability to hold out regardless given the small, desperate mewling noises Rory was making -- sounded like the thick darkness hit a hot button for him, too -- and after a moment’s deliberation figured c’estla vie . Neither of them was leaving this closet unsatisfied. He’d make it up to Rory by stripping off Rory’s clothes with his teeth and licking every square inch of him later. There was time. They had at least another day before they heard from Mr. Grudnik . At least one. Maybe two or more. “I’m already feeling better,” he informed Rory, taking mercy and easing Rory’s distorted zipper down. “Far more relaxed.” “No kidding?” Rory’s voice shook. “‘Cause I feel like a keg of TNT ready to go off. Harper, would you please --” “On it.” Harper eased Rory’s swollen cock out and weighed the girth, guided it to his mouth and slid the tight seal of his lips over the head. He sucked until a short spill of salty slipperiness cascaded over his tongue, swallowed, and after that let himself go 100-percent nuts. Saliva dribbled down his chin as he swallowed Rory’s cock. He reached to tap Rory’s chest. Smart muse, he knew what Harper wanted and fumbled for Harper’s hand, drawing two fingers between his lips and sucking, getting them wet. Harper jerked Rory’s opened jeans off his hips before he pulled his slippery fingers loose of Rory’s mouth with an obscene slurping sound. “Okay?” he asked, breathing streams of warm air over Rory’s cock. “Kill you if you don’t,” Rory grunted, which Harper figured for a green light. Coordination wasn’t his friend, but he managed to keep Rory in his mouth, the pressure of his sucking keeping him latched on while he held Rory’s ass cheeks open and rubbed his wet fingers over Rory’s hole. Rory swore, the air crackling briefly blue. “More.” Harper licked a stripe down Rory’s balls, already drawn up taut. Would to God he had a third hand to jack himself with. Might not be an issue. One more sex-kitten mewl from Rory and he’d go off like the fourth of July, still in his slacks. He moaned, arrested by the thought of his cock half-hard, sliding in his own mess, having to leave the building that way and ride home with cum drying on his thighs. He groaned and head butted Rory’s stomach. “The look of your aura,” Rory said, sounding awed. “You are one kinky mother --ah !” It was hard to mouth off when someone had slipped two fingers in your ass. Harper would have laughed if he hadn’t been far, far too otherwise occupied. Rory grumbled half a sentence and let it go. With both hands in Harper’s hair, he rocked and thrust. Harper kept up, slurping loud and in time with his fingering, going one knuckle at a time for the fun of hearing Rory beg, only taking pity and pegging Rory’s sweet spot when he could go no farther. “Harper,” he chanted, short nails scraping furrows in Harper’s scalp. “Love you, God, I love you. Harper…Harper…Harper --”

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Harper trailed the lightest possible edge of teeth down Rory’s cock. “Dick.” Rory gasped, and came. Harper swallowed what he could but didn’t try to catch most of it, letting it spill over his lips and his wrists. “You son of a --” Before it was too late, Harper released Rory’s hips and made a grab for his cock. He only managed to shove his hand down his pants before he gave up, figuredfuck it , and let it happen at the first brush of flesh against flesh. “Did you just…” Rory panted, breaking off in the middle of his delighted disbelief. “Did you just cream your jeans?” Harper slurped dribbles of cum off Rory’s cock. “Mm-hmm.” “On purpose?” Rory sounded awed, now. “You kinky freak.” “ Mmm.” “ Wannafeel it, huh? For hours. Until I lick you clean. Damn. Every time I think you can’t surprise me anymore, you do.” Rory sifted strands of Harper’s hair through his fingers. He shuddered with the last of the aftershocks. “I’d say you should give lessons, but to echo what you grunted before, I don’t share.” He chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, baby. Huh. Glad you don’t smoke.” Harper traced Rory’s logic back to the old cigarette ads and snorted. “We could steal a pack from Lisa if you really wanted to work the old afterglow clichés.” “Nah.” Rory’s stroking slowly stopped. “Harper? No matter what happens, you know, after… it’s true. You’ve come so far, my friend, and I’m damn proud.” Harper pressed his face to the slick inner crease of Rory’s thigh and kept his mouth shut. “Yeah,” Rory said after a moment’s silence, thumb grazing Harper’s ear. “I know. Me too.” Outside, sneakered footsteps charged past, screeched to a stop, and ran back. Their owner pounded on the closet door. “I knew I smelled sex. It’s worse than popcorn. Harper? Harper, please be in there, please --” “That’s Lisa.” Rory let go of him. “Zip up, man, hurry. She --” “She sounds scared.” Harper hastily tucked himself away, zipped, buttoned, and grabbed at the door handle as he stood. He caught Lisa before she knocked him over. “ HarperHarperHarper, you’ve got to comenow ,” she babbled, eyes wide and hair askew. “Calm down, take it easy.” Rory tried to catch her eye. “What’s going on?” Lisa swallowed hard, throat working. “Someone’s walked out with all the backups Janie kept locked up. Picked the lock clean as a whistle and poof-ski. Everything confidential or for-eyes-only aboutIn Outré . Gone. And” -- she stepped away, eyeing Harper uneasily -- “security cameras caught a guy

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leaving the building in a hurry. I guess the security guard went on one of his walkabouts --why won’t he stay fired, Jesus -- but yeah. He didn’t get the guy. Harper, it was --” Harper’s spidey -senses clicked and whirred. “Not --” “Aw,no ,” Rory groaned, clutching his forehead. Lisa’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. It was Patrick.” Chapter Seventeen

“Forgive me for what I am about to do.” Harper caught Lisa by her upper arms and lifted her to set her aside, out of his path and Rory’s. Was his musebuzzing ? The noise reminded Harper of angry hornets, or rattlesnakes. Janie, on the other hand, standing in the door to her office, more correctly resembled a heat-maddened bull in a room full of waving red flags. She only lacked a set of viciously sharp horns and steam curling out of her ears. Harper tried to think fast. Rory acted faster. “Oh, no he doesn’t; no hefucking doesn’t!” The pointy, hard smack of his elbow in Harper’s ribs jostled Harper backward, giving him a clear look at Rory -- who was, indeed, vibrating like a high-quality sex toy -- as Rory ran forward one, two, three paces -- and wentpoof . “Rory, wait!” Harper yelled after the invisible patch of silence. “Get back here!” Lisa squeaked. Quietly. Under her breath. Harper’s blood ran ice-cold. “Um.” “Did he…” Lisa waved her hands. “Please tell me he didn’t just disappear. ’Cause that’d mean I’ve gone crazy, and straitjackets really aren’t a good look on me.” If Lisa had seen, then Janie probably -- oh, yeah. Brash, ballsy Janie gaped at the spot where his rogue muse had vanished. Harper decided not to think. Sometimes thought was overrated and no way could it replace action this time. What did the muse do? Work on instinct. He brought his hands together in a loud clap, deliberately startling both women. “I’ll explain later. Promise. Don’t freak out.” “ Buh,” Lisa peeped, pointing at the absence of Rory. “Lisa, I’m sorry. Later. Right now, I have to get after him. And Patrick.” He squeezed her hand in good-bye and loped for the elevator. Halfway there he diverted to the stairs. “Hang on a damn minute,” Janie snapped behind him. “Lisa, what size sneaker do you wear?”

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“Seven. Why?” “ Gimme.”Click, thunk , click, thunk . “I can’t run in high heels.” Harper wheeled about to stare at her. “What? Janie, no, I’m the one responsible. I’m the one to go after him. Them.” “Uh-huh. Say ‘no’ again with a smile on your face.” Janie tapped her shoeless foot. “What are you gaping at?” “Does Marcellus Wallace look like a bitch?” Lisa murmured. “Say ‘what’ again. Say what!” She covered her mouth with her hand when Janie shot her a death glare. Janie jammed her silk-stocking-encased feet into Lisa’s grubby sneakers. “I don’t know what this is all about, and right now I don’t want to. All I care about is a) my future just walked out of here in Patrick’s pocket, and b) I’ll be damned if I’m letting one-half of this writing team disappear on my watch. What are you waiting for? Move! I’ll catch up.” Harper moved. At speed. Seven stories down went quickly enough when a guy didn’t mind risking his neck, taking three steps at a time and jumping to the landings two-thirds of the way down each flight. At the bottom, he gave into the urge and slid down the narrow metal banister. His balls would never forgive him for that, but he’d add it to the list of things to worry about later. He was walking a little funny when he hip-slammed the crash bar, but it didn’t stop him from running-slash-staggering into the blindingly bright light of the downtown New York afternoon. Running through the afternoon crowds in Manhattan was not unlike trying to dig a hole to China with a teaspoon. Maybe more like trying to bore a hole through a wall with a toothpick. Wow, did his metaphors stink without his muse. “Never give up,” he muttered. “Never say die.” A small silver lining: No one would look at him twice for raising his voice. “Rory!” He stretched up on his toes, scanning the jammed sidewalks. If Patrick hadn’t caught a taxi -- at the time of day, it might have taken longer than he’d had -- if Rory was chasing him on foot -Hot damn! No one who wasn’t looking for it would have noticed a thing, but Harper caught a split-second glance of an empty space parting the sea of pedestrians, zipping forward like a deranged curl of wind. And up ahead of that, not far and with the distance lessening by the second, a familiar snappy fedora, the white band on the black felt gleaming bright. “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.” Harper put his shoulder into it and charged the throng of people. “Move it, move it, coming through!” Ah, New York. No other city on earth had a more colorful vocabulary. If he hadn’t been spending so much time with Rory, Harper would have been impressed. As it was, he kicked up his speed and kept an eye on the flash of nothingness that chased Patrick. Closer…closer…closer --

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Patrick squawked, sounding like a chicken that’d just caught sight of a chopping block, and went down. Buster Keaton would have cried in his beer over a pratfall like Patrick’s. Jeers and raucous laughter made sure Harper didn’t lose track of where Patrick had fallen. He skidded to a stop at Patrick’s side and dropped to his knees. “Get him off me,” Patrick begged hoarsely. He didn’t blink, staring in horror at the invisible weight pinning his chest. “Get who off of you, Patrick?” Harper plunged his hand into Patrick’s pockets, one after the other. “ Aww. Izza baby hallucinating too now?” “That’s evil,” Rory whispered, sight unseen, in Harper’s ear. “I approve.” “Don’t let him get away,” Harper replied, rummaging through pockets. “I think…oh, there you are, yes. Come to Daddy.” Patrick’s inner breast pocket was more spacious than it appeared, running deep and wide through the lining of his jacket. “Nice hideaway,” he said as he counted the data sticks and patted him down -- firmly -- to make sure he hadn’t missed any. “Let me guess. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to play cat thief.” Patrick hissed at him. “There’s somethingon me. Harper, help!” “Not on your life.” “That’s my boy,” Rory murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, Harper caught a mostly transparent glimpse of his muse, straddling Patrick. His clothes flickered in and out of assumed existence on his lean body, and his face grew sharper and fiercer. Almost frightening. Was this what Rory really looked like, or who he’d been once upon a time? Harper shivered and decided not to think about that one. What mattered was who Rory was now. “Stand aside!” Janie bellowed. Loud complaints, not as voluble as her stentorian shouts, followed in her wake. “He’s off his meds. We got it covered, folks. Nothing to see here.” “The big lie,” Rory said with a chuckle. “A few seeds of truth makes it all go down so much sweeter, and they’ll swallow it whole. You wait. By this time tomorrow, his name’s gonna be mud and any stunts he tries to pull are gonna be a laughingstock.” Harper reached for where he last remembered Rory’s hand was and squeezed it. “In case you don’t already know, you’re fantastic.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Despite the gruffness, Harper caught a distinct glimpse of Rory’s pleased expression. Patrick tried to struggle. “If I’m crazy, then what’s that make you?” he snapped. “You see the invisible man, too.” “Analyze that sentence.” Janie took the data sticks from Harper and pushed them down her brassiere. It’d take a braver man than Patrick to go after them there.

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Harper elbowed Rory, fairly sure that even if Rory would never do anything, he had to be staring. Possibly even drooling. “Harper. Do you see any invisible men?” Janie asked, her eyebrows quirked. What? Oh, right. Harper coughed, cleared his throat and stood, dusting off his knees. “Oxymoron. If I saw something invisible, that’d just be nuts.” “Exactly.” Janie clicked her tongue. “Looks like a classic case of stress dementia to me. Too bad.” “So sad,” Rory agreed. Harper thought Janie might have heard him from the way she stiffened. “Back to the office?” “No. To Wells Fargo.” Janie patted her cleavage. “Let’s see him try to break in there.” “And please, in that case be my guest,” Harper invited Patrick. “I’m not pressing charges. For now. But if you pull a stunt like this again, all bets are off. Understood?” “Allow me to help convince him of your generosity.” Patrick gurgled. Ouch. Pressure on the windpipe, sounded like. “I’m waiting, Patrick.” Patrick gritted his teeth. “Okay! I’ll leave you alone. I promise.” Did Harper believe him? Nope. “Yeah, I know.” Rory huffed. “Best we can do for now, though. I got this one. Go.” Rory shooed him off. “I’ll keep him pinned until Janie’s in a cab and you’re out of sight around the corner. He’s not in any shape to run you down.” Harper hoped he was doing this right and attempted to flood his aura with gratitude, love, and a few raunchy promises. “Ooh.” Rory whistled. “I’ll take you up on those.” ***** True to his word, Rory waited until Harper turned the corner to pounce him. Harper had had to circle around the building tofind a corner, but who cared about the technicalities? Not he, when he had a muse enthusiastically backing him into a wall, pressing hungry kisses down his neck. “Not bad, huh?” Rory exulted, nosing under Harper’s chin. His hair was damp from his exertions. If he’d had a tail, it would have wagged, and as it was, Harper had to work hard not to rub his tummy. Actually, on second thought, why not? He had slid his hand under Rory’s resumed shirt and splayed his fingers wide over the taut muscles when an annoyed, female “Ahem!” interrupted him.

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“Just so you know?” Janie said with an ironic twist. “I still don’t want to know. Anything. Ever.” Rory held up two fingers. “Cross my heart. You won’t.” “Good.” Janie jerked. “Who the hell is that? Is it Invisible Creep in New York Day now?” What? Harper twisted sideways.Oh, no . “Don’t mind me,” the Clerk said. He twirled his pencil, drew an elaborate, defined checkmark on his clipboard, and disappeared. Janie blinked several times in rapid succession. “You know what? Don’t tell me about that, either.” Rory’s grasp on Harper tightened near painfully. “Harper…” Harper made another instant decision. “Janie, think you’ll be good to get to Wells Fargo alone?” She hesitated, as if she wanted to question him. In the end, she pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay. I’ll explain later. Or not, if you still don’t want to know.” “I’m not so sure anymore,” she said, swinging a long, measuring glance between he and Rory. “Do what you have to. Go home.” Harper took his muse’s hands, fine tremors vibrating under his skin. An awful taste of dread clung thick and sour to the back of his tongue. “Rory, I want to go home.” “God, yes.” For what, Harper didn’t say, and Rory didn’t ask. They both knew, anyway. ***** Home. Quiet. Dark. Harper pushed Rory away from the light switch and crowded body to body, never separating their mouths for longer than it took to breathe, and only when he ran out of air. Rory moaned, working uselessly at Harper’s fly and tipping his head back. “Bedroom?” “Uh-uh. No time.” Harper caught the back of Rory’s neck and held him as they reached the wall, coming in for a crash landing that rattled the windows. “Want you now.” “You’ve got me.”For now. Don’t think about it, Harper ordered himself.Don’t think; don’t think; don’t think. He caught the tails of Rory’s collarless green shirt and hauled them up, over Rory’s head, hating every half second he and Rory weren’t pressed together. Then, though, it was skin against skin, and so much better. He thrust his hands down the back of Rory’s jeans and kneaded his ass. “Going to fuck you so

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hard.” “Yeah?” Rory canted his hips so that he trapped Harper’s hands between himself and the wall and he could thrust his obscenely swollen groin at Harper, putting it on display. “What’s in it for me?” “Wait and see.” Harper jerked Rory’s fly open and pushed in after for the handful of hot, silky flesh he craved more than breathing. He swallowed Rory’s desperate hiss. When they parted, it was only long enough for Rory, naked as he ought to be, to turn and slam the flats of his hands against the wall, above his head. Harper kicked off his Converses and his jeans. He stroked his cock through and down the cleft of Rory’s ass, precum slicking the way. “Think this is enough?” he breathed over Rory’s temple. “Say yes.” “Even if it wasn’t, I would,” Rory grunted. Harper understood him perfectly. He spread his legs, his balance awkward and his ass raised. “Want you in me. No more waiting.” Harper wasn’t that guy, no matter how horny. Hurting Rory was not allowed. Still, nothing in heaven or on earth could have budged him from Rory now, with Rory a mewling, writhing temptation in his arms. Lucky them, homemade lube would suffice. He stroked Rory’s urgent, leaking erection, shushing him when he cried out and clawed the wall with his blunt nails. “Stop, damn it, stop,” Rory panted. He shuddered, releasing a spurt of precum . “Don’t want to shoot before you’re fucking me.Please , Harper.” “Okay. I’ve got you,” Harper said soothingly, licking Rory’s throat. He gathered enough slickness for three fingers and tugged Rory’s balls to calm him down. When he tested the stretch of his fingers, Rory choked on a spasming breath and bore down on them. Tight, but willing, hot and silky. God help him, Harper couldn’t wait. He withdrew his fingers and grasped the base of his cock, lining up. “Hold on,” he murmured, wrapping his free arm around Rory’s waist to hold him still. Rory’s groan, deep and tortured, lasted as long as Harper’s long, slick slide home. His sac slapped Rory’s ass before he stopped. “Fast and hard or slow?” he asked, breathless. “Are you kidding me?” Rory clamped down around his cock and chortled at the pained noise Harper gritted out. “Fast. No time for slow. Want it hard. Want to know you were here every time I breathe, want you pounding me so deep I can taste you --” Harper bit Rory’s shoulder, almost breaking the skin. “Don’tsay things like that if you want any kind of ride at all.” “So fuck me quiet.” “I can do that.” Took him a few strokes to find his rhythm, bound and determined to time the slam in and drag out with his fist around Rory’s slick, throbbing hard-on, but when Harper found it they both shouted. Rory’s inner

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muscles quaked around Harper, who licked up the drops of sweat rolling down Rory’s back. Rory rocked forward, letting the wall support him. “Almost there.” He panted. “Harder, c’mon, I know you can… Right there, right there, don’t stop --” Harper’s toes curled. He took Rory by the hips, knowing he’d leave bruises, and slid deeper. The rhythm he’d worked for crumbled away, too needy for finesse. Rough bucks and shallow rabbit thrusts were the best he could manage. Rory begged for more, deeper, faster. “Love you so much.” Harper breathed, setting his teeth and getting it together for a brutal snap of the hips. “Rory --” Rory howled, the thrumming vibration of the roar going deep to his bones. He squeezed Harper’s cock, at its deepest. When he shuddered and came, splattering the wall with creamy ropes, Harper followed him over. Rory’s body took all he had to give and fluttered around him, demanding more until Harper had to bite him again to make him stop and pulled out. He draped his weight over Rory’s back, the pattern of his breathing slowly syncing with Rory’s. From somewhere, he found the coordination to spread his hand over Rory’s chest so he could enjoy the rapid pounding of Rory’s heart. Neither spoke for a long time. The sweat had mostly cooled on the bare expanse of Rory’s back when Harper made himself say it. “The way the Clerk showed up… There’s no chance he was just trying to scare us, is there?” “Harper.” Rory turned, letting the wall hold him up, and cradled Harper’s face in both palms. “Don’t. It’s soon. I’ve been around long enough to know. Just let me enjoy what time I’ve got left. It’s at least until we hear from Janie, right? And that could be days.” “Actually, no. It won’t be.” Harper didn’t want to look. Couldn’t look. “Get out.” “Can’t do that, pal,” said the Clerk. “Time’s up, you crazy kids.” Chapter Eighteen

The Clerk, heard but not seen, pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, its legs screeching across the floor. “Is that your turtle? Cute.” “What do you want?” “Him.” Harper could so easily visualize the Clerk’s smirk, oily and self-satisfied. “Time’s up, Rory. Pack your bags.” “No.” Harper withdrew as carefully as he could and covered Rory’s body with his own. “Rory, stay where you are.” He glared over his shoulder. “Get out. Get outnow . We have time. Janie hasn’t gotten

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any word about the job yet.” “Nope, but she will in, oh, five or ten minutes. You’re hired. Congratulations.” Harper borrowed the choicest of phrases from Rory’s most colorful vocabulary set. It didn’t help. “Do you even know what that means, or realize that you were speaking Ancient Etruscan?” the Clerk scoffed. “Nope, but I do,” Rory interrupted, pressing his forehead to Harper’s chest. “And he’s right. You are a herpes-riddled pestilent son of a goatfucker .” “Goats have more discernment and taste.” The Clerk’s chair squealed and his shoes thumped on the table. “For God’s sake, this is what I get out of matching a muse to an author? Note to self: Refine the screening process. Quit stalling, both of you. Let go of the muse and finish it already.” “No.” “Cute. You think you actually have a choice. I’m a patient man --” “Bull,” Rory muttered. “You’re not aman at all,” Harper shot back. “And neither is he,” the Clerk replied, unruffled as a pool covered in green algae. “If you’re feeling dainty, I can turn my back while you put some clothes on.” Rory had imparted more than one lesson in his time. Nudity threw everyone for a loop and gave a guy the upper hand. “No.” Harper turned, shielding Rory, and let it all hang out. The Clerk looked down, and then back up, doing a bad job of pretending not to be impressed. “Once again, this isn’t a multiple-choice question. Rory comes with me. You stay.” “No.” The Clerk huffed out a slow, long-suffering sigh. “Look… it’s not that I don’t get where you’re coming from. I do. But the rules are the rules for a reason. If I let Rory stay, then the next time some artist got a little too attached, I’d have to give in. And the next, and the next, until suddenly there’s several thousand extra people crowding the earth and endangering the sugar cane crops.” “NutraSweet. It’s the wave of the future.” “Nice try.” The Clerk dropped his feet, planting them solidly on the floor. He leaned on one arm and gestured at he spoke. “Sugar’s the least of my worries. Rory is made up almost totally of inspiration. The flesh is a bonus and it’s metaphysical in ways that’d make your head explode. The chemical essence of a really good brainstorm.” Harper frowned. “So?”

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“So, if there are a gazillion Rorys running around lighting creative bonfires, how long do you think humanity would be able to take it? You’d go insane, one after the other. A world full of inspirationally toppled dominos twitching in their own drool, their brains burned out.” Harper’s throat tightened. “I can’t argue with that.” The Clerk blinked. “You can’t? No, wait. You’re still going to, aren’t you?” “I love him.” “No, really? I hadn’t noticed.” “You can’t make an exception for love?” “Technically, I could. But I won’t. It’s not as uncommon as you might think, kid, the lucky winners falling head over heels for their muses, especially when they’re horndogs like that one.” “Heartless bastard.” “Yes, I am.” The Clerk shrugged. “I’m also fairly immune to insults after being on the job this long. If it’d help you, though, take your best shot.” He wouldn’t waste his breath. The way Rory loved him deserved better than bickering. Harper caught at the first, separate thread he could and asked, “How can I write without him?” “Kid, you’ve got enough inspiration to last a lifetime. See, it’s not just the stories you’ve written. There’s a psychic signature in your brain. You reach for your muse -- the spark -- it’s there.” He blipped in front of Harper, close enough to thump his forehead with thumb and forefinger, then blipped away before Harper could grab him. “I’m still not letting him go without a fight.” Though he’d been quiet and Harper worried about Rory’s state of mind, he reached behind himself with the intention of taking Rory’s hand in his, and -And encountered nothing. Empty air, colder than it should have been. He slapped the blank wall, panic rising, all in vain. The space where Rory had existence was now devoid of life, essence, or warmth. “I really am sorry, kid,” the Clerk said quietly, standing. “He’s gone?” Harper didn’t want to look, but did, at the absence of Rory behind him. He shuddered. There was nothing to see, and the nothing was horrible. “You sick -- when? When did you take him?” “Not that it’ll help you to know, but right about the time you flashed the goods.” “And you just let me keep thinking I had a chance?” “As rants go, yours are mostly entertaining. And I had to keep you distracted somehow during the energy transfer, or this could’ve gone on all day.” The Clerk shrugged. “Time of cessation, twelve-thirty-two p.m.” Harper’s ears roared with the rush of his rising wrath. “Bring him back, or I swear on my life you’ll wish you had.”

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“How? You can’t hurt me.” All the same, the Clerk kept the table between himself and Harper. “Take it up with a higher authority if you want. See how far that gets you. And oh, hey, you might want to answer your phone.” His BlackBerry shrilled when it should have vibrated discreetly. Human nature drew Harper’s eyes to it in response, and when he looked back, the Clerk had winked out of sight. ***** Harper didn’t answer the first of Janie’s calls. His fingers were too numb to manipulate the BlackBerry’s buttons. The second time the caller ID flashed, he managed to step forward, but deviated at the last moment and crouched, sore as an old man, to retrieve his jeans. One leg at a time he tugged them on. He reached for his discarded shirt and found Rory’s favorite green Henley lying crumpled underneath. Harper decided he didn’t care if anyone would call it stupid, and pulled the shirt over his head. He inhaled deeply, holding each breath of cloves in his lungs until they burned. When his cell rang a third time, he tapped the speakerphone button. “Janie,” he said, and nothing else. She seemed to know, or at least to guess, or didn’t understand but knew not to push. “Heard back from Rialto ,” she said neutrally. “Their pet writer begged off. You’re in. All you’ve got to do is sign the contract, and the job’s yours.” Harper pressed his lips together. He couldn’t thank her. “Come to the set tomorrow,” she suggested. “Take your mind off things.” He shook his head in silence, not caring that she couldn’t see him. “Harper…yell or pitch a fit at me if you want, but say something before I think you’re in trouble.” “Janie.” “Damn it.” Pause. “Congratulations, I guess.” Answering her tasted bitter and foul, and saying it out loud at all tore at Harper with the sharpness of knives. “Thanks.” He staggered away from the phone and made it to the sink just in time, emptying his stomach in sour heaves.Rory’s gone . Chapter Nineteen

Harper hadn’t figured he’d be able to face getting up in the morning, much less get to the set. But he did. Remembered his keys, wallet and phone, navigated connecting subways, bought coffee without paying

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much attention to the pleasant red-haired woman manning the kiosk, and flashed his ID card at the new guard. Lisa did a double-take when she looked up from a sheaf of breakdowns and caught sight of Harper ambling in. “Hi!” she said, fumbling a couple of thickly printed sheets. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be around here. For a while at least. You know. And then you’ve got the new job, so --” “So, you think I’d forget you so soon?” Harper tried for an amiable smile. He guessed, from the slight widening of Lisa’s eyes, that he’d achieved a psychopathic “ Heeeere’s Johnny!” grimace instead.Jack Nicholson, eat your heart out. Not for Lisa the squeak of alarm nor the soothing pats of a Florence Nightingale. She tweaked a cigarette from a pack stashed in her cherry red hoodie and twirled the unlit cylinder. “Actually, I heard Rory hadn’t been seen since he ran out of here after Patrick. I figured you’d be weeping into your Cheerios right about now.” “Lisa, don’t.” “Shut up and let me distract you while I figure out something comforting to say. This is why I don’t usually hang out with high-strung guys. You’re like women, and I’m here to tell you we’re all crazy. When a guy’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, the servos need adjusting.” She twirled her cigarette hand at her temple. “Not to say I won’t give it a shot, if you need me to. That’s what friends are for, right?” “Thanks for trying, but nah. Wouldn’t help.” Harper plucked the abused menthol light 100 from her hand and tucked it in his jacket pocket. “It’s the thought that counts.” “Yeah.” Lisa caught her lower lip between her teeth. “About Rory…hell. You know how gossip runs on any set. Everyone figures he’s missing in action. And not coming back.” “They’re pretty much right.” “Crap.” Harper shook his head. “Don’t try and comfort me. Okay?” “You want I should try and shut down the grapevine so you can have some peace, at least?” Harper shrugged. Gossip was lifeblood in the entertainment biz; he hadn’t expected anything different even if it did set his teeth on edge. “But…no one except Janie and I know what happened, you know.” Lisa dropped her voice to a whisper,“Before.” “Not sure I take your meaning.” She shot him an annoyed look and jiggled her sheaf of papers, trying to straight-edge them. “Don’t want to or won’t?” “My, my, look at the time.”

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“Be that way, then.” Lisa rolled her eyes and, quick as a hummingbird, darted in to stretch up on tiptoe and kiss Harper’s cheek. “Lurk around and sulk all day if you want. Janie and I are gonna be stuck in meetings. New plotlines and breakdowns forTwilight Rising .” “The show must go on. Hey.” He rumpled her hair, or rather attempted to bend the spikes, finding he could still grin when she cursed and tried to swat him away from the ‘do.’ “It’s not like I’m going to be out of work.” “Yeah, big time congrats and all that.” She squinted at him. “Kind of wish it hadn’t come around when you’re as miserable as a hound dog on a cloudy day.” “I’ll live.” “Will you livehappy ? Don’t answer that. You’ll just dive deeper into the pool of maudlinity -- is that a real word?” “If it isn’t, it should be,” they said together. “Made you smile.” She awkwardly patted his hand. “There, there.” He snatched it back, almost laughing. “Lisa, yousuck at this. Go do your job.” “Can I? Thank God.” She waved the papers at him. “My first 100-percent-solo script, minus Janie’s interference. Wish me luck?” “All the luck in the world.” “And you’re not going to, I don’t know, hang yourself from a gargoyle fifty stories up?” “That’d be a waste of a good gargoyle.” “Harper.” “No. Don’t worry about that. Rory, he…he’d have kicked my ass for that.” “But you want to,” Lisa guessed shrewdly. “Or to drink yourself into a stupor and not crawl out until you’re numb.” “The thought’s crossed my mind.” “Thank God.” “Excuse me?” Lisa clapped him heartily on the arm. “This, I can help you with. Meet me at Tavish’s Tavern tonight. The supposed-to-be-genuine Scottish pub down on Forty-fifth. We’ll get sloshed, hammered, wake up with splitting headaches and the world might start to seem to be a better place.” “You’re a true friend.”

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“Absolutely.” Lisa shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. “Harper? I really am sorry about Rory. I could see the way you two loved each other, and damn. That’s the stuff most people only ever get to dream about.” “Yeah.” Harper’s slight good mood drained away. “I know.” Lisa cursed. “You said it yourself, I suck at this.” She caught his hand and squeezed, her nicotine-stained fingers cool and surprisingly rough. “I’m out of here before you start thinking gargoyles are a good idea. If you don’t meet us at Tavish’s tonight, I’m hunting your ass down, and don’t think I won’t.” “You’re a good friend,” Harper told her, in all seriousness. “Wait. Who’s ‘we’?” “Um. Janie.” Harper frowned, trying to put the pieces together. He arrived at a number that hit like a punch to the solar plexus. “You’re not serious.” Lisa slapped his arm. “Pervert. We’re just better friends than we used to be after all that’s gone down in the past couple of months. Turns out we can both use a soul sister who knows her way around being bitter and cynical.” “Work that system, ma’am.” Harper gave her a light push. “Go. Plot evil against mankind. Write. Be happy.” She winked at him before taking her leave, a bounce to her step. Harper propped his shoulders against the set wall, watching her go. Lisa looked happy. He’d be an ass to grudge her that. Silver lining, huh? he could hear Rory saying with a leer.Just friends or not, you think they’d let us watch? Bet it’s like two wild tigresses. Fight to the little death. “Psycho,” Harper murmured, forgetting for a moment that Rory wasn’t actually at his side. Bah. I have healthy appetites, his mental Rory scoffed.You got one thing right, though. You told her to “work the system.” Think about it, Harper . The faintest of cool pressures wafted over Harper’s cheek. Gottago, but I’ll be back if I can. Harper’s hand clapped over his cheek. He could still feel the strange tingles, as if…Rory…had been there, in spirit, to kiss him. “Rory?” he whispered, mouth dry as sand. “Rory, is that you?” The vibrations he received in the next second were not friendly, nor were they warm and sexually driven and affectionate. They emanated from his cell phone, to which Harper reacted much as a man afraid of snakes would react toIndiana Jones . He debated not answering. But what if… Harper had seen “ghost in the machine” movies. Couldn’t be. No way would the Clerk let Rory sneak around. He had to have been imagining the whole whisper from beyond, plus kiss. Cracking up under the pressure of double-strength angst. Yet if he wasn’t… “I’m an idiot,” Harper muttered. He dug for his BlackBerry and clicked it on. “Rory?”

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“Sorry to disappoint you, but no,” the caller replied in extremely un- Roryishaccents indicating he was the last thing fromsorry . More like homicidal. “Good morning to you too, Patrick.” Harper pinched the bridge of his nose. “How’d you get my new number?” “I have sources.” “Had, unless they want to hang out with a guy who has spastic episodes on a busy street.” Patrick snarled wordlessly. “What do you want?” “Five minutes of your time. Five minutes. Outside. You owe me that much.” Harper withdrew the phone to better stare at it in disbelief. “You’re not serious.I oweyou ? For what?” “If you don’t come down and meet me, you’ll never find out.” “I think I can live happily in ignorance, thanks.” “Sure you can. Skip down the daisy lanes with your fingers in your ears all you want, but remember this: I know something about Rory that you don’t, and either you meet me or I lock it up forever.” Harper’s chest tightened. “You don’t know a damn thing about Rory.” “Don’t I? Incorporeal muse taken flesh, the most irritating and horniest parts of your subconscious walking around eating Little Debbies by the case? Gone now, from what I hear?” Breathing became a problem. “You son of a bitch.” “Talk prettier than that to me, Harper, or say bye-bye to anything I know.” With strength Harper hadn’t known he possessed, he swallowed his gale-force wrath. “I’ll be down in ten. You have five.” “Excellent. Clock starts now. Don’t be late.” ***** For once in his life, Patrick had told the truth. He waited for Harper on a park bench,patiently as one might say. If he were on crack. Minus the bruises and the battered shape of his hat, Patrick looked as polished and debonair as ever, from his repaired manicure to the shining toes of his wing tips. Harper took a moment to stop and smell the roses, admire Rory’s feral handiwork, and wondered:What would Rory do? Aha.

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He swung into place next to Patrick, jostling the seat. Patrick smirked. “You should try the Viennese cinnamon blend. Half the carcinogenic tar and twice the flavor of overheated hot-plate.” “Skip the polite chitchat. You know something about Rory. Spit it out.” “Not so fast, handsome. There’s a price on this information. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want. I love the smell of capitalism in the morning.” “Okay.” Harper nodded thoughtfully, snatched the piping hot paper cup from Patrick’s hands, and held it tilted at a precarious angle over a planter full of desiccated petunias beside the bench. “Bet you want your caffeine back now,” he said in response to Patrick’s indignant sputter. “How about we start the bargaining there?” “How about we start with me messing up your face?” “Big talk from a guy who looks like he went five rounds with Tyson in the glory days.” Patrick glowered at him. “How about you take it easy on a fella ?” “I’ll take my grip off this coffee easy and make sure it lands in your lap.” Harper was done playing. “In case I haven’t made this clear, I am on the verge of losing my grip on the moral compass of right and wrong, and if you don’t spit it out --” “Asshole.” Patrick kept a wary eye on the coffee -- figured that a threat to the ultimate source of his attitude would spur him into action -- and withdrew a cell phone from his breast pocket. “I have something you should hear.” If Harper never saw another phone again, he reflected that it might just be too soon. “What is it?” “You won’t believe me if I tell you, so man up and listen to the damn voice mail already.” Patrick tossed it in Harper’s lap. “If this is something you got off a nine-hundred-number line…” Harper warned. He wiped the earpiece and mouthpiece for the sake of needling Patrick and raised it to his ear. “Press Star forty-two,” Patrick grouched. “Why am I being helpful, you ask? You’ll hear.” Harper punched the three keys and waited through Patrick’s smarmy, prerecorded spiel inviting business associates to leave a message, which he’d return as soon as he had the time, ciao baby, a lengthy pause, and then a Barry White croon inviting all ladies and gentlemen of the night to -- whoa. “What was I thinking to jump in bed with you?” “You had a panoramic feast laid out before you. I’m the one counting minutes now, because trust me I don’t want this to go on longer than it has to.” Patrick made a futile grab for his coffee. “You have one saved message,” the faux-human answering service chirped at him. “Please press nine.” Harper took a steadying breath and tapped the key. “ Heyyyyyyy, cheese-dick.”

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His fingers, numb, nearly lost their grip on the phone.Rory . He stared at Patrick, who looked far more smug yet still uneasy as he made a “told you so” gesture. “You hate me, I hate you, yada , yada , yada . Sorry about the pavement pizza I made of you. Actually, wait. I’m not sorry at all. Road rash is a good look on you. Anyway. Odds are good that by tomorrow morning I’ll be gone.” “Rory.” Harper wanted to crawl inside Rory’s rich voice, laced with humor and crackling with energy, and stay there. “God, you’re pathetic, the pair of you,” Patrick grumbled. Harper ignored him, ear pressed tightly to the phone, listening for all he was worth. “-- so. You get Harper, get him to listen to this because if it’s coming from you he won’t think it’s a figment of his imagination. Love him to death, but he’s not the best in a crisis and right about now he’s probably two degrees away from losing his mind. Hey, babe. This Bud’s for you, and it comes with a question. Am I right, or am I right?” “Rory.” “You sound like a broken record,” Patrick griped. “Coffee. Give it. Now.” “Not so fast.” Harper waited for more, but only silence filled his ear. “Is that all?” “Nope.” The recorded Rory cleared his throat. “Okay. You have to tell him something in case I don’t get a chance to. Even if I don’t before I leave, I’ll do my best to afterward, but I like to cover all possible plot twists. And don’t ask what I mean.” “So, what’s in it for me?” Patrick murmured, resigned, folding his hands over his stomach. “Here’s what’s in it for you. An old associate of mine, fantastic with the whip and laying on the sugar. Makes fishnets look good. She’ll beat your ass sixty ways to Sunday, drive you out of your ever-loving mind, inspire you to heights of oratory magnificence and make you a star like you’ve always dreamed. You pass this message on to Harper and I’ll pull some strings to send her your way. Deal?” “For the record, I don’t believe it for a second,” Patrick said, obviously knowing the message by heart. “Still, it’s relevant enough to my interests that it caught my attention.” He raised his voice. “I’m here, punk. Deal!” Harper opened the top buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie. Patrick’s presence or no, the rumbling cadences of Rory’s voice were starting to work their familiar magic. He squirmed out of his suit jacket and threw it over his lap. Another pause, a break of static and a snatch of some rapid, angry argument between two Swedish women, and Rory returned to the message. “I’m losing the connection. Trust me, you don’t want to know what I had to promise to get this much in the first place.”

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“You talk way, way too much,” Harper murmured. His heart hurt. “Don’t go.” “Make sure Harper hears this. It’s the important bit.Work the system . If he gives the little gray cells a chance to chew that over, he’ll understand. Tell him I trust him enough to piss off the highest powers in my sphere, and -- hell if I’m saying this onyour machine, but he knows what else I ‘enough’ for him.” Patrick mouthed awwww at him. I love you too, Harper answered silently. The connection dissolved into screeching static and disconnected. “To play this message again, please press nine,” the operator chirped. “To retrace this number, please press four. To --” “Don’t even think about it. The number goes to a pizza parlor in Powoahautak , Wisconsin.” Patrick made a successful grab and snatched his phone back. “There. I’ve done my part.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Harper asked, tugging his ear. “Work the system?” Taken together with the offer he’d made Patrick -- and wasn’t that a sweet mental image, considering the visual of Patrick tormented by a dominatrix muse who’d whip some humility into him? He wondered if… Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Rory mentioned pulling strings.Take it up with a higher authority , the Clerk had said,and see how far that gets you . What if… Harper swallowed down a mouthful of floating, brightly burning hope to keep it safe. “Holy --” “ Mmm, the sweet sounds of an epiphany. Care to share?” “Not on your life.” Suspicious again, Harper narrowed his eyes at Patrick. “If you don’t believe any of this, which is a lie of the highest order since you know what Rory is -- hey, wait, howdo you know?” “There’s this thing called the Internet.” Patrick waggled his fingers. “If you get knocked down and pinned by an invisible man, there are a considerable number of embittered poets and painters who will tell you, at length, about their former sources of inspiration. Not that it waseasy to read my way through reams of emo poetry before finding the links, but --” “ Pfft. Like you’d pay half a second’s worth of attention to anyone who wasn’t talking about you,” Harper scoffed. “But am I right?” Harper shut up. Patrick smirked. “Thought so. Even if they’re wrong and I’m crazy, I have the sweet satisfaction of knowing you’re equally bonkers. If I go down, I’m taking you with me.” He waved Harper quiet. “I’m full up on invective. Save it.”

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Kill, pussycat, kill. “Tell me honestly. Whydid you bring this to me? Can’t be for the promise of a muse who knows her way around a cat o’ nine, not if you don’treally believe.” Patrick’s dark glare made a comeback. “Because I know you, you sneaky twit, and I’m not the only one who knows how to use a video phone. I want the footage Iknow you or one of your buddies caught of everything that happened yesterday.” Harper considered it for a moment. “Done.” “What? Really?” Patrick sat up straighter. “You’re serious?” “As the grave. Sending you the file now, and then I’ll delete mine. And you delete Rory’s message.” Harper choked a little over the request, but Rory washis , not for sharing with Patrick’s voice mail service. “It’s a bargain.” Patrick fell silent during the short, sharp flurry of beeps and file transfers. He showed Harper his screen to prove he’d made good, and Harper did the same. “Coffee now, please?” It’d gone lukewarm anyway. Harper passed the cup back over and spread his arms over the back of the bench when Patrick stood up. Patrick straightened the hang of his suit and looked down at Harper, his expression unreadable. “We were good once upon a time, weren’t we?” “Once. Not for long.” “You ever think about giving me a second chance?” “Have you seen the man I was with recently?” “Not even a quick ride for old times’ sake?” “Not with Ron Jeremy’s severed dick on a stick at ten paces.” “Up yours,” Patrick snapped, face reddening. “Truce over. You’re on your own and trust me, I’ll be watching for anything I can get.” “You do that,” Harper replied amiably just to piss him off. As Patrick stalked away, swallowed by the New York foot traffic, Harper patted the lump of his phone. It really had been dumb of Patrick, all things considered, not to ask if he’d made a backup. Let Patrick stalk him or try to double-cross him, which knowing Patrick, of course he would. That, however, would keep for another day. Harper tipped his head back, closing his eyes against the brightness of the sun, and let the hamster wheels in his mind run wild. “Work the system,” he murmured. “Work the system. What’s that supposed to mean?” Oh. Harper’s eyes snapped open. Contracts. Clauses. If -He whipped out his phone and speed dialed Janie. Two rings, three --

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“Harper?” Janie sounded almost worried. “Who do you think you are, walking off the job? You haven’t signed a contract yet and that means I still own your balls.” She sighed. “Rory really did leave, didn’t he?” “Yes.” “Crap. Harper, are you going to be okay?” “Maybe.” She hmmphed . “Better be, because I’ll have your head on a pike if you relapse into who you were.” Harper’s heart stuttered.Oh, God. That’s it . “Janie? I love you.” In the stunned silence that followed, Harper rushed ahead. “I was thinking back to what Mr. Grudnik said in the video conference. He liked Rory. A lot. Right?” “Right,” she agreed slowly. “He’d be pissed if Rory flaked on the writing job, wouldn’t he?” Desperate hope made Harper’s hand shake. “Janie. Tell me. The head writer’s job is a contract for two, isn’t it? Cowriters . Me and Rory.” “Yeah,” Janie confirmed. Then, “Oh.” “I’m not going to ask how much you already know.” “Good.” Harper forced himself to remain calm. “But if I show up by myself, what’s the risk they won’t go for a last-minute drop-out and take me on alone?” “Off the record? You’ve got a good track record. They’d still want you.” Harper’s shoulders slumped.Damn it. He’d thought… “I’m not done yet,” Janie interrupted his rising disappointment. “You want the clever bitch perspective?” “Yes.” “Work the system.” And if that wasn’t an omen, he’d never hear another closer to it. “Work the system?” he repeated, adding a question mark lilt at the end. “Sure. They asked for two. They expect two. Make them think theyneed two. Like your writing’s for shit without the other half of your team. You’re a smart kid, Harper. Think of something.” “I think I might have already,” he said, dry not only in his mouth and throat, but feeling papery crackly down to his toes. “How do I get in touch with Mr. Grudnik ?” Chapter Twenty

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“Misinformation, huh?” Planted in his office on the other side of the country yet in living color and real-time on Harper’s laptop monitor, Mr. Grudnik drummed his fingers on his cluttered desk. “Hell of a thing to miscommunicate . All the paperwork seems clear as a bell on our end. Doesn’t speak too highly of your in-office folks to screw that up.” “We’re relatively small time,” Harper said, which was true enough. He added, also truthfully, “And to keep confidentiality extra high, the only folks who know about this are Lisa, who’s had to take on management of the writing team, and Janie, who’s got more demanding fish to fry. This is the first slipup to date I know of.” If he hadn’t heard about Patrick’s attempt at industrial espionage.God ,let him not have heard. “Memos do slip through the cracks from time to time.” Mr. Grudnik’s narrowed eyes told Harper he had his doubts about the whole setup. “For the sake of clarification, then, we do want Rory on the writing team. Our understanding was that you came as a package deal.” He coughed. “Run it by me one more time, what happened?” Harper rubbed the back of his neck and tried to look sheepish. Not a huge stretch. The tips of his ears burned from telling truth mixed with lies and Rory was still right: he sucked at dissembling. “Rory thought he wasn’t needed, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since.” “Uh-huh. Is he always that temperamental?” “No, no, no, that’s not it. His feelings weren’t hurt. Rory’s…a high-energy kind of guy. When one project’s done, he jumps headfirst into the next.” All true. “He’s probably in search of something new now. Thing is, he had his heart and soul sunk intoIn Outré . Whatever he’s working on now, he’ll jump at the chance to come back.” “Hmm,” Mr. Grudnik verbalized noncommittally. “And you won’t sign if he doesn’t, is that it?” “No, sir. I won’t. This isn’t just my concept now. Rory’s an equal half of everything that you andRialto liked enough to green-light.” Mr. Grudnik sat in silence for a moment, gears visibly turning behind his assessing stare. “Let me be frank with you, Harper. Setting terms and conditions is not the best way to get off on the right foot out here.” “I’m aware of that.” “Nor am I inclined to ignore the communication snafu. If you two are going to cowrite , I need you on the same page. Sharp as tacks every damn day you’re on the job. Do I make myself clear?” Oh God. “Does that mean you’ll --” “If it were up to me? I’d slam-dunk you two in the round file. Lucky for you, it’s not. The CEO, and I do meanthe CEO, well, his daughter’s got him wrapped around her pinky and she’s already starry eyed over the tragic love story of Salomei and Osborne. By the way, we’re changing those names because they don’t bear up to repetition, and how the hell do you even pronounce Salomei ?”

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“ Sah-low-may. And yes, sir.” Mr. Grudnik sat back and heaved a sigh, complete with motorboat noises through his pursed lips. “As it stands, it’s easier to look the other way --once -- and the contracts are already made out for two cowriters to sign. But if I don’t hear from youand Rory by the end of the day, with pens in your hands, I’ll take my chances with Sharli , the CEO’s daughter,” he explained. Harper nodded. He’d missed everything past “two cowriters ” and “contracts.”I’ve got you, you bastard , he exulted. “And if I don’t get Rory back to sign?” “What are you, stupid?” Mr. Grudnik snapped. “Then you’re canned, and after all this aggravation, believe me when I say you’re not in the least bit likely to work in this business again. You can go write menus for coffeehouses and good luck brainstorming new ways to describe dark roast.” Harper could have kissed him, jowls and all. “Thank you. I’ll go get Rory now. I think I know where to find him.” “Let’s hope so.” Mr. Grudnik severed the conference. Before the screen went black, Harper was up and running. Work the system, huh? Appeal to a higher power and see how that works out, huh? Gotcha. No time to waste. He had a Clerk to annoy and a muse to catch. He did pause long enough to jump and click his heels together.Now that’s inspiration! ***** Harper retreated to the conference room, a.k.a. the writer’s room, a.k.a. the new home for the growing mountains of clutter that Lisa called “organization.” He unearthed the coffee pot, measured grounds and water, tapped his fingers in a cheerful rhythm while waiting for the java to brew, and then made himself comfy at the table. On the outside, he figured he looked calm, cool, and collected, no more worked up than an ordinary guy waiting to take a meeting. Maybe even bored. On the inside, bats on Rollerblades boogied in his stomach, and swallowing was nearly impossible with his mouth dried out from worry. Where are you, you smug jerk? I know you heard and saw that. “I want this finished,” Harper said, glowering at the empty chair at the far end across the writer’s table. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” The Clerk popped into visibility in the chair. His hair stood up from his head in crazy spikes, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his teeth were on edge. “You…” Harper hid the urge to slump in relief and brazened up Rory-style instead. “Me.” “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Harper propped his feet on the conference table, crossed them at the ankle, and waggled a green

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Converse at the Clerk. “I really, really do.” “Should’ve known Rory would be a bad influence on you. Meek as milk until you had a couple of months with --” “A hellcat in bed,” Harper began to count on his fingers. “A never-give-up, never-say-die coach. A hellcat in bed. A guy with a zillion ideas a minute and the energy to do something with them. A ballsy son-of-a-gun who takes no prisoners. A hellcat in --” “Cut it with the sex talk! My virgin ears,” the Clerk grumbled, rubbing the side of his head. He mirrored Harper’s pose and narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. Harper waited. The Clerk folded his hands across his belly and interlaced his fingers, twiddling his thumbs. Harper took a long swig of coffee to hide his jitters. This had to work. Ithad to. “Don’t suppose I could offer you a two-for-one on copyboys?” “Uh-uh.” Harper traced the rim of his paper cup. “I want Rory.” “Maybe a stenographer who likes traipsing around in lingerie? He shaves his legs.” “ Gah. No.” Harper caught and held the Clerk’s eye. “Give me backmy muse.” “Double or nothing?” “I’ve got you by the short and curlies and you know it. Rory. Now.” “You don’t play chess, do you?” “Rory.” Harper glowered at the Clerk. “I win. You lose. The contracts are crystal clear. If I don’t get Rory back, I don’t get the job, and without the project I have literally poured my soul into, I’ll end up with permanent writer’s block.” “I told you, you have a full tank of imagination --” “One: No, I don’t, because it’s all interlaced with Rory’s ideas and thinking of him will keep me from wanting to go near a keyboard. Two --” “All right, all right, I get it!” The Clerk blew a long, irritated stream of breath out both nostrils. “You understand this is a once-in-recorded-history kind of thing? It will not happen again,ever , to anyone, so don’t go telling your buddies. Matter of fact, I’m going to put a metaphysical gag on your mouth when it comes to talking about who Rory is and where he came from.” Harper didn’t care for that, but fair was fair. “Done.” He waited. “Still waiting for Rory, here.” “I’m not through. You’re not getting any extra help. Period. Rory comes to you, he comes as an ordinary guy, flesh and blood.”

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Harper dropped his feet. A real boy? They could grow old together? “Agreed.” “Oh yeah, you could be real old farts wheezing about durn fool young’uns side by side,” the Clerk added, not apologizing for reading Harper’s thoughts. Harper supposed he couldn’t complain -- much -out loud -- given everything else at stake. “Sign me up.” “But what if it’s not perfect? Tell me, Harper, have you ever had a relationship last longer than a handful of months? Wait, I know the answer to this one. No. You haven’t. How do you know you won’t be able to stand the sight of Rory inside a year or two?” “Because he’s Rory,” Harper answered simply and 100 percent honestly. “If I’m willing to go up against the font of creativity and risk losing the ability to write for him, I think I’ve got the oomph to make this work. To make it last.” The Clerk grumbled under his breath, visibly grasping at straws. “You can’t stand to lose, can you?” Harper observed, not unkindly. “Something else.” The Clerk slapped his gut. “ Rory’llprobably be slower with the brilliance. Not as quick on the draw. Not to mention he’ll probably chunk on fifty pounds without the metabolism for all that honey and jam.” Harper threw his head back and laughed. “Thick or thin, I don’t care and I’ll always love him. Besides, with his libido and mine combined I think we might just find other ways to work it off.” “Jeez.” “C’mon, you walked right into that one.” Harper felt as light as a bubble in a glass of golden beer. “You should try it sometime. Rory was right about that. There’s nothing like getting righteously laid to relax a guy.” “I’ll stick to mymostly peaceful bachelor existence, thank you.” The Clerk glared at him. “At least give me a freebie of what’s coming next onTwilight Rising .” “Wait. You watchTwilight Rising ?” The Clerk made a sour face. “You owe me a crumb, kid. What’s up with Adreai and her baby? Does she find out the masked man was the father or is she never going to know?” “You actually watchTwilight Rising . If I’d only known before.” Harper shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t even know anymore now that Lisa’s had charge for a while and is in full control now.” An idea came to him, one so evil he knew Rory would have fist-punched the air in approval over. “Tell you what. Either we cut the crap right now and you bring Rory backthis second , as fast as you whipped him away, or I’ll sweet-talk Lisa into killing off the masked man so Adreai will never know.” The Clerk paled. “You wouldn’t.” “I so would.” Harper checked his watch. “On the count of ten. One…two…three…”

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Slamming his fists on the table, the Clerk stood and swore at Harper. Harper thought he recognized some of the verb forms as that good old Etruscan. “This is the last time I try to be a nice guy. Compassion training? They can shove it up their asses. If I never see you again, kid, it’ll beway too soon.” He clapped his hands -- and he might have done something after that, but Harper neither noticed nor cared, because at the first snap of sound, Rory stumbled from nowhere. He staggered and caught himself on the conference table. Harper kicked his chair over behind him in his rush to reach Rory. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he chanted, running his hands through Rory’s hair, over his bare shoulders, and down the smooth expanse of his firm, er , back. “It worked.” “Smart bastard,” Rory said, his voice raw. He seemed warmer, more pliant, and when he tipped his head back to look up and meet Harper’s eyes, his were ordinary hazel. “Knew you could do it.” He laughed raspily . “So, what took you so long?” Harper took a wary peek over Rory’s shoulder and relaxed when he saw that the Clerk had vanished. He pressed a kiss to Rory’s temple and impulsively grabbed his muse by the waist in a bear hug. And while he was at it, he lifted Rory off the floor and swung him around in a circle. “Easy with the merchandise!” Rory protested, but he was grinning from ear to ear when Harper put him down. “You’ve got me. What’re you going to do with me?” “For starters, take you home.” Harper murmured this next in Rory’s ear: “And screw you until dawn’s early light.” Rory’s breath caught and hitched. Harper savored the delicious pressure of Rory’s cock hardening where their hips were snugged together. “It isn’t even noon yet.” Harper licked his ear. “I know. Are you interested?” “Hellyes.” Rory grabbed Harper’s hand. “Race you?” “You’re on.” Chapter Twenty-One

They ended up getting kicked off the subway by a driver who, even given New York standards, said they should either charge for the show or walk. Rory, dressed in a cobbled-together rent boy costume from wardrobe that announced in bright pink that he was a princess, thought it was hilarious. “Always wanted to see what it’d take to make one of those drivers say ‘boo.’“ He punched Harper on the biceps, yelling, “You’re it!” Racing one another to the top of the stairs, they emerged on the sidewalk to the sound of rolling thunder and drenching sheets of rain slamming the pavement. Soaked instantly to the skin, Rory raised his arms and his face to the sky, whooping at the top of his lungs.

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“It feels different!” he shouted to Harper, who barely heard him over the rain, but could read Rory better than any book he’d ever opened. “Warmer!” Harper jogged to catch up with him and caught Rory with a hand on either side of his face, crushing their mouths together. “Welcome to the human race,” he said, tasting Rory’s breath. No cloves, just a stick of spearmint gum he’d snagged off Lisa’s desk. “How do you think you’re going to like it?” Rory goosed Harper’s ass. “ Gonnalike it justfine ,” he said with a leer than no one would ever be able to take away from him. “Hey, is there a lamppost nearby? I wanna do the Gene Kelly thing.” Harper refused to let go. “More than you want to do the thing where I could, if you asked nicely, tumble you over the back of the couch and lick you open?” Rory shuddered. “A day away and I forget how fantastically kinky you are when you’re inspired. Rain versus sex. How do I ever decide?” “You don’t.” Harper slipped his tongue between Rory’s lips and kissed him lazily, languidly, thoroughly, not letting go until Rory’s balance wavered. “You let me decide for you.” “I can roll with that,” Rory agreed, licking his kiss-swollen lips and blinking, dazed, at Harper. “So, why aren’t we home already?” “Someonekeeps stopping to jabber at me.” “Someoneshould take being in control more seriously, then,” Rory gibed. “Trust me. I will.” Harper took one last taste of Rory’s mouth to tide him over and copped a feel as both appetizer and dessert. “Home.Now .” ***** Even without the blurring speed of a muse on the move, they made it home in record time. Harper crowded Rory through the open door and kicked it shut behind him. “The things we’re going to do together,” he breathed over Rory’s cheeks before seizing Rory’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging. “Not just this. We’re going to grow old together, Rory. The Clerk said so. It’s like you’re human now.” “Iam human now. Harper, stop. Wait.” Rory worked his hands between them and flat-palmed Harper’s chest as Harper sucked Rory’s tongue into his mouth. “Uh.” He pushed Harper harder. “Harper, I’m serious, stop.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harper said. He rocked back on his heels, confused, hands refusing the direct order of his brain and listening to his lust instead. They roved over Rory’s back, unable to get enough even if he had the rest of his life to enjoy all he wanted. He winced and forced them to settle, the compromise being that they came to rest -- lightly -- over the taut firmness of Rory’s ass. “What’s wrong?” Rory bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s stupid, I just…”

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“What?” Harper studied him, worried. “Did I do something wrong?” “No! God, no. I told you it was dumb, but I…” Twin spots of red colored Rory’s cheeks. “I don’t know how human stuff works, when it’s me. What if I’m not good like I was? Not good enough for -mmf .” Harper swallowed down the crazy talk directly from Rory’s mouth and tightened his grip on Rory’s ass, pulling him groin to rock. He thrust firmly, no messing around, and kissed Rory until Rory stopped talking. Out of breath, he murmured lip to lip, “Does that feel like I’m worried?” “Um,” Rory said, eyes crossed. “No?” “Good.” Harper caught the hem of Rory’s sodden T-shirt and tugged. “Off.” He peeled the wet garment away and indulged himself in a long, savory lick of the rainwater off Rory’s collarbones. Catching one nipple, pebbled from the abrupt shock of cool air, he nibbled and worried until Rory gasped and scrabbled for a hold on Harper. Fortuitously, he found something good and long and hard to grab. Harper tore away from the kiss, gritting his teeth. “Allthese clothes have to go. Now.” “Sounds like a plan to me.” Rory caught Harper by the wrists before he could attack Rory’s fly. “Wait.” Harper groaned, but he waited. “Tell me.” “I never thought you wouldn’t get me back,” Rory said, dropping Harper’s wrists to wind his arms around Harper’s neck. “Not for a single damn second. That’s it. Now hop to it, writer-boy. Let’s get naked and nasty.” “No more delays?” Rory slid his hand back where it best belonged and wrapped it around the rigid length of Harper’s cock. He thumbed the head, already slippery-slick, and asked, smirking, “What doyou think?” “I think I should never assume anything when it comes to you.” “Smart man.I think I want you to fuck me. But if I don’t measure up…” Harper bit Rory’s shoulder to keep from whimpering. His cock jerked and released a warm, wet dribble of precum . “Shutup already.” “Okay, okay.” ***** Rory lay on his back in the center of Harper’s bed, sheets rucked up in folds around the lean expanse of his nude form. He raised his arms over his head to grasp the slats of the headboard and, almost shyly, spread his legs. His cock lay full and heavy against his belly, the darkness of it almost painful looking. Equally naked, Harper took his time, as long as he could bear to, standing at the foot of the bed and devouring Rory with his hungry gaze. He fisted his cock loosely and dragged slowly from root to tip.

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“Want this?” he asked in a low rumble. Rorywhimpered. “Yes, God yes, please.” Harper took pity and climbed to his knees on the bed. He crawled up Rory’s body and braced himself on his elbows. When he claimed Rory’s eager mouth, their lips moved clumsily against each other’s, too hungry for fancy tricks. He thrust, gliding his erection through the slickness of sweat between Rory’s groin and the wing of his hipbone. Rory cried out and raised his hips. He hooked one leg around Harper’s waist to bring Harper’s cock nudging at his entrance. “Don’t you make me beg for it.” “Would you, if I asked?” Harper mouthed his way up Rory’s throat and sucked at the soft skin beneath his ear. “Warning: Dangerous when inspired.” Rory gasp-laughed. “Harper,please .” “ Shh.” Harper reached, without looking, for the lube he thought he’d left on the bedside table. He encountered the hard back of a turtle shell instead. Rory cracked up in sync with Harper. “ Wannatry that again? It’s under the pillow. Come and get it, big boy.” Harper thrust again, slower, drawing out the sweet, slick friction. “Got a better idea. You finger yourself open for me.” Rory’s lips parted. He stared at Harper in what seemed to be mixed awe and respectful fear. “I’ve created a monster.” “This is the only monster I give a flying H about.” Harper rolled his hips, stroking their engorged cocks together, and though it nearly killed him, sat back on his haunches. “Stretch yourself open. For me.” Rory moaned and clumsily hauled himself upright, back propped against the headboard. His hands shook when he uncapped the lube. Clear dollops spilled uselessly out of the tube before he managed to fill his palm. “For you,” he said, gaze going dark and mouth curling seductively up. He reached between his splayed legs with lube-shiny fingers and thrust two into his hole. Harper’s breath shuddered from him. “Rory, you… More.” Rory gritted his teeth. Fat drops of perspiration ran down his cheeks and his throat. He scissored his fingers wide, hole clenching open and shut around them, and slammed a third home. Harper moved, needing to touch. He rested his palms on Rory’s knees and pushed them higher, farther apart. “Don’t stop.” Rory shook his head. Tendons strained in his neck. “Can’t hold out.” He panted. “ Gottaget you in me.”

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“ Shh. One more.” “I can’t.” “You can. One more.” Harper kissed Rory’s kneecap and drew figure eights with his tongue. “One more, and I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your name.” Rory cried out. He stilled, save for breathing in ragged gasps, and unfurled his pinky. At the apex of a harsh gasp, his throat curved in a tight arch and his mouth open, he managed it. Four, scissored open, two knuckles deep. “Out,” Harper rasped, crowding into position. He grasped the base of his cock and tapped the back of Rory’s hand. “Hurry.” Rory’s fingers slid free on a ragged exhale, sliding over Harper’s length, slicking him with a film of lube and his own precum . He let himself be manhandled and raised, Harper holding his shoulders off the bed, as Harper set his cockhead to Rory’s stretched, gaping entrance and thrust. “Ohfuck --” Rory’s heels drummed the bed. The slick heat of him cinched tight, no rhythm, spasming helplessly. A flood of creamy spunk, jerked out in hard spurts, slathered their bellies. One, two, three strained thrusts and Harper followed him, flooding Rory with his cum, filling him up. Rory dropped back, boneless as a puppet, eyes closed and heart racing loudly enough for Harper to hear. He dropped his head to Rory’s chest and let it pound in his ear while he struggled briefly for the ability to think and decided thinking was vastly overrated sometimes. Sometime later -- could have been hours, could have been seconds -- Rory trailed his fingertips through Harper’s wet hair and chuckled. “ Mmm?” Harper mumbled, too lazy to be properly curious. “Never figured on a happy ending like this forme , that’s all.” “Not an ending,” Harper slurred, catching a drop of spilled cum on the tip of his tongue. He savored the taste, swallowing that bit of Rory to keep inside him. “A beginning.” “Well, aren’t you a poet.” “And I know it too.” Harper hauled his weight up Rory’s body and nosed him into tipping his head to the side. “Rory?” “ Mmm?” Harper spoke over the shell of Rory’s ear. “You have my heart. I love you more than --” Rory licked his throat. “Love you, too.” He perked up. “Can we do this with chocolate body paint next time?” “Your wish,” Harper said, “is my desire,” and kissed him lazily quiet. Epilogue

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QWERTYUIOP? Harper squinted at the computer screen. He didn’t usually see it from this angle, above his face and perpendicular to his nose. QWERTYUIOP?his computer repeated, impatiently addingADFJKLDKJ;? for good measure. Harper lifted his head from his ergonomic, coffee-stained keyboard, staring blearily through the slim, silver-rimmed glasses perched askew on his nose at the garbled text on his monitor. He straightened the glasses and raised his voice. “Not funny, Rory!” Rory popped his head around the edge of the bedroom door, left open during their hurry to hit the computer -- after forcing themselves out of the bed -- and howled with laughter. “You should see your face right now! Priceless, Harper, absolutely priceless.” “I’ll show you priceless. Get over here and undo whatever it is you did.” Harper kick-rolled his chair back from the workstation, its arm companionably bumping the side of Rory’s matching chair. “Grouchy.” Rory dropped a wet, smacking kiss atop Harper’s head, poked his glasses to send them awry again, and tapped a few keystrokes. The screen returned to normal, lines of dialogue and set directions scrolling over a nicely organized notecard program. “Coffee?” “Yes, please, thank you, gimme .” Harper fumbled in Rory’s direction. “I can smell it. I know you have it on you. Don’t make me get out the paddle.” “ Mmm, naughty.” Rory shimmied, shaking his ass. He handed Harper the full mug of rich dark roast that he carried and plunked down in his chair. “Huh.” He frowned, got up, and straddled Harper’s lap instead. “Much better.” Harper slugged back three hearty, tongue-searing gulps of coffee that drained the mug and thumped it to the desk. “ Nngyah.” He twined his arms loosely around Rory’s waist, and not so casually tickled at the small triangular gap formed by tight jeans over trim hips in the back. “Hello to you, too, sailor. Not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with your own chair?” “ Artemasdid something unspeakable in it last night. I don’t wanna know what. Comfort is essential to the writing process,” Rory explained. He wriggled his knees farther in and clamped Harper’s hips. “Also, I just like straddling your cock. That still okay?” “ Dunno, let me think…duh.” Harper stroked his thumbs over the smooth skin with its fine hairs and tickled the top of the cleft dividing Rory’s cheeks. “Just checking.” Rory kissed him, properly this time, teasing Harper’s mouth open, lazily tangling their tongues together. He tasted of strawberry jam and buttered toast. “Is it still okay for me to eat naked? Some stuff takes longer to get used to than others.” “As long as you don’t come to bed with crumbs in exotic locations.”

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“If I do, then you can li --” Harper covered Rory’s mouth with his. “Finish that sentence, and you’re not getting laid for a week.” “Youlike licking my --” “Not before breakfast. And a toothbrush. Do you really want to push me on this?” “Nothing I love better than tapping those buttons,” Rory conceded. “Except for tapping your ass. Withhold sex? Pfft . Please. You wouldn’t last a night.” “Is that a challenge?” “Good God, no.” Rory rushed Harper with another kiss, undulating on his lap. Harper groaned when he had to push Rory back. “I want to,” he protested when Rory pouted at him. No grown man should have the right to make sulking look good. “Yeah, you do.” Rory tickled him. “The evidence is pointing at me.” “Do you want Janieand Lisaand Mr. Grudnik to tear into us if we’re late for the wrap party?” “Let me think about that. No. I like my balls where they are.” Rory sat back on Harper’s knees. “One season ofIn Outré down, green-lit for a second, and a buzz like honeybees in heat. Knew you could do it.” He rolled his eyes. “Save your breath, Dr. Phil. I know what you’re about to say. I knewwe could do it, and damned if we didn’t.” “Don’t ever, ever mention Dr. Phil again when you’re frotting with me,” Harper begged earnestly. “My libido might never recover.” “You’d rather I referenced Oprah instead?” Rory cackled evilly. “Don’t worry. I got you, babe.” He palmed Harper’s stubborn erection and rubbed. “Promises to keep,” he said, licking the tip of Harper’s nose. “So, uh… I noticed this envelope in the mail yesterday…” Aha, now the shoe was on the other foot, wasn’t it? “We get a lot of envelopes.” Rory pulled a sour face at him. “Don’t make me tell on you. I know the letterhead of the Emmy award committee when I see it. I gave you one night --” “Mostly because you came up with that idea involving crushed raspberries, and then because that vibrating cock ring came in the same batch of mail --” “Nevertheless.” Rory poked Harper in the ribs. He steadied himself with a visible effort. “Good news? Bad news? Give it to me straight.” “ Mmm. I can do you one better.” Harper nuzzled Rory’s jaw and asked, “Want to be my date for the Emmy awards? Wewere nominated for the short list, so I figure whether or not we make it to the final group of contenders we should still be there.” Rory still knew some Etruscan, it seemed, or as best as Harper could tell around the happy-puppy flurry of kisses, itsounded like Etruscan. “Cut the Roryskrit ,” he faux-complained before letting Rory work a

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hand down his shorts. “If you want to make it to the wrap party on time…” “Yeah?” Rory breathed, stroking slowly. “If I want to…?” “Then I dare you to see how fast you can make me come.” Harper kicked back in the chair and laid himself open for Rory. “And if you beat your record, then I’ll beat mine for stringing you out on the edge when we get home tonight.” Rory’s pupils dilated. “Going for six hours andsixteen minutes this time?” “Not ambitious enough.Seven hours, or I’ll take turtle dutyand make you cherries jubilee.” “On fire, even?” “Flaming.” Harper reclined. “Do we have a deal?” “You’reso on.” Rory made a dive for Harper and got busy, knocking a cup of pencils over in his enthusiasm. A meaty crunch and a dragging sound told Harper that Artemas , who’d handled the transplant from New York to LA with nary a hitch, had claimed a No. 2 Eberhardt for his own nefarious purposes. Crazy turtle, career of his dreams, crazy ex-muse-slash-libido-on-legs, and the love of his life. I thought I was nuts when he showed up, Harper remembered as he moaned at the first touch of Rory’s tongue on his cock. “Insanity’s much more fun than I’d have thought,” he muttered out loud. “ Rory!” Rory slapped his thigh cheerfully, not needing to ask and able to tell even if he could no longer read Harper’s mind. “Damn right. Lunatics are more fun.” “Viva ooh-la-la,” Harper said, and let Rory do what he did best. THE END

Willa Okati

I can most often be found muttering to myself over a keyboard, plugged into my iPod, and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. I’m teaching myself to play the pennywhistle and mixing up the summer’s batches of henna. I have forty-plus separate tattoos and yearn for a full body suit of ink. I tend to walk around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told, and I drink an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

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