Get Lucky

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Seven Seductions from His and His Kisses By J.J. Massa and Illian Obsidian

J.J. Massa

W

hen I walked into the locker room, I could hear

muffled swearing. The police station was always so quiet this time of night, or morning, depending on your view. Dawn was still a few hours away, no matter how you looked at it.

I made my way to my own locker, wondering who the irritated

detective could be. It was late, as I said, and usually deserted. Whoever he was, he was turning the air blue with his language.

Looking around the corner of the lockers, I saw him - or at

least, I saw a man that I guessed to be Lucky Jacobson. He was in the little “sleep room,” as we called it. A small room with a cot and some

hooks in the wall above it - a place to hang a jacket and holster.

Lucky was not a large man, fine boned, blond with blue eyes, if it Lucky.

I couldn’t be sure it was him, though. All I could identify was a

twisting, nubbly brown sweater with a shock of golden hair sticking out the top. But I had a “Lucky” radar. Anytime he was near, my cock

pointed right at him. Thankfully, nobody could see that; most

10

Lucky detectives wear suits.

Lucky had been called in earlier that day to escort a prisoner

for extradition, or so I recalled. Somehow, in the course of events, he’d ended up out of his suit jacket and tie, and into an overlarge, bulky, knitted sweater.

Yes, I was absently aware of the struggle taking place within

the scratchy garment, sure. But frankly, my eyes were rivited on the

fine lines of the lightly muscled back, half-revealed as the sweater twitched and undulated, making its way up his torso.

Sleek white skin over hard, wiry muscle, divided by the slash of

his leather gun holster, making me hungrier than I’ve been in so

long. And that’s saying something, considering the low ache I

usually felt for the pretty little blond man. But the line of his holster just seemed to increase that need, call to me. I couldn’t stop myself.

“Need a little help, there, Lucky?” My voice sounded raspy for

some reason. I had moved into the small enclosure without even realizing it.

Hell, I knew why my throat was dry. Seeing him like that, so

pale, naked under that shapeless wool - I could just imagine that rough fabric, sliding over his bare chest, caressing, teasing his pink

nipples until they stood up hard. That would only be compounded by the leather of his holster. Taut leather, caressing his bare skin

with every twist and turn, framing each side of his chest, pulling at the fine hair there.

The sweater sagged in response to my voice. Lucky didn’t turn

around. “Um, Sims…uh…” he sounded tired, along with embarassed…and something else?

I couldn’t help myself. My hands rose and settled at Lucky's

11

J.J. Massa waist, and then, daring, they slid up and under that bulky sweater, exploring, slowly questing, until I found the little irritated buds.

They were just as I had imagined them, tight, hard, sensitive, peaking at my touch. I rode his hips forward, just a bit, my erection

rubbing against Lucky's tight behind, settling into the indention of his cleft through his clothes.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, pushing back against me, and of course

feeling how hard I was. Shit, I wanted him, I won’t deny it. I’d wanted him for a while.

“Here, you go,” I murmured, “I'll help you. With all of it.” One

hand dropped low, pressing, palm flat against his throbbing cock. He wanted me, too.

I reached up and untangled his sleeves, pulling the woolen

monstrocity over his head and off in one motion. Standing behind him, I reached around, going after his belt buckle, quickly

unfastening, unzipping, finally pushing the wad of briefs, pants,

socks and shoes off. With a slight nudge, I urged Lucky to take one more step to the side and kneel on the small cot, situated beneath the row of hooks.

Lucky's tired and clumsy fingers had started working at his gun

holster's buckle with little success, and I pushed his hands away.

“Just hold onto the hooks, Lucky,” I forced the words out,

moving one of those hands up, over his head to hold on. I barely recognized my own voice, so deep, dry, almost gravely.

He shivered, naked but for his leather holster. His other hand

was shaking when he reached up and grabbed onto another hook.

Somehow, I didn’t think he was cold. I slid his gun from its leather cradle, laying it on the floor by the cot. Mine, too, before I could forget.

12

Lucky As Lucky knelt, reaching up, gripping the hooks, I stripped off

my trousers, then socks and shoes. As I kicked out of my pants, I

snagged my wallet, shaking out a condom and a packet of lube. I may not be a boy scout, but I’m a cop. It pays to be prepared.

I tore both foil packets open with my teeth, rolling the condom

onto my aching cock with one hand, and then I squeezed the lube onto my palms. I rubbed my hands together, just warming it a little, and then slid one hand over my cock and one hand between Lucky's legs.

Lucky groaned, his head hanging forward, eyes closed. I

wanted to hear that again. Again and again. He opened his sea blue eyes and looked back over his shoulder at me, just looked. I rubbed my fingers in a long slow stroke from his sweet little sacs, past the smooth skin of his perineum, to the tight pucker of his asshole, and then back to his balls in an unhurried rhythm, over and over again, until I felt his thigh muscles loosen slightly.

I saw his eyelids drop half-closed and felt the muscles of that

wonderful round ass tense once and then relax. Scooting forward, I

fitted myself more closely between Lucky's legs. I wrapped one hand around my throbbing cock and let the thumb of my other hand trail over Lucky's hole again, circling, pressing, finally dipping in, still rotating, still pushing in, gently, carefully, but without stopping.

It wasn’t long before Lucky was moaning, pushing back onto

my thumb as I dipped deeper, pressing in, letting my fingers slide the length of the perineum, nudging up behind his swelling balls, and then retreating.

Lucky tried to shift backward, swaying with exhaustion. “Too

tired ...,” he murmured.

13

J.J. Massa “Don’t worry, Lucky,” I let go of my cock, trailing my hand over

his creamy skin, up his back, leaning down to press a light kiss on his tense shoulder. “I told you I’ll help you with everything tonight.

I'll do the moving here. Let me do the work, don't worry about it. Just keep your hands there and let me take care of the rest.”

While I was talking, I pulled my thumb out and shifted a little

further forward, sitting back on my heels so that Lucky's bottom

almost rested on my lap. I pushed up from the hips, seating my cock, nudging, pushing little by little until the head was safely in, then

sliding home into the glorious heat of Lucky's body in one smooth shove.

Lucky's eyes were completely closed now, his head thrown

back, mouth open as he panted aloud. I pulled out a little, then

pushed in again, finding my rhythm, in, out, in, sliding, gliding in and out.

Once I got going steady, I reached up and caught hold of the

leather holster strap with one hand where it ran across Lucky's back. I used it to move Lucky into the rhythm with me, thrusting, pulling

Lucky back and then rocking forward and pushing on the holster to

draw him away. It was awkward at first, especially with Lucky's

uncoordinated attempts at motion, jerking against the to and fro of my cock filling his channel.

Finally, Lucky relaxed into the movement, allowed me to move

him, and I nearly had to stop right then, my control was so ragged. It was an amazing act of trust…had been to start with. First, Lucky let me touch him this way, trusted I wouldn’t hurt him, and now, he had given over complete control of this whole experience to me. All of it.

14

Lucky I intended to make sure that my new lover was well and truly

fucked, ridden hard enough to let him sleep for a week. If I had my

way about it, I’d fuck him well enough to ensure that he’d want more - and more - and more, from me and only me.

I leaned harder into it, thrusting, pumping, loving how Lucky

surrounded me.I shifted a little on my heels so we angled forward

more, feeling the glide over the little bump that made the sexy blond shiver every time I got it right. Oh man, I loved that. I put more power into the ride forward while pulling on the holster hard, bringing Lucky down onto my burning solid cock, rocking sharply

back-ward, and pushing at the holster and Lucky’s lightly muscled back with the flat of my other hand.

Lucky was letting himself be pulled and pushed. I could see his

knuckles clench and release as they held onto the hooks above the cot. His breath was coming in hard grunts now, pushed from him

every time I rocked forward, and sobbed in again every time I drew back.

I shifted one hand forward without losing the rhythm and

trailed it over Lucky's chest until found his left nipple, drawn up

hard and tight, surrounded by little bumps, and pinched it just as I rode forward over the little internal bump. Lucky gasped and shook

like a he’d been shot through with a volt of electricity, and again when I found the right nipple, pinching it, too.

His balls rippled above mine and started to draw up under the

influence of those shivers and I bent my back to the home stretch,

driving fast and strong. Sliding my hand down Lucky's front, I found his pulsing, dripping cock and wrapped my slippery fingers around it, then started to pump it firmly in counterpoint to the frenetic pace

15

J.J. Massa I’d set.

I felt Lucky's body stiffen, felt myself sink ever deeper into the

tight flex and clasp of Lucky's ass, and rode him like a man on a mission, feeling the electricity gather, sparking at the base of my

skull, behind my eyes, slide down my spine like a high-tension wire, storm gathering in my balls.

I yanked the holster tight, caught Lucky close to me, pierced to

his core on my lap, and exploded forever and ever, feeling Lucky's

walls massage every bit of cream from my cock, shooting deep, deep and hot inside him. I was still jacking Lucky, still hugging him to me

and I could almost feel the tingle that shocked him rigid as he went off like a bottle of champagne, ropes of pearly cum spewing from his cock in a high, stringy arc.

Lucky slumped back in boneless unconsciousness, his downy

head lolling onto my shoulder, body held erect against my chest by

my tight grip on the supple leather holster. I milked him more slowly until he was completely soft.

After a minute or two, I released the holster and wrapped both

arms around Lucky, keeping him gathered close to me in his utter relaxation, feeling the fast heartbeat slow to a more normal thump under my hands. For a long time, I simply sat holding him, giving myself up to the reassurance of that slow, regular breath.

After a short while, I realized that I had started to nod off. I was

carefully easing Lucky down onto the mattress when I remembered the holster. Now, my own fingers were clumsy, but I managed to

unfasten the buckle and slip the strap off, Lucky's arms dangling like lead as I tried to manipulate them out of it. Dropping the thick

leather strap over the side of the bed, I reluctantly let Lucky slide off

16

Lucky my lap and rolled him onto his side, dragging the pillow into place.

Stumbling slightly, I got up and did the little things I needed to

do to get ready for bed. I took off my own shirt and holster, cleaned

us both up, brushed my teeth, hung up Lucky's holster, turned the lights out.

After all that, I gratefully climbed back into the cot and curved

myself around my blissfully unconscious new lover. By morning, I had no idea what Lucky would be thinking, what he would say.

But for now, he was all mine, I was the lucky one. Very lucky,

indeed. I hoped he’d feel lucky, too. Only time would tell.

17

Signet and Silk by J.J. Massa

J.J. Massa

20

Signet and Silk

I

stood at the copier, running a hand through my hair and

sighing. My job wasn’t all that strenuous, but it was

tedious.

One of the female partners had just laid an assignment on me that would take most of the afternoon. Being an intern in a big law firm

sucked sometimes, even though it was great for my resume. I had another year left in law school and I needed the credentials.

The file room was small and felt pretty warm. More so because

I kept thinking about Pierce Anders’ silk boxers. You’re not supposed to look when another guy’s standing next to you in the men’s

room. He’s supposed to stare straight ahead and so are you. No eye contact and definitely no looking.

I broke the rule. Discreetly, I hope, but I broke it. I looked to the

right while Mr. Anders stood there taking a piss, just a quick glance. I didn’t see what his elegant hand was holding, only the shine from

that signet ring he always wears, and his blue-green silk boxers, the same color as his eyes. Oh man!

Even that tiny peek sent my heart galloping so hard my chest

hurt. Now, I couldn’t think of anything else. My mind was spinning

with images of the dark haired, hard muscled lawyer in nothing but

21

J.J. Massa those silk boxers, and maybe a sexy smile.

They would be soft at the waist, a caress against the dark hair

of his taut thighs, and a whisper brushing over his cock. When he was soft, the silk would cradle him, the tight dark curls pushing the sleek fabric; when he was hard, the silk would feel so smooth, so intimate against his hot flesh.

I had to grab the copier, I felt so light headed. A loud grinding

noise told me that I must’ve hit a couple of buttons in my attempt to steady myself.

“Shit,” I spat, pulling my foot back to kick the annoying hunk of

plastic and misery.

“Uh, uh, uh,” came a rich, deep chuckle, right above my left ear. A firm hand landed on my right thigh—the one that had been

poised to dent the copier. I looked down and my breath lodged in my throat. A signet ring… Pierce Anders.

“Sir,” my voice sounded hoarse. I cleared my throat. “Sir, I

wasn’t…”

“Shh,” he whispered, “You’ve been bad, haven’t you? I saw you

looking at me in the partners’ urinal. What were you doing in

there?” A husky chuckle as his left hand began to tease at the button at my waist. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

Oh, god, I thought my heart was racing before! Now it was like

a runaway train. “I was… I had to go,” I hedged.

He didn’t need to know I’d been hoping to get a glimpse of him.

He didn’t need to know he was my secret crush.

Deftly, he worked the button free, his nimble hand dipping into

my plain cotton boxer briefs. “Well, what do we have here?” Those

elegant fingers were teasing my hard cock. “It’s hard and its soft, and

22

Signet and Silk it’s for me, isn’t it?”

He’d known all along! I slumped back against him, busted.

He’d seen me look, probably even seen me watching for him. “Yes,” I confessed pointlessly. “It’s hard for you.”

The hand at my thigh rose to my waist, unzipping and pulling

my boxer briefs and pants down past my hips. I was completely exposed, and as hard as the steel frame of that stupid copier.

“Lean forward, baby,” he murmured, both hands resting on

either side of my waist.

I wanted to melt on the spot. Maybe he called everyone that, but

it sounded so affectionate, so personal. Nobody had called me that, ever. I leaned forward.

I heard the rasp of a zipper and then the rustle of fabric. One

hand moved to grip my throbbing, burning cock, and the other began to stroke my ass cheeks.

“Oh god,” I moaned. This was better than any of my daydreams.

I’d hungered for this man, wanted him so bad.

A long finger made its way into my crack, pulling my cheeks

apart, stroking my hole. “This is mine, too, isn’t it, baby?” he asked, “and this,” his right hand slid down and cupped my balls, rolling them and fondling.

“Yeah, all of it,” I croaked, “Whatever you want.”

“That’s what I want,” he leaned in, the unmistakable feel of silk

and a hard cock underneath sliding across my parted cheeks. “That’s what I want, baby,” he repeated. “All of it. And I want it now.”

“Mm,” I groaned. I couldn’t say anything more. I could barely

get that out.

“Yeah,” he stroked his silk covered cock against me again, “you

23

J.J. Massa like silk, baby?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I got out. “Silk.”

He reached under my tailored dress shirt, finding and fondling

my hard nipples. “I like these, too,” he purred. “They package, hmm?”

part of the

I felt the touch of skin on skin, and a bit of wetness. He’d taken

his dick out of the boxers and was rubbing it between my cheeks. I felt the warm pre-cum, slick, wet. Oh, god. I couldn’t hold back a little moan.

His hand trailed back down to ghost over my cock again,

lightly touching.

“Yeah,” my voice sounded so husky, raspy, “s’yours, all.” “So good, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth, sexy.

I felt a fingertip push against my hole, out and in again, deeper.

Where had he gotten the lube? Deeper it moved in and then out again and back in, slick and smooth, and so fine. It was amazing. And this was Pierce Anders finger fucking my asshole in the copy room, stretching me. Oh, god, what if someone walked in?

I swayed, clutching at the copier again. His upper arm tight-

ened around me, the hand on my cock squeezing a little, his thumb stroking my dripping slit. I heard a tearing sound of paper, a low sound of him spitting something, a little fumbling behind me.

“It’s okay,” he soothed me, like he was calming a skittish cat or

something. That voice could talk the leaves off the trees, so smooth.

“You’re my baby now, I’m going to take good care of you.” I felt his cock push against my entrance; I bent over further, offering more, all his. He stroked my cheeks, thumbs pulling me wide. Anybody

walking in would see me, open; my ass spread for Mr. Anders, cock.

24

Signet and Silk “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he told me. And then the wide, round head was pushing into me. He’d slipped a condom on.

“Yes,” I begged. I wanted this so bad. “Yes, please.”

Deeper, deeper he pushed, opening me wide, filling me with

that huge organ that I hadn’t even seen, hadn’t even touched with my hands. It felt so big, so hard, so damned good.

Finally, he was all the way in and resting against me. “How do

you like that, baby?” he whispered in my ear. “Silk.”

He hadn’t pushed the boxers off! He had pulled his cock

through the opening. When he began to move, every thrust brought that soft, sexy silk against my ass. His steel hard cock ramming into

me, stroking my hot spot deep inside, and light, sensual silk caressing my ass.

“Uh, uh, oh,” I moaned, aching.

He’d been holding my cock, just lightly. Now he reached down,

cuddling my balls.

“You’re close, aren’t you baby?” he whispered in my ear. His

voice was tight. He was close, too.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Yeah, wanna cum.” I sounded like a Nean-

derthal, but I couldn’t help it.

“In a minute, you cum when I tell you to,” he sounded hard,

gritty, commanding. That did it. Shit! I think that’s when I fell in love.

“Yessir,” I choked, so stiff, my dick would break off if it hit the

copier.

“That’s right,” he growled, pumping into me hard. Suddenly, his

thrusts were short, jerky. “Now, baby, cum in my hand. Right fucking now!” he hissed.

On cue, sparks shot up and down my spine, my balls painful

25

J.J. Massa with heat. It felt like I was cumming from my toes, up out, painting

the side of the copier and spilling all over his hand. At the same time, I felt his cock jerk deep inside my clenching ass.

One arm wrapped around my chest, the other held tight to my

cock, he licked my ear, kissed at my neck, nipping and sucking. The arm around my torso moved up, cupping my cheek, turning my face

to his, those sensuous lips covered mine, taking them in a hard, sucking, dominant kiss.

Finally, he eased back, his big cock slipping out of my ass. I

heard him peeling off the condom, fabric rustling, zipper hitching

closed. I hadn’t moved, still leaning on the copier, arms spread, braced. Then, surprising the hell out of me, he pulled my briefs and my pants back up, reaching around me to tuck, button, and zip.

He stayed there a minute, hands caressing my chest through

my shirt. “You ever want to do that again, baby, be at my office at seven fifteen, hmm?”

I couldn’t speak. A click told me he was at the door. I hadn’t

heard him close it, much less lock it. I whirled around. “Yessir!” I croaked.

His handsome face relaxed and he gave me a hint of a smile

coupled with a sharp nod. Then he was gone. It took me five minutes

to remember where I was and why. The rest of the afternoon crawled. I was at Mr. Anders’ office at seven fifteen, though.

26

Signet and Silk

S

even-fifteen was only a minute or two away. I had to lean

back in my chair, just thinking about earlier today in the copy room. I took deep breaths, one after the other, forcing control.

My sweet little man. Sandy brown hair, just a shade lighter

than dishwater blonde, and so soft. He has these eyes… he probably

thinks they’re plain but they’re so beautiful. Butterscotch yellow when he’s not paying attention, nut brown when he’s up to something, and cat’s eye green when he’s hot.

And yes, he was so hot today. So tight and hot, and giving. He’d

been embarrassed, caught looking. I knew he was watching me. In my position as major partner in this firm, a lot of people watch me. What he didn’t know was that I was watching him, too.

But the clock said seven-fifteen, and where was he? I had this

lovely present for him. Two really. I smiled, pushing back my chair. Was that the sound of raised voices in the outer office?

I walked to the door. Shit. Marjorie. Damned witch. I’ known

she’d had her eye on me. She probably thought we could hook up. I also knew she resented the hell out of my little baby man out there.

I’ve never felt the need for subtlety, why should I? She’s not all that subtle either. She ogles my ass while I’m watching his. It’s a cycle.

27

J.J. Massa “Ms. Randall, I have an appointment…”

“Landon, you have absolutely no business in these offices at this

hour. I won’t tolerate an intern who doesn’t know his place!” Shit, she was on a roll.

“Mr. Kelly,” it was time for me to jump into the fray, “You’re

late,” I told him, glancing at my watch.

“Sir,” he breathed, his voice husky, upset. “I was here at seven

ifteen, I swear it.” His eyes were pleading.

“Marjorie,” my voice was low and angry, I knew what she was

doing. “Mr. Kelly has an appointment to see me. I don’t appreciate you interfering with him.” My eyes were narrow; I had a point to make.

“Pierce,” she was practically whining. How could she not know

how annoying that is? “He’s an intern, he has no business…”

I cut her off right there. She’d crossed the line. “He has business

here because I

he does. Do you have a problem with me, Marjo-

rie?” I knew how I sounded. I lead foolish criminals and pompous businessmen into this same trap every single day in the courtroom.

Marjorie Randall is neither foolish nor pompous, usually. This

day, she made a fatal mistake. She’d wanted me from the beginning

but she never had a chance. It’s not because she’s a woman. I’m

bisexual, that’s not an issue. It’s because she’s a top, the same as I am. I won’t fight for supremacy in bed. That’s not to say I have to be in charge of everything—just most things.

“Pierce, I…” she looked at me for a minute. I waited, annoyed,

not saying a word, simply looking back at her. I could see clearly when she gave up the fight. “No, no problem. Good day, Mr. Kelly.”

28

Signet and Silk She whirled around and marched away. I knew I would have

to keep an eye on her. Marjorie does

loose gracefully. She would

be gunning for my new baby. I’d told him I’d take care of him and I meant it.

It was finally time to let him know what he’d just signed up for.

He was leaning against the secretary’s desk so I gave him a nod and held my door open for him. He was a little wobbly when he pushed himself up from his perch and walked past me. I took a deep breath

on the way by. Light, spicy cologne, and my scent all over him. I liked it.

I closed the door behind me and turned, opening my arms to

him. He looked around frantically, as if to make sure I meant him.

“C’mere, baby,” I murmured. He’s had a tough time. Marjorie

can be a scary bitch. On top of that, he really seemed afraid that I wouldn’t take him if he showed up late.

The look on his face was like he got an unexpected bonus, a

present, a gift. Aw man, who

want to be seen that way? I

hoped I would always see that look, every time I opened my arms to him.

A sweet little smile bloomed on his face as he moved closer. He

would learn in time that I expect him to obey much faster. First, he needed to know that this was where he belonged. I pulled him

against me, stroking his back, holding him tight. He was trembling. Scared? I needed to know.

After standing for a few minutes, just holding him, I turned us,

pulling him onto my lap in my overlarge office chair. He mumbled something that I didn’t understand. I pulled back and looked down at him, arching a brow.

29

J.J. Massa “I just can’t believe I’m here, that you want me…” He looked at

me for a minute and then rested his head on my shoulder.

I stroked through his soft hair and down his cheek. He had a

few fine bristles there, but very few. I’d already noticed he didn’t have much body hair.

“Baby,” I leaned down and kissed his forehead, removing his

cheap tie at the same time. “I want you. Very much. Do you think I

call everybody my baby? That I tell everyone I fuck that I’ll take care of them?”

I wasn’t angry. This is need-to-know information. He doesn’t

know me that well yet. I do, however, know him very well. I’ve been watching him since the moment he walked through our doors. To be honest, I’ve been watching him even longer than that.

He hung his head, embarrassed. I wasn’t having any of that. I

tipped his chin and made him look up into my eyes. A light coffee color. This must be the color of fear - uncertainty.

“I didn’t know…” he licked his lips nervously, shifting against

me. “Maybe…”

I smiled and kissed his nose, unbuttoning his shirt at the same

time. “Well now you do know. I want you to be my baby and let me take care of you. Do you think you can do that?”

His eyes went wide, shocked, green and brown now. “Me? With

you? Um, sure!” he started to smile.

It felt so good to hold him on my lap, and just hearing him

surrender so willingly…it was making me hard. I had to get hold of myself. He didn’t really know what he was agreeing to yet.

I finished unbuttoning his shirt, stroking a finger all the way to

his waist. So soft. So sweet. I couldn’t help detouring up to touch a

30

Signet and Silk flat, pink nipple.

“Before you answer, there are some things you should think

about.” His eyes were big and round, his breathing shallow. God I wanted him. I had to shift him on my lap again, stretching my legs out so his stretched with me. I leaned forward and pulled out the silk

covered box I’d picked up earlier and opened it. Inside, nestled in

more silk, sat the collar. It was thin, but thick enough, patterned after my signet ring, the catch formed like any dog collar, with a

buckle and tongue. “I am a Dom. A Dominant, as in Dominant and submissive.”

“Oh,” he said, looking from my face to the collar and back

again. I lightly stroked over one nipple again and down his ribs, rubbing and stroking up again, petting him. “Um, I don’t know how to do that…” he trailed off.

I stroked down again, the flat of my palm covering his hard

cock. “Yes you do, baby. And what you don’t know, I’ll teach you…if you want to learn.”

He bit his lip; so cute I thought it would kill me not to lick it.

“Will you hurt me?” he almost whispered, his face like he was ashamed to ask.

I looked at him long and hard for a minute. “Sometimes I’ll need

to discipline you, and that may hurt in one way or another. If something is more painful or difficult than you think you can stand, you’ll have safe words that you can use. You decide what they are.

Words that, if you ever say them to me, I’ll know you’ve had enough. You can’t use them lightly, of course.” I watched his face. He was

taking in every word I was saying, and very seriously. I wondered if this was how he looked in class, listening to his university profes-

31

J.J. Massa sors. Somehow, I knew he was more focused on me than he ever had been on any of them. I ran a finger over his bruised lip. He wouldn’t

be allowed to hurt himself. I’d teach him that. “I want you to be happy, baby. I want me to be happy, too,” I told him with a smile.

He reached forward, running a finger over the white gold

collar, fingering the platinum buckle. I would add the signet later, on our fist anniversary.

He sat up straight on my lap, the white shirt falling open.

“You’ll show me how? Be patient with me?” he was so nervous, but so determined.

A lot of Doms send their subs away to be trained. But not my

baby, no. I was keeping him close to me. He’d learn with me. We’d do this together.

“I’ll show you, baby. You’ll learn.”

I lifted the precious metal collar out of the box and he leaned

forward. I fastened it around his neck, sweeping the shirt off of him when I’d finished.

I slid out from under him and quickly slipped his shoes, socks,

pants and those flimsy cotton boxer briefs off of him. In no time, he lay sprawled, naked in my office chair, his pale body gleaming against the dark leather, and my collar around his neck. His cock

was straight and slim, beautiful just as he was. It was framed by a thin patch of butterscotch curls that I would consider removing

later. His small sacs were sparsely covered and I knew I’d spend hours playing there. I loved how small and neat they were, I doubted that I’d stretch them.

The look on his face was priceless when I grabbed his thighs

and spread them wide, taking his hard cock into my mouth. “Oh! Oh

32

Signet and Silk my! Mr. Anders!” I almost choked, that was so funny. Instead, I let him feel the edge of my teeth. “Sir!” he yelped. I nodded, sucking on him. That was much better.

Mm, he tasted good, so good, writhing in my mouth and under

me. But it was time for him to cum. I slid my finger into his still lubed hole, turning it to find his button. “Cum for me, Landon,” I mur-

mured around his cock. Just like that, his precious little balls tightened and he filled my mouth with salty-sweet cream.

He collapsed back against the chair with a groan. Suddenly, he

was struggling to sit up. “But you! Um, Sir,” he was a quick study! I smiled and nodded, reaching into my pocket. “I want to see you,

touch you,” he said. He dropped his eyes. “Can I?” A natural submissive. I never had any doubt.

“No, not now.” I said it firmly, but kindly. He nodded as if that

was what he’d expected. I pulled out my second present for him and slid it up his legs. “Lift your hips, baby,” I told him. He did and I stepped back to admire the effect.

A silk cock cup, in the same hot green as his eyes. No more

cheap boxer briefs for my baby. An added bonus would be that any time I wanted to bury myself in his ass, I wouldn’t have to work so hard to get to it.

He looked down at himself for long seconds. “I think I know my

safe words.” His face was so serious, so still. I waited, curious. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Signet and silk.”

I had to smile. “Get dressed, baby, let’s go home.”

33

Bar Back by J.J. Massa

H

“

ey!”

There he is, the new guy. Little bastard’s late.

“’Bout time you got here,” I don’t bother to keep the growl out

of my voice. The restaurant next door already closed and we’re starting to get busy. I damn sure need a bar back tonight.

“I’ll make up for it,” he calls on the way by, getting right down

to work stocking the beer cooler. Can’t fault him for that. Still...

“Fuckin’ A right you will!” The look he gives me falls somewhere between hopeful and

hurt, and the gap is just too wide for me to try and bridge it right now.

“I’ll, um, just get these glasses caught up.” He’s not looking at

me now, just working.

It makes me feel a little bad, like I’m being too hard on him.

“We’ll talk in a little while,” I try to keep my voice soft, nicer. He

Bar Back shrugs, doesn’t look up.

After that, though, I’m too damned busy to do much more than

pour drinks and bark out orders. The bar’s hopping, but I’m getting

plenty of opportunity to notice that sweet little ass every time he

bends into the beer cooler. And he’s doing a lot of it. Or bending over the glass-washing sink… and now, his hand is on my back, he’s trying to stretch up and get a glass overhead.

“Sorry…” he looks guilty, embarrassed, like he’s not supposed

to touch me… or something.

I turn, facing him. “I’ve got it.” My thigh brushes his groin as I

reach for the glass. Hmm, yeah, he’s hard. Hell, so am I. “Here you go.” I’m smiling--of course I am.

“Thanks.” He slips away; fixing the drink that goes in that glass,

not looking at me.

“So what made you late?” I ask. We’re having a lull now.

Everybody’s drinking, talking; nobody needs anything.

“Domestic stuff.” He’s looking like he wants to say more. . “Girlfriend?” I reach past him for a bottle.

“Uh,” he’s uncomfortable.

.

I plant a hand on his shoulder as I put the bottle back where it

came from. “Boyfriend?” I keep my voice low, neutral.

He clears his throat, a slight flush on his cheeks, his neck.

“Yeah, sorta,” he says.

? I lean in, squeeze his shoulder. “You can tell me,” I

whisper into his ear, and move on right away. “I’m not always a grouchy bastard.”

He stands frozen for a minute, and then snaps out of it. “Well,”

he pulls a beer out, and a frosty mug. A fake smile for the asshole

37

J.J. Massa he’s serving then he turns back.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything, really.” I want

him to, shit yeah. The more I know, the easier it’ll be to get those pants off him. For now, I’ll be a pal.

He starts talking, slow, jumbled, but talking. “Um, he just, you

know, wanted me to … I’m pretty easy going, you know? We were just getting started kinda dating and I guess he wanted me to … thought I was… but I’m just not that… aggressive.” go.

His face looks a little strained, his eyes are begging me to let it

“Wants you to be something you aren’t, huh?” I’m all sympa-

thetic.

?

“Yeah, kinda.” He looks grateful.

to the taps, pouring a beer.

. He turns

I move in behind him, introducing my hard-on to its future

home, also pouring a beer.

“Shit!” He’s so rattled; he drops his. Mostly foam anyway.

I hand him the beer I poured, a different brew than his, “Here,”

I put my lips on his ear, kinda whispering. “He’ll never know the difference.”

Then I’m gone, all that in the space of a minute, nobody notices

a thing, nobody but me and my future dick-warmer.

For such a busy night, it seems endless. I’m mixing drinks,

pouring beer, watching those light khaki pants stretch across that tight ass, that white shirt pulling snug over those little nipples.

It’s almost closing time, finally. “You want to get lucky tonight?”

38

Bar Back That’s the slick blonde I’m about to cut off. glance up the bar.

“With you?” I ask her. She gives me a sly smile and a nod. “God,

I wish,”

I glance over my

shoulder, toward the closed office door. It’s empty but she doesn’t

know that. “Working late tonight,” I mock pout. She’s two and a half sheets, she buys it.

“Aww, too bad.” She really does seem sorry about it, for three

seconds. Glancing down the bar, she takes her drink and sits next to Ol’ Willie.

He’s a regular, gives me a sharp nod. He knows how my taste

runs and I know why he comes in when he does. Waiting for the horny barflies to run out of options. He’s no prize to look at, but he gets a lot more pussy than you’d think. “So you

want to get lucky tonight?” I look over and there’s

my smug little bar back, poking fun at me.

He’s bending over the sink, washing glasses, the bar’s nearly

empty. Like I said, its almost closing time. I’m standing next to him; nobody can see me from the waist down, nobody’s behind us.

I step closer and slip my hand into the gap at the front of his

pants, under the wide waistband of his briefs. Soft, hard, and a

perfect fit. His cock swells and twitches against my palm and leaks onto my wrist, just a drop.

“Yeah, honey, I dearly want to get lucky, what about you?” I

push down, pumping him a little, two fingers combing through his tight pubic curls to stroke his balls.

“Yeah, god,” he nearly chokes, gripping the steel lip of the sink

39

J.J. Massa with both hands, arms shaking.

I loosen my grip on the small slab of beefcake I plan to suck

down later. I give it a fond stroke before pulling my hand out and washing and drying both of ‘em.

I apply myself to getting everybody out of there, and fast. I’m as

hard as I’ve ever been and I can’t wait much longer to do something

about it. Maybe I can help my little bar back with his domestic problems while I’m at it.

It’s taking long enough, but finally, the alkies are gone, the

doors are locked, counters wiped, and my dick is ready to bury itself in the hired help.

“Hey,” he says nervously, nothing to do but look at me now.

“Isn’t this where you came in?” I’m trying to lighten the mo-

ment. It’s not working, he’s looking at the floor, shifting from foot to foot.

When all else fails, step up the attack I decide, moving up close

to him. We’re facing each other and I put one hand on his shoulder,

giving him a little tug. My other hand lands on his waist, pulling our groins together. He’s hard. Nervous, but hard.

I bend my head, my lips skimming across his cheek, his face.

God, he’s shaking. Shit, how sweet.

I cover his mouth with mine, tasting, sucking, he tastes good.

No cigarettes, no booze, just sweet boy taste. I can make a meal off

his tongue, but he’s clinging to me, holding on like he’ll fall if I let him go.

I back him up to the bar, away from the sink, just straight bar,

one of the few places there’s no overhang. I let him lean, his hands going back to hold the edge.

40

Bar Back First things first, and I start on the buttons of that white shirt.

He’s almost hairless underneath it. I know he’s old enough, has to be to work here. There they are, so pretty, those nipples, so hard, too.

I get one in my mouth, sucking, chewing till he’s moaning. I

feel myself leaking at the sound. Moving over to the other one, I unsnap my pants--need to let my cock out to breathe. God, these pants got tight.

His eyes are closed--they stay that way until I open his zipper.

Those baby browns pop open wide and his breathing speeds up. I notice even though I’m pretty busy pulling his tighty-whities down. Sweet, all of him, just sweet. Sweet little arrow of hair going

down his stomach. Sweet little tangle of curls around his sweet little cock. in.

I open wide and suck it

“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” he’s chanting now.

I’m sucking on him, playing

with his balls. He’s getting tight and I clamp my fingers around the base of his cock.

Slowly, I release him, backing away. I ease my zipper down a

little more, giving my cock some room. He looks dazed.

“Tell me about what happened with your boyfriend, honey,” I

say to him.

He licks his lips, off center, right where I want him. “Uh…

What?”

“What happened? What did he want that you didn’t want?” I

figure this is important information to have. “Talk to me, honey. Did he want to fuck you? You to fuck him?”

41

J.J. Massa Now we’re getting somewhere. He’s looking at me almost

guilty. I mean I think I know, but I want to hear it.

“He, um, he wanted me to fuck him,” he cuts his eyes up at me

and dips his chin to his chest. “I just, you know, maybe once in a

while… but I like it,” he pulls in a deep breath. “I like it the other way,” he says firmly.

“You’d rather get fucked than do the fucking?” He seems a little

shy about it so I’ll say it. I just want it crystal clear. “You’re happier on the bottom, sweetheart?”

His face is a little red now. So cute, face flushed with his shirt

open, pants around his knees and cock pointing at the ceiling. “Lots

of guys would fuck me,” he says. I have to agree, yeah, lots of guys would. He looks angry for a second and then scared. I just wait.

He’ll tell me what’s on his mind. “I just don’t want to get hurt,” he mumbles finally.

“How about I fuck you, honey?” I move a little closer to him. “I

like doing the fucking and I won’t hurt you.” His cock had begun to

wilt a little, now it’s growing again. I keep an eye on it and say, in a low voice, “Unless you need a spanking.”

I cup one

hand around his jaw and push the front of my shorts down. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” his voice is kinda quiet.

Now he’s touching me, real light. His hands are shaking, but

he’s running his fingers up and down that thick vein and it feels so

good. His finger slides in my pre-cum and he takes it to his mouth. Just watching that makes me leak more. My knees get weak.

He slides down and pulls my cock toward him and I stop him.

Its not that I don’t want him to, god no! “Honey, you don’t have to do

42

Bar Back that,” I say, trying to be gentle, giving. Yeah, I’m a raging top, but I don’t have to be forceful about it… much.

He looks up at me, kneeling between my legs. “I want to,” and

he sucks my knob right in. His mouth is so hot, so soft.

“Oh god,” I groan, planting my feet apart, one hand going to the

counter and the other in his soft, spiky hair. “So good,” I moan.

I’ve got to stop him or I’m gonna cum. It’s so hard when he’s

deep-throating me this way. I tug him back a little and pull him up against me. Our cocks meet and we both groan loudly.

“You’re good at that,” I tell him and I bite his bottom lip, lightly.

He’s good at a lot of things. He reaches up, humping against me, and sucks at my tongue like he needs it to live. We kiss long and wet, until finally, I say, “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

“Yeah,” he’s panting, like he’s gotta have this. I know I need it.

“Yeah,” he says again.

I lean back against the bar and grab a bottle of olive oil we keep

there. Somehow I manage to get it on my fingers without spilling it all over. I reach around him, looking for that warm little hole.

“Spread your cheeks, sweetheart,” I tell him, and he does. Oh

man, I want to see. I thought I’d just finger fuck him a little, but no,

I can’t. I have to see him, taste him. “Bend over, let me look at you,” I turn him a little so I can see him under the dim light. “Beautiful, baby, such a sweet little hole.”

I can’t help it. I’ve got to stroke it, touch it. He’s leaning over the

bar now, on his toes, so he can hold himself open for me. What a good boy.

I dribble a little of the oil on him and start rubbing it in. He’s

holding his cheeks apart for me and whimpering.

43

J.J. Massa “You like that sweetheart?” I bend closer, biting at his ass.

“Yeah, oh yeah, please,” he’s begging, and I know what he

wants.

Starting at the back of his balls, I lick him all the way up to his

hole and then I begin to fuck him with my tongue. In and out, over and over, till I almost get a cramp. He’s all but sobbing now, and I’m holding him open as he clings to the bar with both hands.

I fish around in my pocket for the condom I bought the last

time I went to the head. Maybe we won’t always need protection, but for now, safe sex.

I’m so sensitive that I can barely get the condom on, but I do.

“You ready, sweetheart?” I ask him. He’s so far gone he’s just making sounds now.

“Ahh,” he moans, and I take that as a yes.

I line my cock up to his pink, wet hole and sink in. So tight and

hot. “You okay, honey?” I ask him. I’m pushing in slow, but I’m not stopping. He’s done this before.

“Dontstopdontstopdontstop,” he’s gasping over and over like

he’s really afraid I’m gonna pull out and leave.

I reach under him with one hand, stroking over his hard little

nipples and down for a handful of his cock. “I’m here honey,” I mumble, no idea what I’m saying now. Hell, I can barely see, he feels so good around me.

Sliding in, sliding out, so tight, so tight around my cock, slick, hot,

squeezing. I’m gonna blow any second.

“Can I… got to…gonna cum,” he wails and his sphincter clamps

down on me, squeezing so hard, I’m seeing stars. His cock spasms and erupts like a pearly hot volcano.

44

Bar Back I lose it, too, cuming a river buried in the tight ass of my bar back

bottom boy. “Uh, uh, uh,” I grunt, hearing the echo in the empty bar, still pumping.

He slumps against the bar and I’m mostly leaning on one arm,

trying to keep the weight off of him. We’re both still for a few, then he shifts and I slip out of him.

He’s looking at me carefully, like I’m a dangerous animal. I look

back, trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. What’s he doing? Holding a handful of napkins, he’s still got his pants down

around his knees. Real carefully, he starts to dab at my limp dick, pulling the rubber off. All the time he’s doing it, he looks like I’m gonna hit him. What’s going on?

“Wha…” Oh, shit! I get it. My little bottom boy. “Thank you,

honey.” I tip his face up and kiss those sweet lips lightly. I let him finish

cleaning me, then himself and fix our pants. “You ready to go home now?”

I’m gonna need sunglasses if his smile’s always that bright. One

thing I know. He’ll damn sure be on time for work tomorrow.

45

Into The Light by

Illian Obsidian

R

engal was joining his life to that of another. A female. Had joined with her…they were already one. No, but they couldn’t wait, and were having the ritual in the wilds. They’d only just met. Actually, no, they’d know each other as youngsters.

The rumors were rampant and varied. Pan had expected this

event. Dreaded it. Knew it would happen eventually. Someday. Now it had come.

Others clamored around him. He had worked with Rengal for

so long. They were…friends. Yes, he and Rengal were friends, best friends, so he, Pan, was the only one who would really know all the details.

But this time, Pan didn’t know because Rengal hadn’t shared

this with him and he felt so foolish.

And then his communications device chirped.

Excusing himself, he lifted the tiny mechanism to his ear. He

was only too relieved to turn his back on the milling crowd. Seeking a quiet corner, he took a deep breath.

“Pan here,” he managed, already knowing it was Rengal on

the other end.

“Pan, I have news!” Rengal sounded so ebullient, so excited.

Pan’s heart broke anew.

“Best wishes to you!” Pan tried to make his voice sound happy,

true to the occasion. He did wish Rengal well; he really did want the best for him.

“Nooo,” Rengal groaned. “How does news travel so blasted

quickly?” he growled, and Pan could tell he was disgruntled. “It was my desire to share this with you first, in confidence.”

“Thank you.” He hadn’t even had time to be hurt by the fact

that Rengal hadn’t told him personally, had let him hear it with the rest of the citizens, as if he were no one. “I wish you had.” Now why had he said that? He pressed his forehead to the rough panel of a

nearby barrier, the coarse surface biting into his sensitive flesh. “I mean, thank you for letting me know now.” “When did you hear?”

“Just moments ago. It is all anyone can speak of. So you are not

already joined?”

“No--of course not. I am coming back to The Capital for the

ritual. I want you to meet her. She is,” Rengal paused, considering. “Ideal for me,” he finished, because Celine was; she was absolutely ideal for him and for his lifestyle and his steady progression to becoming a ruler.

“Well,” Pan took a deep breath. “I am glad for you.” He was, he

was glad for Rengal, he wanted Rengal to be happy. “You must love this female most deeply.”

“Pan--you are aware of my feelings about that. Love has

nothing to do with it. It was time, and she is most appropriate. We

get along well. We have many interests in common, it is an appropriate match.”

“Oh.” Did happiness lie that way? Pan certainly didn’t know

about it. “Well, good.”

“We are holding the bonding rites at the Festival Hall just after

the next full moon. I want you to stand with me.”

51

“No.”

“What?” Rengal’s voice held a hint of laughter, after all, for

Pan to refuse him would be absurd. “Our link must be faulty. I said that I want you to stand beside me for the rites—who else, Pan?”

“Your kinsman.” Rengal was asking too much of him. He

cleared his throat. “One of your kinsmen should stand with you,”

he repeated. “That would be much more…um, appropriate.” How

he hated that word, that very thought. “You have many kinsmen— the eldest of your brothers—it will be expected. He will expect it.”

“All of my kinsmen will understand. You are my best friend,

Pan--my partner through good times and bad. Of course I want you beside me on this most important dawn.” And he could not say

to Rengal again, he could not—yet

he would not do this either. He shook his little communicator. “Rengal? Our signal is fading. I cannot hear you anymore.”

“I am coming back to The Capital tomorrow,” Rengal was

speaking louder now. “We will speak about it then.”

“What? I am going to sever the connection now, Rengal--I

cannot hear well at all.” He closed the device, slipped it into the fold of one loose sleeve and turned around to find the entire group looking at him expectantly.

“I do not know when they met, and they will be joined at The

Festival Hall after the full moon,” he reported dutifully and the buzz of conversation started up again. Only his assistant Vale, older than he in years, paternal even, and one of his closest friends except Rengal—he was closer to no one than he was to Rengal—

Vale was looking at him. His expression was sympathetic. Pan

squeezed his eyes tightly closed, seeing it. Vale knew. Pan had

52

never confided in him but Vale knew how he felt about Rengal. In another moment Vale was at his side. “Pan? Are you ill?”

“No. But I must leave now.” He looked up into Vale’s face—his

kind, worried face, and forced a smile. “Can you take care of this input gathering session?”

“Yes, of course. Shall I come to your den later?”

“No. Thank you. I must adjust to this news, that is all—it was

such a surprise.”

“Rengal should have told you himself instead of letting you

learn of it this way,” Vale scowled.

“He intended to. That is the reason he contacted me. He was

unaware that all would know so fast.”

Vale was silent. He was torn between his belief that mating

between a man and a woman was the only acceptable way and his distress at Pan’s hurt and sadness.

“I am sorry,” he said finally, and Pan shook his head.

“Why? This is a happy time. I am--I am glad for him.” He was.

As his best friend, he wanted nothing more than Rengal’s happiness. He

glad for Rengal. “I wish him nothing but the best.”

And that was true, too. He met Vale’s troubled look with a stalwart glare. Vale sighed.

“I know you do. In any case, perhaps you should be with

others tonight.”

“I need my solitude just now. This…” his sweeping arm indi-

cated the group chattering in a tight knot, excited with the news, “This is only the beginning. I will be fine soon.” “When does Rengal return?”

53

“The next dawn. He, um, he wants me to stand up with him. I

cannot do that.”

“No. But of course he would ask you.”

“He has an older kinsman. He needs to ask him.”

“Is he going to bow to your word on that?” Vale asked, disbe-

lief coloring his gruff voice.

“He will have to. Surely, um, surely he will have more impor-

tant things on his mind right now.” “Like his mate.”

“Yes.” Pan swallowed. “Like her.” Rengal’s mate. His ideal,

acceptable, appropriate mate. Did she know that Rengal was not in love with her? She must know. Rengal would have been truthful

when he asked her to join with him. And how had Rengal asked?

Was there an armlet? Had he gone down to his knees as the males in the romantic legends he scorned?

He must have kissed her—looked deeply into her eyes, cov-

ered her lips with his firm mouth...

Vale placed a warm hand on his arm.

“You’ll have to mask that look on your face before Rengal

arrives with his mate,” he said, his voice rough with concern.

Pan lifted wide eyes to him. The raw pain there hurt Vale, too;

Pan could see the sympathy reflected back at him.

“Will I?” he forced. Speaking hurt his throat; for some reason

it felt dry and tight.

“Yes.” Vale’s arm reached out. He wanted hug Pan, to hug him

hard. Pan could see it in his worried face. “I am afraid so,” Vale said instead, voice low, knowing that Pan would not like being touched in public. He cleared his throat and backed away a few steps.

54

“That is why I need to return to my den, in privacy.” Pan

wanted to go into Vale’s embrace, to hide his agony in Vale’s arms, hide his face that was showing too much against Vale’s comforting

chest. He couldn’t, though, not here and not now, so he straightened his back. “Thank you for taking this over for me.”

“It is my honor. I will say that you needed to meet with

someone urgently.”

“Again, thank you, Vale. I will see you next dawn.”

“Please come to my home for the dusk meal after? Loai is

preparing her winter soup stock.”

“Yes,” Pan said promptly. It would be good to have plans, to be

able to turn down whatever agenda Rengal had made for him to

get to know…Celine. He forced himself to say her name. Celine. “Yes, please.”

And in the privacy of Vale and Loai’s dwelling on the far edge

of the community, maybe he could afford the luxury of comfort, of

hiding for a little while inside the substantial barrier of Vale’s love for him. Vale was as a parent to him, his own long perished in the northern community. But Vale understood. “I will be there at full dusk.”

“Good then.” Vale watched Pan walk away, and shook his

head. He’d expected this event, but now that it had come, he hated to see it.

In his small den, Pan collapsed onto his bedding and buried

his face in a fur. Rengal was going to be joined. With a female. How could he endure it? How could he go through the upcoming

days of good wishes and celebration? he moaned. He would have to. He would have to fix a smile on his face and make chatter with

Celine and Rengal, have to hear the tales of how they met, how

55

they had courted, how they—not fell in love, because “You know how I feel about that” Rengal had said, and Pan did know.

“It is simply fantasy,” Rengal had said one night as they sat up

late talking and drinking spirits. “This one great love out there for each of us, Pan, is folly and foolishness. You must look after yourself. Fear of loneliness, fear of death, nothing but weakness. I will have to mate someday. It will be required of me.” “You do not have to.”

“It is not put down in the book of leaders, I know. However,

an unmated male beyond a certain age is suspicious, you know that. He is either changeable, or that wretched thing, an aging

lover of young women-or a lover of males. Communities are ruled by mated men.” Rengal was being prepared to rule, it was common knowledge.

“That is not right.”

“Perhaps not. It would be pointless to argue it. When I ap-

proach forty winters, I will look for the right female—poised, congenial, visually appealing, a strong mind, someone who can

laugh at my humor…and we will have the joining ritual. Simple. And she will be appropriate.”

“I do not wish to do that.”

“You need not worry, Pan. You have no intent to rule, do you?

Expectations are not the same when you are a gatherer of information.” He’d squeezed Pan’s shoulder, so affectionate, the touch

warming him through and through. “She will like you, Pan. She must.”

“I am sure I will like her too.” He knew he would. Rengal had

very discerning tastes. But he had to ask. “Is it really that important

56

to be appropriate? Acceptable?” “Yes.” Rengal was resolute.

“Um, okay.” And why had he felt so let down? He had always

known it impossible—had never even allowed himself to hope.

He and Rengal had stayed up until nearly the next dawn,

talking about communities, Rengal’s kinsmen, the happenings that were then shaping their lives.

When the hour had grown late, Pan had retired to Rengal’s

guest area to sleep. Drifting off, he’d dreamed, but in those dreams they hadn’t retired to separate sleeping areas.

Rengal had taken Pan into his arms, had kissed him, pressed

him down onto the furs, caressing him and whispering words of love. When Pan awoke the next morning to his lonely pallet, the disappointment was crushing.

Pan choked back the thick, salty threat of tears. He would not

be pathetic, he refused. Disgusted, he paced his small den, forcing

himself to fight the emotion welling within him. Dignity, pride—

he could do this, he would! Nobody need ever know that his heart was broken.

How he had missed Rengal while he was gone. The news that

Rengal was being asked to travel had hit Pan like a blow. And that Rengal wanted to go, was eager to go, had hurt him so badly that even now he could not think of it without grief.

Rengal had not only wanted to make the long journey, he had

been making plans to travel further, longer. Pan had thought, in

that first desperate grief, of finding a way to go with him, but how would that look? As if he could not bear to live without Rengal, his male friend, and while that was the truth, it was not something

57

anyone would accept or understand—especially when Rengal did not feel the same. It would be--inappropriate.

So he hid his unhappiness as best he could, and his success

broke his heart anew because generally he could not fool Rengal, not ever. But Rengal wasn’t paying attention this time because he was so completely set on his certain future.

When Rengal stopped by Pan’s den to say good-bye, Pan had

been nearly blind with pain. He had tried to hide it, but Rengal must

have seen something. He had enclosed Pan in a strong hug just before he left.

“Pan,” he’d murmured, “I am going to miss you.” And it was

apparent he hadn’t thought of that.

Pan had tried, had tried hard. He’d tried spending time with

females and found it unfulfilling, had given in a little to the flirtations of Adair, the tall Master of Guards, and it had been pleasant...

He liked Adair, he did. He was attractive, big and solid, Pan’s head barely reached the middle of his chest, with striped hair and sparkling eyes.

Adair would be sympathetic now, too. He could find comfort in

Adair’s attentions as well as in Vale’s paternal affection, and he would take it. He would need all the warmth he could garner to get through the next twenty dawns—and beyond.

Again the hot salt of tears choked him, and again he forced

them back. He would not—he absolutely would not—sit alone in his

den crying over Rengal. He wouldn’t cry over someone who never had had a feeling stronger than the love of a friend toward him and who would recoil at the very idea of more. A lover of males, Rengal

had said in his list of the detrimental traits ascribed to a single male,

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and he had sounded, not scornful, but indifferent. Such a thing had no effect on Rengal, after all. He was not a lover of males.

Pan wondered if Rengal even knew about him and Adair, and

what he would think of Pan if he found out. What did it matter now anyway? Rengal was to be joined.

P

“

an!” Rengal’s voice spun Pan around from where he had

been bent over a sheaf of reports. The sight of Rengal standing there flooded him with joy. Rengal entered the room in a few certain

strides and pulled Pan against him. Surprised into motionlessness,

Pan let himself be embraced energetically, hugged tightly, and he swayed against his best friend. He had no control, this was Rengal. Pan reveled in the enthusiastic greeting.

Then Rengal released him, gripped his shoulders, held him

back, those intense eyes taking in every inch of him, and Pan smiled into them. Rengal beamed at him.

“Pan, it is so good to see you.” He squeezed Pan again, and being

in Rengal’s embrace was everything he’d ever wanted, was

wonderful—again Rengal held him off, and looked him over thoroughly. “I have missed you very much,” Rengal declared as if surprised.

59

“I missed you, too.”

“Pan, I do not think we have been apart for so long in all the

time we have known each other.”

“No. Almost two hundred dawns--no. Never so long.”

“That is so.” Rengal smiled again. “I am glad I have come back.” “Are you home again for good?”

“No. I still have one hundred dawns of travel. But it is now more

than half over.”

“It is almost over then?”

Rengal laughed at that. “Yes. My travels have almost ended. Let

us not talk of that, I am here now.” “Yes, and I am glad.”

“Me, too.” They smiled into one another’s eyes, only to be

interrupted by a dainty little

.

“Celine!” Rengal quickly moved away from Pan’s shoulders and

turned to the female standing behind him. “I forgot about you, ah,

that you were here!” He chuckled at himself again, though Celine

didn’t share the humor. Her lips were shaped in a polite smile, but she looked ill at ease. Rengal didn’t seem to notice. Placing a strong

hand at her back, he urged her forward. “Celine, this is my dearest friend, Pan. Pan, meet my intended mate, Celine.”

She extended an elegant, feminine hand to him. “I’ve certainly

heard a quite a bit about you.”

“It is pleasing to meet you.” He wasn’t pleased, of course. Still,

this experience could have been worse.

Since she was examining him so closely, Pan felt free to do the

same, crestfallen. She was tall, taller than he. Her hair was a deep darkening shade, her eyes a warm honey tone. Her features were

60

perfect. She was most pleasing to look at, and she and Rengal were

eye-catching together. Appropriate, Pan thought with a pang. She

was exceedingly appropriate—she and Rengal were appropriate together.

“Pan is the best friend I have in the world,” Rengal was saying

now. “He has looked after me so very well.”

“Yes, you have said as much many times. Thank you, Pan, for

keeping such good care of Rengal for me.”

“Um--” Pan didn’t know how to answer that. To say that she

was welcome inferred that he had done it for her and was glad. To

avoid answering at all seemed discourteous. “Um--it was my honor.” He felt uncomfortable by the conversation, flustered.

“So what is this foolishness about my best friend not standing

up for me?” Rengal demanded, and Pan stiffened.

“It would not be right,” he said, knowing how feeble it sounded

“It would not be fair to your kinsmen. They will expect it. Everyone will expect it—to be your eldest sibling kinsman—I mean.”

“I want you up there beside me, with the armlet in your care.

My kinsmen will be fine.”

“No, thank you. Rengal--I really appreciate the tribute, but it

would not be…” he floundered, found Rengal’s very useful expression. “Appropriate. It would not be appropriate at all.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Rengal said in exasperation,

but he was still smiling. He wasn’t worried by Pan’s refusal. It was

some ethnic difference and nothing more. In the northern communi-

ties, it must always be the male’s oldest kinsmen who stood at the joining. He would change Pan’s mind. Pan had never been able to

refuse him for very long. “Look. We are having a meal this dusk at …”

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“I cannot eat with you this dusk,” Pan interrupted, and saw

Rengal’s surprise. He was most gratified now that he had accepted Vale’s invitation. “I am eating with Vale. I could not know you would want to dine with me when I made the plans,” he added quickly when Rengal’s face tightened in irritation.

“No, I suppose that is true. Well, the following dusk then.”

“I cannot. I am working late. And I have to be here early the dawn

following.”

“I see.” Rengal’s words were clipped now. Bitten. “Dusk meal

then.”

“I am going to a performance with Adair.” He’d have to contact

Adair right after Rengal left, but Adair would go along, he knew—all

he had to do was let Adair know he was available and Adair would clear his time. Rengal’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Four dawns,” he said, and his voice was granite. His expression

was hard as well, and Pan surrendered. “We will take the dusk meal together in four dawns,” Rengal gritted. “All right. Four dawns.”

“Good. I will send word to you when it is arranged.” Rengal was

jovial now, having gotten his way, and Pan felt annoyed, mulish.

“But I am not changing my mind,” he warned. Rengal waved a

dismissive hand.

“I am not worried about it. We have to go. Celine wants to settle

in at the guest dens and fuss with her appearance a bit before this

dusk’s meal. Not that she need worry. Her appearance is exquisite, is it not?”

“Yes,” Pan agreed, and it was only the truth. Celine was most

beautiful. “It was very nice to meet you, Celine.”

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“It was a pleasure meeting you as well, Pan. I look forward to

seeing you again in four dawns. Do make up your mind to say

to Rengal. I want my joining ritual to be flawless, and it will not be if he is unhappy.”

Since a flawless joining for Celine was not a matter of impor-

tance to him, Pan only shook his head. “I cannot. But I am most honored, Rengal, that you want me.”

“Not good enough, Pan.” Rengal was smiling, but his eyes

weren’t. “Not good enough at all.” He yielded then to Celine’s tug at his arm, though at the door he pulled it free, came back into the

chamber. “Did I tell you how good it is to see you?” he said, and Pan lifted his eyes to Rengal’s face.

“Thank you. It is most good to see you, too.” Good wasn’t exactly

the right word--it was fantastic and terrible, a crystalline pleasure and a shattering torture, at the same time. “When is the ritual, exactly?”

“Eighteen dawns after this,” Rengal said, and Celine, still wait-

ing at the entry, shuffled impatiently. “We still have much to do. Celine does not even have her robes yet. So I will see you-- I hope sooner than four dawns, but then for certain.”

“Yes, then,” Pan agreed, and Rengal leaned closer.

“I thought I told you that you should not be going out in public

with Adair. Others will talk.”

“They will be correct,” Pan said facetiously and Rengal’s lips

formed a hard line.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” he growled. Pan

shrugged.

Rengal slid the tips of his fingers under Pan’s chin, tilted his

63

face so that their eyes met. “I do not want you to get hurt, Pan. You

matter to me.” His voice was rough and sincere, his gaze caring, and Pan couldn’t help it, he smiled into Rengal’s eyes, his love for his

friend clear to see. Rengal didn’t see, but the female waiting at the entry for him did.

Pan tried to reassure him. “That means much. Do not worry,

Rengal. I do know what I am doing, and Adair does, too.”

“I shall be happy to speak with him on your behalf,” Rengal

asserted. Pan’s heart soared.

“No, thank you.” Rengal’s fingertips still held his chin, and Pan

hadn’t moved. “That you want to do so is enough.”

“Okay.” Rengal decided that he might just have a word with

him anyway, whether Pan asked him to or not. Adair needed to

know just how extraordinary Pan was and how he should be treasured—he should be cherished. Not used for a fleeting fulfillment and then forgotten. Rengal’s fists clenched at the thought. “I will see you another dawn,” he forced out.

Pan, seeing the anger on Rengal’s face, stepped back a little.

“Goodbye, Rengal.” He wanted to apologize, to explain, but how

could he? He wished he had never brought Adair’s name up at all. He didn’t want Rengal to be displeased with him, not at this time, when he’d just come back. They were at odds anyway over the joining.

“Please do not be angry with me.” The words escaped him

before he could call them back and Rengal stopped at the door.

“I am not angry with you,” Rengal answered him, reassuring,

his voice very gentle now.

“All right,” Pan smiled wanly, somewhat relieved.

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Aching, Pan watched Rengal walk away, his hand reaching to

take Celine’s elbow. He had been cut brutally deep by the news of Rengal’s joining, because he loved him. He would bear it in smiling silence because he loved him.

But, he wouldn't stand next to Rengal, watch him pledge his life

to this female Pan really didn't even know—to offer the armlet and have it ready for Rengal... He wouldn't; he wouldn’t even attend. He

didn't have to penalize himself that way because it was no transgression. There was no regulation against falling in love.

D

inner four dawns later was an ordeal. Pan held to his

insistence against standing up with Rengal, and refused to explain further.

“I told you,” he said over the cooked vegetables at the meal,

when Rengal first introduced the subject. “I do not think it appropriate. It should be your eldest kinsman. Others will wonder why it is not.”

“That is complete foolishness, Pan. I refuse to accept it. I will

tell everyone that you will attend me. First thing after next dawn

meal, I will order your formal robes,” he scrutinized Pan closely.

65

“You have become slimmer since the last harvest. I will tell the tailor to change your measurements.” “Rengal ...”

“No. We will speak of it no more,” Rengal growled.

“Good,” Pan shot back, and they scowled at one another

throughout the first half of the meal. Celine looked from one to the

other and turned the conversation to the new laws governing far away communities.

Pan, grateful, responded in kind. Rengal, mindful, at last, of

good etiquette, joined in the discussion so that they passed the remainder of the evening agreeably enough. Just before they separated, Rengal handed Pan a gilded scroll.

“The ritual gathering is nine dawns from tomorrow at first

dusk. Be there. We will dine afterward at the Governor’s Hall. I regret there are no additional guests,” he added unnecessarily, since the scroll he handed Pan clearly stated so.

Pan’s face closed, and for the first time Rengal felt a stir of

unease. He hadn’t seen that expression since they had been faced with treacherous opponents many winters past when they’d worked together in dangerous conditions to implement order. “I am not going to attend you,” Pan insisted firmly.

“In that case, you will leave me in a predicament with no one

to stand up with me at my joining.” “That is your choice, Rengal.”

“You will do it.” He was certain once again, any qualms

melting away. Pan had never refused him anything. “You could never purposely cause me such disappointment.”

“I would do anything for you, Rengal. I hope you know that.

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But not this. I wish you would stop insisting upon it.” “When you stop refusing, I will stop asking.”

Pan sighed. “Goodnight, Celine,” he said politely.

Celine, who had no desire to have her future mate spend any

more time with this thin, light colored young male than was

necessary, nodded with equal courtesy. She was only too relieved to lead Rengal away from him.

Rengal was furious ten dawns after when Pan did not come to

the ritual gathering. He’d tried to get his friend there, sending the armlet by messenger, but Pan had refused it. me?”

“What is wrong with him? Why will he not stand up with

“What is wrong with

?” Celine retorted, not shouting—

Celine never spoke above a calm, even pitch—but she was speak-

ing in those clipped aristocratic tones that communicated irritation just as clearly. “He said no! He has refused right from the start!

Now it is little more than a few dawns before the joining and he is

still refusing to attend you! The ritual gathering has been a fiasco!

ritual gathering before the rites, Rengal. Do you not care

about that at all?”

“Of course I do. Why must he continue to say no?”

“Because he is not coming to our exchange of rites, for

mercy’s sake! Rengal, I am trying to be tolerant. Your eldest kinsman is right out there. Go ask him to stand up for you. Give him the armlet. You have no reason not to.”

“I cannot stand up there and be joined without Pan beside

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me!” Didn’t anyone else understand? He couldn’t start a new chapter of his life without Pan at his side. Pan, who had been with him through everything. Pan, the other half of his soul.

“You are not joining with him, curse it!” Celine’s voice actu-

ally did rise this time. “You are joining with me, or have you forgotten?”

Rengal had never in his life struck a female. But right now he

wanted to. “By what right do you say such things to me? What right have you to suggest—to insinuate... I know who it is that I am joining with.”

“It does not sound like it! Did you even hear yourself? You

cannot be joined without Pan beside you? Now, I am prepared to

accept that I am joining with a male whose best friend is in love with him. He at least is decorous enough to try to conceal it.” “That is ludicrous; Pan is not in love with me.”

“Why do you think he refuses to stand beside you while we

exchange vows?” Her voice was no longer aristocratic, but an angry, unpleasant grating. “Because if he agrees to do that, he will

have to be present. And he has no intention of attending the rites.”

“That is absurd. Of course he will be there. Why--he has to.

How can I be joined without...” he stopped.

“Without Pan,” she finished. “Rengal…” she came back to him

and they faced each other, anger gone, steely determination in its

place. “I am to be your mate. I am the only one you have to have there. That you do not feel that way is not acceptable to me.”

“I do not want Pan there as my mate.” This entire conversation

was preposterous, nothing more. “I want him there as my best friend, standing at my side. As he always has.”

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“I will be your mate, Rengal. Why does it matter who else is

present? I will be there. Why is that not enough?” “Because...” and what could he say? It

be enough.

Shouldn’t it? “Why would you imagine that Pan is in love with

me?” And why did just saying it make his heart gallop like an untamed steed?

“It is clear to see when he is near you, in his eyes when he

looks at you, in his voice when he says your name—in his whole body. He turns to you as if you were the most important person in his world.”

“This is absurd,” he said again, but he no longer sounded

confident.

She closed her eyes, fighting for control. Celine was under no

illusions about this joining, it was a mating of expediency. Nonetheless, she would not allow a rival such as this. She was to be the community’s ruling female.

“The ritual gathering is over,” she said finally. “I am going to

the attendants’ meal now, and at the full moon, I am going to don my betrothal robe and come back here to join with you. No

fantasies, no false promises—you have been honest with me and I with you. I know we do not love each other, not in the way the legends tout. You will be ruler of this community, and I will claim

pride of place. This is what I want from you. You shall approach your oldest kinsman to stand up with you. I do not want Pan to do it. I do not want him there at all.” “Celine ...”

“No. I do not want him standing next to you at the ritual. I do

not want him standing in the gathering. I do not want him at the

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celebration. After we are joined, you can go on being friends if you so choose—but I will not see it or hear of it. And part of our vows decrees that we be faithful to one another, Rengal. I will hold you to that. You are--you would be my mate. I will not be made a fool of. I will be the ruling female.” “I would never do that.”

“Do what you must now. I wish to know nothing more.

Nothing more of any days prior to our joining. Nothing more of Pan. You will have your last night of intercourse as a single male.

I will have mine as a single female. We will not speak of this again. Any of it.”

Was she telling him to…

No, she could not possibly mean that.

“

R

engal is the best!” a breathy voice declared. The female

looked around, caught a glimpse of Pan and lowered her voice. “His was the best intercourse I have ever had. I hope he chooses spend his last night with before he is joined.”

to

Pan listened shamelessly. After all, this was a public gathering

spot for eating. He wasn’t eavesdropping on a private conversation. Not really.

“Tell us,” breathed the female’s companions. All were full fig-

70

ured, voluptuous females; their forms were like Celine’s. “What was it like? What was

like?”

Pan silently added his own pleas to theirs. How he wished he

could learn first hand what it was like to spend the night in Rengal’s strong arms.

The female sitting down the table from Pan sighed. “He was

tender, but a little forceful, too. He can go until dawn, make himself last and last... What?” Her friend was nudging her none too gently,

and the female across the table from her was rolling her eyes toward Pan, who was pretending to be oblivious. “I see him. I am sure Pan has heard females talk about Rengal’s expertise before, right, Pan?”

“Excuse me? I did not hear you. What did you say?” He put

down the news he’d been perusing and looked at the female.

“I said that I am certain you have heard others sighing over

Rengal’s prowess, have you not?”

“Yes I have,” Pan said, and put his news down. “But Rengal does

not like it.”

“Does not like what?”

“He is most private. He does not like others talking about

his…um, his intimacies.” Pan slid off of his seat and rose. “It does not bother me, you are right. But he thinks it denotes a...” he looked her over, considering. “Well, it means something...” he nodded politely and moved away.

As he turned his head, he saw Rengal entering the establish-

ment, holding a hand up, beckoning him. Pan hurried across to Rengal, ignoring the buzz that started up behind him.

“There goes your chance, Ilona,” her friend said, watching Pan

join Rengal. “You will not be spending his last night with Rengal now.”

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“You surely do not think Pan will tell him?”

“How can you think he will not?” She jerked her head at Pan

who was deep in conversation with Rengal just then. “He tells Rengal

whatever he hears about him.” The female paused. “Everything,” she

emphasized, speaking the word slowly, accentuating both thought and deed with a nod of her head.

“I hear that you could easily have a very pleasant last night with

Ilona before joining. Very pleasant,” Pan said after Rengal greeted him.

“I have had in the past…” Rengal agreed as he eyed the group

of whispering women, nodding absently at Ilona’s little wave. “What did she speak of, exactly?”

“She regaled us with tales of your skill and stamina,” Pan

answered, and watched Rengal’s mouth tighten. “But maybe it is

only me acting the prude. The rest of the group seemed interested

enough. I am at a loss as to how you manage both force and

tenderness simultaneously...” he let his voice trail off, shocked at himself. He didn’t know why he’d added that last except that he didn’t especially like Ilona, who had been so certain she’d be spend-

ing Rengal’s last night with him. He’d put the final coals on that pyre, anyway. His face colored. “Well. That is not my concern and I am sorry I told you of it.”

“No, I am glad you did. I need to know these things. I was

looking for you, actually. I want to take a meal with you this dusk. It is late enough now, in fact.”

72

“All right,” Pan answered breathlessly, surprised and hopeful

that he wasn’t about to be pressured more to stand up with Rengal. “Wait for me. I will arrange a private area for us.” “All right.”

Pan leaned against the wall and watched Rengal send a youth

to find the dining facility owner. Rengal looked about the room, his stance aloof. Pan couldn’t help but notice that this time, Ilona’s

finger wave was ignored. But she was not one to be easily put off. She got up and walked over to Rengal, undulating smoothly, including a little extra curve movement into it as she did so.

“Rengal. Hello.” Ilona’s voice was low and husky. “Ilona.”

“Have you thought about you and me for your last night before

joining?”

“I think not, Ilona. I believe it best that we leave our last assig-

nation a pleasant memory.”

“He said something to you, did he not?” Her eyes snapped and

her brows drew together in an angry frown. “Listening in on a private conversation and then running to you like that!”

“A conversation in an open dining facility is hardly private,

although the topic of conversation most certainly was. And I like my

privacy, Ilona. I have not said anything about your performance the

time we were together, nothing. The idea that you have done otherwise… It disturbs me. Embarrasses me. I have no interest in spending my last night with you.”

“Fine,” she hissed viciously, her head tossed back arrogantly.

“Just…fine. I can do better than you any time.” Rengal didn’t answer her, holding up a finger toward the owner, signaling that he should

73

wait a moment. Her nails dug into her palms. “Do you not even wonder why he spoke of it to you? Why should he care who you have relations with unless he wishes it for himself? Some males…” Rengal caught her arm, drew her aside.

“Pan is my closest friend, as I am his. And if you ...”

“You could have that little pale thing with one snap of your

finger, Rengal! A maid can always tell! And...” the look in his eyes made her stop.

“More than once, I’ve heard of your loose tongue, yet I believed

you could be discreet. How wrong I was,” Rengal said softly. “A

leader should know better. I certainly do know better now. What will I hear of you when I return to govern our community, I cannot help but wonder. I trust you are describing someone whom I do not know.”

“No,” she mumbled. “I mean yes. I mean--you do not know

him,” she stuttered. “Her. You do not know her. She does not even reside in our community.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rengal responded tightly and watched her

leave. Then he turned to signal an apology to Pan for keeping him waiting.

Pan had been openly watching the little incident. He was think-

ing how attractive Rengal was in his rigid ire, and how skillfully he handled Ilona because no one else was even taking any note of the confrontation. Pan was glad Rengal never looked at him in such a

way. Ilona really had no right speaking of Rengal as if he were,

were—well, as if he were just anyone. Then Ilona stalked away, and Rengal looked toward him.

And Ilona was right. Shrew that she was, she was right, and so

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was Celine. Because Pan’s face was soft and open, his eyes were filled with appreciation. When he saw Rengal look at him he lowered his

lashes shyly and smiled, looking up through them, back at Rengal. Pan didn’t know that it showed so clearly on his face, that was

evident. Rengal smiled back, held up one finger and turned to the owner, mentally changing gears as he asked for a private room to dine in.

When he rejoined Pan, Pan smiled up at him. “I apologize for

causing that scene,” he murmured regretfully, and Rengal shook his head, walked with him to the private room following the owner.

Rengal was still reeling from the shock of what he’d seen on

Pan’s face. Why had he never noticed it before? What should he do

about it? Pan must be miserable that he was joining with someone. His best friend, champion in all things… But what could be done?

If Pan were a female…no, that would change him. Pan was

who he was. Well, if Rengal were a lover of males, but no to that as

well. He was to be a leader, a ruler. He could not join with a male. If that were possible, Pan would be his choice.

He trusted Pan like he trusted no other. Felt deep, abiding

affection for him. Well, if he could not join with Pan for all time…

“Have you had intercourse with Adair?” Rengal blurted, need-

ing desperately, suddenly, to know.

The question shocked Pan, caused him to stumble into his seat.

Rengal steadied him, seated him, pushed his chair in, all the while enjoying the scent of Pan’s hair, the warmth of him through his robes. While the servers quickly set food in front of them and took

their leave, Pan thought of his time spent with Adair. They had fun

together, and when their evenings out ended in Adair’s den with

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Adair’s mouth on his and Adair’s hands wandering, Pan allowed it a little, enjoyed it to a point. They never got very far, though. And Adair knew why. He had teased Pan about it in the beginning, before realizing how serious Pan was. Rengal had seated himself and was even now looking to Pan for an answer.

“Why would you ask me that?” Pan wheezed. “No, Rengal,

Adair and I are friends but we are not...I am not...have never…no. I

have not had intercourse,” his face felt hot, he looked away, eyelashes sweeping low, “not with anyone,” Pan confessed.

“Has he not tried?” Was Adair blind to Pan’s innate beauty, his

sweetness? Or was he simply daft?

“Well, yes. We have kissed. He asked for more--I said no.” “And that was that.” Pan had never, with anyone, ever… “If it was not, we would have no friendship.”

“I suppose that is so.” Rengal regarded Pan closely, thinking.

Would gender make such a difference? What exactly would be

involved? Holding, and touching, and kissing... could he kiss another male? No, that was the wrong question. Could he kiss Pan?

He looked again at that soft, full mouth. Pan had his lower lip

between his teeth now as he pondered Rengal’s unusual and personal questioning and that was adorable, absolutely. It stirred a fire in him. So much so that he wanted to take that full lower lip between his own teeth. Yes, he could kiss Pan. Could hold Pan, and touch

him—could he touch him sexually? He touched himself—it would not be that different.

And Rengal enjoyed anal intercourse, enjoyed it a great deal,

but from the dominant position only. He was not at all interested in finding out how it felt to be on the receiving end, despite the obvious

76

pleasure his female lovers took in it. He knew of other males who enjoyed it also…why not Pan? “You must have

about it.”

kind of sex life, Pan. You can tell me

“No. I do not,” Pan stated definitively. He looked frightened for

a moment. Why was that? Had he been harmed? “Why not?” Rengal had to know. “I do not want to.”

“Why not? It is most pleasurable.”

“It must be, I know. Otherwise so many would not want it so

much. But, it is very intimate. I have never met anyone I trust that much.”

“Besides me…” Rengal corrected, knowing the answer. Would

Pan admit it?

“Besides you,” Pan agreed, dropping his eyes to the tabletop, his

face hidden by the sweep of his pale, sunlight hair.

Rengal threw caution to the winds. He would do this with Pan,

he would. He would share his last night as a single male in the furs

with his best friend, most trusted confidant. With Pan. A gift, for both of them.

“As a general rule,” he confided, “I avoid intercourse with those

who are untouched.” Unexpectedly, Pan laughed. “I know.”

Rengal laughed, too. “I suppose you do know. But in your case

I am considering making an exception.” “You cannot mean...”

“Yes I do. I am thinking...” he gave Pan his hottest, most smol-

dering look and saw Pan’s eyes widen. This was fun; Pan was

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charming in his wonder and uncertainty. Rengal’s blood ran hot now. This was almost as much fun as the act itself, the chase. “For two who care for one another as much as we do, who like one

another as much as we do, who enjoy one another’s company the

way we do, it makes perfect sense that you and I share a night together. My last night before I join. My gift to you and yours to me.” “It does? It makes sense?”

“Yes. It would be wonderful, Pan. Do you not think so?”

“Would you still care for me afterward? I mean...you would,

would you not? It would not be like Ilona.”

“No. It would not be like anyone else. We trust each other.”

“And you will not expect me to stand up for you?” Pan’s voice

cracked on the last note.

“No, Pan, I have asked my kinsman,” Rengal gave Pan a small

smile, absolving them both of that responsibility. “You really want me?”

“Yes.” He did. Now that he had let himself think the forbidden

he was aroused, painfully so, although he would hold it in check

because first times took longer, first times called for care and Pan—

oh, he would make it good for Pan—his dear friend and soon to be lover.

“I may not know what you like,” Pan was saying, looking a little

nervous now. “I mean, most of your females are very experienced, is

that not so? I may not know what to do. In fact I do not. I do not know what to do. I told you, I have never…” he trialed off, a worried frown on his face. “You will not like it.” Pan’s mouth drooped a little

in his worry. Rengal wanted badly to kiss each turned down corner right then.

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“You will not have to do anything,” he promised. “I will lead you

through it all. You know how much I like to lead, Pan.”

“Yes.” Pan smiled at him, and that made Rengal want to kiss him

more. “I do. All right. But do not treat me roughly, Rengal. Ilona said ...”

“I will not be rough. I will be so easy and so careful of you--I

promise, Pan. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“No. You have always seen to my care. I do not fear you, Rengal.

So when? I mean, we must wait three more dawns, right?”

“Usually,” Rengal agreed, but then Pan looked so disappointed,

he could hardly bear it. “No, we will not wait. There is no rule

written about when or where or with whom. Are you finished eating?”

Pan looked down at his plate. “Yes.” He looked up at Rengal,

startled. “Now? You want to leave now?”

“Right now,” Rengal nodded and pushed his chair back. They

walked outside, and as they turned toward Rengal’s den, Pan hesitated.

“I do not really know what to expect,” he fretted, his fingers

twining nervously in the sleeve of his robe. “I mean ...”

“I will lay out my plan for you, then,” Rengal said, guiding Pan

along the lane. “Once we have entered my den, I will make sure it is

secure,” he lowered his voice, even though nobody walking nearby could possibly hear him, “and take you into my arms. I am going to

hold you close, and press my lips to your temple to feel the racing of

your pulse. I will kiss your cheek, to see if your skin can possibly be as silky and soft as it looks. You will then turn your face up to me ...” “Lips on my temple, kiss my cheek, and then look up at you...”

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Pan murmured studiously and Rengal laughed out loud.

“Very good, Pan. And I will kiss you, my lips moving over yours,

long, and slow, and deep ...”

“Oh.” Pan looked away. His hands were shaking.

“And from there we will trust nature to lead us both.” And what

could be better than he and Pan together? “Trust me, Pan. This will be wonderful.”

“I do, Rengal.” He smiled at his friend, a smile that sent a jolt

straight to Rengal’s heart. “I do trust you.”

T

hey walked up the path to Rengal’s den, and once inside,

Rengal secured the entrance. When he turned, Pan was in front of him, nervously waiting. His forehead was cool under Rengal’s lips, though his pulse was pounding.

“Even softer,” Rengal whispered, upon kissing Pan’s cheek. He

couldn’t stop, and kissed it again, trailing his lips back and forth across the velvet smooth skin.

“That was not in the plan.”

“I know. You are so sweet, Pan.” He kissed the other cheek.

“Why did I not notice how very sweet you are? So soft…”

“If you are not following the plan, how will I know what to do?”

Rengal’s deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, and Pan smiled in spite of his fears.

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“Now, Pan. Look up at me now.” Pan did, and Rengal cupped the

pale, thin face between his hands, leaned in, and their lips met.

Rengal couldn’t have been prepared for the emotions that

rocked him as Pan’s lips parted under his. He slid his hands down,

wrapped his arms around Pan, pulling the slim body tight against his own.

Pan arched back, his arms coming up to cling around Rengal’s

neck. Rengal’s hands restlessly traveled the length of Pan’s spine, one plunging into the sleek, light hair of his head as the other cupped his tight, round bottom, pulling him closer still.

Pan gasped, drawing Rengal’s tongue in. How could anything

feel so good? He sucked on it, tasting spirits, and under that Rengal’s

own taste. He heard Rengal moan, and when Rengal used the very

tip of his tongue to chart the shape of his lips and then the inside of his mouth, Pan clutched at him, pulling at him, not even really

noticing when Rengal steered him to the second room of the den, stopping him next to his furs.

Rengal’s tongue left his mouth and Pan whimpered, pleading.

Now there was a warm, wet tugging on Rengal’s side and his own tongue was being drawn in, sucked on. Pan groaned aloud when Rengal moved away from him. He arched his hips, trying to press closer still.

Shaken and wanting something he’d never had before, Pan

struggled to pull himself together. “You said you’d take care of it all,”

he reminded Rengal, who held him off, shaking his head from side to side.

“Oh, yes, I will.” Rengal looked at him many seconds, the heat

in his eyes scorching. “I am going to take such care of everything.”

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“You promised you would not be rough,” Pan reminded him

huskily, nervous again, watching as Rengal began unfastening his long robe.

“I will not. Not until you want me to.”

“Why would I ever want such a thing? Um, do you want me to

disrobe, as well?”

“No,” Rengal said, dropping his robe to the floor. “I will remove

your coverings. You just stand there and watch.”

“You are odd,” Pan shook his head. But the sight of Rengal’s

naked chest made him feel hot and cold and nervous. And he’d seen Rengal’s chest before. What was different now? “I suppose it was

that kiss,” he murmured, thinking it over, and Rengal chuckled, reaching for his undergarment. “What was?”

“Nothing.” Rengal’s hand rested at his waist and on impulse Pan

reached out, ran a finger along his hard length through the covering. Rengal inhaled sharply, caught Pan’s wrist in his strong hand. “Do not do that.”

“All right.” Pan was saddened, and hurt, too. He had been right

to begin with. He didn’t know how to do this and Rengal would not like it. But Rengal was kissing the hand he now held, kissing his fingertips. Pan shivered.

“I want to take my time, and be gentle--careful with you, and

make sure you enjoy it as well. If you touch me that way, I may not be able to do any of that.” “Why not?”

“Because your touch excites me, heats my blood to boil,” Rengal

growled, and kissed the inside of Pan’s wrist, nipping, causing a

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frisson to snake up his arm. “It makes me want--to not take my time, to finish this in a wild frenzy right here beside the furs.” “Oh.” Pan decided that maybe he

do it right after all. He

could arouse Rengal so violently just by one touch from his finger-

tip? It was a heady thought, although he was pretty sure he didn’t want to finish it right here beside the furs. Rengal, who was watching him closely, chuckled.

“We can do that in the dawn,” Rengal said. “Now--this night is

for tenderness, and patience, and slow, sweet lovemaking.” He began unfastening Pan’s robes.

“You just want me to stand still while you disrobe me?” “Yes.”

Pan could do that easily. He stood quietly and marveled at how

exciting it was just being undressed, something he did for himself every dawn. His face burned at the feel of Rengal’s hands on his

undergarment, sliding it down his hips and pulling it off. He covered his eyes with one hand, because this was so personal, it was so intimate.

Then Rengal drew him into an embrace. They stood naked,

bodies pressed together, Rengal’s arousal hard and burning against his hip, his own hungry length prodding Rengal’s thigh.

Rengal cupped his face between both hands. Pan closed his eyes

as Rengal’s lips brushed his lashes, the arch of his cheekbone, the little indentation above his lip, his chin. Down his throat, and

around. And when Rengal’s mouth teased behind his ear, he cried out. Rengal nipped at the fleshy curve, his hot breath making Pan’s

legs buckle so he clutched at Rengal’s arms to stay on his feet, dazed at what he was feeling simply from a kiss.

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Rengal was still licking and nipping behind his ear, planting

wet sucking kisses, and when he started working his way around to

the other ear Pan trembled and then shuddered again with anticipation. Rengal was moving so slowly, lips traveling across the boney ridge of his clavicle, up his neck.

“Please,” Pan whispered, wanting him to hurry, moving to get

his ear closer to Rengal’s mouth, nearly losing all sense of himself when Rengal finally kissed it, sending his tongue inside this time,

tracing the delicate whorls. Pan’s legs did give way at that, and Rengal caught him and carried him down onto the furs.

He went over every bit of Pan’s body with lips and tongue and

fingers, kissing him everywhere. Everywhere save for that one aching place. From the soles of his feet to the tip of his nose and above,

stroking him and kissing him, finally touching him intimately, but softly, imperceptibly, fingers barely making contact, brushing along

the length, tickling the tight sacs below and Pan cried out again, trying vainly to press himself into Rengal’s palm.

Rengal shook his head, kissed his mouth. “Not until I tell you,”

he rumbled and Pan subsided, compliant, powerless and submissive, though he thought that he was surely learning quite a lot, and he hoped that next time it would be Rengal entreating him. It was

possible after all, if his touch was that powerful to Rengal. How many times could they do this in one night, he wondered, but then Rengal kissed the tip of his shaft and Pan reached for him.

Instead, Rengal sat up and turned him over, onto his stomach,

and started all over again. He kissed first one shoulder blade then the other, made a path of warm wet kisses up the ridge of his spine. Pan gasped, head sideways, hands clenched around the thick, fluffy furs

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because he had to hold to something, he would fly apart otherwise, with the feelings climbing in him.

Rengal kissed down his thighs, to the backs of his knees, and

how was that such a sensitive place? How did he ever manage to sit down? And then Rengal kissed him there again, and again, nipped

the sensitive spot he’d found before shifting position slightly and caressing his buttocks, making Pan jump at the flood of sensation, face buried in the fur now to muffle his cries.

“Please,” he begged again, made frantic by those hands that

seemed to know him so well ... “Please, Rengal, oh, please.” What he

was begging for, he didn’t really know, just more. And, “More,” he gasped, trying to articulate.

As if in answer, Rengal paused, one hand gripping each buttock

cheek and pulled gently, spreading him wide, revealing the secret hidden furl, holding it open for his view. What seemed a very long

time passed while Rengal just looked. Pan, hot all over, his secrets laid bare to Rengal, simply lay there and waited.

Rengal’s eyes seared his skin and he moaned again. Perhaps he

should be embarrassed to be so exposed, but he wasn’t--he trusted Rengal, loved Rengal, so he waited. Just as the tension between them

would break any second, Rengal bent, pulled his cheeks wider, and pressed his mouth to the tiny opening.

Pan couldn’t even plead any more, could only gasp, feeling

himself against Rengal’s mouth, tongue moving in and out of his hole, turning him into a puddle, unable to do more than react.

Suddenly, Rengal released him and was moving up, licking,

sucking, nibbling, hot breath on the nape of Pan’s neck. He gripped Pan’s buttocks again, spreading them wide once more, waiting as if

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for some signal, some sign. Pan gave it to him, arching back, wanting

that hot wet touch and there it was—but different, harder, stronger.

Rengal was whispering in his ear “Are you ready? Do you want

me, Pan?” and Pan did want him, wanted everything.

“Yes,” he gasped and Rengal filled him, with a slow and steady

push, he was filled with Rengal’s burning strength.

It did burn at first, until Rengal reached around in front and

squeezed him, not light any more, no more teasing, but squeezing

and pumping. Pan groped blindly, needing to hold on, needing to

grab Rengal and hold tight. Rengal slid his free arm across Pan’s chest and he closed on it.

Rengal groaned, thrust harder and Pan clung to him and

an woke first, awareness returning behind closed eyelids, body lax with the safety and pleasure of sleeping in the arms of the

man he had loved for so many winters. Slowly he became aware of Rengal’s naked body pressed against his, his muscular shoulder pillowing Pan’s cheek. Rengal’s arm was under his neck while his

other arm was possessively draped across his middle. One of Rengal’s legs was over his he was as tightly wrapped up in Rengal’s embrace. It was wonderful, the stuff of so many of his dreams.

And how intimate, how amazing their intercourse had been.

That sounded so sterile when it was anything but that. Pan was still

reeling from it, trying to believe it had really happened. It had, of

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course it had. He could feel the tingle between his nether cheeks, in his secret hole. He pressed his hot face more tightly against Rengal’s

shoulder, thinking of all they had done. So wonderful. And that

Rengal had been his first, ever… If he had any complaints, not that he did, but if he had, it would be that he’d never gotten to really touch Rengal.

He sighed, replete, and Rengal stirred, turned towards him,

arms tightening. Not even awake, Pan thought, and he wants me

closer. The shift had pressed Rengal’s genitals against his hip—soft now—but Pan remembered well enough how big and hard Rengal

had been when he’d wanted him. He bent his head a little so he could see. Rengal’s body was different from his own—not just the dark pelt there, so different from Pan’s soft, pale fleece.

Pan wanted to touch Rengal’s body. He loved all of him. He

didn’t want to do that one thing that his friend had done to him. No,

not that. He couldn’t imagine being inside of Rengal. But he wanted to kiss his skin, trace his shaft with his tongue, take Rengal’s sac into

his mouth. His balls. Pan tasted the word, so fun and playful, and wondered if Rengal would want to feel his mouth there.

He slid down in the bed and inhaled deeply. He inhaled again,

eyes widening in surprise. Rengal smelled so very good! It was

Rengal’s well-known smell, but hotter, with a musky nuance that seemed to travel straight from Pan’s nose to his sex, a zip of awareness shot through him and he inhaled once again. It made him dizzy a little, but he put out his tongue to those heavy balls, glad Rengal

was still asleep so he could take his time, explore and enjoy without fear that he would disappoint.

The taste, like the smell, was distinctly Rengal’s. It traveled the

same path to jolt between Pan’s legs, making him feel weak. He drew first one, then the other, into his mouth, rolling them there, the thick

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dark hair tickling, the scent stronger now. In his periphery, he could see Rengal’s member rise, grow longer, and he was relieved because he had been worried. His fear was that maybe he couldn’t make

Rengal feel as good as his friend had made him feel. In spite of what

Rengal had said about his touch, he was still anxious that he didn’t do it right. But there it was, Rengal’s sex, fully erect--for him.

He ran his tongue along the length of Rengal’s male organ,

causing it to jerk and sway. Feeling a surge of the love that he’d felt

for so long, Pan opened his mouth and drew it in, wondering if Rengal were dreaming now, of him.

Rengal, in fact, was wide awake and had been from the mo-

ment that Pan’s breath first caressed him intimately. He had pretended sleep, sensing that Pan needed time to explore undisturbed,

his first encounter with another body, so close, so personal. But now he couldn’t help it--he groaned aloud at the feel of Pan’s lips on him, causing Pan to stop, freezing in alarm.

Wanting to reassure him, Rengal groaned again, this time

articulating his desire. “Yes, yes, Pan, yes,” he moaned, and Pan continued licking, trying a little suck now.

Recalling how Pan’s excitement had triggered his own fierce

arousal, Rengal reached for him, touched him—yes, Pan was ready, too—he tugged at Pan’s hips, turned him, pressed a featherlike kiss

on the very tip of his organ and Pan stopped once again, his erection wilting just a little.

“I’d like to taste you here,” Rengal asked quietly, nuzzling the

half-hard shaft. It hardened instantly, to Rengal’s very great pleasure. Pan nodded which, since he still had Rengal fully in his mouth,

made Rengal’s fingers tighten convulsively, pulling him in, and there followed the sounds of sucking and slurping, accompanied by

the music of muffled moans and groans. Each concentrated on the

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other’s pleasure, though unable to ignore his own. When the end seemed inevitable, Rengal wrapped his arms around Pan’s hips tightly, holding him motionless. Pan understood at once, mimicking the hold.

Suddenly, Rengal froze, and warm, salty seed filled Pan’s

mouth, the taste different from anything he’d experienced before,

though not unpleasant to him. Automatically, he swallowed. At the same time, his own body froze, exploded, and he was elated, moved, filling Rengal’s mouth, too.

They clung desperately to each other, wordless cries smothered

against the other, slowing, slowing, barely there now, finally stopping.

Rengal smelled so good, Pan wanted to stay just like that

forever, but when Rengal moved, turning so he could gather Pan into his arms, press Pan’s head against his chest, that was heaven, too. Pan felt like a leaf caught in a breeze, drifting and swirling.

“Will we always go to sleep after?” he managed to ask, and felt

Rengal’s quiet laughter reverberate through his body.

“It would seem so. Just for a small time,” Rengal’s voice trailed

off and they were floating; sleep taking them away, but keeping them secure and together.

Rengal found himself smiling even before his eyes were open.

The sun was pouring through the small portal in his wall, he could feel its heat on his back, and Pan was equally warm against his front.

He opened his eyes to see the back of Pan’s head, that fine, pale hair lying across Pan’s slim shoulders, spilling onto the furs.

They were pressed up against one another cozily, his chest

against Pan’s shoulder blades, Pan’s hard, tight little bottom close against his loins. He felt his sex come to life, and moved away

because Pan was still sleeping, and the moment was so sweet,

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forecasting such promise that he wasn’t ready to end it just yet.

Everything he needed in the whole wide world was right here

in his arms, and that was…

How could that be? He wouldn’t think of it now. Instead, he

took in the scene, admiring his friend in a way that he never had before.

His right arm was outstretched and Pan’s head was resting on

it, his other arm draped around Pan’s waist, and one of Pan’s hands

was tucked loosely inside Rengal’s; Pan’s other hand out, palm up, fingers slightly curved, translucent in the dawn’s sun. And now Pan

was stirring, sighing, fingers opening in Rengal’s, turning to twine

with Rengal’s, shifting a little, pressing himself back up against Rengal’s erection, which grew larger, stimulated unmercifully at the contact.

Pan murmured something Rengal couldn’t quite catch, but he

moved down just a fraction, so he could slip himself into the juncture of Pan’s thighs. Pan tightened his legs, squeezing Rengal, making him nearly frantic with the desire to move, so he released Pan’s hand, reached down, squeezed Pan’s growing erection.

Suddenly, both were beside themselves, lunging and plunging

against the other, with no time at all between those first stirrings

and the final explosion. Finished, they lay panting, and then Pan turned over to smile into Rengal’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he beamed up at Rengal. “No, Pan, thank you.”

“It was all right?” A little furrow had appeared between Pan’s

brows, and Rengal kissed it.

“It was magnificent. It has all been magnificent,” he reassured.

“Oh, good.” Pan looked relieved. How could he not know that?

How could Pan not realize that it meant as much to Rengal as to

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him? “It is all um, magnificent for me, too,” Pan sighed, snuggling against him.

Rengal closed his arms around Pan. “I am so glad.”

He was--he was very glad. He refused to think beyond this

twenty-four hour stretch of time when it could be he and Pan and nobody else. He wouldn’t consider what his heart was telling him,

what he would have to face at dusk…no, the next dawn. Surely, he and Pan could have a little extra time. That wasn’t too much to ask.

“

aybe when Rengal is finished with him and finally joined,

Pan will turn to me.”

Who were these males to be talking about her betrothed?

Worse yet, it sounded as if…no, Rengal was very masculine. She’d had intercourse with him already, she knew how he was. Celine stopped, just beyond the entry where the two men stood, to listen.

“You know I do not approve of the joining of two males, Adair,”

the older male growled.

“Yes, but you do approve of Pan’s happiness, however it is to be

gained.” A quick peek told her that this male was young and attractive, but lacking the intensity of Rengal’s dark good looks.

After a long breath, the older male’s voice was heard again. “I

admit it. I cannot stand against whatever makes him happy. I have been taught for a lifetime that males must love females and females

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must love males. This is just the way of things.”

Silence again. Celine began to fear detection when the other

male spoke. “And now that our next leader has chosen a male to

spend his last dawn with before joining? His best friend, another male? What do you think now, Vale? What did you think when you saw the pain in Pan’s eyes the day the news was spread?”

The older male’s voice was husky when he spoke again. “I think

one is taught many things in a lifetime. But what is, simply is.”

Pan sat in his den listening to the rain fall as he huddled in a

nest of furs. He should have gone to the city center today to work. He should have done so last dawn. He should have said

to Rengal.

Most of all, he should have stayed nestled safe in Rengal’s arms until he was forced to abandon them.

Everything was over between him and Rengal now, he knew it.

There could be no more tipsy late night talks over strong drink by

the firelight, no more overnights with Rengal or early dawn breakfasts, because now there was Celine. Yes, Celine would be there, and

even when she wasn't, it would be her den, too, and Pan wouldn't feel welcome.

When Rengal had a desire to view new plays in outlaying

communities, he would take Celine now, not Pan. He would look for foods Celine would enjoy instead of thinking of Pan. It was over.

And Pan would live through this. He didn’t know how, but he

was sure he would. Maybe in time, the pain would lessen. If it did not, well, hadn’t it all been worth it? Yes, it had. He’d loved every

minute in Rengal’s company beginning with the moment they’d

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met. How young he’d been then! Rengal had seemed so dashing, so daring. Even then, Pan had known Rengal would be ruler someday.

He had taken the next three dawns off of work. He wouldn’t

venture into The Capital center. Vale could handle the information input for that short time. Pan would return to his duties after Rengal and his mate were gone on their bonding journey.

Perhaps it was cowardice, if so, he would accept that. His heart

was full, yet broken. There was only so much he could take.

“ Celine

am sure you will look stunning.” Rengal was quite sure. looked stunning. Why would now be any different?

He moved away, forcing himself to walk calmly to the portal.

Raining. Still raining. How appropriate.

It had been raining when he awoke yesterday morning to find

himself alone. Pan had gone. An act of courage or cowardice? He

couldn’t say. Could he have let Pan go? He had extended their time together by an extra half dawn. Would he have been able to say

goodbye? Pan had spared him that. Had spared him the sight of his

best friend’s pain. He had no doubt that Pan was suffering. But nothing could spare him his own. And imagining Pan hurting, in

pain, the very idea of it rent his heart. Rengal wanted to go to him,

comfort him. But how could he do that when he had given his word to Celine? He could not.

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“Rengal? Can you not hear me?” Celine had been talking to

him. Rengal sighed heavily. Why wouldn’t it all go away, just for a moment? The dark clouds punctuated his mood perfectly.

“My apologies, Celine.” After all, it wasn’t her fault that he

wasn’t in love with her. He was in love with Pan. Rengal stumbled backward a half-step. He was in love with Pan! As Pan was with

him, and all to no avail. He cleared his throat. “My apologies,” he

repeated with difficulty. He forced himself to speak clearly. “What was it you said? Excuse me a moment.”

Before she could answer, Rengal realized that he was watching

Vale dash down the pathway toward him. Without thought, he stepped out into the rain and intercepted the older male.

“Vale, what is amiss? Is it Pan?” His heart was in his throat,

fearing the worst.

“No,” Vale dipped his head in a show of respect, now lifting his

face to look at Rengal. “It is simply an errand on a rainy day. I am returning to my work area now.”

Rengal expelled a relieved breath. “Is Pan…is he well?” He

couldn’t help it, he had to know.

Vale reached up, patted the hand that had somehow come to be

gripping his shoulder. “Pan has taken personal rest time. He will not return to his work area until a few dawns hence.”

“Oh. But he is not ill, is he? He is safe and…” Rengal closed his

eyes. What did he expect from Vale? Merely saying the words would not make it so. Pan was no better off than he himself was at this time.

“Forgive me, Vale,” he muttered. “Please, just--look after him as best you can.”

Rengal turned, unseeing, nearly tripping over someone. Celine.

He mumbled something that she couldn’t understand. His long

stride carried him off down the thoroughfare and away in a matter

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of moments.

“Which way does Pan live?” she demanded of the elder male

left behind. “Vale is your name?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Pan lives this way,” Vale pointed in the

opposite direction, and then swiveled back. “Please do not call upon him,” he entreated her, his gravelly voice more compelling for its gruffness.

“Call upon him? Why would I…Oh!” She realized that this

male feared that she would…what? Upset Pan? Wasn’t

the

injured party here? It didn’t seem so, upon reflection. In reality,

Rengal could barely stand under the pain he bore. And Pan? So slight and pale was he that it was doubtful he could move at all if he suffered as Rengal appeared to. “No, I have no desire to disturb Pan,”

she assured Vale, guilt welling up in her. “He has tried very hard not to disturb me.”

“My appreciation,” he nodded stiffly, stepping around her. “Wait!”

“Yes?” he inclined his head, not fully—the gesture was in aid of

his trying to be courteous for who she was joining, not she herself.

“It is unnatural, is it not? Two males sharing intercourse?” she

blurted. This was an elder; surely he would agree…or explain.

Vale squinted at her and then shrugged expressively. “I was

taught as you were. Life has caused me to think that further.” “Why?” she asked. She had to know.

Vale shook the rain from his hair as he stepped closer to the

structure where Celine and Rengal had been. “For some it is natural

to sing, others to lead or follow. Pan has always loved Rengal as I love

my mate, Loai. It is natural for him. What is natural for one is not always so for another.”

“But he cannot be ruler, can he?” Celine challenged defiantly.

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Her own dreams would be lost if she didn’t join with Rengal.

“Why not?” Vale responded smoothly. “What has his love of

another to do with his ability to lead a community?”

“It is--it is simply the way of things,” she stammered weakly. “Is it?”

Celine drifted away, mulling it over. Both Rengal and Pan were

devastated. Along with them, many others were no doubt upset and concerned. Joining with Rengal might bring her the esteem she sought, but what kind of life would they have? What were her choices? Were there any?

he joining was later this dawn, after dusk. Rengal’s joining. Pan’s eyes were so bleary that he could barely see. Everything he

looked at had a vague nimbus around it. Not that he looked at anything much. In fact, he had pulled a covering across his viewing

portal so the dawn’s light, if there was any, would not reach the inside of his den.

Those who knew him, really knew him, would know that Pan

was miserable right now. He’d exhausted himself in the fight to hold back tears. Sometime during his broken dusk’s sleep, he’d been unable to keep from shedding the first salty trickle. One had led to

another and before he knew it, he was wracked with convulsing, devastating sobs.

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Rengal would be so handsome in his betrothal robes. So distin-

guished. Pan wished him much happiness with Celine, truly. But just now, the very thought of the joining, of Rengal touching Celine as

he’d touched Pan…it brought a physical pain. It was as if he were being stabbed, in the heart and in the stomach.

“Rengal, we need to talk!”

“Celine, it is against the orders of rites that you show yourself

to me on this dawn, before our ceremony.” What was she thinking? Celine must already know that.

“Then it is time we change that rule as well,” she stated deci-

sively as she entered the enclosure.

“You are making no sense, Celine,” Rengal growled. His pa-

tience was at an unparalleled low. It was all he could do to even sit

up straight, much less to see her before he had to. Not that it was her fault…Still, he resented the intrusion.

“You and I pledged to join with one another in order to secure

your position of ruler and ensure that I would become ruling

female, is that not correct? Aside from the fact that we each felt the other was appropriate to be our mate.”

Rengal sighed gustily, moving to viewing the portal—as had

become his habit of late. Still raining.

“Yes, Celine, I am to be ruler,” he confirmed dully, “therefore I

must join with an appropriate female before my fortieth winter.”

Why she needed all of this repeated to her, he didn’t know, but he would, since she insisted. “Though my fortieth winter is two years

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hence, the communities need a new leader now. I must step forward.” “Who says you must be joined? Can I not be ruling female by

decree?” Celine’s rapid-fire questions took Rengal by surprise and he turned, brows drawn together as he considered her intently. In a low voice, she added, “Why cannot Pan be your mate and work along with me?”

Rengal felt the air leave his lungs. He managed to force out,

“The book of leaders…” and then made himself drag in a deep breath.

“The book of leaders does

say you cannot join with a male,”

she informed him reasonably, before he could say more. “It does

say that you cannot name a ruling female.” She was right, it didn’t. “This is a new age, a new leadership. Perhaps our community needs a leader willing to follow both his mind

his heart.”

“What…” he could barely articulate. “What has caused this

idea to bloom in your fertile mind, Celine? Of all females, I thought you were the most fixed on our old laws and long held practices.”

“I find it appealing to be the first in a new way of living rather

than the last in the old ways,” she told him, looking at the ground evasively. She raised her eyes to his, “I like you much, Rengal, I care for you. When I was jealous of Pan, it was not because I do not like him--I like him fine.”

“Why then?” Rengal’s head was spinning. Make Pan his mate?

Name Celine… Dare he even consider this madness?

“I wanted to be ruling female…I enjoy status, but also, I am

interested in laws and governing,” Celine was the one who drew in

a deep breath this time, signaling her discomfort with the next revelation. “And…I, um, I did not want you to be in love if I could not be, and I could see how very much you care for Pan.”

Celine hung her head, obviously ashamed to admit to such a

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petty attitude. Rengal had to respect the strength of character that it took for her to tell him this.

“What makes you think that I would join with Pan?” Oh, just

the thought of it caused his heart to race.

Celine moved to a low bench, patting the empty space next to

her. “I know you spent your last night with him. There has been gossip…” he opened his mouth to speak but she held up a hand.

“You have been in much distress, Rengal. Your heart is broken. And I heard you speak with Vale yesterday. You fear for Pan, do you not?” She peered closely at him. “I speak the truth, you know I do.”

Rengal sat beside her, dropping his face into his palms. “You

do,” he admitted, fighting for composure. “I would join with Pan if I

could.” The ache of loss nearly bent him double. “Our communities-yours, mine, they would not suffer a male and male joining from their leader. They barely suffer it now, among their citizens.”

“Do you really want to govern a society that cannot accept the

love you have for Pan? His love for you?” Celine asked reasonably.

He didn’t. Rengal shook his head. “No, not really. But I am the

one who has been groomed for this. It would take years for another to…”

Celine shot to her feet, agitation clear in the rigid stance of her

body. “Let the citizens decide, Rengal. Tell them your wishes. If they do not choose to be governed by you, they can wait. Otherwise, they

can attend your joining and support declaring me first female…” she arched a brow in question.

Rengal shrugged and nodded. “Who else? You are a good

choice.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back. “…on the

full moon.”

He had to ask her, “Will you ever join?”

“Perhaps,” she looked down, embarrassed again, it seemed. “I

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have always found the female form more pleasing, but never allowed myself to dwell on such things.” They were quiet for a

moment. Finally, Celine looked up, into his eyes. “What will we do now? Do you choose Pan and my suggestions?”

Pan! He could choose Pan. His blood thumping painfully

through his veins, Rengal swallowed and swallowed again. “I can take Pan and make a life anywhere, should he be willing.” The very

idea poured like sunshine through his soul. “I find that I cannot lead a community which would endorse such suffering as I and Pan and countless others have gone through. What of you, if the citizens decide to wait for another leader?”

“I have options,” she grinned cheekily. “I could always seduce

another who is to be leader.” Rengal barked out a laugh. “Or…there will be those who would follow you and be led by you regardless. You will still need a leading female unless you want to ignore fifty percent of your citizenry.”

“Indeed I do not,” he declared stoutly, leaning down to press a

kiss to her forehead. “Well, Ruling Female, we are due to be joined in…” he glanced at the portal and then toward a timepiece nearby,

“…in a very short time. We must prepare the announcement we wish to make.”

“Yes, and once it is made, you can go to Pan.” Celine smiled

softly.

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engal entered Pan’s den, his eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom. It was the sound of Pan’s hitching breath that drew Rengal’s gaze to him.

What little light there was had collected in Pan’s sunshine

colored hair. Rengal moved closer to him, quietly, unsure of what his next move should be. On the way over, he had planned so many eloquent speeches, an answer to every question, a suggestion for any argument.

But here and now, there was Pan, crumpled and defenseless on

his furs, eyes swollen and puffy. His Pan, so devastated, Rengal

couldn’t help but be devastated as well. With a cry of negation, Rengal hurried to his side, gathered Pan up and held him, sinking down to the furs and rocking him, uttering words of comfort.

Pan, not giving a thought to why or how Rengal had come to

be there, turned toward him and surrendered to his embrace. He wrapped both arms around Rengal, buried his face against his neck and held on.

Rengal stroked over him, held him tight, murmuring, “Shhh,”

and “I am here, it is all right,” as he tried to soothe Pan, to reassure him.

After a time, Pan came back to himself, puzzled somewhat by

this wonderful dream. It seemed as if Rengal…but no, Rengal wasn’t here, couldn’t possibly be.

“You cannot be here now.” Pan felt he must point that out to

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whatever specter had invaded his den. Otherwise, no way around it, he was going mad.

“It is me, Pan, of course it is,” the Rengal-phantom rumbled.

“No, you are not here. You have…Rengal has joined. Joined

with Celine.” That thought caused such pain that Pan had to bite back a wail of grief, pressing his face to the broad chest conveniently nearby.

“Pan, please,” Rengal’s voice crooned, firm hands stroking

across his back, carding through his hair. “I have not joined with Celine. We…she and I…agreed not to join. I have come for you, to be with you.”

“Me?” Pan angled back in Rengal’s arms to look up at him,

“Rengal left me to travel and came back to be joined. You cannot be Rengal if you…”

Rengal silenced him the only way he could, by covering Pan’s

mouth with his own, taking charge of Pan’s tongue so he could stifle the hurtful, sorrow filled words.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his lips tracing the soft angles of

Pan’s face. “I love you, Pan,” Rengal murmured.

“Rengal does not believe in that,” Pan mumbled, touching a fine

finger tip to his lips.

“I was wrong, Pan, I did not know. Now I do.”

Pan looked at Rengal for long moments, considering. Suddenly,

he lifted his hand and flung it backward, impacting the wall beside his furs as hard as he could. His hand was throbbing, but Rengal was still there.

“Pan! Stars above!” Rengal gently captured his hand, carefully

inspecting it, feeling for broken bones. “What are you doing?” “It

you,” Pan breathed, awe in his voice. “You are really here,

just for me? You love me?”

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So many years of longing, needing, hopeless heartbreak as he

watched Rengal walk away from him again and again, and now, he

was here, professing his love, holding Pan tenderly. The tears gathered again in his eyes, wetting his lashes.

“I love you with all that I am, Pan. I can join with no other but

you.” An uneasy look flickered across Rengal’s handsome face. “Do you feel as I do, Pan? You are under no…”

Pan had to stop him right there, now flinging his whole body

forward, toppling Rengal onto his back, blanketing his muscular body with Pan’s own smaller frame.

“I do love you, Rengal,” he declared, kissing an eye. “I have

always loved you,” he promised, kissing the left side of Rengal’s

mouth and then the right. “Never have I ever loved anyone but you.” That was all Rengal needed to hear, the words stirring him as

nothing ever had. He rolled Pan to his back, parting his robes and sweeping his coverings down and off. His own robes and undergar-

ments he shrugged out of until the two were pressed together, soft to soft, hard to hard.

With another roll, Rengal brought Pan on top again, their

shafts pressed against each other, Pan’s smaller, hard rod sliding

against Rengal’s aching erection. He gripped Pan’s taut buttock

cheeks, slipping one finger between to press at the little hole there as he squeezed and released, pumping his hips upward.

Pan was moaning now, writhing rhythmically against him, his

shaft rubbing on the left, and then the right, and finally their undersides clinging together. Pan’s small, tight sac bumped Rengal’s much larger, equally tight testicles and passion overwhelmed him.

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Pan awoke to feel Rengal’s solid form under him, strong arms

around him, everything he’d ever wanted. He hated to cast a pall on these amazing events, but he must. He stirred, knowing that Rengal was not asleep.

“Are you sure you want to…” the words were stuck in his throat.

He forced himself to speak. “I am not very suitable as the mate for a

ruler,” he pointed out huskily. “Are you sure you want to join with me?”

he swallowed, a gulping sound in the quiet of his den. “Celine is much more appropriate.”

“You fit me much better than anyone could, Pan. Celine will make

a good ruling female, but I will not join with her. I will join with you, and only you.”

“Are you sure, Rengal?” This was no small step that Rengal was

taking.

“For so many years, I have lived in the dark, following others and

thinking I was a leader. I need you, Pan, to keep me on the right path, into the light, out of the dark.”

“I need you, too, Rengal, I do. I want to live in the light with you.”

Rengal stood, moved to the viewing portal and removed its cover-

ing. “Look, Pan, the rain has stopped!” He turned and held out one arm for him.

Pan rose unsteadily to his feet. Moving up beside Rengal, he

snuggled at his side, his eyes not as heavy after a bit of sleep.

“It is a balmy night. I think I see stars…and it is the full moon, is it

not?”

“Yes,” agreed Rengal, turning, wrapping both arms around Pan

now. “And the dawn will bring light and sunshine, and we will live happily after.”

“Happily,” agreed Pan, his arms going around Rengal’s waist. “Every day just like this. Together.”

104

Life’s Mysteries by J.J. Massa

H

e awakens in a double bed he’s never seen before. The

linens are soft, slightly worn. The room colors are earth tones, the blanket, tan. His head is pressing heavily into the foam pillow, causing a dull ache behind his left ear.

Panic is twisting tight in his chest, his heart pounding,

harder, faster, spinning up, making him dizzy. He can’t recall his arrival…did he walk? Was he carried?

The room is dim, its only light from the bedside lamp, and a

slit of vague, glowing blue from under a door competes with the pale light breaking through drawn curtains. Still, he knows he’s never been here before.

Reflexes well honed, he stays still, body unmoving as his eyes

roam this new landscape, his mind processing every minute detail. This is not a house, not a bedroom in a home. It could be a hotel, a

place where interior decorators have been allowed too much

freedom, creating that false, home-away-from-home look he knows somehow he is familiar with.

When he squints his eyes there's a small brochure in a holder

on the table under the mirror, confirming his suspicions. . But what city? What

? He

could be anywhere. So many places…where is he? Who is he?

The angst-y sound of groaning pipes announce the end of a

Life's Mysteries shower behind one of the closed doors. So that was the noise pricking in his sub consciousness--and the other doors add up to an exit and perhaps a closet. But most importantly, he is here

. He is not alone. His heart thumps impossibly faster

when he tries to imagine who his companion might be. Is he traveling with a friend? A colleague? Perhaps vacation with a wife? Because he

a man, he knew that instantly, feels it even now.

A wife would know him; she would help him. He squirms a

little, feeling cotton underneath him, encasing him, his genitals;

yet there is no excitement when he pictures a beautiful, curvaceous woman. She would be

woman, his own...but he feels

nothing.

Panic knots tightly through him now, pulling him upright,

sweat dotting his neck and face. What Before he can force his mind to

this? Who is he?

the sound of wet feet padding over tiles moves closer, closer still, and the door he’d deemed the bathroom opens. “Ah! Finally, you're awake!”

Not a woman. Not a wife. Instead, there is a beautiful, dark

haired, brown-eyed

in the doorway. The bluish light from the

bathroom creates a nimbus of his wet hair, tiny droplets shining

like precious gems. The man is of average height and build, but the sight of him, still wet from the shower, only a plain white towel slung low across his hips, causes a shiver of anticipation.

For some unknown reason, the indulgent smirk on those

well-formed lips tells him that something is expected of him, a comment, an observation.

An act of instinct, he snipes back, playing the game, biding

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J.J. Massa his time until he can figure things out. “Of course I’m

awake…who could sleep through the din you’ve raised?” His own

voice takes him by surprise, full and mellow, but accented. Where is he from?

The rich baritone chuckle raises more than the din he’d

alluded to and he shifts uncomfortably.

“Let’s see what else we can rouse, shall we?” the man laughs,

drops the white towel and moves a few steps closer to the bed. The view is unobstructed now, the man is nude, perfectly propor-

tioned, undeniably beautiful, his cock fully aroused, flared head weeping, a dark, glistening purple.

His breath is caught in his throat, so beautiful. Thoughts elude

him. All he can do is stare, hungry for this man’s touch, the promise of that cock. “What is it,

? Cat got your tongue?” the stranger

purrs, his movements smooth, sensual, like a big cat himself.

Several things occur to him in the same instant, shooting

tension, even fear, along his nerve endings like an electric currant

He realizes that this man is using words from his native tongue,

and his accent is terrible. He is a Frenchman, recognizing the words

, inflection mangled, but still touching. More than

that, though, the man has joined him in the bed, moving in behind

and pressing his no-longer-quite-rigid appendage tightly against his cleft

Before he can react, even consider a reaction, this beautiful

man is rubbing his shoulders, caressing him, muttering endearments and tsking over his tension. Has he hired this person? Is this a professional? A gigolo?

110

Life's Mysteries But no, it’s not possible. This sleek and elegant man feels

deeply, his voice sincere as he kisses, caresses, tastes him, all the while he remains motionless, like a stone. And he, he is content to

be touched, stroked and petted, coddled by the attractive stranger. This is familiar, secure. This man is his friend, his lover.

A stealthy hand strokes over his chest, tweaking a nipple just

as warm lips mouth his earlobe. He can’t help but suck in his breath, arching back against a hard chest, unable to prevent a gasp, a moan.

But it’s okay because strong arms wrap around him, a smooth

cheek rubbing against his.

Warm, safe, the man’s murmur vibrates through him. “Much

better,” he whispers against his jaw. “Zeus will make you feel all better.”

That almost scares him. What kind of a name is Zeus? Besides

the name of a god, it just can’t be real. But he doesn't feel like he is

dreaming, not when he can sense what his body tells him. Not when he can almost

the wonderful smell coming from this

Zeus. Everything about this man is familiar to him, warm, both safe and dangerous, all in one. He tilts his head shamelessly, giving

in to Zeus, turning to allow better access to his neck, and feels the bottom drop from his stomach.

Not one, but two guns side by side on the nightstand. Dark

metal absorbing the dim light, they seem so large, so ominous. How is it that he’s missed them? How had he overlooked them before now?

He’ll never know because Zeus pivots slightly, tipping him

back, covering his lips in a giving kiss, languorous and full, until

111

J.J. Massa he doesn’t care about the guns, the name, who he is. Those lips, so

soft upon his own, steal away all thought, all care, and he opens

his mouth a breath, letting Zeus in, sucking lightly on the tongue caressing his own.

The taste, so clean yet musky, exciting, and it fills him, he’s

hard between his legs, he can think of nothing more than the want he feels for this beautiful, familiar stranger. This stranger now has

him on his back, looking up into warm, dark eyes, brown velvet above him. Now, Zeus is leaning over him, hands and knees bracing the powerful body just touching his.

He startles then, remembering the weapons, he tries to move,

get up,

something. He moves slowly, though, sluggish, allowing

Zeus to grab his hand, taking both wrists, pinning him lightly.

“Hey, calm down. We’re safe here, its okay. You’ve been edgy

since we left Rhinemein, but we’re safe now.” Zeus's voice is like velvet over gravel, raw and sensuous, making him shiver, making him want to moan aloud…but still… Rhinemein? Where are they

from what?

? Safe? Safe where--and

“Um...” he shouldn’t talk, though. He should wait. Zeus says he

is safe, and he feels he should trust. Yet…who is he? What is safe?

Instead of talking, he does what has been good so far, the best

thing in his life. One tug on that damp sable hair brings those soft lips to his, another and they’re moving over his, kissing, making

him feel reckless and good. The sweet kiss lasts and lasts until Zeus draws back to breathe minty, husky words against his mouth.

“I want you,” Zeus, this stranger and his only friend murmurs,

not just desire, but emotion clear.

112

Life's Mysteries He nods, knowing, but wanting. He watches as Zeus turns a

little and fishes out a bottle of lubrication from under one of the cheap pillows. He must have put it there earlier; one of them had.

Now it is clear. He is a lover of men. But there was little doubt.

He’d known that since the moment the other man had thrown open the door, standing there, impossible to ignore, taking his

breath away. He thinks that maybe he should be appalled, angry, or scared, but all he really can think about is what his body tells him.

He can’t deny it, his cock hard, slick against the

other man’s and he wants this so much.

Zeus prepares him so carefully, stroking his balls, cuddling

them, a finger moving behind them to caress his hidden entrance. The finger moves away, back again with more lube, and he spreads

his legs, making it easier for Zeus. Zeus gives him small looks, asking without words if he is all right, if he is enjoying this, if he is comfortable.

As his finger slides into him, Zeus licks him and nips at his

skin, telling him,

words, how wonderful he is, how salt and

sweet tastes mingle on his skin. And he whispers back now, telling

Zeus that he is the perfect one, so very beautiful, that he loves the way the night reflects in his hair.

When a scarred hand reaches to stroke his face, he catches it,

pulling it to his mouth, sucking on a finger, licking between them. This causes Zeus to shake, to close those coffee-dark eyes. But he

opens them soon enough and continues his task, fingers stretching, searching, sliding in and out.

It doesn't take long, and then he is ready, as ready as he can

be, for Zeus to put his cock in him. Inside of him.

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J.J. Massa Zeus sits back on his heels and studies him where he is

shamelessly spread open on the bed in front of him.

He can tell Zeus wants him; he does nothing to hide it. The

strain around his eyes and around that expressive mouth, makes him absolutely sure that Zeus' control is in shreds. His generous

cock is jutting out and leaking, gleaming with the lubrication Zeus slicked over it.

“Philippe,” Zeus says and smiles a little. “My secret love.”

Zeus folds his hands around his knees and pushes them up

against his chest. He should feel exposed and vulnerable, but he does not. He is Philippe? He is Zeus's clandestine love?

When Zeus bends down and his tongue travels to his balls,

around his entrance, and then it’s inside, he cannot think at all, only feel. Nothing else matters.

Soon, though, Zeus sits up again, pressing fingers around the

base of his own cock, and asks, “Are you ready Philippe?”

He groans, tries to roll his eyes, unable to accomplish even

that. He is more than ready.

Now he’s in, Zeus is in him, sliding in and out, so good, a

sweet benediction, better than he could have imagined, no pain at all. He must have done this before, of course he has.

The groans echo about the room, freely and evenly from both

he and his partner who even now is groaning into his neck while

he slowly glides deeper, deeper and slowly out again. When he tries to make his partner go faster, deeper, Zeus only gives him a

lopsided grin and soothes him with strokes of his strong hands

over his stomach and chest, pebbling already tight nipples, taut skin, but moving steadily at his own pace.

114

Life's Mysteries A firm hand on his cock and finally, their even rhythm is

shattered. They are moving, a tango, to the same song but in

different steps. The climax reaches him first, but he hasn't stopped

up when Zeus groans and loses all control, pulsing hot

into him, gripping his shoulders tight, bruising, and saying ,

, his voice husky, almost harsh.

Afterwards, he has to breathe in small mouthfuls, Zeus’ body

covering him, keeping him warm, safe. And he that. Whoever he was, he doesn't know yet.

safe; he knows

He will solve the little mysteries. He is loved by this beautiful

man; they are lovers. The rest of his life will follow, he knows who he is right now.

115

Trial and Error by Illian Obsidian

T

hroughout the hearing, Clint Reese caught himself staring at

the opposing attorney, Jonathon Williams--staring

. Every time

he jerked his gaze away, he couldn’t help but glance back again, checking out the man’s ass or the front of his pants. The thing was, the

two men had only recently managed civility when forced to spend time together. He couldn’t keep staring at him, no matter how sexy he was…and today, he was too damned sexy by far.

Eventually, Clint fixed his eyes on the jury box in order to keep

his eyes fixed on something safe. The other lawyer could make of it whatever he wanted. Though vacant, the chairs were polished oak, upholstered in an attractive dark fabric. Yeah, it was an empty block

of upscale group seating, but it didn’t feature Williams’ pretty face, and that was a major advantage just now.

When the judge called a halt to the day’s proceedings, Clint

hurriedly gathered his materials and shuffled them into his briefcase,

intending to make a quick getaway. The longer he was around the tall, dark, and fit lawyer, the more turned on he was going to get. He was

getting hard just thinking about that muscled body and those deep blue eyes.

Trial and Error Between back-to-back trial motions, depositions, and all-night,

fact-finding cram sessions, not to mention more paperwork than a

man should have to endure in a year, it had been weeks since he’d had time to seek out a partner for sex. And, God help him, right now Williams looked

good to him.

Who was he kidding? Williams

guy was adorable, no question.

looked good to him. The

Clint thanked the judge, nodded curtly to Williams, and left the

courtroom post haste. His short-term plan was to put as much dis-

tance between himself and the other man as possible. It was the weekend. He had some time off coming to him.

Maybe he could give his law partner’s secretary a call. She

looked nothing like Williams. Then again, maybe he could have a tumble with his partner; he looked quite a bit more like Williams.

Clint shuddered, trying to suppress his body’s need. This time,

however, it just wouldn’t be denied. He needed one thing, and one thing only; sex with... okay, two things, hours of sex, and Jonathon William’s sweet face in his sights when he finally found release.

He’d almost made it down the hall before Jonathon caught up

with him at the elevator. Damn, this was going to go badly. No way could it go well, no way at all.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, both looking at the elevator

doors as if willing them to open faster.

“Did I do something to you? Offend you somehow?” Williams

ask after a silent moment. He’d obviously picked up on the vibes in the courtroom.

“No, you’re fine,” Clint answered. He stole a glance sideways.

Jonathon was frowning. Great, now he really had Williams’ suspi-

119

Illian Obsidian cions raised. Clint let his gaze travel the length of the tall, beautiful male body next to him, unable to look away. He shuddered again and turned away.

“Are you all right?” Jonathon asked with concern. His hand

landed warmly on Clint’s shoulder.

That warmth went straight to his groin. Wetting his lips, Clint

nodded, not trusting himself to speak. For gods’ sake, why this man? He’d actually heard him proclaim himself to be addicted to women.

And the warm grip on his shoulder radiated heat, down his arm

and through his body, emanating from Jonathon Williams...

A small croak escaped his throat, and he coughed to cover it up.

“You think you’re coming down with something?” Jonathon

murmured. And why did this guy have to be so damned decent?

Worse than that, why did Clint have to want him so much? One warm hand reached to cover his forehead, tilting his head back and his face up. “You feel a little warm. Maybe you have a fever…” Clint stared up into the inky blue eyes.

Why not? They trusted one another, more or less. It could work.

Clint coughed again. “Um, not sure,” his voice certainly sounded

husky. “Could be a bug I picked up.”

“You are going home, aren’t you?” Jonathon asked, his voice

deepening with worry.

Clint nodded, unable to look away from those beautiful, beauti-

fully concerned eyes.

“You shouldn’t be alone.” Oh how troubled that smooth voice was. Fighting the urge to melt at his feet, Clint answered, “I’m sure I’ll

be fine.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Jonathon was uneasy, so obviously worried

120

Trial and Error about him. That by itself was an aphrodisiac. “Yes. Fine,” Clint insisted.

They continued to stare at one another, Clint drowning in those

indigo eyes.

The elevator arrived and they stepped into the empty car togeth-

er. As the doors whispered shut, Clint set his briefcase on the floor,

walking forward to Williams who had stopped to stand near the far wall.

Moving just inside Williams’ personal space, forcing him to pull

back slightly, Clint spoke softly, “I have to do this, Jonathon. I really hope you don’t hit me.” He did… he

the larger man didn’t belt him one for it.

to do it and he

hoped

Reaching up to slide his fingers around the back of Jonathon’s

head, silky dark hair sliding through them, Clint pulled him down

into the kiss. He resisted at first, his free hand clutching at Clint’s arm, trying to break loose, but Clint held on, working his tongue into

Jonathon’s mouth, pressing his lips hard against his. The other man

froze for an infinite moment. Would he be outraged? Would he join in? Clint continued to enjoy the pleasure while he had it.

Abruptly, Jonathon started kissing back. He flung his own brief-

case aside and wrapped his arms around Clint’s body, committing

himself fully. He met each thrust of Clint’s tongue with a stroke of his

own, sucking and caressing. They only broke apart when the need for air became too much to ignore.

Panting, Jonathon gasped, “Why?”

“Shut up, Jonathon. Just go with it.”

With that, he pulled the taller man back into his arms. Clint

shoved one leg between both of Jonathon’s, pressing his thigh against

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Illian Obsidian the ridge he found there. He snaked a hand down between their bodies and cupped the hardness. He lightly caressed Jonathon’s balls

with the tips of his fingers earning a moan. Jonathon’s hips surged

forward, and for one timeless moment, the two men pushed against each other, bodies rubbing together in a dance of passion.

It was too much, too fast. If they kept this up they were both

going to come in their pants. Clint released him, stepping back until

he felt the opposite wall. He hung onto the railing to steady himself. The other lawyer looked none too collected either.

“You’re not sick,” he accused, sounding almost pouty.

Clint shook his head trying hard not to grin. He was so damned

cute; it just couldn’t be legal.

As soon as the elevator doors opened on the main floor, Clint

exited hurriedly and headed for the parking lot. He was at his car before he looked back. Whatever the other man chose to do with his burgeoning passion would be up to him.

Jonathon got into his own car just as Clint slipped behind the

wheel. Clint left the parking lot first. Checking the rear view mirror for traffic, he wasn’t really surprised to see Jonathon swing his vehicle around and follow him. Clint allowed himself a small smile and drove towards his home. The other man followed close behind him for every mile.

He parked in his assigned space, turned off the ignition, and got

out. Williams parked on the street. They met at the door of the apart-

ment building, neither man saying a word. They didn’t even look at

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Trial and Error each other. Clint opened the door, wondering what his associate was thinking, and silently ushered the other man inside.

Ever the gracious host, Clint let Jonathon cross the threshold

before he turned him and crushed him against the nearest stationary

surface. They met in a fierce kiss that should have drawn blood. He had Jonathon up against the door, attacking with lips and teeth and tongue. Jonathon pressed back, punishing with his own mouth.

Wrenching away. Clint shrugged his coat off, tossing it across the back of a nearby chair.

A hunch of his shoulders and he was out of his suit jacket, his

hands slipping down to his belt. Williams’ hooded eyes dropped to

follow what Clint was doing and stepped forward to assist. He pushed Clint’s hands away so he could slide the belt free of its loops. While he

slipped the fastener open on the pants, Clint shifted Williams’ jacket off his shoulders and then tugged the tie loose, up and off. He made short work of the other lawyer’s tailored shirt. Jonathon’s pants

quickly dropped to the floor as Clint stepped out of his, shoes following.

There they stood. Williams was in just his boxers, while Clint

wore his shirt and tie, but no pants. Both of them scraped their socks off at the same time, grinning and red-faced.

Clint let his gaze cover every inch of Williams’ body that he

could see. When he glanced up and noticed that Jonathon’s hungry stare was riveted on him, Clint held out a hand.

“Bedroom,” he forced through his dry throat, hand in the air,

waiting.

Jonathon took it, his grip tight, and followed, but with each step

he began slowing down, his grip tightening.

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Illian Obsidian Clint stopped, turning to look at him. “Have you ever been with

a man, Jonathon?

“No,” he whispered, the sound thin in the sudden quiet.

Clint leaned into Jonathon until they were inches apart.

“It’s better,” he whispered back, stretching up to brush his mouth

against Jonathon’s. He moved back, tugging on the other man’s hand again. “Come on,” he murmured. He couldn’t let Jonathon get away, just couldn’t give it up.

“Go slow,” Jonathon entreated, his voice low. It wasn’t exactly a

plea, but Clint heard the anxiety in the voice.

“Okay, that’s okay. We can slow it down.”

Jonathon let Clint lead him down the short hallway into the

bedroom. When he hesitated just inside, Clint turned and put his

hands against the muscled chest. He gently pushed the taller man backward until Williams’ legs met the edge of the bed, causing him to sit down hard. He pushed again until Jonathon went back, allowing

Clint to kneel and then straddle him. Jonathon wriggled himself up and across the bed, stopping when his head rested on the pillows.

Crawling along with him, Clint sat back on his conquest’s tight muscled thighs.

He held Jonathon’s gaze and slowly began undoing the knot in

the tie he still wore, leisurely unbuttoning his shirt. By the time he was nude, the other man was staring, openly.

Jonathon reached and ran his hands up Clint’s arms, feeling his

way over the biceps, and pausing at his shoulders before coming back

down over his chest. His warm palms stopped to cover Clint’s sensitive

nipples, gently circling until they stood erect. Clint’s eyes fluttered shut and he arched into the touch with a groan, needing more,

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Trial and Error wanting more of the same.

The other man stilled and Clint opened his eyes, surprising a look

of wonder on Jonathon’s face.

“I made you do that,” Jonathon whispered. “Yes. You did.”

The clear delight evident in Jonathon’s smile touched Clint more

deeply than he could have imagined.

He wasn’t particularly vain about his looks, but he did work out

so that his stomach remained flat and taut. He knew he was as

attractive, in his way, as the man who shifted impatiently between his thighs. He wasn’t beautiful the way that Jonathon was, so painfully perfect that it almost hurt to look at him, but Clint was handsome in a hard way.

Leaning forward, he lightly ran his hands over Jonathon’s body.

He discovered that trailing his fingertips down Jonathon’s sides caused him to shift minutely.

“Ticklish?” he purred, arching a brow.

“No,” Jonathon’s clipped reply and uneasy look begged that Clint

not pursue his curiosity.

“Okay.” Clint let it go. For the time being. “Let’s get these off,” he

said quietly, curling his fingers under the waistband of the other man’s soft cotton shorts and drawing them down. “Lift up.”

Jonathon raised his hips off the bed, allowing Clint to quickly

strip his boxer shorts down and away. Both men equally naked now, he resumed his place on top of Jonathon, straddling him just below

the knees. Leaning down, he laid a warm kiss inside Jonathon’s thigh. The skin twitched.

He kissed him on the inside of the other leg and was rewarded

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Illian Obsidian with a small groan. Clint began licking and sucking his way up the other man’s shin, knee, and thigh, savoring the flavor along the way. By the time his nose was buried in the thick hair at the groin, Jonathon

was tossing his head back and forth on the pillow. His fingers tangled in Clint’s hair, trying to force him to put his mouth where it was needed most.

Clint shook the strong hands off and crawled up to engage him

in a brief, but deep, kiss. He turned nearly all the way around at Jonathon’s side, kissing and licking his way back down to his new lover’s flat stomach. He paused momentarily to go back and suck on

each nipple, eliciting a low groan from Jonathon, and then continued his journey down.

Back where he’d been before the kiss, though facing in the

opposite direction, Clint nipped and tugged at the wiry dark hair. That was apparently what Jonathon needed to shake his stupor and join in.

He put both hands on Clint’s hips, urging him to plant a knee on either side of his head. Now they were in the standard sixty-nine position.

Jonathon stroked Clint’s buttocks and thighs, and that felt so

good, exploring his cleft with questing fingers. Every touch tingled

and sent shockwaves up and down his spine, and making it increasingly difficult for Clint to concentrate on what he was doing.

Clint had his mouth around Jonathon’s throbbing erection when

he felt his own cock being licked from tip to base. Such a shock, he nearly bit down when the other man took him into his hot mouth and sucked hard.

Letting Jonathon’s cock slip out of his mouth so that he could

look back between his own legs, he opened his mouth to speak. Seeing

Jonathon with his cheeks billowing and his mouth full of his aching,

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Trial and Error hot hard on was almost too much for him. Jonathon pointed between his legs, his brows drawing together in a slight frown.

Grinning, Clint took the rigid cock in hand once again and

resumed sucking and pumping, wholeheartedly committed. How was

it that this man, a virgin with men, seemed so good at what he was

doing? They developed a rhythm with Jonathon sucking and pumping in counterpoint to Clint.

When his hips began lifting, Clint held him down. He found

himself moving his own hips, wanting to thrust deep, but forced himself to stop. It was difficult enough to suck cock for the first time without having the other guy fuck you in the mouth. He wanted to

last, to drag this first encounter out, but when Williams groaned loudly and shot his load down Clint’s throat, he couldn’t help but cum right along with him.

Weakly, he sat up, licking his lips. Turning, he saw Jonathon

dragging his hand across his own mouth and chin, a sticky rope of semen clinging to it.

Smiling somewhat sheepishly, Jonathon said, “I wanted to swal-

low, but there was so much.”

Lying down next to him, Clint groaned, “It’s been so damned long

since the last time I got laid.” He reached over and wiped a fingertip

across the elegant chin, gathering a stray drop of cum on it, and licking it off.

He didn’t realize what he’d said until he felt Jonathon tense up

beside him.

“Hey,” he said softly, moving his head onto the same pillow as

Jonathon who turned to look at him. “I only meant that I had a lot stored up.”

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Illian Obsidian Their faces were inches apart. It was impossible not to see the

doubt in Jonathon’s expression.

“So you didn’t pick me just because I was the only other person

on the elevator?”

Clint rolled over onto his back. “If you hadn’t gotten on the

elevator I would have gone looking for someone else. You should know, though,” he looked at his bed partner again, “the reason I was

so worked up in the first place was because of you. Hour after hour of that hearing, all I wanted to do was try not to jump your bones.”

“Oh.” Williams absorbed that, but then shook his head. “I still

can’t believe what we just did.” “

followed

home.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I wanted it. I just didn’t fully realize until I got

here what it was I wanted. Talk about thinking with your dick!” he laughed.

Jonathon initiated the kiss this time. It was sweet, almost chaste. Clint got off the bed.

Jonathon sat up, uncertainty clear on his face. “Where are you

going?”

“Nowhere. Move over so I can pull the covers down.” “You want me to stay?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the other lawyer. “Are you

usually this insecure?” It was sweet in a way, though cause for concern, nonetheless. Clint didn’t want to break his heart or something. “I’ve never been the girl before,” Jonathon mumbled

That made Clint laugh. “You’re not the girl this time, either. For

that matter, neither am I.”

He pulled blankets up and the two men shifted around, trying to

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Trial and Error get comfortable. Jonathon’s breathing began to even out and grow

deeper as Clint felt sleep tug him under, each man on his own side of the bed.

When Clint awoke, it was dark in the bedroom. The digital

readout on the bedside clock told him that six hours had passed. His stomach growled hungrily, reminding him that hadn’t eaten any

supper. He started to get up, ready to go find food, but the arm around his chest held him fast, and his left leg was tangled with two others. The arm and the legs were hairy and male.

Jonathon Williams. It all came back to him in a rush. Jonathon Williams was spooning tight behind him.

Clint lay still for a moment. He enjoyed this, even though, usual-

ly, he was the one on the outside of the embrace, the holder, not the

man being held. His back was very warm, pressed as it was against Jonathon’s chest, the light dusting of hair tickling his shoulder blades.

He concentrated on following the warmth downward, and felt Jonathon’s erection prodding him in the lower back. Just a little shift and…yeah…there. Shifting just to the left made it slide sideways to

rest between his ass cheeks. He moved back a bit, trapping it between their bodies. Jonathon stirred in his sleep and pressed even closer, his arm tightening its hold.

Clint moved experimentally, trying to get that cock right where

he wanted it, knowing that if Jonathon was awake he most likely

wouldn’t go along with the plans Clint had for him, would he? The hard tip poked him very close to the place that ached for it.

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Illian Obsidian Clint reached around below and grasped Jonathon’s cock, bring-

ing it closer, wanting it just

.

“What are you doing?” Williams spoke directly into his ear,

warm breath tickling, but he sounded uneasy.

“Getting frustrated,” Clint joked, releasing his prize, he didn’t

want the other man to be uncomfortable. Jonathon pulled back, removing his arms from around him, withdrawing one to rest on top

of the comforter and tucking the other hand under his pillow. Clint turned over to face him.

They just looked at one another. Neither knew what to say.

Finally, Williams, presumably unable to stand the silence, while

Clint could remain quiet for a very long time, mumbled, “Sorry about that.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Clint was curious. “Getting a hard

on? It’s natural, you know that.”

A rush of color flushed Jonathon’s face, causing Clint to take

note. Williams was a bit on the bashful side, it seemed.

“No, um...” he ducked his head and Clint felt something melt a

little inside. Oh how he didn’t want to fall for this guy…he waited. “Um, I’m sorry for holding you like that…in my sleep, you know?” “It was nice.”

“You didn’t mind?” He still sounded uneasy, though.

Raising a hand, Clint drifted his fingertips along Jonathon’s

cheekbone, for some reason, causing the other man to flinch. “Shh.”

Was that confusion on Jonathon’s face? He drew back and then

rolled over, swinging his legs out from under the covers, and got out of bed. Clint watched him walk away, admiring the tight, naked ass.

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Trial and Error Jonathon went into the bathroom, and paused just inside the door without looking back.

“I’m taking a shower,” he stated, sounding very final in his

declaration.

“Help yourself,” Clint replied mildly, absurdly pleased that Jona-

thon was showing some of his true self. The uncertainty from before was unnerving, not like the man he knew at all. Yes, he wanted to

learn things about Jonathon that others didn’t know, things just for himself, of course he did. Still, he didn’t want to lose those most attractive features, the sexy self-assurance, even arrogance that Jonathon wore like a comfortable sweater. The door closed.

Clint waited until he heard the shower start up. He grinned to

himself and got out of bed, moving to the door. He wouldn’t let this

golden opportunity slip away, he determined, listening for the sound

of the shower door sliding open and then closed. When it happened he went into the bathroom.

The body inside the shower stall was a blurry shape on the other

side of the glass. A vague yet beautiful shape, enticing him. Clint watched as Jonathon stepped under the spray; yes, time to make his

move. He slid the glass door back and stepped into the tub behind Jonathon.

Surprised, Jonathon spun around, almost losing his footing on

the slippery bottom of the tub. Reaching out automatically, Clint

caught him by the elbow and steadied him. When he saw how uncomfortable the other man was he released him.

Jaw tight, Jonathon gritted, “I’d like to shower alone.” “What’s the fun in that?” Clint asked.

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Illian Obsidian “We had our fun. I just want to shower and go.”

Disappointed, Clint flicked his gaze down between Jonathon’s

legs. It was hard to miss the erection nearly at full mast.

“Wouldn’t you rather leave here satisfied?” A gambit, but under

the circumstances, not terribly risky.

Jonathon seemed angry, maybe confused or frustrated, causing

his voice to shake, “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.

“I think the answer is evident.” Clint made a vague gesture

toward his middle. His cock was brushing his belly. Of course it was; wet or dry, Jonathon Williams was sex personified.

Jonathon followed the motion with his eyes, and then jerked his

stare back up to Clint’s face.

“What’s the problem, Jonathon?” Clint asked. “You were okay

with this earlier.”

“I thought this was just about sex.”

Puzzled, Clint answered, “It is. What are you getting at?” “You…um, you touching me that way.”

“What way? When I thought you were sleeping and grabbed

your dick?” He really didn’t get it. If Williams wanted sex without them touching private parts, he wasn’t sure how they were going to

accomplish it. There were ways, though, he smiled to himself; there were

ways.

“No. When you touched my face.”

Clint stared. Ahh… yes, he understood it now. “You don’t want

the intimacy?”

“It should just be sex.”

“Why? Is it because I’m a man? You don’t like that part of it,

unless it’s with a woman? I happen to like the intimacy. I also like,” he

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Trial and Error moved closer, “kissing.”

He leaned up and brushed his lips against Jonathon’s the way he

had earlier even before they’d gotten as far as the bedroom. “And I

think you like it, too,” he murmured, drawing back. “You are good at it, you know.” An ounce of praise goes a long way, after all--and well-deserved praise it was, too.

Jonathon stared down at him. Groaning, he gathered Clint up,

jerked him close, really, and bent. His mouth covered Clint’s, caressing, stroking over his lips. The kiss went on, running the gamut from

aggressive to exploratory, with Clint allowing his own tongue to play as he melted against the tall, firm body.

“You’re good at it, too,” Jonathon rasped out when they took a

breath. “So good…”

Winding one arm around Jonathon’s neck brought Clint’s body

tight against the taller man. His aching arousal rubbed into the thicket of hair between Jonathon’s legs, grazing the hard length. Shoving his

pelvis forward, Clint made it happen again. A low groan escaped one of them. It could have been him, maybe Jonathon; it didn’t matter.

“Still have regrets?” he whispered. His free hand was on Jonathon’s

hip, the fingers walking across wet skin to cup one tight, rounded buttock. He used the motion to pull Jonathon closer.

In response, Jonathon surged against him, electricity, need mak-

ing them both weak.

“Slowly. We have all the time we need,” Clint soothed.

Stepping back, he reached for the bar of soap. Keeping his gaze

locked with Jonathon’s, he raised lather in the palms of his hands, then began to soap circles across Jonathon’s chest and arms. His

eyelids falling half-shut, the taller man tilted his head back when

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Illian Obsidian Clint’s hand ventured across his abdomen. Watching him, Clint had to get behind Jonathon and soap his back, needing more, wanting to run his hands everywhere.

Making a small noise of dissatisfaction low in his throat, Jona-

thon dutifully turned around when urged to do so. Clint reached down and covered Jonathon’s legs with sudsy foam, going down on

the outside and coming back up on the inside, caressing his inner thighs. The side of his hand brushed against Jonathon’s balls, making

the other man hiss. Clint did it twice, ratcheting up Jonathon’s desire, making that bobbing cock throb, refusing to touch. “Sorry.”

Glaring, Jonathon said, “Sure you are. Give me the soap.”

Clint gave it up willingly; what would Jonathon do? He was

more than eager to find out.

Jonathon seemed to be unaware of his regard and began pro-

ducing a thick lather on a loofah sponge. He placed the soap back in

its holder. Then he surprised Clint by gently rubbing the loofah over Clint's back. The steady circular motion had its effect, relaxing him. He leaned on the wall and closed his eyes while Jonathon washed him

clean. After taking care of the tense back muscles, Jonathon administered to Clint's front and his legs.

Setting the long sponge aside he slowly circled the groin, and

then delved between Clint's legs with his bare soapy hand to roll the balls in his fingers. Clint sucked in a ragged breath and spread his legs

farther apart, putting much of his weight on his hands against the wall.

The attention down there had an expected effect. He was erect

and aching and hoping that Jonathon was going to do something

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Trial and Error about it. Jonathon did do something. He washed away the soap and then knelt in front of Clint. The fact that he hesitated before doing

more than slide his hands up the muscular thighs told Clint that Jonathon had never done what he was going to do but he wanted to

do it anyway, and Clint really hoped he would do it soon. Licking his lips, Jonathon took Clint into his mouth.

The heat of that orifice nearly made Clint come immediately. It

wasn't going to take much to finish this.

Jonathon used his lips and tongue, learning what was best from

the little moans and gasps Clint was making. He dropped one hand to

clutch at Jonathon's head and then his shoulder, squeezing while he tried to communicate with incomprehensible words that he was

going...to...come. He shot his load down Jonathon's throat and Jona-

thon heroically swallowed as much as he could. When Jonathon stood up to support Clint, whose legs were nearly too shaky to keep him upright, Clint swiped at the trickle of semen on his chin. "Sorry," Clint whispered. "I did try to warn you."

"It's okay. It's actually not that bad." Then Jonathon stretched up

to kiss him and Clint tasted himself on the other man's lips.

“Thank you,” Clint murmured, fighting a smile. “I’m glad it’s not

bad.”

Jonathon’s expression showed that he was pleased he’d made

Clint come yet something wasn’t quite right.

Glancing down, Clint saw Jonathon’s unrelieved erection strain-

ing between them.

“Let me take care of that.” His hands on the lean body, he dropped

to his knees. Keeping one hand on Jonathon’s hip, he gripped the rock

hard organ in his other hand. Glancing up, he noticed Jonathon

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Illian Obsidian steady himself against the wall. After a slight hesitation, Jonathon dropped one hand to rest lightly in Clint’s hair. His fingers moved, urging Clint to do something.

“God, Clint! Hurry up!” He was watching with both eyes wide

open.

Licking the vein underneath seemed to make Jonathon happy, so

he did it again before taking the other man fully into his mouth. He sucked him in deeply, working his length with his hand and his tongue. Jonathon tried not to thrust but couldn’t completely stop

himself. Clint let him do it, moving his head in rhythm with Jonathon,

but keeping him from getting too wild by holding his hips. Jonathon

was still watching, an unreadable expression in his eyes as he gazed down at the man in front of him.

It took less than a minute and Jonathon froze, hot seed gushing

down Clint’s throat. Clint swallowed it all, enjoying the particular salty, musky flavor. When Jonathon was spent, his softening cock slipped out and Clint stood up.

Jonathon looked a bit worn around the edges.

“Let’s get out of here. The water’s getting cold,” Clint murmured,

making sure they both rinsed off well, and then he twisted the faucet knobs, shutting off the water.

They emerged from the shower stall and quickly toweled off.

Clint took a fluffy white robe off the hook on the back of the door and

pulled it on. As he tied it closed, Jonathon asked, “Do you have another robe, or are you going to make me walk around in a towel?” He had knotted the towel around his hips.

Clint considered the question, deciding to answer it honestly. “I’d rather you not wear anything.” He

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rather Jonathon

Trial and Error not wear anything. No doubt his expression bore that out.

Jonathon seemed unsure how to take that and settled for looking

pleased. Clint thought that maybe he just wasn’t used to another man coming on to him yet, a fact that surprised him.

“I’ve got another robe you can wear,” Clint relented, turning back

the way they’d come.

“How short is it?” Williams asked, following him into the bed-

room. “I’m not going to wear something that barely covers my ass.”

“I’m surprised, Jonathon. You sound like you think I would

actually do something like that to you.” Clint smiled slightly because that was actually a stellar idea.

“Just being careful. I never know what you’ll do.”

Pulling the terrycloth robe out of the closet, Clint handed it over.

Jonathon put it on. It hung to his knees. “Thanks,” he said gratefully.

Clint was sure that, if he found the situation surreal, no doubt

Jonathon found it doubly so.

“I’m starving. We seem to have missed dinner. You want any-

thing?” Clint headed for the kitchen with Jonathon following.

“Dinner?” Jonathon glanced at the wall clock. “It’s closer to

breakfast now.”

“I can make breakfast.”

“Just as long as it’s edible.”

“Sit. Stay out of my way.” Clint ordered, moving to the fridge and

pulled out eggs, flour, and milk. Working efficiently, he soon had the

table set and pancakes underway. When everything was ready he took the plates to the table where he already had powdered sugar, syrup and jam waiting.

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Illian Obsidian “Eat,” he ordered, his own stomach as demanding as his cock had

been hours before.

Laughing, Jonathon said, “We’re down to monosyllables now?” “Yes.” Clint smiled and bit into a forkful of fluffy flapjacks.

They ate in silence, both of them needing to replenish the energy

they’d expended.

Finally Jonathon set his fork down on his empty plate. “Excellent.” “Thanks.”

When Clint got up to put the dishes in the sink, the other man

picked up his own plate and followed.

“So, now what?” He leaned back against the counter, putting his

hands at his sides. “You sucked me off twice and you fed me. What do we do for an encore?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.” Clint rinsed off their plates, then left them

in the sink.

“I’m sure that you do.” Jonathon was more at ease than he’d been

since they had started this encounter.

Clint was relieved. It meant now he wouldn’t have to work so

hard. Just as he was thinking that, Jonathon lifted his right hand and began playing with the damp, curling hair on the back of Clint’s head. He twisted one strand around his fingers. Clint turned his rubbed his cheek against Jonathon’s hand.

“You’re kind of a tactile guy, aren’t you?” Jonathon commented.

Clint shrugged. “I guess I am.” He couldn’t help it, he liked the

other man’s touch. Was there anything wrong with that? He dried his

hands on a towel then put his arms around Jonathon’s waist and leaned on him, his face tilted up slightly.

Jonathon wrapped one long arm around him, stroking his cheek

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Trial and Error with the back of his hand. “Like a big ol’ kitty cat, huh?” he murmured, his eyes warm on Clint.

Bending his head, Jonathon touched his lips to Clint’s. They spent

a few moments softly kissing, deeply, languidly, just kissing.

“I could get used to that. The kissing, I mean,” Jonathon breathed

against Clint’s mouth. And Clint knew he, too, could easily get used to that.

“Good.” Clint kissed him again, and then drew back reluctantly,

sensing something through the kiss. He studied Jonathon’s face.

“I think we need to talk. You look like you have something on

your mind.”

He took Jonathon’s hand in his, leading him to the living room.

They sat on the couch. Clint pulled one leg up under himself so that he sat facing Jonathon.

He didn’t speak, knowing that Jonathon would say what he

wanted when he was ready.

Jonathon studied his hands in his lap then the paintings on the

wall. Finally, with his eyes fixed on the baby grand piano, he asked,

“How long have you been, um…” he let the sentence trail off. Clint knew what he’d been about to ask. It didn’t that a giant leap to figure it out.

“How long have I been sleeping with men?” “Yeah.”

“Let’s see. I lost my virginity to an older woman when I was

sixteen. In fact, we both gave our cherries to the same cause. We were friends all through high school. When I was almost eighteen, I found myself attracted to her twenty-year old brother. He liked me, too, so

we found a place where we could be alone. After that, I guess you

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Illian Obsidian could say that nature took its course.”

“So, what about those blushing beauties I’ve seen you with?”

“I like men and women. I’m bi. Anything else you want to know?” “Sorry,” Jonathon said. “I don’t mean to be nosey. Just trying to

understand.”

“Well, what about you? No secret attractions?” Clint really didn’t

think so, but figured he’d ask, anyway. “I…uh, no. Not really.”

eyes.

“Not even for me?” Clint tried to see into Jonathon’s downcast Jonathon looked up, realized that Clint was teasing, and said,

“Not that I was aware of…until yesterday.”

“Relax, Jonathon. I caught you by surprise. It’s normal to be

confused now.” He smiled slightly, the whole thing was so far-fetched.

He couldn’t believe Jonathon was even here right now. “Its just, if you

weren’t attracted to me, sexually, I mean, we wouldn’t be here now…You know what I mean?”

“I guess I got that much, anyway. I just never realized it, that’s all.

It’s blowing me away…that came out wrong,” he blushed.

Clint laughed wryly, “Yeah, blowing you away and me, too.

Don’t worry, I’ll help you through this.”

“Good, I was sort of hoping you would.” He sounded a bit breathy

and relieved.

Clint stood up and held out his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I don’t think I can do it again this soon.” He looked worried again.

Laughing, Clint said, “I just meant we can go back to sleep.” He

yawned. “Later, we’ll do it all again later.”

Jonathon accepted the proffered hand. “In that case, yeah, let’s go

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Trial and Error back to bed.”

They took turns brushing their teeth in the bathroom, Jonathon

using a new toothbrush that Clint gave him. They settled into bed again, instinctively moving to the middle of the bed so that they lay

skin next to skin, completely opposite of how they’d been the night before.

Just as Clint’s eyes began to close, his cheek resting against

Jonathon’s shoulder, he heard the other man murmur, “What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?”

“What we’ve been doing is fine with me.” “Good.”

The second time they awoke it was late in the afternoon. Clint

opened his eyes to find Jonathon stroking him from chest to belly with

the flat of his palm. Rolling over, Clint got on top of Jonathon and laid full length on him. He rubbed his groin against Jonathon’s. The man under him groaned as they slid together, his eyes shutting.

“Look at me, Jonathon. I want to see your eyes when you come.”

Clint rose up on his hands, thrusting harder.

He opened his eyes and kept them fixed on Clint’s as their cocks

slid together. He grabbed Clint by the arms, holding on. His knees

were raised and heels braced into the mattress as he thrust upward, against Clint.

“I can’t stop…I’m going to come!” Jonathon nearly wailed.

“Let it happen…” Clint struggled to keep the rhythm smooth, but

it was getting wilder.

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Illian Obsidian Jonathon gushed a white stream between them. Seeing that made

Clint climax, too, and his seed mingled with Jonathon’s all over their chests. Lowering himself on shaking arms, Clint licked one big swipe through the sticky mess.

His chest heaving, Jonathon said, “Now look what you made me

do. We need another shower.”

Grinning, Clint said, “Good thing I paid my water bill.”

In the shower they got frisky again. Clint made Jonathon stand

against the wall and got down behind him. He pushed the legs apart and began exploring the area between them with his tongue. When

he inserted it into that puckered opening, Jonathon bucked against the

intrusion, crying out in surprise. Feeling around, Clint discovered that his partner was hard again.

Looking down at himself, Jonathon gasped, “Damn! What the

hell did you do? That felt good.”

Clint put one hand on Williams’ cock and one on his own which

was also mostly erect. With his tongue still probing Jonathon’s ass, he began to jerk the other man off.

Jonathon pulled him to his feet, stopping him. “Lean against the

wall. Put your hands up on it.”

“What are you going to do, frisk me, do a cavity search?” Clint

asked, even hoped. He now had his hands over his head and braced

against the wall, his back exposed and his legs spread, and how naughty this felt, how thrilling.

Jonathon slipped his soapy hands over Clint’s shoulders and

down his arms, then came back to reached under, caressing his sides

every rib cleansed. He skipped the middle and went directly to his legs, as Clint had done to him. Jonathon took his time washing Clint’s body.

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Trial and Error When the exploring hands got to his hips, sliding around to his ass,

Clint was having a difficult time standing still. Jonathon lathered the firm, rounded skin, before putting his hands between Clint’s legs. He

touched the heavy sac, massaging gently at first, then working it with intent. It forced Clint to plant his feet more solidly or his knees were going to buckle.

Jonathon stepped up closely behind him so that their bodies

touched, water from the overhead spray coursing down their backs.

Reaching around, he took Clint’s cock in hand and soaped it from root to tip and back again. He did it again and again until Clint began thrusting in time with the sweeps of Jonathon’s hand. Williams’ cock rubbed up against Clint’s lower back then down.

They rocked back and forth against each other, not quite fuck-

ing, their actions growing more frenzied. Clint was completely lost in the sensation of Jonathon’s hand pumping him and Jonathon’s cock

pushing against his back. He kept thrusting into the makeshift channel, his balls getting hot. They had drawn tightly up against his body. He was so close. He came, yelling, spilling his seed over Jonathon’s

hand. Some of it splattered against the shower wall. Seconds later, he

felt Jonathon’s hot cum shoot up his back and between his shoulder blades.

Clint sagged, holding himself upright through determination

only. Jonathon wound an arm around his waist and held him while

he descended from his orgasm. When he stopped trembling, he turned around in the embrace and kissed Jonathon fully on the lips.

“What time of day is it anyway?” Jonathon murmured as they

made their sleepy way back to Clint’s bed. “Why do you need to know?”

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Illian Obsidian Jonathon thought about it. “I guess I don’t need to know.” all.

They grinned tiredly at the thought that it really didn’t matter at

They lay quietly together in bed. Clint knew by the sound of

Jonathon’s breathing that he was awake and had been for quite some time.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Jonathon.”

He responded with a short, uncertain laugh. “I’m just having a

hard time getting used to this. You and me.”

Clint pulled himself up, so that his elbow rested on his pillow, his

hand supporting the side of his head. He looked down at Jonathon. it.”

“It’s different, I know. I can understand how you’d be thrown by “I like the sex. That part is great. Me having sex with another

man… Sex with you,” he turned his head so that he could look at Clint, “is just, I don’t know. It’s weird that I’m even here with you

considering our relationship is usually so antagonistic. Then there’s

all the stuff we did the last couple of days. Hell, we haven’t set foot outside of your apartment. It’s been bed, shower, bed, eat, bed. The last time I had a weekend like this it was with a tall, big-breasted woman. You’re a good looking guy, Clint, but you’re not my usual type.”

“Well, guess what, Jonathon? You’re not my usual type, either,”

Clint grinned.

“I’m not?” Williams sounded surprised, then grimaced. “God,

that sounds so conceited.”

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Trial and Error Grinning, Clint answered, “Like I said, I go both ways.” Clint put

his hand on Jonathon’s abdomen, and after a moment, ran his index

finger up the other man’s breastbone, then followed the line of the collarbone. “But you were concerned about you and me.”

“Well, concerned is a bit strong. I’d say that it was more like me

wondering what the hell is happening here.”

“Don’t worry, Williams,” Clint reassured, “I don’t want us to be

boyfriends.”

“That’s a relief,” Jonathon joked.

“I notice that you haven’t even tried to leave since your little

protest yesterday morning.”

“Are you kidding? I’m between relationships right now. You’re

the only option I have.” Clint found hat hard o believe, but the look on the other man’s face convinced him tat it was a fact. “Surely not the

one.”

“Maybe not, but you’re certainly the best one I have right now. I

won’t even try to deny it, Clint. I like sleeping with you. It’s been a real

learning experience for me, and I’ve been getting a lot of hot sex out of it. What more could a guy ask for?”

Clint studied Jonathon’s face, half-hidden in the shadows of the

unlit room.

Finally he said, “I have a request.” “Tell me.”

“Let me fuck you.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been do… Oh. You mean…” he

stopped, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Clint said softly. “It’s okay to say no. I won’t force you.” “Like you could,” Jonathon snorted.

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Illian Obsidian Clint was relieved to hear his tone. It meant that Jonathon wasn’t

upset.

“I really didn’t think you’d let me,” Clint shrugged, arms behind

his head, comfortable.

“So why did you ask if you could…?” Williams couldn’t even

voice the words. yes.”

“Because I’d like to do it. Never know when someone might say “I’m not saying yes.” “I got that.”

“If you ask me again later, I still won’t say yes.”

“Relax, Jonathon. I won’t ask again.” Clint rolled on his side and

let his hand wander while they talked. Now it was under the covers and below Jonathon’s waist. “It would have to be your idea.” “It won’t be.” “All right.”

Clint’s fingers closed on Jonathon’s half-erect cock, and tugged

just enough to get his attention.

Jonathon arched into it. “I’ll do just about anything else, though.” “Anything?” Clint continued to stroke and pull. “Uh, huh,” Jonathon grunted.

Leaning in close, Clint let his warm breath drift over Jonathon’s

face. Jonathon licked his lips then lifted his head off the pillow so that their mouths met. They clung in a long, sweet kiss, Jonathon’s hands coming up to stroke Clint’s back.

Clint broke the kiss but remained leaning across Jonathon’s

chest. He was close enough that he could read the expression in his lover’s eyes, and they

lovers, that much was so.

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Trial and Error “Will you fuck me?” Clint asked.

Jonathon’s face didn’t change expression, but his eyes reflected

his surprise. He hadn’t expected that question.

“I would like it if you would do that,” Clint told him.

“So formal,” Jonathon said, obviously playing for time. “It’s a big thing to ask of you,” Clint didn’t deny it.

Jonathon nodded, his eyes locked with Clint’s. Clint understood

that he wasn’t agreeing to do anything, just concurring that this was indeed a request of major proportions in Williams’ mind. “You like it when a guy does that to you?”

“If it’s done by the right guy, yes.” The first words to come to

Clint’s mind were “If its done right,” but he realized that would put unnecessary pressure on Jonathon. No one needed to deal with performance anxiety, especially not

bed partner.

“I don’t know, Clint.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can do other things.”

Relieved, Jonathon said, “You do seem to have quite the reper-

toire.”

“Lots of practice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

When their conversation degenerated into monosyllables again,

they traded kisses instead of words, their tongues engaging in a battle for dominance.

Clint came up for air and climbed on top of Jonathon, straddling

his hips so that Jonathon’s erection poked him from behind. He

pushed back against it. When he felt the brunet tensing under him, he rose up and moved back so that he sat behind it.

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Illian Obsidian “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Clint grinned. He wasn’t, not in the least. “Bastard.”

“Ooo, I love it when you call me names.”

“Shut up and get busy,” Jonathon ordered.

Clint stared down at him, brow furrowing. “You could initiate

something sometime, you know. Why do I have to do all the work?”

“Because you’re the one who knows the ropes here. I’m just the

student.”

“Bull. You’re just lazy. You’re a smart man--you come up with

something. You know what

like....”

Clint got off him and returned to his side of the bed. He wasn’t

really angry, and he believed Jonathon knew that. He just wanted to

see what the other man would do. Wouldn’t hurt to get him riled up a bit. It might even be fun.

He lay there waiting, wondering if Jonathon was even going to

react, when Jonathon pretty much pounced on him. Clint just lay there staring up into Jonathon’s eyes as the other man grabbed him by

the hips and jerked them up to meet his own. When Jonathon pushed his knee between Clint’s legs, Clint obliged by opening them further.

Jonathon slid his right hand slowly down Clint’s belly, his fingers

delving through the coarse pubic hair, his palm rubbing Clint’s balls

until he left them alone to wind his fingers around the straining cock.

He made a fist around it, and slowly pumped up and down the shaft. Clint thrust up into it.

“Too slow,” he got out. The heat of Jonathon’s hand around his

cock was making even more blood rush to that part of his body,

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Trial and Error leaving his mind struggling for coherency. “You want faster?” “Um, yeah.”

Jonathon sped up his movements causing Clint to buck his hips

even more.

“Better?”

His lips clamped together, Clint could only nod. “Excuse me? Can’t hear you.”

Jonathon’s finger traced Clint’s lips and Clint sucked the digit in,

trapping it between his teeth and swirling his tongue around the end.

Jonathon stared down at him. Clint hoped he was getting the

message. Finally, Jonathon withdrew the finger, and moved it to rest against Clint’s tiny opening. He ran it around the edge before slowly pushing it inside, through the ring of muscle and deeper.

Jonathon’s expression was entranced. Clint’s breathing changed.

He pushed against the intrusion, loving the feel of the wet finger entering him. He tried to draw it in further by clamping down on it,

but Jonathon pulled it out. Clint suppressed a moan at the loss of contact.

Sitting up, Jonathon looked down at him. “You liked that.”

he?

“Yes.” Of course he did. He’d asked Jonathon to fuck him, hadn’t “You want me to do it again.”

“Yes.” Oh, yes, he certainly would, and then some.

Licking lips that appeared to be suddenly dry, Jonathon asked,

“Would it be better if I used something? Might make it easier on you.”

Not daring to think beyond the moment and what Jonathon was

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Illian Obsidian prepared to do, Clint rolled toward the drawer of the bedside table. Pulling it open, he withdrew a bottle of lubricant, and handed it over. “Only if you want to.”

Jonathon took the bottle and just held it. After a moment he

squeezed some of the contents into the palm of his hands. “Helps to warm it up first.”

Jonathon gave him a look of mock annoyance. “That much I

knew.”

“Just making sure,” Clint snarked, grinning.

Jonathon held his hands together for a moment then put his

finger where he’d had moments earlier. He worked it inside, gaining

confidence as Clint pushed back against him again, making little sounds of pleasure.

“More.” And more than that, Clint thought.

He inserted a second finger and Clint felt himself being opened

a bit more. He lifted his legs and spread his knees wide. “More.” Yes, more, more,

.

“Christ, Clint. What more do you want?” Jonathon was a little

shocked, seemingly uncertain.

“Three.” Clint wasn’t in the least uncertain.

Hesitating briefly, Jonathon slipped a third finger inside making

Clint reflexively lift one leg over Jonathon’s shoulder. Jonathon

glanced at it then leaned forward. He took Clint’s rigid cock into his

mouth and sucked. Between the rear entry and the suction, Clint knew he wasn’t going to last long, but he was certainly going to enjoy himself while he could.

Just when he felt his balls draw up close to his body, and he

thought he was going to cum, Jonathon let Clint’s throbbing organ

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Trial and Error slide out of his mouth.

“What? Where, what the...” “It’s okay.”

“Easy for you to say.” Clint’s voice was strained. He really needed

to cum, and struggled not to reach down and bring himself off.

Jonathon clamped his fingers around the base of Clint’s cock,

momentarily relieving him of his urgency.

Jonathon coated the remaining lubricant from his hands onto his

own cock, then got on his knees and brought the tip to the edge of Clint’s hole. With a rush of breath, he shoved inside. There he stopped,

as the realization of where he was apparently caught up with him. The head of his shaft was inside Clint’s body. “Oh god.”

“Um, Jonathon? You want to do something? Like now? You

won’t get me pregnant, you know.”

When Jonathon still didn’t move, Clint braced the foot he still

had on the mattress, hooked the one over Jonathon’s shoulder tighter, impaling himself deeper.

As Jonathon slid further in, he gasped, presumably at the incred-

ible sensations he was experiencing. Clint thought maybe the heat they were generating was going to broil him from the inside out, but kept pushing. Jonathon instinctively picked up the rhythm and pushed with him. They thrust in and out, back and forth, increasing

the pace, the only sounds those of their grunts, harsh breathing, and that of flesh slapping against flesh. At some point, Jonathon grasped Clint’s cock and started stroking it again. His face was a study in concentration as he tried to keep up both rhythms.

His breathing was becoming irregular, his thrusts jerky and

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Illian Obsidian erratic, and Clint was grateful because he didn’t know how much

longer he could keep going. As much as he thrilled to the feeling of the thick shaft driving in and out of his ass, he knew it would only take a few more strokes to send him over.

Then Jonathon faltered, stopped moving altogether, and with a

long, low groan, filled Clint with liquid heat. Clint cried out. He jerked

his hips and covered his chest and stomach with pearly slick seed.

Jonathon pulled out carefully, letting Clint’s leg fall away, and rolled over to lie on his back. Clint stayed where he was, spread eagled on the bed, and completely spent.

“Oh, man,” Jonathon groaned. “You liked it?”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’ll take that to mean yes.” “Yes. And you?”

“Yes, definitely yes,” Clint answered tiredly.

After a while, they showered together, quickly and only to get

clean. Returning to the bedroom they pulled the wrecked bed back

into a semblance of normalcy, untangling the knot of sheets and covering up with them.

Just as Clint was falling asleep, Jonathon rolled over and flung

one arm over him. “Clint?”

“Yes, Jonathon?”

“You sure you won’t get pregnant?” “Go to sleep, Jonathon.”

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Trial and Error

They were both on dates. Clint looked away from Layla seated

across the table, chattering brightly. He had no reason to look away,

but he did. On the other side of the restaurant Jonathon was just sitting down for dinner with his date, an attractive redhead. As Clint stared, and he knew he was staring but couldn’t stop, Jonathon

glanced his way. Their eyes met. They acknowledged each other with slight smiles, returning their attention to their respective companions. Clint found himself alone after his date. His mind had been on

someone other than Layla throughout their evening together, and she

had known it. She asked him stiffly to take her home. Once they were at her apartment, she shut the door in his face. He contemplated going out to a bar, but decided to go home instead. He felt no need to seek out company, especially when he was such poor company himself.

He’d shed his suit, trading it for something more casual. He was

stretched out on the couch with a book in his hands when someone knocked on the door.

A quick glance through the peephole gave him a surprise. After

he considered it for a second it, he decided it wasn’t such a surprise at all, so he opened the door.

“Hello, Jonathon,” he greeted his caller, his fingers tightening on

the doorknob, unseen by his visitor.

“Um, hi, Clint. Mind if I come in?” Jonathon Williams asked. Clint invited him in, stepping aside.

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Illian Obsidian “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” “Yes, you do, and no, you’re not.”

“Okay,” Williams said uncertainly.

Clint laughed quietly. “Don’t worry about it, Jonathon. My date

ended early. How about yours?” off.”

“The same,” he replied with a shrug. “I guess we just didn’t hit it “So you were lonely? Decided to come here looking for a

little…company?”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all.” Clint walked back to the couch and sat down,

gesturing for Jonathon to sit, also. He chose to sit beside him on the couch.

“I’ve been thinking about last weekend.” “You have, huh?”

“I had a good time.”

“As a matter of fact, so did I.” “Stop laughing at me, Clint.”

Clint lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m

just surprised that you came back here so soon. Remember that we agreed it wasn’t a permanent thing. We agreed we aren’t entering into a relationship.”

“I know. I agree, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Well then, why are you here?” He thought he knew, he hoped… Jonathon turned to Clint, and reached out to touch his face with

hesitant fingertips. His hand slipped around to cup the back of Clint’s

head and he gently, but firmly, pulled him closer. Clint allowed it,

leaning forward to meet Jonathon in a kiss that was soft and involved

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Trial and Error only the lips. He wanted the contact, why deny it?

Jonathon sat back just enough so that they could look into each

other’s eyes. “Can’t we have one more night?”

Clint nodded. He wanted it, too, no sense denying that either.

They kissed again, more insistently, this time. Jonathon’s tongue stole inside Clint’s mouth, sweeping through it.

“I do like kissing you,” Jonathon said against Clint’s lips. A thrill

snaked up Clint’s spine. They were on dangerous ground, but he would ignore it.

“Mm,” he agreed, tightening his hold, winding his arms around

Jonathon’s neck, and pulling him down with him onto the couch. They stretched out together, shifting around until they were comfortable, Jonathon’s weight pressing Clint into the cushions of the couch,

his hand stealing under Clint’s sweater. He stroked the warm skin, his

fingers finding a nipple and pulling on it until it stood erect. Clint bucked his hips, moaning into Jonathon’s neck.

Jonathon shoved the sweater up until it came off over Clint’s

head, his gaze lingering over the firm torso before returning to his

lover’s face. Clint looked up into his eyes, and seeing the heat, the desire there just for him made him want Jonathon even more. His

hands started moving then, stripping Jonathon of his clothing. As he lifted and pulled, they moved around on the couch with Jonathon

ending up on his back and Clint, after removing his own pants and shorts, lying stretched full length on top.

Jonathon’s hand stroked downward, stopping between Clint’s

legs to fondle the arousal pressing into his hip.

Clint kept busy, nipping and nuzzling Jonathon’s neck. “What

took you so long to come back, Jonathon?” he asked between worry-

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Illian Obsidian ing a satin earlobe with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth. “A week is a long time.”

“Wasn’t sure you wanted me back.”

Clint lifted his head so he could see the other lawyer’s expression. “I didn’t think it would be right to encourage you to come back.” He put his hands on Clint’s chest and pushed him away. “Thanks

a lot!”

“No. It’s not what you’re thinking. I meant that, well, I could get

used to having you in my bed on a regular basis. It’s probably not a good idea, though.”

“Oh.” Jonathon’s anger faded. “Yeah. Not a good idea at all. I

guess folks would talk.”

“Maybe say we have a conflict of interest…”

They stared at each other, suddenly more aware than ever that

this evening could cause complications. Resting his weight on his elbows, Clint looked down at Jonathon’s full lips, then back up into his blue eyes.

He shrugged, “Just one more time, who’ll know?” “I’m already here, after all…”

“Getting dressed again, for no reason…” it.”

“…I mean, we’re already naked, might as well take advantage of “Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Might as well.” He lowered himself back

down so that they were touching in as many places as possible.

Jonathon brought his hands up and buried them in Clint’s thick

hair. The two men kissed hungrily for a few moments. They rubbed their groins together, luxuriating in the pleasure of the contact, simple yet filled with complexities.

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Trial and Error Finally, breathless, Jonathon broke off the kiss. “Clint, make love

to me. I want to know what it was like when I did it to you.”

“Make love…” Panting, Clint tried to wrap his dazed mind

around what Jonathon was saying to him. “You want me inside you?” Desire flared in Jonathon’s eyes. “Yes. Please. Now.” Clint started to get up. “I’ll go get the lube.”

Jonathon yanked him back down into his arms, and kissed him

hard. Then he released him, saying, “Now you can go. Hurry, Clint. I…I need this”

Clint looked back over his shoulder to see Jonathon sitting up to

watch him walk away. Clint grinned and disappeared down the hall. He returned quickly carrying the lube and a big, thick towel. Jonathon looked at him, anxiety conflicting with desire on his features.

“We don’t have to do this, Jonathon.” Clint set the bottle on the

coffee table, watching as Jonathon’s eyes tracked his movement. He wanted to, oh how he wanted to, but he wouldn’t enjoy it if Jonathon

didn’t. And when had that happened? He’d never been a bully, but sex was sex, right? Right?

“No. I want to. How…where do you want me?” Clint breathed a

quiet sigh of relief.

Picking up several cushions, he handed over the towel telling

Jonathon, “You can get on your stomach. Put these under yourself.”

Jonathon arranged the cushions and lay on top of them, ending

up on his belly but with his hips raised.

Clint swallowed hard. The sight of a nude Jonathon Williams

stretched out on his couch, his ass there for him to take as he pleased… This just wasn’t something he’d ever expected, not ever.

His cock grew hard and harder still as he prepared himself, the

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Illian Obsidian banquet of beautiful, firm flesh displayed just for him enhancing the experience one hundredfold. He knelt on the couch between Jonathon’s legs, opening them wder. He massaged the quivering

muscles of Jonathon’s lower back, kneading down over the globes of his so shapely ass and then up again, until he felt some of the tension leave.

Carefully, he worked a coated finger around Jonathon’s opening,

gradually sliding it in up to the first knuckle as soon as the muscles relaxed enough to let him inside. Then they clamped down on him.

Hearing a sharp intake of breath, he removed his finger, leaning

over to place a light kiss on Jonathon’s shoulder blade. “Easy, love. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Nodding against the pillow under his head, Jonathon said, “I

know.” His voice shook only slightly.

Clint stroked Jonathon’s back, attempting to soothe his nervous-

ness. He kissed him again behind the ear, wrapping his arms around Jonathon’s middle, and just held him, his engorged cock resting in the parted cleft. After a few moments, Jonathon let out a deep breath. “I’m okay. I can do this. I really want to do this.”

“Good.” Clint tightened his hold and released him to sit up. Very

good. He wanted this more than he’d even realized.

He tried again. This time when Jonathon let his finger inside, he

pushed it all the way in and swiveled it around, introducing the new

fullness and searching for the special button. When he found it, Clint pressed in close, and holding his shaft in his hand, placed the lubri-

cated tip just under his finger, pulling it out and sliding his cock in, making it one nearly seamless motion.

Jonathon’s head came up and he looked wide-eyed over his

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Trial and Error shoulder.

“You’re doing great, Jonathon.”

“Oh god! That feels…” he broke off and pushed back against the

intrusion.

“I know. It takes getting used to. Let me know if you want to me

to stop.”

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Jonathon begged. As if Clint had

any such intentions.

Smiling, Clint continued to push his way in. He placed his hands

on Jonathon’s hips, pulling them back to meet him more solidly. Jonathon got up on his hands and knees and thrust back, groaning as he did so.

“God, Clint. I want more!”

Slapping him on the ass, Clint drove his pelvis forward again and

again while Jonathon strained back against him. Clint slid his hands around to Jonathon’s chest, and drew him up a bit straighter, the movement pushing him in deeper. The tip of his cock bumped up

against Jonathon’s prostate, full on. Banging into it over and over, he took Jonathon to a state of frenzy. He grasped Jonathon’s cock in his right hand and pumped it, matching their other rhythm.

Jonathon gritted his teeth as he dropped his head forward and

his sphincter clamped down hard on Clint’s cock. He climaxed with a yell that rang out to the walls of the apartment, spilling himself all

over Clint’s hand and onto the towel. To Clint, it felt like his dick was buried in lava, satin heat, the walls of Jonathon’s channel searing him

as he continued pumping. He jerked to a halt, feeling the electric

lightning flash up and down his spine. He was going to cum, right now! His cock throbbed and pulsed, erupting, and he emptied himself

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Illian Obsidian deep inside Jonathon.

Slumping weakly in Clint’s arms, Jonathon leaned back into the

embrace. His head fell back against Clint’s shoulder. Clint turned his

face to push his nose into Jonathon’s hair. He just held him in his lap, still connected, while they came down from their high. Then gravity and nature took over and Clint slipped out. He guided Jonathon down and settled himself behind him, still holding him tight.

They lay, bodies pressed together, not speaking until Jonathon

sighed, and turned his head so that their lips met in an uncoordinated kiss.

“You all right?” Clint asked quietly. “Yeah, completely all right.” “So….” Clint sighed.

“Yeah….” Jonathon sighed in response.

Another few minutes passed, each man thinking his own private

thoughts. “We’re good together,” Clint murmured, finally. “Um, yeah, I think so, too.”

“Maybe we should…” Clint wanted to say something more;

wanted to suggest something else, something more solid, permanent, real.

“What if…” Jonathon trailed off, too, pressing his face into the

sofa cushion.

“What? Jonathon, what?” Clint had never wanted to hear the rest

of a sentence so badly in his life.

“Um, what about a trial basis?” Jonathon mumbled, but Clint

heard.

He pressed a smiling kiss against the beautiful man’s shoulder.

“Just a trial basis, yeah,” he agreed.

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Trial and Error “Trial and error,” Jonathon said into the cushion, a smile in his

voice. And then he yawned.

“Yeah,” Clint yawned back, “Trial,” yawn, “…and error.” He

thought he heard a snore, or a snort. He couldn’t be sure so he laid his head between Jonathon’s shoulder blades and closed his eyes.

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by J.J. Massa

J.J. Massa

“Mr. McDare, do you agree with Dante’s interpretation of the structure of hell?” Shit, caught daydreaming at my age! “Uh, it’s all subjective, Professor,” I stuttered, sounding like an idiot. The wide mouth quirked, revealing a small dimple on one side. I stared at it, fixated. The professor sighed, nibbling at his full lower lip and shaking his head. I heard snorts and snickers all around me, but I ignored them. I was older than everyone else in the class and I couldn’t have cared less about what these kids thought. The teacher? Well, him I cared about. Damn! “Mr. McDare,” he murmured, “Stop by my office when you have a chance. Office hours are listed on your syllabus.” With that, class ended and I got the hell out. Yeah, I should’ve stayed, tried to talk to him after class, but I just couldn’t face it right then. I’d come back the next day, or whenever the syllabus said I could. Hell, after everything else, I just needed a drink. All I’d wanted was my degree. I thought I knew it all. Thirty-seven years old, I was sure I knew what I needed to know. Shit. How mistaken I was. It wasn’t the material that was causing me trouble; it was the teacher. Don’t get me wrong; he wasn’t giving me a hard time, exactly. In fact, if anything, he was teaching me too much. You don’t think that’s a problem? He’s been teaching me things that are definitely not on the syllabus, and I was pretty sure he had no idea. The first thing I learned, the minute I laid eyes on him, was that I’m not quite the raging heterosexual that I thought I was. I mean, come on! I may not be tough or anything, but how many

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Learning Curve queer cable guys do you know? I’ve been screwing women all of my life and getting screwed in return…just ask my ex-wife. Hell, she reamed me good. Anyhow, the bottom line is, I took one look at my very cool and controlled literature teacher and wham! I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Objectively speaking, he’s not all that attractive. Um, okay, well, yes he is. To me, he is. He’s got this dark gold hair, a wide, serious mouth with that dimple on the left side…a full lower lip and his chin is a little pointed. And he’s not really very tall—certainly not muscular. I am, but he’s not. His eyes are this light green color that just stops my brain. There’s just nothing I can do about it, either. Even a single glance at those eyes and that’s it. Shit.

***

One look at my syllabus and I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him until after work the next day. His office hours and my work hours were either conflicting or complimentary, depending upon how you looked at things. I’d hoped to stop by during a break or at lunch, but I had back-to-back calls all day and his normal hours were just before class. Most professors who taught at night had student time available during the day. Well, no big deal, I’d get there and hopefully salvage my grade, if nothing else. I’d just show up early for class and see him then. That’s what I thought, anyway. I rang the bell at my second stop of the day, my mind on automatic pilot. This should be an easy call. I needed to check the wiring and set up some equipment in various rooms—the customer was upgrading his cable service. This job wouldn’t take more than half an hour, I was sure. The house was nice, upscale, and the man who answered the door was handsome, well-built. I had started noticing that sort of thing. He was also distracted and disheveled. “In there first,” he mumbled with a vague wave, turning away

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J.J. Massa quickly and stalking into another room. “Um…” I needed to make sure we agreed on what I was there for, so I followed him. I couldn’t tell where he’d gone until I heard his voice from what I assumed was a bedroom. “So what was last night, then? A pity fuck?” the man growled, hurt and anger vibrating in his voice. Yeah, a bedroom. I began to back away. This was not something that I needed to participate in. “We’ll always be friends, Joel…” came the calm reply. That stopped me in my tracks. I knew that voice intimately— okay, maybe not intimately, but I heard it in my sleep, it resonated through my head anytime I had a quiet moment. I knew who the speaker was. A bark of bitter laughter punctuated the silence and then, “God, that’s rich. You’re such a dick.” The next question was almost plaintive though it was a little muffled. “Why, Richard? We were having fun, weren’t we? Why?” Joel’s anger had waned a bit, but he was still unhappy with the situation. “I just want something different, something permanent.” I peeked around the door briefly, just a glance, catching an image that would stay with me for as long as I lived, of that I had no doubt. There, head hanging and completely naked, leaning, both hands spread wide on some rib-high piece of furniture, was Professor Wyeth, like a statue. He almost looked gilded, backlit by a dim light, maybe the bathroom. He straightened and turned. For a minute, I couldn’t even breathe. Finally, I backed away quickly so the two men wouldn’t notice me. He was beautiful, his perfect, masculine body covered in pale skin and dusted with fine gold—that’s all I could think. Fucking beautiful. I hurried back into the room where poor Joel had left me, deciding to let the jilted man work through his problems while I did my best to forget or figure out how I felt about what I’d just seen. While I was at it, I got busy setting the poor sap’s cable and Internet up. I was halfway up the pole outside when I felt someone’s eyes on me. Clinging to the rough wood, I halted in my climb and

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Learning Curve looked around. Professor Wyeth stood in the open door of a low-slung sports car, looking up. “Office hours end at seven,” he said, his voice barely raised. It carried just fine. “Yes, sir,” I croaked, clearing my throat. “I’ll be there.” My voice was a little stronger that time. With a sharp nod, he slid behind the wheel of that dangerous looking machine and was gone. I wondered if he knew that I’d been inside before, that I’d seen him. No, I couldn’t think about that or I’d never get a thing done.

I knocked firmly on Professor Wyeth’s office door, pushing it open when I heard him call out, “Enter!” I’d showered, of course, and shaved. Hell, I’d taken more care for this little meeting than I did preparing for a date. I looked around with interest as I moved into the room. It was paneled, polished, and filled with books, exactly as I would expect for a professor of literature. I was smiling slightly, busy reading the spines and looking at the pictures on his shelves, when I heard a little noise—the sound of a throat clearing. I grinned sheepishly and damned if I wasn’t blushing, I could feel it all the way up to my hairline. The professor had his arms crossed over his chest, an eyebrow arched. I thought maybe his lip was twitching but I would have had to look at him full on to see. “Hey, Professor,” I mumbled, humiliated by my stunning lack of couth in this situation. “Please, have a seat, Mr. McDare,” he offered graciously. I saw his hand sweep toward a couple of chairs situated across from his desk. Without any further bumbling, I sat down. To my very great surprise, he turned the other chair a little and sat down facing me. He didn’t say a word for a long time, just

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J.J. Massa sat there, until I looked up. “I, uh…” I began, feeling terrifically awkward. “First, I feel I should let you know that I will no longer be teaching your literature class.” I must’ve looked surprised, but I couldn’t speak. He took advantage of my ineptitude. He held up a hand and continued talking. My eyes were glued to his face. “I was only teaching this class in the absence of its regular teacher, Robin Skylar. I’m sure you’ll do very well under her guidance.” I could hardly think, much less respond. All I could do was make this odd, strangled choking noise. “But--I mean…” I finally choked a few syllables out. “Just so,” the professor smiled gently. “I suspected that you had found yourself in need of something more than help with your literature homework. Is that the case?” My mouth was opening and closing like a fish. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get the anything past my dry throat. “If you feel you need guidance in more personal areas, I would be willing to discuss that with you.” From somewhere, he produced a thick square, a business card. He wrote something on it and handed it to me. “This is my home address. Don’t come if you aren’t willing to…invest whatever is necessary,” he murmured. I looked down at the card with the address scrawled across it in his firm hand. After long minutes of studying it, I looked up at him. “Okay,” I croaked, nodding like a bobbing porcelain dog. “Okay,” he smiled at me, obviously amused.

***

I’d given the entire matter an amazing amount of thought. What did Professor Wyeth mean? Did he know what I meant? That is, did he understand that I had a flaming, schoolboy crush on him? Obviously, he wasn’t adverse to male and male relationships, but did he realize that I had no idea? I didn’t even know what I wanted, much less what to do if someone offered it to me. All I

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Learning Curve really did know was that if someone besides him offered me anything, I just wasn’t interested. But I felt positive that the professor knew more about what I needed than I did myself. Now, I stood in front of the other man’s door, vacillating between knocking and running, very unsure of what I was even doing there. I mean, I knew, but…did he? Enough of this bullshit, I decided, pressing the bell. I could hear a sort of jingling like it was deep in the house. It was quiet for a bit, but then I heard footsteps coming closer and closer until finally, the door opened. There he was, dressed in tight black jeans and a form-fitting, long-sleeved, gray shirt. What was wrong with me? I’d never before in my life given a shit what another man was wearing. “Come in, Mr. McDare,” he smiled, sounding approving. “Perhaps I should call you Kean, under the circumstances. You can call me Richard if you like.” “Um, thank you, Richard,” I answered. I was proud of myself. I didn’t sound right, but at least I’d formed an entire sentence. He held the door open for me, gallantly waving an arm to encourage me to enter. I gave him a weak smile and went in. I had a vague impression of tasteful comfort, but beyond that, I couldn’t tell you what everything looked like—just that—things looked nice. He led me into some kind of a living room, showing me to a sofa while he sat on a chair facing me. “I’m very pleased that you came, Kean,” he smiled. “That you took this step says a lot for your willingness to learn and to try new things.” “Uh, yeah,” I stumbled, blushing again. “I mean, I really don’t know what…” I let the sentence trail off, ducking my head. Two fingers tipped my chin up and I looked into Professor Wyeth—Richard’s light green eyes. “You do know, though, don’t you, Kean?” I looked at him, wanting so bad to hide. “You know why you’re here, what you want, don’t you?” What could I do? I had to be honest. Looking into those wonderful eyes, it seemed like they had all the answers. Answers

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J.J. Massa I wanted badly, very badly. I nodded. “Yes, Prof…I mean Richard,” I corrected myself. “I do know why I’m here.” He still had two fingers under my chin and now he was stroking my cheek with his thumb. “You have to say it out loud, Kean,” he told me, his voice so gentle, like he was trying to coax a deer into his yard. “I--I want you and… I don’t know what to do.” There, it was out. No mystery there at all. He looked at me with affection, even pride. I found myself fighting a stupid grin. “Very good, Kean,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips across mine. Oh, god, I was frozen. It was just a touch, a soft touch of warm, moist lips over my own dry mouth. Nothing much, but everything. I touched my lips with the tip of my finger. “Did you like that?” he asked me. “Yeah, I did,” I answered back, almost whispering. Oh man, I did like it—so much. “Can we, um, do that again?” No harm in asking, I figured. Richard grinned a little, pulling me to my feet. I’m taller than he is, but that didn’t seem to matter at all. His hand carded through my hair and he pulled my head down some. It was like I’d been turned to stone. Every part of me felt heavy and…grounded. His lips moved over mine and his tongue began to trace my mouth, dipping in and pulling out. Before I knew it, his tongue was in my mouth, stroking over mine, making me dizzy, making me hard and hungry. He stepped back and I would have stumbled if he didn’t reach out to steady me. “You want more, don’t you Kean?” he asked. “You need more, don’t you?” I nodded, groaning, trying to get back to those soft, wonderful lips. Somewhere in my mind, I knew I was kissing—no, begging another man to kiss me. I couldn’t get enough. “Yes, I do,” I finally admitted, looking him straight in the eye. “I want more…please,” I said. “Very, very good,” he murmured. “You’re learning.” He looked at me long and hard, his hand splayed on my chest, holding me in place. “Come with me,” he said, turning away.

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Learning Curve “Yes,” was all I could manage. I followed him.

When he stopped, we were in his bedroom. I didn’t take in one little detail about how it was furnished or anything, just knew it was his. He sat down on the end of the bed and I walked up to him. Standing in front of him, looking down, I had no idea what to do. None. Suddenly, his hand was at the waistband of my pants, tugging, pulling me down, and of course I went. Like he said, I’m learning. Down on my knees. I knew what he wanted though. I knew what I was supposed to do. For a minute, I thought maybe that I should have practiced some of this on someone else, except that I never wanted any man besides him. I knew I’d just have to do it right the first time. He gave me an encouraging smile as I reached for him. My hands felt boneless and nerveless, I couldn’t believe they were working at all, but I got his fly undone and his cock out. He was already half hard and I’d never seen another man’s cock up close like that before. I stroked it with my finger, thrilled when it jerked. I looked up at him for a second because I just couldn’t help it. There was a smile of encouragement in his eyes, and that made it easier for me. I bent my head to his cock, it was beautiful. I couldn’t believe how much I liked the look and the feel of it. Bending over it, I inhaled deeply, taking in as much of his scent as I could. He smelled clean and sharp, with a hint of musk. My new favorite smell. He’d gotten hard as my lips brushed across his tip, smearing a little drop of pre-cum there and I stuck my tongue out to catch it. He tasted good and I wanted to really taste him. I opened up and took him into my mouth, trying to remember how I like it. All I could really think, though, was that, finally I'm doing it, and he's

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J.J. Massa letting me. I wanted the rest of him, too. I wanted to feel his skin under my hands, but he was still dressed, and so was I. A wave of heat washed through me and I wished that I was naked, in his bed, with him inside me. Shit. I never wanted that before. Never. I felt his hands come to rest in my hair, bringing me back to what I was doing. I don't know how I could have gotten distracted, because it was so good. Some part of me still couldn’t believe I was doing this, loving this. I wanted to make it last, wanted to make him scream, but I concentrated on just making him come. I really didn’t want to screw this up. I was already thinking of the next time, and I knew that, if I didn't do this well, he wouldn’t let me do it again. I ran my tongue around the head of his cock, up and down the shaft. He was fully hard now, getting harder in my mouth, and it was amazing to feel that happen. I really wanted to take him deep in my throat, but I didn’t know how. Instead, I used my hand and kept my tongue stroking and licking across the head. He was breathing harder, making little noises, and so I was sure that I was doing something right. His hands were in my hair, his scent all around me, I thought I would come just from doing this to him. He began thrusting, fucking my mouth, going deeper than before. I couldn’t believe how much I loved it. It was my whole world right then, all I’d ever wanted. Suddenly, he pulled me away and reached down to close his hand around his cock. Why was he doing that? I knocked his hand away and took him back in, as far as I could. I heard his intake of breath, and then he was trying to tell me something, but with the sucking noises I was making, I couldn’t hear his words. I kept sucking and bobbing my mouth on him, and then his cum filled my throat. It was hard, trying to keep from gagging and a real effort to swallow it all, but I wanted to. When I pulled my mouth off of him and looked up, he was staring at me, lips parted and cheeks flushed, looking so good. I truly longed for nothing more than to do it all over again. I thought I should say something, anything, if only I knew what. I just waited, still on my knees, and so fucking hard, I was

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Learning Curve sure he could see it. He just sat there, looking hard at me. I wanted to ask if I’d done all right, ask if he’d let me do it again, if maybe we could do more. I couldn’t move. He was going to have to say something, stand up, throw me out, or I would just be there all day. He didn’t say a word, but he did move, bending toward me. His hand tipped my face up to his and our lips met. Our tongues slid together, I could taste him, his mouth, his cum, everything all at once. It was amazing; all I wanted was more, more, more. We parted slowly; his hand on the side of my face was the only thing keeping me from following after his mouth like a baby bird or something. I still couldn’t say a thing. I was just kneeling there, waiting, and feeling something open up inside me. It was all so simple. So easy. I knew that he would tell me what to do next and I would just do it. No complications, no worries. “You can get up, Kean,” he said, finally. His voice was soft, quiet. He was smiling at me. I smiled back and got up. My knees were a little sore, but I didn’t care. I brushed off my pants and looked down at him. I didn’t know what to say, so I just waited.

“Do you want me inside you, Kean?” Richard’s cultured voice broke the silence of the room. I nodded. I could feel myself shaking. “You have to say the words, Kean,” he told me firmly. “I need to be sure. You need to be sure.” “I want…” I cleared my throat and tried again. I was as nervous as a virgin in a horror movie. “I want you to fuck me,” I finally said. It sounded a little harsh, cold. Richard reached up and stroked my cheek. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m glad. I’d be disappointed if you changed your mind.” It was so important to me that Richard not be disappointed. Suddenly, that was the most important thing in the world. “Take

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J.J. Massa off your clothes, Kean,” he told me. I was in such a hurry to do what he wanted that I got all tangled up in the sleeves of the sweater I was wearing. Richard laughed low in his throat, a sexy, deep sound that tickled my nerves, making me shiver. He reached over, unfastened my belt and unsnapped my jeans so my pullover could slide up and over my head. I wanted to hide in it, but I didn’t, crossing my arms and lifting it, pulling it off. “Thank you,” I mumbled; my voice sounded a little wheezy. I hoped Richard liked my looks. I worked out regularly, in addition to climbing those poles and lugging the heavy toolbox around. I tried to stay fit and muscular. “Go on,” Richard said, nodding once as he stepped away. I knew my hair was sticking up everywhere. I felt like such a geek—no, I felt like a virgin on my honeymoon. Richard nodded toward a chair across the room and I shook out my sweater, folding it and laying it neatly on the seat. I was nervous with his eyes fixed on me like they were. He watched every piece of clothing come off—shoes, socks, pants, finally my boxers, all stacked neatly on that elegant chair. I turned toward him, looking for further instructions. The intense look in his eyes made me hard. Amazing. Just looking into his green eyes, the hunger, the flash, I felt myself grow harder. I looked at him, at his crotch. I couldn’t help it. He was hard, his cock pushing against his pants, I couldn’t miss it. It had to be uncomfortable. Richard stalked toward me, a dangerous animal on the prowl, like he was going to eat me. That thought made my cock jump. “If you’re not sure, Kean, you can go.” He reached out, fingertips resting against my lips. “If you stay, you belong to me for as long as I want you.” His hand slipped over to cup my cheek. “Me. Only me,” he clarified. I did the only thing I could do—hell, I certainly couldn’t speak right then—I stepped away from the chair and smiled at him. A weak smile, I’ll admit, but a smile. A look flickered deep in his eyes. Approval? Satisfaction? Both, I think. Damn, but it was hot. He held his arms a little away from his body and said, “Take

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Learning Curve my clothes off of me and hang them up.” Oh, man! Unbelievable! When I dropped to my knees in front of him, my cock was aching. I tried to ignore it and carefully removed first one shoe, sock too while I was there, and then the other shoe and sock. I looked up at him and he nodded toward the closet. I was awkward, I know, but I got to my feet and carried his shoes into the closet, placing them carefully on a little rack he had there at the back. Thankfully, the clothes hamper was right next to it. Next, I unbuttoned and slid his shirt off of him, hanging it up, and then I came back for his jeans. I about lost it when he put his hand on my shoulder to step out of those tight black jeans. He had nothing on underneath. Commando. I groaned aloud. He was beautiful, sexy, dangerous, powerful. All of those words raced through my head as I looked up from his slim, attractive feet. His legs were muscled and sleek, gold hairs dusting him like a precious statue. He was so perfect, those green eyes glittering with hunger when I finally looked all the way up. “Climb up on the bed and face the headboard,” Richard instructed, his voice sounded thick. “Get on your hands and knees.” I was nervous, no lie. He left the room for a minute and I’ve never been that cold, exposed, just kneeling there, in the middle of the bed. His bed. I heard noises from another room. A sliding sound of a drawer…He must be in the master bath. Before I knew it, the bed gave beside me and there he was, something in his hand. I was shivering, I was so nervous. My mind went blank when he touched me, stroking over my shoulder, down my back, just like I was a big kitty cat. His touch felt so good—I was lost in it. It’s a wonder I didn’t start to purr. “So soft, Kean, yet so firm,” he murmured. “I love your muscles, your skin, soft dark hair.” He just kept saying such soothing, wonderful things to me, as his hand kept stroking. He stroked up my thigh, stopped to rub my back and leaned in, placing a kiss on my shoulder. My cock was hard and aching, but nearly moved to tears. It was as if this was more than—I don’t know—more than a lesson to him. I wanted to be more than that…

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J.J. Massa “It’s time to get you ready, Kean,” he said calmly after another soothing stroke. I shifted, a little, moaning at the idea of it. “It’s going to hurt at first going in, just so you understand.” I took a deep breath and looked back at him, over my shoulder. I wanted him to know that I trusted him, would do whatever he wanted. “Yeah, okay,” I managed, my voice was kind of hoarse. “Spread your legs,” Richard told me, his hands parting my thighs, positioning me the way he wanted me. I thought I would fly apart. Just the idea of being there, knowing what was about to happen! Surreal didn’t even begin to cover it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Richard squeeze a large dollop of clear gel onto two fingers. He dropped the tube and reached up—I felt his warm fingers stroke me from behind, right over my hole. I moaned out loud. I just couldn’t help it. I gasped and moaned again when I felt the gel touch me there. Slowly, slowly, he pushed it in. It was so…odd, for one thing. I wanted it, but my body automatically tried to push it out. “Shhh,” Richard murmured, stroking the small of my back with his dry hand. He pushed the gel-covered finger in, pulled it out, pushed it in a little more. I shifted again, spreading my legs further, pushing back a little. Richard moved on the bed behind me, till I could see him kneeling, squeezing more gel on his fingers. I was rocking a little, just feeling, letting myself get used to the slick finger sliding in and out. Now he was petting my back, my hips, moving his finger around, deeper and then out, stroking my hole. “You want this, Kean,” he murmured. “We’re going to do this so relax, let me touch you inside.” I did want this, so much. I relaxed a little, felt myself open to him, his fingers slid further in. “I’m…” that’s as far as I got. He touched something inside of me and all the sudden, I was seeing stars! “See,” Richard crooned, “I’ll make you feel good, too. It won’t always hurt, okay?” “Please,” I groaned, looking over my shoulder again. Richard added a second finger. “Please… Richard?” I moaned and asked at the same time.

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Learning Curve “It’s okay,” he leaned forward, planting a light kiss on my shoulder blade. “Only a little longer now.” I was panting, rocking back against the scissoring fingers inside of me. “More,” I begged, some part of me stunned at myself. Richard pushed three fingers in me now, and all I could say was, “Please, more!” “Good, yes, more,” Richard promised, pulling his fingers out now and replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. His cock! Wow! I was begging and this guy, my literature teacher, was going to put his cock in my ass. But I wanted it… Oh, hell, I wanted it. I just didn’t want it to hurt like it was. And it did, shit yeah! I felt so full, and I thought I was going to split in two. But then, the burning eased and I could feel hair, Richard’s hair around his cock, brushing against me. “Kean,” Richard called low, but I was concentrating on the feel of Richard buried inside of me and not paying attention. With a little half-twitch, he moved and I felt whatever Richard had done with his fingers only more—a lot more. I moaned long and low. “Right, that’s better,” Richard chuckled. “Answer me next time.” “Mmm, ‘kay,” I mumbled, feeling the thick length of Richard sliding in and out of me, rubbing that wonderful spot. Richard began to thrust faster, harder and I was sure I would come, so good. Why had I never done this before? I couldn’t imagine. Just when I was sure I would lose myself completely, Richard stopped with a hard lunge and a long grunt. The feeling of the other man’s cock jerking in me, the rubbing, the heat filling me caused me to come, shooting my load all over the bed. Shit. He never even touched my cock. All that without being touched. I felt Richard slowly pull out of me but still I didn’t move, shaking from exhaustion, I continued to kneel on my hands and knees in the middle of the bed. This was all so new to me and so very important. I wished it wasn’t but—it was. I couldn’t help it; my life wasn’t my own anymore. I was learning to be somebody else. I was learning to be the real me. Richard would show me, he would be my teacher. It was all about

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J.J. Massa Richard to me. I felt a warm hand cup my waist and pull. “Lay down, Kean,” Richard told me. “I… thank you,” I whispered, hoping I’d been heard and that he understood. I was glad it was Richard. He mattered so much to me “Sleep, Kean,” Richard’s arm came around me, pulling me closer. “It’s all right,” he promised. “We aren’t nearly done—this is the long course and I grade on a curve. I’m not done teaching you just yet.” He pulled me closer and murmured, “I expect it’ll take years--perhaps a lifetime. We’ll see how your scores are.” I closed my eyes, a smile on my face. My life had changed. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but Richard wasn’t done with me yet.

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