Obsessed

Obsessed K. Z. Snow All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2008 K. Z. Snow

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ISBN: 978-1-60521-022-3

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Editor: Vicki S. Burklund

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

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Obsessed K. Z. Snow After nearly six hundred and sixty years, Adin Swift is dreaming again. As a vampire, he slept like the dead. Now that he’s reverted to mortality, vivid dreams surface every night to torment him. And the most disturbing ones involve his best friend, Jackson Spey. It was their “otherness” that drew them together ten years earlier -- two extraordinary men living outside the mainstream, one a bright and beautiful vampire, one a cynical and handsome wizard. Their unique bond took on more dimensions than either was willing to acknowledge. Until now. Realizing he can no longer ignore the desire that’s been simmering for a decade, Adin must face the heart-wrenching fact that he’s in love with two people: the woman to whom he’s committed and the man he can’t seem to live without. Two confrontations ensue over the course of one explosive weekend, and they will forever alter three people’s lives…

Prologue After nearly six hundred and sixty years, Adin Swift was dreaming again…

The birthday boy feels good. Has a nice little buzz going, making his brain seem downy. No prickly thoughts. All day he’s been surrounded by good wishes, love and laughter. The party guests have enjoyed themselves. He and Celia have been proud and happy hosts. Only a few people in attendance are even aware of his past. Better yet, any reminders of that past remained mostly in the background and went unnoticed -- vampires lurking in the woods like smoke, then shooting, harmless as sparks, into the blue-black sky. The birthday boy is glad he didn’t have to see them. He’s especially glad his guests weren’t subjected to them. He’s not like those creatures anymore. He’s mortal again. Throughout the day, a realization kept striking him. God, I actually turned thirty. From this October on, each birthday will indeed make me a year older. It’s a fact of his life now, one he still finds hard to believe. Stepping from his well-lit house onto the unlit patio, he smiles at the way he staggers. It’s graceful. This, he thinks vaguely, must be another odd little remnant of what he used to be -- a creature who was cousin to the air. He goes to the grill and turns it off. A tall, solid column rounds the corner of the house and gradually emerges from the engulfing darkness. The figure is his friend, Jackson, and he’s zipping his fly. This man has his own kind of grace, distinctly grounded and distinctly masculine. Adin’s stomach suddenly goes gymnast and does a quick flip. It never fails. “Oops, there’s the master of the house,” Jackson says. “I’m glad you didn’t catch me pissing on your shrubs.”

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The birthday boy grins. “Why? Did the fucking things turn flamingo pink and start speaking in tongues?” “There’s nothing enchanting about pee, Adin.” Jackson is entirely mortal and always has been, but he isn’t part of the mainstream. He’s an Adept, a practitioner of High Magic, a modern-day Merlin. He’s the only person Adin now knows who’s out of the ordinary. And he’s very out of the ordinary. They’ve been friends for a decade. It was their “otherness” that brought them together. Jackson strolls up to him. “Content?” he asks, clapping Adin on the shoulder. “Indescribably. And made even more content by that liter of gin and tonic I consumed.” Jackson’s husky laughter is muted, as if in deference to the silent night. “It’s a landmark occasion, my man, your first real birthday in like a gazillion years. Even if you end up with JDD tonight, you deserved to celebrate. Besides, getting head tomorrow morning is going to feel super fine.” “What’s JDD?” “Jack Daniels Dick. A woman once diagnosed me with it. But you don’t have to drink Jack to be afflicted.” Now it’s Adin’s turn to laugh. “What makes you think I’m going to get head in the morning?” “Get head, get laid, get some kind of lucky. I know it because Celia can’t keep her hands off you. Hangover relief is always a good excuse for sex. Not that the two of you need one.” “Not that we do.” Adin puts a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. The two of them are nearly the same height. “I can’t thank you enough for that incredible frame you made. Your work is exemplary. Really top-notch.” Jackson cups his forearm and gives it a squeeze. “My pleasure. It was a logical present. I figured now that you can be photographed, you’d need a frame to put your picture in.”

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That prompts a chuckle. “You’re right. Anyway, Celia and I were impressed as hell. We’d like to have you do other things for us.” Their banter comes to a strange, skidding halt. On its heels is a silence packed with unspoken confessions. Neither man removes his hand from the other’s body. Instead they lean into a spontaneous hug, arms going around backs. Their cheeks graze briefly, scruff against scruff. Adin lets his hand roam the contours of Jackson’s back. They’re pronounced, even through his clothing. A rolling landscape. It’s an awkward moment. They’re bumbling through indecision. Jackson’s hand slides into Adin’s hair, fondles it, grips it. Adin feels the tug at his scalp. He gets the distinct impression Jackson is going to kiss him. They’ve never kissed. His lips part slightly, go slack and soft, become receptive. He’s waiting for it, wanting it. The breath in his lungs feels like something solid. Then Jackson pulls away and clears his throat. “Memories. Sensory memories,” he mutters. “What a bitch.” He’s recalling last spring… It’s the only encouragement Adin needs, this moment of vulnerability in Jackson. The man never shows weakness, is always in control. Now, though, he’s remembering their brief period of abandon. And it’s affecting him. Adin splays a hand on Jackson’s chest. Before he can think about it, he says what’s on his mind. “Why don’t you spend the night with us? In our bed, I mean. I doubt Celia would mind. She’s been hot for you since she met you.” He tries to smile, but the smile doesn’t quite fit. Still, he keeps going, trying to make the proposition casual even though it isn’t. The hunger that’s simmered in him for ten years is breaking into a full, rolling boil. “What’s a ménage among friends?” The darkness makes Jackson’s face difficult to read. His eyes, though, are shining. Then he blinks, extinguishing that brightness for a split second. “Sounds like you mean it.” “Yeah. Why not? Hell, we all enjoyed ourselves when --”

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“That was different,” Jackson says curtly, still looking at him. Maybe there’s disbelief on his face. “Shit, Adin.” He turns away and drops into the nearest chair, his legs spread wide. He rolls his head back and clamps his hands to either side of it. “No, it wouldn’t be right. Especially not on this occasion.” He expels a long breath. “Jesus. What made you suggest that?” Adin steps over to him and squats between his parted legs, hands resting on Jackson’s knees. “The fact that we like each other?” With a wan chuckle, Jackson lowers his hands to the chair arms and brings his head forward. “Yeah, we sure do.” “So what does that tell you?” “It tells me to tell you to stop kneeling between my legs, because --” “Because what?” Adin asks quietly. Jackson wags his head. “You know, you should be a stripper.” “Why? I can’t dance worth a crap.” “But you’re a superb goddamned tease.” “I’m not teasing you. I’m dead serious.” “So am I.” Jackson rises from the chair. Adin, too, stands. “Go back to your party, my friend. Eat, drink and be merry.” He gives a friendly pat to Adin’s arm. “Then make love with your very lovely lady.” “You’re not leaving yet, are you?” “No, but soon. I’ll pop in and pay my regards before I go.” “I wish you’d reconsider.” “I already have.” Hands in pockets, Jackson saunters into the yard. Adin watches him for a moment before re-entering the house. He feels confused and frustrated and disappointed. Even desolate.

Chapter One Once Adin realized the dream had dissipated, he cracked open his eyes. His stiff cock butted against the covers. His balls throbbed. Damn, why can’t I force it to turn out differently? Maybe if we had that threesome, I could at least get off in my sleep. Instead, his mind insisted on rerunning that encounter exactly the way it had taken place. Three weeks ago, at his thirtieth birthday party. The dream had become an ongoing torment. There was never a resolution, never wet-dream relief. Just the same agonized turning away… over and over again. Because that’s the way it had happened in reality. He’d come on to Jackson and he’d been rebuffed. Trying to see through the gloom of this November morning, Adin hiked himself up on his elbows and glanced at the woman beside him. Celia still slept soundly. He thought of rolling toward her and pressing his aroused, naked body against her warmth. Almost every morning for the past two or three weeks, he’d awoken with a raging erection. Lucky for him Celia had a vigorous sexual appetite. She never failed to respond. At least he’d been able to find physical relief. But something stopped him today -- the cold realization that he had to talk to her about this. He and Celia were deeply in love and kept nothing from each other. Yet, Adin had been suffering his dreams in silence, knowing full well that bringing them up would lead to a more troubling admission. He desired his best friend, and that desire was starting to cripple him. What was worse, he was afraid his desire might have alienated his best friend. He hadn’t heard from Jackson since the party. Easing out of bed as quietly as possible, Adin grabbed some clothes from his dresser and the closet and padded toward the bathroom. He thought of beating off in

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the shower. But even without touching his cock, he knew masturbation would be a lost cause. Now his mind was focused on that impending conversation with Celia. Limp dick, tight balls. Not a good combination. Maybe he’d just explode. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. Fully awake and clean, ready to face the day physically, if not mentally, Adin went downstairs to the kitchen and made coffee for Celia. He brewed up some Earl Grey for himself and dumped in more than his usual allotment of cream. Trying to think about the document he was currently translating, he stood at the window and gazed into the yard. A nuthatch clung to the suet cage. Finches and chickadees darted to and from the birdfeeder. Beyond the expansive, browning lawn, where the dense woods began, a doe stood poised like a yard ornament and stared at the house. Adin envied her stillness, the simplicity of her world. When he’d ceased being a vampire, he’d thought his world would be pared down to simple needs and simple pleasures. Of course he’d known the transition wouldn’t be without some hurdles. It stood to reason he’d have to adjust to mortal life… just as he’d had to adjust to immortal life. For a long, long time, Adin had expected the changes reversion would bring -- the loss of that uniquely thrilling bloodlust, the loss of all superhuman powers. And eventually, the loss of his youth and his life. Intentionally killing another vampire made mortality and its drawbacks unavoidable, at least for a member of his particular breed. Adin had never much cared. Delivering justice had always been far more important to him, which is why he’d felt driven to kill. And vampirism definitely lost much of its appeal after he met and fell in love with Celia. But there was one consequence of reversion he hadn’t anticipated -- dreaming again. He’d never considered how intrusive those nighttime dramas could be once they resumed unfolding in his mind. A sound from within the house made Adin turn his head to the right. The toilet upstairs had been flushed. Celia was up. Soon he heard her slipper-shod feet on the

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stairs. First she’d go into their study and boot up her computer. Feeling a drizzle of adrenaline, he sipped some tea and turned back to the window. Fuck. How was he going to broach this subject? It had to be done, but how? “G’morning, handsome,” Celia said. Adin looked over his shoulder, managed to muster a smile. “Hey, sweetness. Coffee’s ready.” The sky looked like grey flannel shedding lint. Tiny snowflakes drifted through the air. A cardinal landed at the birdfeeder. It was as if the dreary background had been pierced and begun oozing… Blood. Adin felt a shiver in his gut. “How come you didn’t wake me up the way you normally do?” Celia walked up to him as he continued to stand at the window. Her hands made a caressing sweep of his shoulder blades and upper arms. Her cheek rested on his back. “Because I’m starting to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. A piss-boner isn’t exactly romantic.” It was a white lie. A full bladder wasn’t the cause of the hard-on that plagued him each morning. “But it does the trick,” Celia said, giving Adin a pang of guilt. “Besides, I get all the romance I need at other times.” She kissed his back. “Afternoons.” She kissed it again. “Evenings.” Her arms circled his midsection. Adin felt the rounded horn of her chin against his spine, the soft press of her breasts against his back muscles. A phrase came into his mind. It was a phrase few people in relationships ever wanted to utter and even fewer wanted to hear. Adin was determined not to use it. Yet, within seconds, he heard himself say it to his partner of six months, a woman he thoroughly adored. He heard himself say it despite the fact there was absolutely nothing wrong between them, and he fully intended to spend the rest of his life with her. Maybe if she hadn’t said what she said next, he would’ve had time to come up with something better. Celia made a simple observation that stemmed from caring, and she made it in a caring voice. “Adin, you’ve seemed so preoccupied lately.”

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That was the key to Pandora’s Box. Adin’s gaze went blank. Suddenly, he was staring at nothing. The dreaded phrase slid out in a monotone. “We need to talk.” The resulting pause was almost three-dimensional. “Is something wrong?” There was the thinnest wire of tension in Celia’s voice. But she was a self-possessed woman, secure in their love, so his declaration didn’t seem to rattle her too much. “It’s not that something’s wrong,” Adin said, “just that something isn’t quite… right.” Oh shit, now that’s reassuring. “You’re not sick, are you?” Adin faced her. “No, I feel fine.” He grazed her cheek with his fingers. “Come sit down, then. Let me pour some coffee.” Moving away from him, Celia went to the counter, poured a mug of coffee, left it black, and carried it to the kitchen table. She was still in her bathrobe, still disheveled from sleep. Adin realized how much he loved starting his days with her. “Do you have a lot of work?” he asked, stepping back to the counter and preparing more tea for himself. “I just have to tweak my article, proofread, that sort of thing. The deadline is a week away, so I have plenty of time to wrap it up.” Seated now, Celia attentively watched him. Adin sensed some relief on her part, which was good. There was no need for her to be apprehensive. Not really. His feelings for her hadn’t changed. “Well?” she said. “I’m listening.” Adin sat across from her. He ran both hands over his face and dropped his arms to the table, where they lay crossed and motionless. “I’m dreaming again.” Thank God she was familiar with his past. It spared him a whole lot more explanation. Celia took a moment to absorb the implications. “Do the dreams disturb you?” “They’re starting to.” “Are they about… what you used to be?”

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One side of Adin’s mouth formed a wan smile. She couldn’t bring herself to be more explicit. He didn’t blame her. “Mostly about that, yes.” And that was mostly the truth. In many of his dreams, Adin did relive portions of his dark past. He shifted into other forms. He felt the keen excitement that preceded each feed, felt the quivering of warm bodies beneath his hands and lips as he drank. He smelled arousal. Most maddening of all, he tasted the sweet, coppery ooze of blood onto his tongue. Celia’s face had blanched. “Do you miss --?” “No,” Adin said abruptly. He knew she’d worried about this, that he might start longing for his old life. She probably even worried that he might want to become a vampire again. “You don’t miss it at all?” There was a touch of skepticism in the question. “Once in a while, I guess. But only a little. You know I had a good long time to prepare psychologically for the change.” “Then why are the dreams stressing you out?” Adin looked at the window. The crimson blot of the cardinal was gone. “I suppose because it’s unsettling to be reminded, night after night, of how I used to be. And the dreams are so vivid. Whole scenes replay exactly as they happened. They seem real.” Celia took a swallow of coffee. “I think I understand. They’re more like nightmares. Is that it?” “In the way they affect me, yes.” “So why don’t you take a few days off and go see Jackson?” Adin’s heart stopped. “What?” He was surprised to hear the word come out of his mouth. His throat felt paralyzed. “I’m sure he could put an end to the dreams. That man can work wonders.” She drank more coffee and smiled. “I mean that quite literally.” Celia was quite fond of Jackson. He impressed and delighted her. His magical ability, which was without parallel, left her reeling. Although he was fifteen years her

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senior, she even had a rather lascivious crush on him -- one of the reasons Adin had made that unorthodox invitation on the patio. “Yeah, he probably could do that,” Adin admitted. “Well, there’s your solution,” Celia said brightly. Adin was up against the wall now and knew it. “If I do go to see him, there’s something else you need to know.” “Regarding…” “Jackson. He’s been part of those dreams.” Adin could see it hit her all at once. Celia’s coffee mug froze in its descent to the table. Her eyes slanted down and off to the side. There was an incident that took place the previous spring, after he and Celia had just started living together. Jackson was staying with them, doing Adin a favor of great importance. In return, Jackson wanted to experience the Blood Offering. Adin tried to warn him about the aphrodisiac effects of a vampire feed, but the man was determined. It turned out to be an unbearably exciting experience for both of them. Jackson’s cock ended up hard as a crowbar. So did his. “You’re dreaming about him because of the night you let him fuck you,” Celia murmured. Her eyes moved back to his face. “The night you fed from him.” “Most likely. The experience was very… intense.” “More so than with other --” “Yes,” Adin snapped, not meaning to. “The son of a bitch is a wizard, Celia. His blood might seem normal to a lab tech, but not to a vampire. Hell, you were part of the aftermath. I had to wake you up just so I could find relief while he found relief.” Celia nodded. She must have remembered the sexual urgency. How could she not? However, comprehending the reason for that urgency was different from simply recognizing it. Adin tacked on a footnote. “Some feeds are just more arousing than others. This one happened to be exceptional… because of what Jackson is.”

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“Or maybe,” Celia offered, “because you’ve wanted him all along. Maybe your ‘feed’ just exposed a lust you’ve kept buried for years.” Adin’s breath cinched his heart. Yet how calm she sounded, as if she’d suspected the attraction from the moment she’d first seen him and Jackson together. The woman was astute, he had to give her that. “I don’t know,” Adin said, flustered by the observation.

“Maybe you just haven’t wanted to give it too much thought.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Whether this hunger was new or old, it wasn’t a shocking development. Adin

had desired men before. Bisexuality was an almost inevitable result of vampirism. Blood was blood, after all, whether it flowed through male or female veins. Sometimes a strong sexual attraction flared as the result of a feed, especially if the embers of such an attraction already glowed. Usually it died rather quickly… but sometimes, if the human host was powerfully appealing, the fire continued to burn. Maybe it was the same for Adepts. They often incorporated sex into their rituals. Maybe all it took was one encounter with the right same-sex partner to blow their hetero orientation out of the water. Before, when Adin was on his own, none of it would have mattered. Now it did matter. He was committed to Celia. But that alone wouldn’t solve his problem. He’d roused a restlessly dormant passion. It wasn’t going to go away. Only Jackson’s unequivocal rejection of him, or their complete and permanent separation, would quell this maddening itch. He knew it couldn’t go on. He had to do something if he wanted to keep functioning with any degree of normalcy. Stalling, Adin got up and made another cup of tea, aware of Celia’s gaze on his back. He came back to the table and resumed his seat. “So…” She turned up her hands. “Am I right?” “Probably. And it’s starting to drive me a little crazy.”

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“I can imagine,” Celia murmured. Studying him, she lifted the coffee mug to her lips but set it down again without drinking. “Was it difficult seeing him at our party?” Adin rubbed his face with both hands. “Not at first. Not when other people were around to keep me occupied. But we ran into each other on the patio, after dark. We were alone together. And it just… swept over me again.” “You mean how attracted you are to him. How much you want him.” “Yes.” So, the truth prevailed after all. Adin just chose to withhold some of the details. Without expression, Celia watched him a few seconds more. Then she curled her hands around the coffee mug and turned her eyes down. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Her tone made the statement sound like part of an interior monologue, as if she were analyzing the situation to herself. “I’ve known from the start that you have a certain bond with him, maybe even a special love for him. And I’ve sensed it isn’t strictly platonic.” Her use of the word love jolted Adin. Strange. Before his party, it wouldn’t have. Feeling love for his friend would’ve seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Now the word was so bloated with implication, it sent a small tremor through his nerves. “I can’t deny I’ve always been drawn to him.” “Is it mutual?” How to answer that? Adin didn’t want to tell her about the embrace on the patio, how Jackson’s hand had slid into his hair and lingered there. The whole encounter had been too ambiguous. It was no accurate indication of how the other man truly felt. All Adin could say was, “I’m not sure.” “But you think that if you go see him, something might happen?” Adin hesitated. “I just don’t know. But I wanted you to be aware of the possibility. I have no intention of sneaking around, Celia. I despise that kind of behavior.” Despite the rise of color in his face, he knew he couldn’t look away from her. Not now. He was determined to reassure her. “You have to understand something else,

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something even more important than this… thing I have about Jackson. I don’t need to be with him the way I need to be with you. It’s a whole different kind of love, if it is love, and a whole different kind of passion. I’m sorry I can’t adequately describe that difference. Once in a while I just…” Helplessly, he shrugged. “I’m seized with a craving for him.” “Chocolate truffles,” Celia murmured. “I beg your pardon?” “That’s the way chocolate truffles affect me.” She gave him a vague smile. “So, you do feel a kind of passion for him.” She seemed to attach no judgment to the word, but it clearly had caught her attention. “I can understand that.” “Can you?” She nodded. “I can easily see how Jackson could inspire passion. He’s an extraordinary man in every way. He’s gorgeous, he’s smart, he’s accomplished.” “Are you still attracted to him?” “You know I am. I haven’t made a secret of it.” Celia laughed quietly. The selfdirected humor was still in her eyes when she looked at Adin. “Hell, he looks like Christian Bale with extra hair and muscle. Maybe that’s why I act like a goddamned fangirl around him.” “Who’s Christian Bale?” “An actor. A hot actor. Roughly the same age as Jackson.” Adin smiled at the comparison. He didn’t realize she developed crushes on actors. “I hope you realize how deeply I’m in love with you and need to be with you, how little this actually has to do with us.” He tried reaching for Celia’s hand, but it was too far away. Still, he left his arm outstretched. “I’m not being disingenuous. I swear. I don’t want to, like, live with Jackson and become his ‘domestic partner’ or whatever the term is today. I just have these sporadic bursts of…” “Need,” she supplied, and finally did take his hand. “You have to do something about this. You have to.” It was a firm pronouncement. Her opinion left Adin a bit stupefied. “What exactly do you mean?”

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“Isn’t it obvious what I mean? First find out if the attraction is mutual. If it is, then you and he should make a point of hooking up now and then. Instead of mucking around in all this repression and frustration bullshit, just treat yourselves to a long weekend now and then. Get your fix. I know it would make you happy, Adin. I’ve seen the two of you together.” He couldn’t help gaping at her. “And you wouldn’t mind?” “Why would I mind? You wouldn’t be cheating on me. You wouldn’t be undermining our relationship. I know you’d always come home to me. Besides, you’re both very desirable men. How could I not comprehend your enjoyment of each other?” “Do you fantasize about him? Entertain thoughts of, say, a ménage?” That was still a possible solution. If Jackson would go along with it. Celia actually chuckled, maybe because the answer was obvious. “Jesus, Adin, you’re well aware of my own fantasies about being with the two of you. Or even watching the two of you with each other. But I just don’t think we’d all be comfortable with that. To tell you the truth, I’d feel like a fifth wheel.” “That’s ironic. I’ve gotten the impression he would feel like a fifth wheel. I don’t think Jackson’s ever been in a ménage with a committed couple. I think it would make him self-conscious as hell, as if he were intruding on an intimacy he wasn’t really a part of. Strange as it may seem, he’s damned honorable.” “I know he is. That’s one of the reasons I trust and respect him. You too, for that matter.” Staring into his tea, as if it had leaves he could read, Adin ran his thumb around the rim of the cup. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned this at all. Maybe I’m just lathered up because I saw him recently, and I was intoxicated, and my perception was skewed. Maybe, once the lather goes flat, I’ll realize he is just a good friend, and it isn’t worth risking that friendship or possibly wounding you for the sake of some passing fancy.”

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“You wouldn’t be wounding me. You have to believe that.” After squeezing his hand, Celia withdrew hers. “A passing fancy doesn’t last for ten years. You just have to determine if he shares your feelings.” She rose from the table and walked to Adin’s chair. Hugging him from behind, she rested her jaw in the crook of his shoulder. “You know what’s so strange about this? For me, I mean. It’s that I’d be devastated if you felt this way about another woman. But Jackson?” She breathed a disbelieving laugh. “For some reason I can wrap my mind around it without feeling threatened or resentful. Maybe that’s because I know his character. And I know there wouldn’t be any competition involved.” How, Adin wondered, could he have lived such a damnable life yet be so blessed? “You’re right,” he said, lifting Celia’s hand and kissing it, “there’s no competition involved at all.” Strange but true. He wanted them both, but in ways so divergent that neither would ever be able to conquer the other’s territory. Or be inclined to try.

Chapter Two Adin didn’t know if it was ballsy or cowardly to show up at Jackson’s apartment unannounced. It just seemed like the way to go. He didn’t want to give his friend any opportunity to dodge this meeting. Somehow, he would discover what exactly was going on between them. If the physical attraction was grossly lopsided, Adin would just have to eat it and get on with his life. More than anything, he needed closure. Simple closure. The four-hour drive from his northwoods home to Milwaukee had helped relax him. But it was Celia’s understanding and encouragement that truly eased his way. Finally, Adin was starting to feel like himself again. Sharing his concerns with her always lightened their weight. Even the dreams had stopped harassing him. The longing and uncertainty, however, had not. So he’d packed enough things for a two- or three-day stay and hit the road. Regardless of the trip’s outcome, he promised Celia he’d be absolutely honest with her when he got back. It was all she wanted of him… and the least he could give in return for her gift of acceptance. Freeway and city traffic started winding his nerves again. Adin realized how spoiled he’d become by living in sleepy little Woodbine. By the time he got to the city’s south side, the congestion began to feed his anxiety about seeing Jackson. He knew he had to chill out. Appearing edgy and distracted would only put Jackson on his guard. Even though Milwaukee’s street layout was fairly sensible and Adin had been to his friend’s flat before, he likely would’ve gotten lost without his GPS. The closely packed dwellings in the old immigrant-established, working-class neighborhoods looked pretty much alike. Adin was glad parking wouldn’t be the bitch it normally was in the city. Whoever had owned Jackson’s building in the 1960s had purchased an

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adjacent lot and put up a one-car garage. Its driveway was short, but it was broad enough to accommodate a couple of vehicles side-by-side. Adin pulled into it. The car already sitting there must’ve belonged to the family renting the upper portion of the building, which was a raised cottage of one and onehalf stories. Jackson lived in the basement apartment. Partially above street-level and partially below, it was what Milwaukeeans called a Polish flat, likely one of hundreds built between the 1890s and 1920s. The curtains on the squat windows were drawn. Checking his watch, Adin wondered if Jackson might still be at his woodshop -- a good possibility. Adin had timed his arrival so he’d avoid rush hour. It was only 3:14. He got out of his car without grabbing his things and walked to Jackson’s door, which was slightly below ground-level and protected by a small, sheltering entryway. Faint strains of Latin-American dance music drifted from the upper residence. Heart rate accelerating, he knocked on the door. No answer. He pushed the button for the shot-to-hell doorbell and heard its feeble buzz within the apartment. Still no answer. Then he tried the door. It opened. Crazy bastard always leaves it unlocked, Adin thought with a shake of his head and a smile. Probably cast some kind of spell over it to keep thieves and vandals out. “Jackson?” he called. Adin didn’t need an answering silence to tell him the occupant wasn’t home. He could sense it. Jackson’s presence was always a palpable force. Standing just inside the door, he closed his eyes and relished for a moment the unmistakable mixture of smells. The most obvious came from the incense and anointing oils Jackson favored for his meditations and rites. But twined through those fragrances were other recognizable odors that marked this unusual man’s daily life -- the heady richness of leather, the musty dryness of old books, the slight fruity-grainy tang of alcohol. And underlying all was the distinctive scent of Jackson himself. It was by far the most provocative.

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Obsessed

- 22 -

Adin began to feel lightheaded, weak in the knees. Suddenly, a place he’d visited a dozen times before seemed like some exotic den of iniquity, presided over by an irresistible satyr. For fuck’s sake, come back to earth, he admonished himself. Damn, but his imagination was stuck in overdrive. He wondered what to do. Sit in his car and wait? Try calling Jackson at the woodshop? Find a diner and have a soothing bowl of soup? Rejecting all those options, Adin decided instead to make himself at home. What the hell. It was something he’d normally do and would expect Jackson to do. They were friends, after all. Leaving his things in the car, since he didn’t want to seem presumptuous about the length of his stay, he walked into the flat. It was dim. The windows, set low in the building, didn’t admit much light. And there was precious little to admit on this dreary November day. If it hadn’t been for the faint sounds of other lives floating above, somewhere beyond the ceiling, Jackson’s dwelling would have seemed like a private, insular cave. If there was such a thing as a “woman’s touch” in a home, this one clearly didn’t have it. Still, Adin had always loved the messy, masculine minimalism of the place. A kitchenette and dining area were off to the right, a living area off to the left. Some remodeling had obviously been done to turn these into one large space. The far walls were lined with bookshelves Jackson had built. Ahead, down a short hallway, were the bedroom and bath and a couple of closets. Adin walked farther inside, peeled off his jacket, and hung it over one of the four chairs surrounding the pecan dining table. He dawdled there, letting his gaze wander over the sprawl of papers and magazines, pencils and draftsman tools. A crystal goblet, its bottom rouged with several drops of wine, stood near one of the chairs. Adin admiringly drew two fingers over a bare spot on the table’s top. Jackson had built the piece. Modernist in its sleek simplicity, meticulous in its design, construction, and finish, it was a work of art. Like everything he made. The table was originally for a client, but it hadn’t met Jackson’s standards. So he’d kept it. To this day Adin had no idea where or how it was flawed.

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Obsessed

- 23 -

He strolled over to the brimming bookshelves. A mobile, made of old die-cut Halloween figures, hung from the ceiling near one end and spun lazily whenever the furnace blower kicked in. Adin gave it an affectionate tap before turning to the shelves. It was here, more than anywhere else in the flat, that Jackson Spey was revealed in all his whimsy and worldliness. Antique volumes with embossed-leather and giltstamped covers were scattered amidst common hardcovers and paperbacks. Their array of subject matter would have made little sense to anyone who didn’t know the man. Objects with either occult or personal significance were tucked between the books. Invariably, they piqued Adin’s curiosity as well as his amusement. A Mexican Day of the Dead figure was poised precariously on a model of a Harley chopper. A primitive phallic symbol wore a conical wizard’s cap. There were several framed diagrams, elaborately colored and gilded, that represented arcane philosophies. Evocative as they were, they didn’t capture Adin’s attention like his favorite framed drawing. Smiling, he found it where it had always been, propped between an impressive collection of Arkham House first editions. It was a caricature of Jackson himself, lying supine and bug-eyed beneath the lowering ass of a tentacled monstrosity. The caption read Don’t Mess with Cthulhu. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Adin blew out a sigh and looked around. He didn’t want to venture any farther into the apartment. He didn’t trust himself. Considering how he’d been feeling, he could end up doing something perverse if he got near Jackson’s bedroom. Crawl into the bed, maybe, or search the nightstand for sex toys, or rub articles of clothing against his face and inhale their scent. He plucked a handsome, older collection of Yeats’ poetry from one shelf and was about to settle in with it when the front door squealed open and a blade of cool air cut into the flat. “Adin! Hey, I thought that was your vehicle in the driveway.” And there was Jackson, all six feet two-some inches of him, in the flesh and jacketed in black leather. After flashing a grin, he kicked the door closed with his heel and spun toward the kitchenette, obviously to empty the shopping bag he carried.

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Obsessed

- 24 -

Adin couldn’t seem to move. His heart pounded in his throat. “Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.” “Course not.” Jackson pointed vaguely in his direction. “What’d you pick to read?” “Yeats.” Adin slapped the book against his empty hand then inserted it back in its slot. “One of my favorites, too.” Jackson didn’t turn around to answer. Still, the gruff, graveled voice, which always seemed commanding regardless of its volume, seemed to grip Adin’s lower abdomen rather than enter his ears. He suddenly couldn’t control any of his senses. They were all focused on the tall figure moving between counter and refrigerator. Adin’s gaze swept down the length of him, from wide shoulders to tightly rounded ass to those long, lean, denim-clad legs. The smell of leather and sawdust seemed to snake through the air, slither up his nose, and lodge in his brain stem. Finished depositing his groceries, Jackson turned. “Did you grab yourself something to drink?” “Uh, no. I haven’t been here that long.” “Want something?” Shit, do I ever. “Ice water would be fine, thanks.” Adin finally managed to propel himself forward. Jackson opened a cupboard, grabbed a couple of tumblers, shoved each beneath the ice dispenser in the fridge door. “You in town on some academic mission?” he asked, again without turning around. Even the tumbling cubes couldn’t overwhelm the sound of his voice. “Oh, by the way, I did a little vehicle juggling so I could get into the garage.” “Sorry for the inconvenience,” Adin said. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He didn’t answer Jackson’s question. “As long as I can still drive, it isn’t a problem.” Smiling, he strode out of the kitchenette, glasses in hand, and extended one to Adin. “Go sit down, get comfortable.”

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Obsessed

- 25 -

Something was different about him. Taking a drink, Adin studied his friend as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it over one of the dining chairs. “Your hair,” Adin murmured, setting his glass on the cocktail table. “Holy Christ, you cut off your goddamned hair!” The braid that used to hang down his back, nearly to his ass, was gone. Now Jackson’s hair fell in irregular waves to his shoulders or maybe a bit beyond. It was full, slightly windblown. The way it framed his face made him even more devilishly handsome. Its spill softened his somewhat angular bone structure and severe features. The unique bronze color, a kind of fallow brown deepened by buried traces of gold, contrasted even more strikingly with his dark eyebrows, down-curved mustache, and chin beard. Adin couldn’t seem to stop gaping at him. He suddenly wondered what the hell Christian Bale looked like. Approaching the sofa, Jackson bent an arm over his shoulder, as if reaching for the braid that was no longer there. “Yeah, well, I had no use for it anymore. And I figured a cancer survivor might.” “But I thought it was like… some kind of conduit, that it helped you channel and direct a certain kind of power.” “It was and it did,” Jackson said. “But I’ve been growing beyond the need for physical aids. Besides, it’s a bitch keeping that much hair clean, combing it out, all that shit.” He set his glass on the table. “Maybe I’m just getting lazy.” Adin lowered himself into the recliner. He couldn’t stop gawking. “So you decided to go Fabio length.” Smirking, Jackson sat in a corner of the couch. “Don’t make me punch you, Adin. I don’t like punching out my guests. It isn’t hospitable.” He took a drink then wiped his mustache with thumb and forefinger. Finally, Adin had a reason to smile. “Actually, I think it looks great. And I admire you for donating the excess. I’m not just saying that to save my butt.”

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Obsessed

- 26 -

Jackson looked pleased. “Thanks, man. So, you still haven’t said what brings you from the Forest of Arden to the vice-ridden city. Did you run away from home? Or are you on a pilgrimage?” He was kidding, of course, but the questions still made Adin’s stomach flutter. “Celia suggested I come.” The answer obviously bewildered Jackson. His brows drew together. “Oh… because you had to drive down here on business? And she suggested you drop in?” He reached for his glass, took another swallow of water. “Are you in town on business?” Adin linked his hands and looked down at them. “Sort of. I just don’t know yet exactly how much. Or how long it’ll keep me here.” He leaned forward, forearms on thighs. He hadn’t thought this through very well. Not very well at all. Mucking around with manufactured excuses and trying to engineer some “accidental” contact wasn’t the way to go. Adin hated playing games. But he couldn’t just leap right to the heart of the matter, either. Jackson, too, leaned forward. He curled a hand around Adin’s wrist. When he spoke, he sounded concerned. “Hey, what’s going on?” Adin’s wrist seemed to heat up by ten degrees. His pulse knocked against Jackson’s fingers, as if his blood wanted to merge with the other man’s. As he stared at the contact point, he had an urge to lift his wrist and kiss the back of the hand that clutched it -- a strong hand, its veins and tendons pushing against their sheath of skin. “I’m dreaming again,” Adin said. “And it’s fucking with me.” The hand withdrew as Jackson sat back. “Ah, that’s right, you used to, uh -pardon the expression -- sleep like the dead. So is there something upsetting about the dreams?” “Yes.” Adin had trouble voicing that syllable. It sounded strangled. “Did Celia think I could banish the dreams?” Adin nodded.

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- 27 -

The picture of confidence, Jackson sat back and propped his right ankle on his left knee. “Yeah, I could do that. It’s always a bit touchy, working inside someone’s mind, but I’m sure I could root out the bad stuff and cast it aside. Kind of like carefully weeding a garden.” “You’re in the dreams,” Adin muttered. “It’s mostly because of you that they’re fucking with me.” Giving Jackson a guilt-tinged glance, he pushed himself up from the recliner. “I told Celia all about it. That’s why she suggested I come here.” Adin began pacing in slow, measured steps. Coherent thought seemed to drain away with each footfall. He wasn’t watching Jackson, but he could feel the man’s eyes following him. “How exactly am I invading your dreams?” Jackson asked, his voice low and toneless. Stopping abruptly, Adin faced him. He pulled his sweater over his head and threw it to the floor. Now he was naked from the waist up. One of Jackson’s eyebrows lifted by a few millimeters. Adin continued simply to stand there, arms at sides, legs apart, shoulders back. “Is the thermostat set too high?” Jackson asked. The arch question was belied by his tone. It was deeper, more molten. “Hardly.” The flat’s coolness had already made Adin’s nipples tauten. “If you were a woman, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.” Jackson paused. His comment went unanswered. “Are you trying to seduce me, Adin?” “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried to seduce anybody.” A corner of Jackson’s mouth hooked up. “Natural allure does have its advantages.” “So sayeth the man with a monopoly on it,” Adin murmured, prompting Jackson’s smile momentarily to increase. “I just want to provoke an honest reaction from you.” He rotated his wrists, turning his palms outward. “So… What do you think when you look at me? How do you feel? Tell me the truth.”

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Obsessed

- 28 -

Jackson’s eyes were fixed on him. “Why does this mean so much to you?” Adin could barely breathe, much less put words to what he felt. He was mesmerized. That stunning, wicked-hot face and perceptive gaze seemed to blot any remaining thought from his mind. He surveyed Jackson’s chest, a V of which was visible between the open buttons of his faded chambray shirt. Adin vividly remembered how he’d pierced and drunk from it, remembered the feel and taste and smell of it. The smooth skin and hard, underlying muscles, flexing slightly beneath his touch. The damp saltiness of arousal sweat. And then there was his cock -- damn it, his driving, demanding cock -- gushing all that pent-up cum into the dark center of Adin’s body… The memories made him dizzy. He exhaled a cheerless laugh. “Because we aren’t just buddies. Because I keep dreaming about what happened last spring, and what happened on the patio three weeks ago, and every little goddamned not-so-insignificant word and look and gesture that came before. And I realize how it all makes me feel. And I realize I can’t make that feeling go away.” Propping his right elbow on the armrest, Jackson ran a hand over his mustache and beard. He didn’t seem quite so laconic anymore. “Did you tell Celia that part?” “I had to. I couldn’t keep it from her. That’s why she suggested I see you. It was more her idea than mine.” “Her idea.” “That’s what I said. You know I don’t lie to you.” Looking down, Jackson briefly drew his lips between his teeth. “Sometimes I wish you did.” “Why?” “It would give me a reason to dislike you.” His gaze returned to Adin’s face. After a moment he rose slowly, as if the act required effort, and walked forward. He stopped maybe eighteen inches from his visitor. It was too close for physical comfort or mental clarity. Weakened by his nearness, Adin swayed a bit.

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Obsessed

- 29 -

“I’ll tell you what I see,” Jackson said. “I see a man who’s my friend, a man I trust and admire and care for and whose company I enjoy beyond measure. I see a man in love with a beautiful, smart, compassionate woman whom I respect.” The timbre of his voice changed. “I see a man who affects me in a way I don’t want to be affected.” He bent over and scooped Adin’s sweater off the floor. “If that’s what you wanted to hear, there it is. But I’ll be damned if I know how it’s going to bring either one of us any satisfaction.” His confession made Adin’s cock start to fill and thicken. He felt its increasing heft and rigidity, felt a tight heaviness in his balls. Warmth suffused his skin and a creeping tension tightened his muscles. His lips parted as his breathing quickened and hit a shoal. Still, he didn’t move. Eyelids lowering, Jackson’s gaze fell briefly to his mouth. “What are you thinking?” Adin whispered. “That we need to extinguish this fire rather than fuel it.” Wearily, Jackson thrust Adin’s sweater at his chest. “Please quit pressing the issue.” It was too much. After all they’d been through, all those charged moments of delinquent passion they refused to acknowledge or tried to underplay or pretended were something else, this was too bloody much. Face twisting in outrage, Adin grabbed the front of Jackson’s shirt with both hands and pulled the smug man toward him. Buttons popped off the worn fabric. “Don’t press the issue? You son of a bitch, you created the fucking issue!” Eyes filming, he ripped open Jackson’s shirt. The man’s scent rose to his nostrils. It alone drove him crazy. He had no idea what he wanted to accomplish -- none -except to lash out at this magisterial, self-possessed prick who’d been doling out just enough sexual voltage to keep his cock in twitch mode for ten years. Face set, Jackson clutched Adin’s wrists and tried to force his arms down. “You don’t get it. I didn’t intentionally ‘create’ any goddamned thing. Shit happened. It just happened.”

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Obsessed

- 30 -

Adin couldn’t believe his ears. “Like… accidentally? What, are you delusional? Let me run through all the things that --” “Then I’ll put it this way. I never intended to tease you,” Jackson broke in, clearly flustered, and shoved his accuser away. Adin stumbled backward and fell on his ass. His hands knotted into fists. “You don’t want to fight me, man,” Jackson said. It was a warning. Breathing hard, Adin glared at him. “You’re right. You aren’t fuckin’ worth it.” After skimming his hands over his tousled hair, he grabbed his sweater and got up. “Condescending bastard.” Enough was enough. He strode to the dining area, prepared to drop the whole issue for good. It had never been his intention either to prostrate himself or to pressure Jackson. But it was still damned hard to walk out. Hovering near the table, dropping his sweater onto his jacket, Adin felt impelled to toss out, “Actually, Jackson, you don’t get it. Not if you think it was some selfish caprice that brought me here.” “I apparently ‘get it’ a whole lot fucking more than you do!” Jackson tossed up his hands and dropped them to his hips. “Jesus Christ, Adin, you’re in a relationship. I don’t interfere with that kind of shit anymore!” In a froth of exasperation, Adin leaned forward and shot a forefinger in the other man’s direction. “Celia understands this need I have. We talked about it. She appreciates what I feel for you. She even picked up on it, months ago, and she’s not going to kick me to the curb because of it.” He rolled his head back and took a breath. “What do you want, a fucking note from her?” Jackson came toward him. Adin’s vision seemed to blur. He didn’t know what to expect anymore, from Jackson or himself. He didn’t know what to strive or wish for, accept or spurn. When the other man reached out, he swung at him. Of course, the old street fighter couldn’t easily be decked. He adroitly blocked the punch. But Adin, stoked by thwarted passion and wounded pride, wasn’t about to

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concede. It was as if he could conquer the humiliating hold this man had on him by conquering the man himself. So they grappled, clutching each other wherever they could, stumbling back into the living area, bouncing off furniture. This was a wrestling match now, and neither had a clear advantage. Jackson was stronger -- the muscles in his arms felt like bridge cables -- but Adin was more nimble. And the more experienced wrestler. Every time Jackson got the upper hand, Adin felt more incensed, more determined to chastise the coldly arrogant asshole who’d made a mockery of his painful need. So he’d summon his resentment and his knowledge of the sport and he’d reverse the hold, or turn it into one that was even more immobilizing… at least temporarily. He wanted to win. At least in this, he wanted his will to prevail. Grunting, they tumbled to the floor, got up, went down again. Jackson’s shirt was gone. Adin’s whole body burned from exertion. They seemed to sweat into each other’s pores. Once in while, Adin got the vague, distracting impression that Jackson was enjoying the feel of him. There was something about the way his arm occasionally wrapped around Adin’s shoulders or chest, the way his hands moved, or didn’t move, on Adin’s back or ass. But within seconds Jackson’s ferocity resurfaced, as if he despised himself for his weakness, and it was at those moments they came perilously close to hurting each other. Then, as if by unspoken agreement or mutual concession, it was over. They were both on the floor, panting with exhaustion and spent anger, and simply rolled onto their backs and lay still. Jackson, eyes closed, bent one leg and threw an arm over his face. “I’m done. You want to knee me in the throat, go ahead.” Adin, almost ten years younger and ten pounds lighter than he, had some energy left. He soon sat up, resting his forearms on his raised knees. His head drooped forward as he continued to catch his breath. He had nothing to say. All he could do now was get up, get dressed, and leave. He was afraid to look at Jackson, stretched out on the carpet like that, strong chest bare and misted with perspiration, arms pumped, hair spread out

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- 32 -

around his flushed, killer face. It was bad enough he felt the man’s heat radiating from his body like summer sun off pavement. Adin felt a smidgen of satisfaction over his athletic prowess, but he obviously hadn’t exorcised his demon. Jackson’s head rolled in his direction. “Where the hell did you pick up a fag thing like Greco-Roman wrestling?” “Where did you pick up a fag thing like fucking men?” It just came out. The retort was supposed to have been a good-natured jibe, more or less, but it went over like a tasteless comment about his mother. Jackson’s face clouded. It looked like he’d been stung by a particularly vicious hornet and was trying to suppress either tears or all-out, irrational rage. Bolting up from the floor, he strode toward the bathroom, jeans hanging loosely around his hips. The door closed firmly behind him. Feeling like eight kinds of shit, Adin rubbed his face. So, this wasn’t entirely about Celia being in the picture. Adin had to keep reminding himself that Jackson was still deconstructing a longstanding self-image. Outlaw biker, magical power-broker, virtual master of all he surveyed. The Great and Powerful Oz on a Harley chopper. Must be tough, Adin thought, discovering that being bisexual was not always a casual exercise in neutrality and choice. The right person could yank you, hard, in one direction or the other. Whether you wanted it or not. He got up, walked to the bathroom and stood outside the closed door, gripping its frame and listening. There was no weeping or nose-blowing inside, no irate banging. The toilet flushed, a tap released water. That was all. The door opened. Adin lifted his lowered head. Immediately, his gaze fused with Jackson’s. And it was there again. His passion for the man flared and condensed. Whatever tangle of ducts and blood vessels and ganglia connected his balls to his cock was where Adin felt it. A deep, smoldering knot of need. It seemed his whole lower abdomen was contracting around it, his pelvic bones welding to it.

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Obsessed

- 33 -

This wasn’t mere desire. This was a singular condition only one doctor in the world could treat. He impulsively raised his hands and cradled Jackson’s face. At that moment, and probably for the last ten years, Adin loved him. Powerfully. He loved that starkly stunning face he held, those eyes that so hypnotically held his own. He loved the mature mind and ancient soul behind those eyes. “Hey, what happened to your sense of humor?” Adin murmured, because saying I’m sorry would have carried all the wrong implications. Jackson’s expression didn’t change. His face remained impassive yet somehow eloquent. Only his shallow breathing belied his blank composure. “You have no idea,” he whispered, “how much I’ve wanted to feel your mouth on me again. It’s been a kind of torture.” Those words pulled the trigger. Adin’s fingers dug into the tendons of Jackson’s neck. “You want my mouth on you again? I swear I’ll worship you with it.” He crushed his lips against the lips of his best friend. It was a rough, frenzied kiss, wet, open-mouthed. Their tongues urgently connected, pushing and twining. Adin rubbed his mouth over Jackson’s mustache and beard, felt his own whiskers catch in the hairs. It didn’t matter if their skin became abraded. It didn’t even matter if they drew blood. Jackson’s fingers scrabbled at Adin’s lips even as they kissed, the slightly rough pads and blunt nails drawing over the soft, moist flesh and then probing deeper. Adin understood. He sucked at the fingers. He wrapped them in his tongue. He caught them between his lips and teeth. He and Jackson bit each other, lapped at each other’s face and throat. Adin dragged his mouth down to Jackson’s chest. Almost reverently, he kissed the tattoo that angled between collarbone and left nipple -- the magical Trident of Paracelsus, its three tines pointing toward the wizard’s heart. Jackson groaned as Adin’s lips slowly pressed against it, then steamed down its length and traced each prong. Barely lifting his head, Adin moved on to the nipple, already hard as a ball bearing. His tongue circled and

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- 34 -

speared and then flattened against it. His lips and teeth plucked at it, and at the fine hair that surrounded it. Jackson’s hips arched. Adin kneaded the bunching muscles of his back. Electricity branched and spangled throughout his groin and abdomen. He felt his own feverish breath rebounding from the other man’s damp flesh. Jackson drew Adin’s head back up for another kiss, as ravaging as the first. The movement would’ve been forced if Adin weren’t so eager to oblige. The noises they made had become unbearably exciting -- an erratic slurping overlaid by gasps and ferocious groans. The sounds were as undeniably masculine as the bodies that issued them and the smells arising from those bodies. Only two men randy for each other could produce such an intoxicating combination. The blistering kiss just kept going on. Neither man seemed willing to break it. They were making up for lost time and maybe working up to the next time. This was something more and other than a kiss. It was a detonation of lust.

Chapter Three They shoved off their jeans and underwear as if the clothing were saturated with acid. Jackson pulled Adin into the bathroom and nearly threw him into the tub. He turned on the shower. Gasping for air, Adin hunkered on all fours. Water pelted and streamed over his body. Sopping hair draped his face. His cock was painfully hard, the head swollen and rosy. He gripped it as he heard Jackson fumbling through the medicine cabinet then step into the tub and kneel behind him. As soon as Jackson grasped his hips, Adin’s cock began to leak. It felt like it was about to split open. He thought he heard Jackson murmur, “I’m sorry,” just before that big, beautiful, iron-hard rod began to slip in and fill him. Even though he hadn’t been taken by a man since the last time Jackson fucked him, Adin was so wildly aroused he didn’t have to concentrate on relaxing. He just wanted it. And Jackson had applied some kind of lubricant. As soon as the plump head breached his body, Adin trembled. A charge shimmered from his hips throughout his torso and limbs. When Jackson began to slide his cock back and forth -- not too tentatively and not too violently, but with a firm, persuasive rhythm -- Adin’s arms and legs wanted to unlock. He nearly collapsed onto the tub’s floor. He started pumping his own shaft, relishing the feel of his hand pulling the delicate, taut skin up and back over those engorged tissues beneath it, pulling it up and slightly over the cap’s spongy brim. Jackson’s thrusts became more aggressive, punctuated by deep-throated growls. The sound was maddening; the friction, even more maddening. Adin matched his pace, matched his sounds of pleasure and determination. And then he felt a caressing pressure on his prostate, Jackson’s long, slow strokes repeatedly sliding over it. Adin let out a string of vocalized sighs, ah-ah-ah,

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as water spilled over him and the other man’s hips connected with his ass. His hand pumped more furiously. That impressive cock slammed into him harder and harder until Jackson breathed out a gritty “Fuuuuck!” and dug his fingers into Adin’s hips. There was no resisting the hot fountain of his cum, the convulsive jerking of his cock. An orgasm clenched and then rocketed through Adin’s body, his own cream spurting into the steady downpour of water and quickly swirling toward the drain. Drenched and breathless, the two men crawled limply to the tub’s sloping back and wilted into each other’s arms. The main funnel of the shower fell on their legs and feet. Still, rivulets streaked down their faces and through their whiskers. They ran their hands over each other’s wet body… and they kissed again. Their kisses were languorous now, mouths pressing softly then lingering, the flexions of their lips and tongues so gentle they were almost exploratory. It didn’t matter if strands of wet hair, plastered against their skin, lay in the way. That was precious, too… at least to Adin. He wanted to feel all of Jackson, wanted to turn him inside out and kiss his bones clean. He knew he could fall asleep right there, nestled in the sturdy hammock of the other man’s body. And he knew his sleep would be untroubled. Jackson’s head rested against his. “Did I cause you any pain, any discomfort?” Adin tried to glance up at him, but droplets of water weighted his eyelashes. “Why? Did you want to?” The light bouncing of Jackson’s chest must’ve meant he was chuckling. “Let’s abandon the sarcasm, okay?” “Actually, you eased my pain and discomfort.” Adin ran a hand over that waterslicked chest, letting his palms and fingers conform to its outlines. “Should we abandon sentiment, too?” “That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Jackson said. His hand hovered just above Adin’s, as if he wanted to feel the other man feel him. “I always try to avoid unnecessary sentiment.”

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“Why?” “Because it muddles my mind.” His hand fell to Adin’s cock and cupped it, thumb tenderly petting its now-humble head and wrinkled body. “Do you realize how beautiful you are?” he murmured. “It almost hurts me to look at you.” Adin went molten from the inside out. Something was happening here. They’d broken through some fragile barrier, and it wasn’t just their sexual hunger that had driven them. He had no rejoinder for Jackson’s confession. And it was a confession, not a mere compliment. “How long were you planning on staying?” Jackson asked. “I wasn’t ‘planning on’ anything. I knew this trip hinged on how you’d… receive me.” Jackson’s face creased into a smile. Adin could feel it on his forehead, along the ridge of his nose, because his face was still nuzzled against Jackson’s cheek. “Do you feel well-received enough to stay a while?” the host asked. “Is that an invitation?” “Yes, that’s an invitation.” “How about if I stayed ’til Sunday, then?” “Works for me.” Jackson began to get up. “Shouldn’t you call Celia?” “I called her from the car when I got into the city. I’ll call her again tomorrow. She already knows I might be here for a few days.” Feeling a little dopey, Adin gave him a puzzled look. “Where are you going?” Jackson turned off the water. “I don’t know about you, buckaroo, but I don’t plan on spending the whole weekend in the bathtub. I’m starving. I need to eat.” He stepped out onto the bath mat. “You hungry?” Adin looked up at him with wonder. And lecherous appreciation. “Damn, you’ve got a big dick.” “I thought I was a big dick.” Jackson pulled a towel off the rack. “Sometimes.” Rousing himself, Adin got out of the tub and grabbed the second towel that hung there. “But I can easily accommodate both.”

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Jackson chuckled and shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he muttered. “I’m not exactly surprised, but I still can’t believe it.” “Sure you can,” Adin said. Simultaneously, they began to caress as much as dry each other’s body. Adin loved the sinewy litheness of Jackson’s -- all those tough, sloping muscles, so neatly bundled beneath his tawny skin. Pecs, biceps, the delts that made up his wide shoulders all shifted and rose and clenched a bit as he dried Adin. He had some luscious body hair, too. Its dark, silken threads swept over his forearms, on either side of his breastbone and, best of all, straight down his torso to form a treasure-trail that spread and thickened the lower it got. It terminated in an irresistible nest. The admiration seemed to be mutual. Jackson was definitely taking his time. As he dried Adin’s legs, he lowered himself to his knees and sat on his haunches. He bobbled Adin’s low-slung balls then pulled Adin’s cock into his mouth. His tongue enfolded it and swirled around it. After giving it a quick suck, he slowly withdrew his lips and stood up. The move was both startling and exciting, only Adin’s body wasn’t quite ready to respond with anything more than a weak flutter. He fervently hoped Jackson liked the feel of cock in his mouth. He suspected the man had never given head before. And then, another shock. Jackson tossed the towels in a hamper. “I’ve wanted to suck you off since I first saw you naked. Remember when that was?” Adin couldn’t be bothered with remembering. The image Jackson had just conjured filled his mind. He couldn’t force it aside enough to mine for memories. Fortunately, though, he didn’t have to dig for the answer. “The island,” he said. “When we swam in the ocean together. So… why didn’t you?” “Why didn’t I what? Follow through?” “Or at least come on to me.”

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“For Christ’s sake, Adin, I’d just found out you were a freakin’ vampire. Letting my guard down enough to be pals with you was a big enough hurdle to clear, dontcha think?” “Shit, I wanted you,” Adin confessed. “Badly. I even thought of taking you by force.” “That wouldn’t have been wise.” “I know that now. Anyway, I had too much regard for you to go that route.” “Thanks,” Jackson said with a wry smile. “I think.” He pulled his jeans back on but didn’t bother with the underwear, which he also tossed into the hamper. He moved toward the bathroom door. Adin snatched at his wrist, getting him to turn around. Stepping up to Jackson, he embraced him. They held each other tightly, sealed along the length of their bodies -chest against chest, hips against hips. Even their feet touched. Adin pressed more kisses onto Jackson’s mouth. Their hands swept over each other’s back. It was drugging, so much strength mixed with so much surrender. And it was profoundly romantic. They were sharing a movie kiss. A bit shyly, they rubbed their chests together, the damp dunes of their pectoral muscles and their stony nipples like enjoyable speed-bumps. Then they snickered quietly, maybe self-consciously, because it was such a silly yet wonderful thing to do. Jackson touched Adin’s lips. “Those are some damned voluptuous genes you inherited, Swift. You could kiss the mean out of a shark.” “Are you wooing me?” “I think we’re past that stage.” He picked Adin’s jeans off the floor. “Here, put your pants on, Spartacus. Let’s get something to eat.”

*** Adin hadn’t realized until this visit how purely happy he was in Jackson’s presence. It might have been their otherness that brought them together, but, he realized, it was their sameness that kept them together. It seemed they could and did talk about anything -- books and music, history and politics, philosophy and religion,

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psychology and human nature. They were even fascinated by each other’s profession. Adin was awed by Jackson’s skill as a carpenter, not to mention his skill as a latter-day wizard. Jackson was impressed by Adin’s familiarity with languages and literature. So they talked as they prepared sesame chicken and drank wine together. They talked about Jackson’s high-end furniture projects and about the people he’d helped through his mastery of magic. They continued to talk throughout the meal, and while they cleaned up together, and as they played Texas Hold ’Em and Five-Card Draw at the dining table. “What’s it like,” Jackson asked, “being, you know, intimate with a woman and a man outside of a ménage? A woman and man you have… feelings for.” He glanced up from his cards, a glimmer in his eyes. “That’s assuming you’re not just using me to put variety in your sex life.” Adin had to smile, mostly at how he tiptoed on the words and then scrambled to cover his embarrassment with levity. That tactic was starting to seem characteristic of him. Adin found it endearing. “I’m not sure how to answer that,” he said. “It just seems natural to want intimacy with you and Celia. To crave it, actually. You both have so much to offer that I seem to need.” Adin threw in his hand. “Does that seem self-centered?” “No more self-centered than most people are.” Jackson had won another game. He pulled more change his way. “Who doesn’t pursue what they need?” “Or want?” “Or want. Of course, things often stand in the way. A lack of time, money, opportunity.” Jackson folded his arms on the table and gave Adin a pointed look. “A healthy conscience.” “You’re referring to Celia and me, how this might affect her.” Jackson nodded. “I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want your relationship to be damaged.” “You think I do?” Adin stared at the tabletop as he tried to determine how to lay this issue to rest, once and for all. “Okay, I’m going to explain this one more time.

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Maybe for my own sake as well as for yours. And until you or I hear differently from Celia herself, consider it writ in stone. Celia encouraged me to see you. And to keep seeing you, if that’s what we both want. Trust me, that woman would never utter a word she didn’t mean. I sure as hell wouldn’t be here if I doubted that. Do you believe me?” Jackson riffled through the cards. “Yes.” “Then here’s more. She said we -- you and I, that is -- needed to get past all the ‘repression and frustration bullshit.’ That was the exact phrase she used. She said ‘a passing fancy doesn’t last ten years,’ and she can see how happy I am when you’re around.” Jackson pulled down his mouth and lifted his brows. “Hm. Is there a possibility she could be having an affair?” “No,” Adin said flatly. “I didn’t think so.” “She’s just an extraordinary woman.” Jackson nodded. “That she is.” His fingers irregularly drummed the tabletop. “So, are you?” “Am I what?” “Happy when I’m around.” Adin met his gaze. Jackson’s eyes weren’t doing any of that witchy color shifting they so often did. They were simply hazel, clear and warm. “Very,” he said, reaching for Jackson’s restless hand. He skimmed the tops of the other man’s fingers. “What I can’t figure out is why we never got together sooner. For most of the time we’ve known each other, we’ve both been unattached. Why didn’t either one of us make some kind of move?” “I was sorely tempted to, on more than one occasion,” Jackson said. “But I just couldn’t accommodate your, uh… lifestyle. Besides, between my day job and my wizardly work, I couldn’t afford the distraction.” “I suppose that’s still the case.”

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“Pretty much. I’d make a lousy partner.” Adin smiled. “But you make a damned good lover.” “That remains to be seen.” Jackson withdrew his hand and began gathering up the cards. “Just don’t expect flowers on Valentine’s Day.” Adin’s smile broadened. “Hey, will you show me your ceremonial room? The one you built in that couple’s basement. You’ve had the thing for what, five years maybe, and I’ve never seen it.” “I hope you don’t mean tonight. I’m bushed.” “No, sometime this weekend.” Just the mention of exhaustion made Adin yawn. He realized how tired he was. At least he’d had the foresight to bring his stuff in from the car. “Yeah, okay, maybe tomorrow. I suppose I can play hooky for a day or two.” Jackson rose from the table, walked to where Adin sat, and casually raked a few fingers through Adin’s uncombed curls. “Come on, let’s turn in.” Adin felt the fond touch throughout his body. It was amazing, he thought, how quickly they were settling into their affection for one another and into comfort with physical expression of that affection. This new dimension to his existence was like viewing the dark side of the moon. His life after he’d joined with Celia had seemed whole and perfect. But he’d only been seeing one shining half of it. Here, standing beside him, was the other half. Just as glorious, just as capable of filling him with joy and wonder. He slid away from the table and got up, knowing something he hadn’t known before. What was going on between him and Jackson was similar to falling in love with Celia six months ago. Back then, once Adin realized and accepted what was happening to him, he knew he couldn’t undo it. He knew she’d become an essential component of his formula for contentment. And now, so had Jackson Spey.

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Damn, Adin thought, I’m in love. Again. But maybe he’d been in love with Jackson from the very start. Maybe this wasn’t a new development but simply the revelation of an old one he’d tried assiduously to ignore. They shambled toward the bedroom, Jackson switching off lights along the way. Once there, Adin wished like hell they weren’t both so wrung out. The anticipation of crawling into bed naked with someone he desired always lit fires in his brain and in his blood. But, shit, his eyelids were heavy. He pulled off his jeans without sitting on the queen-sized bed. “Jackson, are you glad I’m here? Or are you just sort of… taking advantage of what you see as a one-time situation?” It almost sounded like an insult. But Adin had to know. That statement about avoiding sentiment had thrown him a bit. At the other side of the bed, Jackson sat on the edge of the mattress as he peeled off his only article of clothing. Again, Adin couldn’t help ogling him -- the thick, bronze-colored hair that tickled the top of his spine, the graceful dance of muscles in his back and shoulders, the upper hemispheres of his ass. If Adin hadn’t been so weary, he would’ve dived across the quilt and tackled that fine form. “I’m trying not to think about it,” Jackson answered. He got to his feet, turned around, pulled back the covers. “And don’t ask me why.” For an electrifying moment, they both stood there, staring at each other across the bed. What Jackson had said earlier, Adin now read in his eyes. It almost hurts me to look at you. Jackson was scared. “Well, for future reference,” Adin said, crawling under the covers, “I’d like us to keep doing this. Spending time with each other, alone.” He turned onto his side, toward his companion. “If it isn’t too much of a ‘distraction’.” Jackson, too, got into bed. He sat for a moment, covered to the waist, and seemed to be thinking about something. Adin couldn’t resist gliding a hand over the man’s left thigh to his springy carpet of pubic hair. He let his thumb and forefinger lightly caress

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the basal thickness of Jackson’s cock. Even drooping it felt full… and was unbearably tantalizing. “Why me?” Jackson asked, glancing down at him. “I’m almost ten years older than you. I’m usually preoccupied with doing my own thing. I don’t exactly have the personality of a Care Bear or a party animal.” His hips writhed a bit beneath Adin’s touch. “Shit, man, whenever you wanted dick, you could walk your ass into any gay bar in any city in the world and have your pick of the most buff, gorgeous, twenty­ something pieces available.” He slapped a hand over Adin’s roaming fingers, stilling them. “What do you see in me?” “What I don’t see in anybody else.” Wrenching the covers out from under Jackson’s hand, he threw them aside. That incomparable cock seemed to be waiting for him. He lowered his mouth to it, nuzzled and nipped at the root while he buried his nose in that scorched field of hair. Its musk wreathed his senses. His lips and tongue, followed by his fingertips, worked covetously down the length of the satiny shaft to its perfectly sculpted head. He nudged Jackson’s legs into lifting and bending. With two fingers, he stroked the short road of the man’s perineum and squeezed his balls. They slid together in their coarse sac like a pair of peeled plums. “Damn,” Jackson breathed, his hand plunging into Adin’s hair. “I’ve fantasized about this. So often. Your head right there, your lips around my cock.” His voice was rushed, the words a steady seductive stream that coaxed Adin’s own shaft into dense erection. “And do you beat off then,” Adin asked in a ragged voice, “when you’re thinking about it?” “I have to. Because I imagine you sucking me with all the skill I know you must have. Because I feel my cock getting hard in your mouth, so hard it aches, so hard it seems like it’s going to burst.” Hurriedly, Adin got up and knelt over Jackson’s crotch, never letting go of the flesh that poled beneath his mouth and hand. He’d fantasized about this, too. He pulled

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the head into his mouth and laved it, his tongue gliding along its gentle slope, circling its rim and the tender skin beneath it, tracing its thin fissure. The tip of his tongue butterfly-flicked against the hole, gaping like a tiny mouth. Jackson’s breath gusted out of his lungs. His hips kept thrusting, but restrainedly, as if he wanted Adin to take him all in… yet take his time. So Adin took his time. He didn’t grip the shaft and slide it fully into his mouth. Not yet. Instead, his fingers caressed the vein-threaded length of it, thumbs pressing against the dense ridge that ran along its underside. Jackson was letting out staccato groans. A drop of precum fell on Adin’s tongue. The feel of it made his passion skyrocket. His own hard-on pulsed and leaked. Tightening his lips and curling his fingers around Jackson’s dense erection, he slid his mouth farther onto it. And farther yet. Jackson was hung like a porn star, but Adin had mastered deep-throating a long time ago. As that ripe cockhead slid past his soft palate, he fell into a rhythm of strong, leisurely sucks matched by the firm pumping of his hand. His other hand diddled that succulent, well-filled scrotum. Restraint crumbled. The harder Adin sucked, the harder Jackson thrust. Soon Jackson let out a barbaric growl as his cock began to throb, strafing Adin’s tongue and throat with cum. Shuddering at the feel of Jackson’s release, Adin grabbed his own cock and, after a few brisk squeezes, shot out his hot load. Some squirted onto Jackson’s inner thigh. The rest dribbled down the backs of Adin’s fingers. Sluggishly reaching for Adin’s hand, Jackson put it to his mouth and licked it clean. The startling gesture sent a few small aftershocks through Adin’s loins. “Save you a trip to the bathroom,” Jackson drawled. He wilted against the wall, for his bed had no headboard. “I swear you even taste good, Swift.” “You need to stop flattering me.” Adin resumed his original position, stretched out alongside his lover. “I can’t. I’m good’n’stuck in the throes of lust now. You’ll just have to take it.” Jackson worked his long body beneath the covers. He remained on his back, but he turned his head. “What do you see in me?”

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Adin couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. “The dark side of the moon,” he murmured, the taste of his lover’s semen still regaling his tongue.

Chapter Four “It looks so unassuming. Doesn’t feel that way, though.” Adin took a few steps into the basement of a handsome house in a quiet, upscale suburb. The room had its own outside door, and only Jackson and the home’s owners, who used it as a covenstead, had a key. The space embodied the other half of Jackson’s life. Worlds apart from his furniture-building shop, this was his ceremonial magic room. Adin had seen the plans, but he’d never seen the finished space. Jackson had designed and built most of the room himself. How it came to be here was a long and complicated story full of odd twists and setbacks. The result, though, was as stunning as the products of his woodworking artistry. And it certainly didn’t come cheaply. “Travertine?” Adin asked, tapping the toe of his boot on the eighteen-inchsquare floor tiles. Jackson, standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, regarded them. “Yup. Half-inch thick, give or take.” “Wow.” A small fortune in the floor alone. And then there was the oak paneling, and thick oak rods for hanging drapery cloths during certain important rituals, and tall oak cabinets in the room’s far corners, and the vaguely Deco-style light fixtures, which looked like ribbed silver cups affixed to the walls. “Those two doors,” Jackson said, pointing to the right, “lead to the bathroom and walk-in closet. I splurged on a bidet and banged together some cypress cabinetry for the bathroom.” As impressive as these features were, they couldn’t compete with what stood in the room’s center -- an altar handcrafted from bluestone and sarsen, Jackson’s homage

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to Stonehenge. Adin recalled from the original plans that mortis-and-tenon joints secured the top to the sides. The oak drawers in front held ceremonial objects. At the moment, the altar was topped only by a peaked form draped in indigo silk. It must be the wizard’s pentacle. The Circle that surrounded the altar was perhaps fifteen to eighteen feet in diameter. It wasn’t simply painted on the floor. Jackson had it made out of sterling silver segments, each etched with Names of Power. One section was missing. Adin figured it must have been the Circle’s entry and exit point. Although the soft, gold fans of ceiling-directed light didn’t illuminate it, the Circle had an eerie gleam. Narrow poles affixed with symbols were stationed at its four cardinal points. A smaller triangle, similarly outlined in silver, was positioned just outside the mystical workspace. Jackson strolled around the Circle, studying it as if he, too, were seeing it for the first time. “The guys who first notched the tiles for the silver segments really fucked up. They only gave me a ten-foot diameter. At first I thought I could work with it, but it proved too small. Especially when the coven that meets here had to do its thing.” “So you had it expanded.” “I had no choice.” Adin pulled up one sleeve and glanced at his arm. His follicles had tightened, forcing the hair up. The air seemed to be changing as Jackson circumnavigated his Magic Circle. It felt almost prickly, saturated with crackling energy. Oddly, Adin’s scalp and scrotum seemed to be shrinking. His solar plexus tingled. He walked to a table against the left-hand wall and sat in one of its two chairs. “The room turned out beautifully.” “Thank you.” “Have you ever, uh… thrown a mojo fuck in here?” Adin knew full well that Jackson sometimes practiced sex magic. Suddenly, the thought of it gave him an undeniable twinge of jealousy. This wonder-working wizard, physically majestic and psychically ablaze, gracing some lucky recipient with the orgasm of a lifetime.

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Arms crossed over his chest, Jackson stopped and peered at the Triangle of Art. He squatted to study it more closely. “A few times.” “With women or men?” “Two women, one man.” Jackson looked up at Adin, then stood. “Why?” “How’d it go?” Curiously, Jackson regarded him. “The results of the first ritual were a real mess, thanks to my partner. I think I told you about it.” “Oh yeah, that’s right. One of the owners of the house. A novice with a hidden agenda. What about the others?” “They went well.” Jackson strolled over to the table and sat in the other chair. “Adin, what are you angling for? Why all the interest in sex magic? You know what it’s about.” “I just, uh…” Adin pulled down his mouth, shook his head, jerked out an indecisive shrug. Feeling flushed, he knew telltale swatches of rose were smeared across his cheekbones -- damn his skin. Jackson, forehead crimped, leaned toward him. “Adin? You’re blushing.” “So I’m a little jealous. Okay? And you don’t have to bother calling me a hypocrite because I know I’m a damned hypocrite. But when I think of the phenomenal things you can do and how extra-phenomenal they would be in there,” he indicated the Circle, “I just --” “Feel shortchanged?” Jackson suggested. He wore a small, amused smile. Adin flipped him a sullen glance. “Something like that.” He felt flustered. The room’s eerie atmosphere had already been working on his nerves. Then came that sour wave of jealousy. Now, embarrassment. “You want some?” Jackson asked, smile still in place. “Huh?” “Some of that supernaturally fine thang.” “Now?” “Why not?” Jackson rose from the chair.

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Adin felt a distinct, brief pressure against his cock, as if someone had palmed it through his jeans. It pulsed in response. Startled, he flinched and looked down, then looked at Jackson. The wizard’s smile was wider. “Just let me slip into something more appropriate,” Jackson said, “and I’ll see what I can do. Or you will. In the meantime, you might want to get undressed.” He headed toward the walk-in closet. “Turn up the thermostat!” Adin called after him. Jackson did so before disappearing behind a door. Another thrill of anticipation zinged through Adin. There seemed to be no shortage of such feelings when Jackson was around. Feeling strangely diffident, as if the walls had eyes, he slipped out of his clothing and put it on the chair, shoes beneath. Within moments Jackson swept out of his dressing room, clad in a sleeveless scarlet robe with gold and purple embroidery at opposite sides of the low neckline. It was fastened only at the waist. The sight of him -- knavishly elegant, walking like the invincible Emperor of the Cosmos -- made Adin feel uniquely privileged to be intimate with him. Jackson’s eyes, always prone to weird shifts in color, looked like the Aurora Borealis. His gaze briefly detoured down Adin’s body. “We should enjoy this,” he murmured, striding into his Circle at its entry point. “Should I be in there with you?” “Definitely.” Jackson already seemed preoccupied with his preparations. He held the silver strip that would complete the boundary of his magical world. “Stand in the center. Close those bedroom eyes when I tell you to, and remain still.” As soon as he stepped inside the Circle, Adin felt another flurry of gooseflesh. The hair on his body again rose, as if in attention. He stood in the middle of the space. Somehow it felt packed with presence -- Jackson’s, most likely, but maybe others’ as well. Adin had already witnessed some of the wonders this man was capable of engineering, but he’d never experienced them here, in this artfully charged room that drew in God-knows-what from other spheres.

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“How will I know when you’re ready?” he asked. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll just know. After that, all you have to do is ride the wave.” “So I should stay absolutely passive?” Jackson, who was pulling things out of the altar’s drawers, glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t have much choice. But if you trust me, that shouldn’t be an issue.” “You know I trust you.” “Okay then. Close your eyes. Hold your arms out, maybe ten inches from your sides. Keep your mind free of expectations.” Adin did as he was told, except for the expectations part. He was well aware of Jackson’s magical abilities. Confirming this, invisible restraints suddenly wound around his wrists, ankles and waist. Adin pulled against them. They were taut, with just enough give to allow him to squirm a bit. He wondered vaguely if Jackson had a dominant streak. It wouldn’t be a surprise. The possibility excited Adin enough to make his cock start to fill, his balls feel leaden. The pungent smoke of incense, interlaced with another scent, soon curled past his face. Jackson must have anointed himself with an oleum magicale. No longer a mere man, he was transformed now, a reservoir of incomprehensible power. Light flashed through Adin’s eyelids. He heard the soft rustle of movement. And suddenly he was being fondled. Everywhere. It happened all at once, as if he were the focal point of an orgy. He simultaneously felt fingertips creeping over his lips and feathering across his eyelashes, fingernails digging into his chest and ass. Admiring hands swept down his arms and legs. His nipples were pinched, flicked. Afterward, a tongue swept over them. Aroused beyond the point of standing still, he struggled against the restraints. His hard-on jigged. It sharpened his excitement to struggle, to feel those touches

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become more fervid as he writhed. Hands forked into his hair. Hot, agitated breath pumped against cheek and throat and down his torso. Teeth tugged at his body hair. His balls felt seared into tightness; his cock felt like an injured, swollen limb. A hot, moist mouth closed over it. Another mouth gently sucked and plucked at his sac. Fingers snaked over and up his ass. Head rolling from side to side, Adin couldn’t stifle his cries. The pleasure bombarding him was excruciating. His hips began to buck, responding to the deep sucking of that invisible mouth, the probe and wiggle of those invisible fingers. The very air had become a warm, muscular presence that fully encased and undulated against his body. Cum seemed to churn and swell against every thin wall of every thin channel in his genitals. Flushed and tense with arousal, he opened his eyes. He wanted to see Jackson, had to look at him. As soon as his eyelids shuttered up, the wizard’s robe slipped off his body without him making a move. Naked, breathing heavily, he held out his arms, mimicking his captive’s position. His cock, too, was magnificently erect, the blood-packed veins visible, the head purpling. Adin thought of what he wanted to do to this ravishing man who was more than a man. Kiss you, kiss you wild. Scrape my fingernails through your chest hair. Suck your nipples. Bite your shoulders. Come on your face. Come on your ass. Come in your ass. The images kept rolling through his mind as sensations kept assailing his flesh. Jackson came forward and knelt at his feet. Adin trained his hazy, heavy-lidded gaze on the man. Want to fuck you. Hard. Seized by powerful contractions, his stiffly angled cock began to shoot out cream as an orgasm pounded through his body from core to pores. Jackson, head lolling back and mouth open, let the spurting cum drizzle through his mustache, fall onto his lips. His tongue crept out and found it. The sight prolonged Adin’s climax until he thought it would tear him apart. But, inevitably, it began to wane. The unseen restraints melted away. Panting, Adin dropped to the floor, his knees butting against Jackson’s knees. When he wilted

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forward, Jackson’s strong arms came around his back. Adin smelled the spice of the oleum as he weakly nuzzled his face into the thick, silky fall of the man’s hair. “Shit,” he breathed. “And you never laid a hand on me?” “I laid a lot of hands on you. Just not the kind you’re used to. That’s one of the benefits of ‘sending out the senses.’ I can interact in any way I want to with my environment.” Adin lifted his head, pushed the hair back from his face. “I’m glad I was part of your environment.” “You weren’t just part of it,” Jackson said, getting to his feet, “you were the whole thing. But the next time, I want to use my real body. God, Swift, I really get off on you.” He extended a hand to help Adin up. Smiling, Adin took it. “Ditto, Mr. Wizard.”

*** “Are there times you miss my old vampiric self?” They were on their way to Jackson’s woodshop. He wanted to check his answering machine and faxes, pick up some paperwork. They’d already stopped for an early dinner. From the woodshop they’d go back to the flat, which wasn’t far away, and just hang. Adin was getting antsy about calling Celia. Jackson seemed to ponder his companion’s question. “Well, since we’re always honest with each other… yeah, I sometimes do.” He gave Adin a wry smile. “Never thought I’d say that.” “I never thought you would either.” As inextricably bound as Jackson’s life was with the occult, Adin knew he’d always distrusted shifters and vampires. And all practitioners of the Black Arts. And most necromancers. In fact, Jackson was damned fussy about his paranormal company. If anybody’s actions or motivations were in the least bit questionable or distasteful to him, he kept his distance. It was an odd confluence of circumstances that had brought the two of them together. Not to mention an attraction neither man could easily ignore. “What exactly is it you miss about it?” Adin asked.

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“I’m sure you know.” Adin slid a hand over Jackson’s thigh. Occasionally, he couldn’t help running his fingers over that delectable cock. Its silhouette was noticeable and its feel, resilient… even through the denim that covered it. “You wish I could pierce you again,” Adin said, “and feed from you.” Jackson nodded. “Helluva rush.” He glanced at the hand on his leg. “You shouldn’t be feeling me up while I’m remembering that encounter. Sexual arousal doesn’t exactly make for safe driving.” “Haven’t you ever gotten a blowjob while you’re behind the wheel?” “A number of times. Which is why I know what I’m talking about.” The prospect had already begun to seduce Adin. He couldn’t seem to help it. Being around Jackson, nonstop, harried his hormones. Just as he started easing down the man’s zipper, something off to his right caught his attention. He glanced out the car window. A large, four-wheel-drive pickup was cruising along beside them, the driver showing a little too much interest in Jackson’s vehicle. Adin realized it had been there for a while, keeping pace with them. He didn’t make much of it. People were nosy. So maybe the guy was hoping for a little entertainment to ease the tedium of the freeway. The pickup changed lanes a couple of times and pulled up along the driver’s side of the car. Adin’s hand still rested high up on Jackson’s lap, his fingers idly caressing the hot gully between crotch and thigh. He suddenly pulled it away. Jackson’s cock, its bulge quite visible, had begun to swell and push at the overlying cloth. “You did that just in time,” Jackson said in a thickened voice. “My jeans were starting to feel too small.” He flipped on his right directional light and steered toward an exit ramp. Adin watched out of the corner of his eye as the pickup dropped behind them and followed. Still, no big deal. But as they wended their way down city streets toward Jackson’s woodshop, and as the truck continued to take the same route, Adin’s curiosity grew. He kept his

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attention trained on the vehicle. Not many people would have reason to be entering a warehouse and industrial district on a Saturday. Although the area had been the focus of a massive urban-renewal effort in recent years, portions of it still seemed rather desolate. “Why are you so quiet?” Jackson asked. Craning his neck a little, Adin looked into the rearview mirror. The truck was a few car-lengths behind them… but it was still behind them. “Don’t park in front of your shop.” “Why?” “Trust me. Pull up somewhere else. Just for a few minutes.” Cars were scattered here and there in parking lots. But it was a weekend in the bleak month of November, so vehicles were generally sparse. Under the circumstances, that didn’t bode well. “This good enough?” Jackson nosed the car toward an empty loading dock not far from his building. Adin had momentarily lost sight of the pickup. He got out of the car to look for it. “What the hell are you doing?” Jackson asked, following him. They were no sooner out of the car than that black truck came screaming around the corner and jolted to a stop just before smashing into them. “What the fuck?” Jackson cried, sprinting toward the pickup. Adin was right beside him. The driver nearly launched himself out the door. He was a florid, burly man with massive arms and a chunky midsection. His reddish hair was neatly trimmed and oiled. He was clean-shaven. For a split second, he seemed a little startled by Jackson’s and Adin’s appearances -- maybe hadn’t expected them to be as tall as they were -- but his air of belligerent bluster quickly returned. Scowling ferociously, he jabbed a forefinger toward their incredulous faces. “Listen, swishy-boys, you better fuckin’ watch what you’re doin’ in traffic. If you’re so

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goddamned out of control you can’t keep your fuckin’ dicks down and your hands to yourselves, then don’t fuckin’ go out in public.” He rolled his shoulders. “Lucky for you I hate cops as much as I hate fags, or I woulda reported you. Consider yourselves warned.” The confrontation opened some cavern in Adin’s subconscious. His old capacity for vampiric fury began to surface like lava. He leaned toward the man’s face. When he spoke, his voice sounded curdled. “Who forced you to look, huh? Or couldn’t you help yourself? Is that it? Were you salivating ’cause you wanted some of that touch?” Snarling, the man delivered an abrupt shove to Adin’s shoulder as he grated, “Fuckin’ pussy.” He had something clutched within his other hand, which he started bringing up and forward. Adin snapped a sharp kick to his wrist and sent the thing flying and rolling away. It was a pool ball, solid red. A “small.” The man was seething. “I knew I shoulda grabbed my Beretta, you filthy little cocksucking pervert.” He lurched toward the still-open door of his truck. Jackson was on him like a lightning bolt from the hammer of Thor. He grabbed the back of the man’s sweatshirt, spun him around, locked a hand around his throat and flattened him against the dock. Adin realized there were no unseen forces at play in those moves. Despite all his spiritual refinement, Jackson sure as hell relished his physical agility and strength and didn’t mind using them… whether he was fucking or fighting. He probably even preferred flexing his muscles to using his magical might.

As soon as the self-styled persecutor lifted his arms, Jackson yanked him forward by the neck and slammed him even harder against the wall. His knee was poised just millimeters from whatever junk lay beneath that rotund belly. “You’re one squeeze away from unconsciousness, Bubba Vigilante. Believe me, I’d sure as shit enjoy ramming that gun squarely up your ass while you’re lying on the pavement.” The man made some paltry gagging sounds.

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Jackson let out a single, scoffing laugh. “Good try, but I know exactly how hard I’m holding you. Here’s another bulletin. We ‘pussies’ don’t shy away from law enforcement any more than we shy away from bullies. So if you’re toting around any concealed or unregistered weapons, or you got shit in your house you don’t want anybody finding, you better learn what respect is. Fast.” Bug-eyed, reddening further, the man glared at him. His gaze shifted venomously toward Adin. Jackson gave him a hard slap. He pointed his first two fingers at his own eyes, indicating he demanded the man’s full attention. “Let this sink into that atrophied slab of tissue that passes as your brain. Self-control means many things. Like minding your own business. Like not fucking with people who haven’t fucked with you. Like choosing your words a whole lot more carefully.” Jackson took a step back, partially but not wholly easing his grip. Adin tensed, his sharpened gaze scanning the hefty man’s body for any signs of aggressive movement. Unspent adrenaline surged through his body. He was ready to spring forward at the slightest provocation. In fact, he wanted to. “Now,” Jackson said, “you got three choices. One, you get in your truck and drive away like a good boy. Two, we call in your tags. Three, we hurt you.” “Just hang onto him,” Adin said. “I think the prick needs a time-out before he gets back in his truck.” He walked over to the pickup, leaned inside and pulled the keys out of the ignition. As he withdrew, he made sure the passenger door was locked, then he locked and closed the driver-side door. He pitched the keys in the opposite direction of Jackson’s shop. “Nice throw,” Jackson said. The man he held wasn’t as impressed. “Shit,” he grated. A good deal of his steam seemed to have dissipated. Jackson let him go. “Take a hike,” he said, then glanced at Adin. “Come on.” They got back in the car and sped away. Jackson’s shop wasn’t visible from where they’d just been parked. When they reached it, Adin opened the door of the bay

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where Jackson kept both his Harley and his delivery truck. Adin backed the truck out. Jackson drove the car in. Just to be on the safe side, they’d take the larger vehicle back to the flat. Far more troubling to Adin than encountering a homophobic cretin was Jackson’s sudden, brooding withdrawal and silence.

Chapter Five “Hey, sweetness, how are you doing?” Adin sat at Jackson’s dining table, cell phone to his ear. He rolled a pencil that lay in front of him. “Well, you sound perky.” There was an insinuating smile in Celia’s voice. “I assume you’re at Mr. Spey’s.” “Yup.” Adin glanced at the topic of their conversation. He sat at a desk in the living area, hunched over whatever papers he’d brought from his shop. “Still love me?” It was a teasing poke, not a grab for reassurance. “You know damned well I do.” “So… did you reach some kind of resolution?” “I think so.” “The feelings are mutual?” “Yeah, they are.” But, Adin realized, he still didn’t know to what extent. He continued to watch Jackson. “I had a feeling it would turn out that way,” Celia said. “Are the two of you enjoying your time together?” Adin paused. “Very much.” He immediately thought of today’s incident at the loading dock. It seemed to have jostled everything out of alignment. Anxiety nibbled at him. Celia’s next question startled him, although it probably shouldn’t have. She never minced words. “Has the sex been good?” The only way to answer, Adin figured, was to be equally blunt. “Fantastic.” “Equal to ours?” “Yes, but --” “In a different way,” Celia suggested.

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“Entirely.”

“Is Jackson a good kisser?”

The question made Adin breathe a chuckle through his nose. Women were really

hung up on that. “I happen to think so.” “Is he as good as you?” Now Adin laughed out loud. “How the hell am I supposed to determine that?” Celia chuckled too. “You should’ve just said, ‘Foolish woman, you should know by now that no man is better than I… at anything’.” “That would be a balls-out lie.” “Still, I’m envious.” There were sounds of movement on Celia’s end -- maybe a drawer opening and closing. “I take it you’re staying through the weekend, then.” “That’s the plan.” “If you come home tomorrow, I may not be here. Betty Summerfield is having a baby shower for her daughter in Oconto Falls. I offered to help. We’ll probably head back to Woodbine on Monday morning.” Adin felt a swell of mixed affection and admiration for Celia. All of this was so typical of her. The acceptance of his relationship with Jackson, the frankness that was devoid of any self-consciousness, the way she was just going about her business without any stewing or fretting. “I’ll be waiting,” he said.

“Do you think Jackson is going to miss you after you leave?”

Adin glanced at the man still sitting quietly at his desk, then swallowed hard. “I

don’t know. Probably not.” “Will you miss him?” Celia asked gently. Suddenly, his eyes stung. “I don’t know. Probably.” Damn. His voice sounded clotted. She’d pick up on that. Celia was silent for a moment. “Adin, are you in love with him?” “Could be.” “Think you can manage it?”

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Although she obviously couldn’t see him, Adin nodded. “Actually, yeah, I believe I can.” “Good. I’m glad.” “Does that seem strange?” “There’s nothing strange about being able to love two people. It’s all to your credit that you can. That you do.” Silently, he took a deep breath, let it out. “Would you mind if I talked to Jackson for a minute? I promise not to say anything embarrassing.” “Uh… hold on.” Adin got up from the table and walked over to the desk. As soon as Jackson looked up, the love he’d just admitted to washed over him. He held out the cell. “Celia wants to talk to you.” Jackson’s eyebrows hitched up. Hesitantly, he took the phone. “Don’t worry,” Adin said, “she’s not going to chew your ass.” He retreated to the couch, sank into it. “Hi, beautiful,” Jackson said softly. He listened. “Okay, go ahead.” His attentive silence was more prolonged this time. Adin couldn’t help staring, trying to infer from his face, only visible in profile, how he was reacting to Celia’s words. Finally, Jackson smiled for the first time. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want that.” There was a pause. “I will. Thank you, hon. Bye.” He flipped the phone closed and sat there a moment, as if absorbing their brief conversation. Then he turned toward Adin. “Do you want to know what she said?” “Only if it wouldn’t violate a confidence.” “It wouldn’t.” “Then come sit over here,” Adin said. “I don’t like talking across a room.” Jackson walked to the couch and sat near the other end of it. “Well, I won’t tell you everything, but she did make it clear she was pleased. Seems your happiness

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means more to her than anything else in the world. And she said if I dared think of or treat her as a victim, she’d lose all respect for me and boot me out of her fantasies.” Adin snorted a laugh. “I’ve been telling you all along she has the hots for you.” “You’re a goddamned lucky man, Swift.” “I’m well aware of that.” He jacked a leg onto the couch and swiveled to face Jackson. “Now tell me what’s been bothering you. I hate having to draw my own conclusions. There’s too much room for error.” Elbows braced on knees, Jackson briefly dropped his head and linked his hands behind it. Adin heard him sigh. “What conclusions have you drawn?” he mumbled. “That you’re more at the mercy of mainstream standards than you think. That despite your toughness and poise and your avowed indifference to public opinion, that blowhard bigot got to you today.” Jackson cocked his head to look at Adin. “You’re right.” Slowly, he sat up. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but I’ve never been called a swishy-boy or a fag or a pervert. It’s just -- I don’t know… fuck, I’m ashamed to say it -- but it’s almost inconceivable to me that anybody could even think of me that way.” A corner of Adin’s mouth hooked up. So, Jackson was having a hell of a time reconciling his desire for another man with his sense of his own masculinity. It certainly wasn’t the first time in history such a struggle had taken place. And it wouldn’t be the last. “You weren’t at all bothered by what that jackass said?” Jackson asked with some wonder. “What bothered me was the possibility he’d either bash our heads in or blow them off. That’s what bothered me. Not a bunch of words. I mean, come on.” “How can you be so lackadaisical about it?” Adin barked out a dour laugh and got up from the couch. “Do you forget who and what I am, what I’ve been?” He went to the desk to grab his cell phone before he forgot where it was. “You want a dose of real persecution, Jackson, try being a vampire. Better yet, try being a Jew.”

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Jackson’s face pinched, as if he were stung by his own oversight. “You’ve never talked about that aspect of your past,” he murmured, his tone compassionate. “The persecution, I mean.” “After having lived through the death of my wife and my parents and the Black fucking Plague, why the hell would I want to?” Adin strode to the dining table and tossed his cell beside his laptop. When he turned to face Jackson, he leaned forward and pointed to the window, indicating whatever piddling little slings and arrows flew through his twenty-first-century world. “After what I’ve been through in my long, long life, you think some name-calling nimrod with a bone up his ass about homosexuals is going to bother me?” “Jesus, Adin, I’m sorry.” Feeling penitent, Adin wilted a bit. This discussion wasn’t supposed to be about him. What Jackson was going through was every bit as significant as any of his own changes had been. “No, I’m sorry.” Adin came back to the couch and knelt in front of him, resting his wrists on Jackson’s knees. The position was similar to the one he’d assumed at the party, out on the darkened patio. “You have to tell me how this is affecting you, how it’s affected you all along. I care about that. Deeply. I’ve led a pretty decadent existence, you know. Any gender-stereotyping was irrelevant to it, so I settled into my sexuality a long time ago.” “I suspect you did,” Jackson said. “What’s more,” Adin went on, “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the vicious slurs of some ignoramus sully our relationship.” He gave Jackson’s knees a little shake. “Now talk to me.” “Oh, fuck,” Jackson groaned. “I’m really bad at shit like this.” He fell back against the couch cushion and crossed his hands over his stomach. When he spoke, his gaze was directed above Adin’s head, into some private space. “It’s like I’ve been sweeping my attraction to you under some big ol’ carpet in my mind. Every time we were together, I lifted up a corner of that carpet. Or it just lifted itself. But yesterday I

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yanked that sonofabitch right off the floor and threw it aside and let all those built-up urges just… go where they wanted to. And right away, bam, I knew how much I’d been wanting to free them. No, wallow in them. Now I can’t seem to stop myself.” Finally, he looked at his new lover. “It’s been overwhelming. I mean, it’s as if I… go into a kind of fugue state when we start touching each other.” “The feeling is mutual,” Adin murmured, stirred by the brutal rawness of his confession. Jackson shifted forward. His gaze smoldered over Adin’s face. “I know. And that makes the whole thing even more addictive.” Adin wanted desperately to kiss him, to prove their passion should be celebrated, not shunned. “So what’s wrong with that kind of addiction?” The answer was obvious, and it came to Adin right after he’d asked the question. “I hate like hell not being in control,” Jackson said. “Especially when it supposedly makes me less of a man.” Bingo. “You’ve got it all backwards,” Adin told him. “What you’re doing is being true to yourself. And that, my friend, is the essence of having control of your life -- manhood included.” Jackson took this in as he slowly, absently ran one hand back and forth along the length of Adin’s left forearm. “You’re right. Why’s it so hard for me to let that sink in?” “Because the process has just begun. I think you’re having trouble accepting what being true to yourself entails.” Adin got up. “I’m fixing myself a drink. You want something?” “Yeah, if you don’t mind. Jack on the rocks.” Adin went to the kitchenette, fairly certain Jackson had at least glanced at his receding form. The man’s eyes had been on him a lot this weekend. They always seemed filled with equal parts of desire and trepidation. The look bespoke such vulnerability it never failed to move Adin. Even now, doing something as ordinary as standing at the scarred counter pouring drinks, his heart overflowed.

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He returned to the couch. Jackson didn’t watch him approach. When Adin handed him the lightly misted glass, his mumbled “thanks” was accompanied by only a fleeting glance, a ghost of a smile. After taking a sip, Adin set his glass of wine on the cocktail table then assumed his former position -- kneeling on his haunches between Jackson’s knees. This time, his hands remained in his lap. He merely stared up at the troubled man before him and quietly said what he needed to say. “I love you.” Lips pursed, Jackson lowered his head. The half-downed tumbler of whiskey was cradled loosely in both his hands. He idly swirled it, setting up a sluggish clinking of ice cubes against glass. “That didn’t sound like an empty ‘love ya, man’.” “It wasn’t.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean ‘want’?”

“Positive.”

Adin saw a bob in Jackson’s throat as he swallowed. His eyes remained down-

turned. “So you mean ‘love’ as in truly, madly, deeply?” Adin’s first impulse was to chide him, to say Don’t mock me, but he immediately realized there was no mockery in Jackson’s voice. So he calmly answered, “Yes. Truly, madly, deeply. Now don’t make me start quoting song lyrics.” That prompted another weak smile. “Wow.” Jackson shook his head slightly. “I don’t know how you do it.” “There’s nothing to do. It’s like falling down. Haven’t you ever been in love?” “Yeah, once. But not with two people at a time.” He’d never mentioned it before. Adin wasn’t surprised, though. They’d talked some about their sex lives but never about their bouts with romance. “Was it reciprocal?” Jackson hesitated, nodded. “What came of it?”

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“Hard to say.” Jackson abruptly lifted his glass and took a quick swallow. “It might look like we didn’t live happily ever after… but maybe we did.” Adin didn’t press him for more of an explanation. If Jackson wanted to keep an episode of his life private, that was his prerogative. Hell, maybe it was time to abandon all this soul-searching and heart-baring. Maybe they did better making love than talking about love. Neither one of them was exactly Cyrano de Bergerac. Adin’s hands made a pass along Jackson’s long thighs. “At the risk of looking like more of an incubus than you already think I am, wanna go play?” Jackson finished his drink, got up, slid the tumbler onto the table. Adin, too, rose. Their noses nearly touched. “What do you have in mind?” Jackson asked. “I want you to sit on the bed naked so I can just look at you and masturbate.” Adin could feel the breath of Jackson’s excitement on his mouth. “Seriously?” “Yeah. Up until now, I’ve had to jerk off while imagining you. It would be a real treat to jerk off while I’m actually looking at you.” Jackson smiled. “I think that falls more in the ‘pervert’ than the ‘incubus’ category.” He lifted Adin’s jaw, ran a thumb over his lips. “May I do the same?” Just his voice, deepened and roughed by passion, made blood surge into Adin’s cock. “Please do. It isn’t much fun being perverted alone.” “Then you’re a piss-poor excuse for a pervert.” They ambled into the bedroom, arms around each other’s waist. We could’ve been doing this for the past ten years, Adin thought. He suddenly wanted to flog himself for the lost time, the bypassed opportunities. It felt thoroughly right being with this man. Jackson paused at the bookshelves to pop a disc into his CD player. In the bedroom, he turned on the nightstand lamp. The light it cast was soft, not harsh, yet bright enough to illuminate the bed. They both undressed in a leisurely way then climbed onto the bed and faced each other. Adin sat cross-legged. Jackson had one bent knee raised, the other leg

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tucked beneath him. The position afforded a delectable view of his genitals. The heads of their semi-erect cocks were only inches apart. Lips parted, they let their smoky gazes wash over each other’s body and fall repeatedly to each other’s crotch. Adin liked to stroke with his hand wrapped fully around his shaft. He loved feeling it get turgid as his fingertips worked the underside and his thumb occasionally slipped up and over the head or circled its perimeter. Jackson did himself differently. He kept his fingers straighter, pressing his cock mostly between his palm and thumb. Once in a while half his hand slid over the plump head, as if he were both stimulating it and getting off on the feel of it. It drove Adin wild to see him touch himself, to fondle that fleshy pillar with such aggressive relish and dexterity. And such familiarity. “Jesus,” he gasped, “I want to come on your cock.” “I have a better idea.” Suddenly boosting himself up, Jackson pushed Adin onto his back and, for a moment, kept his shoulders pinned to the mattress. As his gaze smoldered across Adin’s features, the look on his face became so darkly masterful he seemed almost demonic. Adin, paralyzed, could only stare up at him. Then Jackson lowered his head until his lips crushed against the lips of his captive. Adin raised his head so his mouth could match the greed of the other man’s. It was like their first kiss, brutal and bruising… and so acutely exciting Adin felt his hardon jerk as his balls clenched around an impending orgasm. He forced his body to withhold it. He wanted this to last. Easing backward, Jackson dragged his fingers almost viciously down Adin’s chest, digging them into the resistant mounds, his nails leaving thin, red tracks on the fine skin. He dipped forward and let his mouth pull, quick and hard, at each nipple. Farther down the mattress he moved, hands splayed over Adin’s torso as if he were studying the structure of each firm muscle. He stopped at Adin’s hips. Nearly folding himself in half, Jackson grasped Adin’s iron-hard cock and slipped it into his mouth.

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Uncontrollably, a quavering wail came from Adin’s throat as that moist, hot mouth closed snugly over his full erection and took it in. All of it. There was nothing fumbling or tentative about the initial move, nothing maladroit about subsequent moves. Jackson sucked him with a kind of greedy languor, obviously savoring him. Just the thought of it was enough to send Adin to paradise and back. The man he’d lusted after for a decade wasn’t just sucking his cock but was making eager, skillful love to it. He thrust his hips forward, letting his mind drown in the realization as his senses drowned in the feeling. Jackson didn’t quail. His free hand caressed Adin’s balls then slid under his ass, encouraging him to plunge his cock ever deeper into the humid sheath of his lover’s mouth. There was no resisting these persuasions. Adin had to succumb. His orgasm was so intense it seemed to throb right through the mattress springs and into the floor, into the very earth. The ejaculation made his cock feel like a fire hose. Cum seemed to shoot out by the gallon, not the spoonful. Gripped by a palsy of pleasure, his whole body was utterly beyond control, from rolled-up eyes to jerking feet. Jackson not only swallowed every last drop of cream, he didn’t remove his mouth until Adin’s cock began to go limp. Arms flung out on either side of him, all Adin could do was lie there like an empty bag in the middle of the road and wait for air to inflate him. “Fuck,” he exhaled, unable to move. Every structure within the small cavern of his pelvis tingled. “Fuckin’ A.” He felt movement near the foot of the bed. Jackson was doing… something. Adin didn’t want to lift his eyelids to look. “Don’t tell me that was the first time you ever gave head to a man,” he mumbled. His lips felt swollen and a bit numb. The bed jounced more noticeably. Adin finally opened his eyes. The pleasuregiver was stretched out beside him, head propped in his hand. “You want me to lie?” Jackson asked.

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Adin forced his head to make a quarter turn. “Seriously, that was the first time you ever sucked dick?” “Other than my own?” The question came with a puckish smile. It took Adin a moment to realize he was joking. Hell, the feat seemed entirely possible, given how well-hung the man was. “Yup,” Jackson said, flopping onto his back. “That was my first time. You took my mouth’s virginity. And my throat’s.” Adin could only gape at him. “You’re a prodigy, Jackson.” He burst into laughter. Adin realized it was going to be damned hard to walk away from this person, this place. He pushed the thought away. “Don’t you need to get off?” “Already did,” Jackson said to the ceiling. “Couldn’t help it.” “I got the impression both your hands were occupied.” “They were.” “Then how --” “I just let go,” Jackson said, twisting and sliding to pull the covers over himself. “I’ve done it during ritual.” Moving onto his side, Adin hiked himself onto one elbow. “Brought yourself to full climax without stimulation?” “That depends on your definition of ‘stimulation.’ I can get plenty stimulated without applying physical pressure.” “Wow, that must be weird. Like spontaneous combustion or something.” “Kind of.” Jackson’s half-smile looked a bit introspective. His eyelids lowered. “But coming inside someone is still a lot more satisfying.” One arm was casually bent above his head. His other hand lay in the middle of his chest. Adin’s eyes didn’t want to close. They wanted to keep studying the gift he’d been given this weekend. Or rather, the gift he’d had for the past decade but hadn’t been allowed fully to open. He tenderly skimmed the flats of his fingers over the broad back of Jackson’s hand, feeling the prominent network of pale blue veins that crawled

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over the fine bones, feeling the knobs of his knuckles, the delicate eddies of dark hair. His hand continued its exploration, gliding up the long forearm with its humps of muscle and more generous covering of fine-spun black hair. Jackson’s eyes closed. That inward-directed hint of a smile was still on his face. Slowly boosting himself up, Adin pressed a lingering kiss on the smooth knoll of his shoulder. He moved forward and delivered an even more languorous and tender kiss to Jackson’s lips. They flexed gently in response, accepting and appreciating Adin’s wordless message. I love you. Goddamn how I love you. And I’m determined to make you to feel it.

Chapter Six It was a fanciful dream, delightful rather than disturbing. Jackson’s building had sprouted enormous, bronze-colored wings. They spread and beat against the air as the sun shaved metallic slivers of light from their corrugated surfaces. Odd, Adin thought, how he could see this. He and Jackson were inside the apartment, exuberantly flapping their arms as if trying to help those wings lift the building’s bulk off the ground. “Can’t fly too close to the sun,” Jackson warned.

“Why not?” Adin asked. “The wings aren’t made of wax.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“They’ll be even more beautiful the closer we get to the sun.”

“But the sparkle could be blinding. Oh, what the hell. I’ll keep us safe.”

The dream dissipated just as the building began to dislodge itself from the earth,

the apartment floor rocking beneath Adin’s feet with the promise of flight… Something was rocking, all right, but it wasn’t the building. As Adin lay on his side, Jackson was rubbing against him, sinuous as a large snake, his muscles fluid and insistent, his arms and legs fondling Adin’s arms and legs. And back and chest. And ass. Adin realized he’d awoken to some damned stimulating frottage. Cock erect, he flipped over to face Jackson. His sluggish nerves suddenly sprang to attention. They keenly registered the hand plunging into his hair and pulling his head forward, the ardent press of Jackson’s lips and strong, supple dance of his tongue, the soft scour of his facial hair, the push and slide of Jackson’s chest against his own chest. Their bodies felt like braided ropes of heat. Adin heard nothing but the moans propelled by their gusting breath, as if they were struggling to consume each other. “Fuck me,” Jackson breathed against Adin’s mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

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“Do you have --” “In the nightstand drawer.” Adin flipped over and yanked the drawer open so forcefully he nearly sent it plummeting to the floor. As he blindly scrabbled through its jumble of contents, Jackson said almost irritably, “Forget the condom.” There was a tube of all-purpose lubricant as well as a bottle of anal lube. Adin grabbed the latter. He somehow knew this would be Jackson’s first time bottoming. His excitement spiraled at the thought as he slathered his rock-solid cock, then made sure he’d also slicked his fingers. Breathing like a winded man, Jackson got onto all fours, his abundant hair veiling his face. Adin knelt behind him and willed restraint. Jackson’s ass felt like powdered satin. It had always struck him as strange that a rugged man’s ass could be so smooth. With both thumbs he gently rimmed and palpated the tight hole, then widened it a bit. Easy, easy, he kept telling himself. Damn, but his cock wanted in. Carefully, he began probing. One stealthy finger slipped partially inside and worked the inner wall, circling and massaging. Then two. He slid them in deeper and heard a baritone hum drift from Jackson’s throat, a sound of pleasure. Emboldened by it, Adin glided and butted his cockhead against the opening as his fingers simultaneously parted and caressed those rounded cheeks. “Relax,” he murmured. “Relax your muscles from the inside out.” His glans made its entrance. The hum in Jackson’s throat deepened, coarsened. A fraction of an inch at a time, Adin sank himself farther inside his lover’s body. Damn, how exquisite it felt, that gripping flare of heat. His hips began their invasive sway, driving his cock deeper… and deeper still. Jackson began to meet the thrusts, tentatively at first, then more enthusiastically. “Harder,” he gasped, grabbing his own stiff, bobbing cock. Adin obliged until he felt faint with the pleasure of his plunge. He kept his strokes precise and firm, sending his cock deeper, letting his swollen cap repeatedly swipe against the thin wall over Jackson’s prostate. Now he was burying himself with

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each hard thrust. He was lost in a tight, dark well. His balls seemed to pull in on themselves. Head dropping back, he voiced a loud, tortured uuunnh. Cum began to shoot out of him, the convulsions of his cock sending paralyzing bolts of pleasure down his thighs and through his diaphragm into his torso. Even when he was nearly spent, the luscious waves continued to break throughout his body, their motion creeping, it seemed, to the very end of each hair. Adin let out one quavering sigh after another. His cock fell free as he wilted backward, his ass dropping onto his calves. “Goddamn,” he exhaled. His hips gave a dainty little jerk as the last ripple of pleasure washed through him. Eyes closed, Jackson fell onto his side. A puddle of semen glistened dully on the sheet. “You okay?” Adin asked, lazily drawing a hand down his lover’s leg. A chuckle rumbled silently through Jackson’s body. “I feel like a goddamned éclair, all soft and gooey and full of custard.” Adin began to snicker. “Worse yet,” Jackson added, “I love the feeling. I could get real used to that.” “Looks like we’re going to be mixing it up, then, huh? No rigid roles.” “No roles.” “Do you mind?” “Shit, Adin, check out the sheet. Does it look like I mind?” Jackson swung his legs over the side of the mattress and got up. He stretched -- and damn if he didn’t look even more magnificent when he did it -- as a muted cracking came from a few of his joints. “I need coffee. Want some?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, I forgot. You like tea.” “Never mind that,” Adin said. “Coffee’s fine, as long as it’s light. And I can get my own.” “No, just stay there. I have to get the newspaper anyway.” Jackson strode out of the bedroom and turned toward the bathroom.

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 74 -

Adin stared after him. They’d likely be showering together, as they did yesterday morning. They might or might not have sex but probably not, since they were both sated. They’d certainly wash each other, though, with the same admiring touches and gazes that had come to characterize all their intimate moments. Sighing, Adin ran both hands through his hair to get it away from his face. Yeah, he was in love all right. And mere hours from now, he’d be getting in his car and driving away. Hell, not only driving away but staying away, maybe for months. The length of his absence depended on how Jackson felt about him… and how Celia would end up feeling. Maybe, once she realized the depth of Adin’s feelings for his friend, she wouldn’t be quite so supportive of this relationship. Admitting over the phone that he was in love with Jackson might not have made it real enough for her. Once he was home, his moods and her questions would likely determine how much they’d talk about this. When Jackson came back to the bedroom, he was wearing a short bathrobe and carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. The Sunday paper was tucked beneath one arm. Adin took one of the mugs as Jackson let the newspaper fall to the bed. He sat crosslegged, facing Adin. The robe was parted down most of its short length, affording a rather nice view of the body beneath it. Jackson obviously saw he was being ogled. “Jesus, Adin,” he muttered through a smile, “I think you could fuck ’til you dropped from exhaustion.” “Sorry. I just can’t help looking at you.” He drank some coffee, enjoying its rich, mild bitterness and warmth. Jackson held the coffee mug the way he’d held his glass of whiskey yesterday -resting between his legs, cradled in both hands. “I’m curious about something. Didn’t you develop any strong attachments when you were in your old incarnation?” His old incarnation. Meaning, when he was a vampire. “Attachments, yes. Strong, no.” “Why?” The furrows in Jackson’s forehead mirrored his questions.

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 75 -

“I made damned sure no mortal ever got romantically entangled with me… until Celia came along, and then it seemed inevitable. I did bond with other vampires, but those were relationships of convenience. We hooked up for the sake of companionship, maybe for sex if the attraction was compelling enough. But one thing and one thing alone took precedence in our lives. Always.” “Blood,” Jackson said. “Nothing and no one could ever matter as much as the hunt. Is that it?” Adin nodded. “Sentiment didn’t have a place. It was counterproductive.” He sipped his coffee, trying to ease casually into his next statement. “Like the way it is with you and magic.” Jackson stared at him for a moment, then lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. “It isn’t always like that with me.” “Oh. I thought it was.” “Aren’t you worried some of your former mates might come looking for you?” Jackson asked, abruptly switching tracks. “No. I’m mortal again. As long as they have other sources of food and sex and companionship, which they surely do, why would they bother with me?” “Because you’re a damned appealing man.” “That doesn’t mean shit to a vampire.” Adin idly reached for the newspaper. He wanted to ask, Does it mean anything to you, Jackson? What exactly? Does it mean enough to capture your heart… or just your hormones? But he couldn’t bring himself to voice the questions. It would seem too much like backing the man into a corner and browbeating him. Then again, Adin realized, maybe he was afraid of what the answers would be. “How queer do you think we are?” Adin glanced up from the newspaper, not quite sure he’d heard Jackson right. “Did you just say what I think you said?” Jackson looked sheepish. Nevertheless, he repeated himself. “I asked how queer you think we are.”

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 76 -

Adin spluttered into laughter. “There’s a scale?” Jackson’s flush deepened. Adin laughed harder, his coffee sloshing out of the cup and onto the bed. “Terrific,” Jackson muttered. “Now there’s cum and coffee on the sheets.” Too much. Adin’s whole body was seized by laughter. His eyes began to water. Falteringly, he tried mopping up the spilled coffee with the newspaper. “Hey, that’s the front page!” Jackson cried, snatching it out of Adin’s quaking hand. He grabbed for the coffee mug, as well. His alarm only stoked Adin’s amusement. Stomach cramping and face streaked with tears, he collapsed into a jiggling, hooting heap on the mattress. “J-just gimme a minute,” he choked out, rolling back and forth. “It’s been a while since I checked my… my fagometer.” Jackson started chuckling. “Willy Wonka would call it a ‘fagdicator’.” “Was Willy Wonka gay?” “I don’t know,” Jackson said, his voice serrated by snickers. “I never met him.” “Then ask an Oompa-Loompa.” “The only creature I know who even resembles an Oompa-Loompa is Ivan Kurtz.” Adin went into another roll as his laughter freshened. Ivan Kurtz was a selfstyled “magus” who considered himself Jackson’s rival. He was even more of a tool than the truck-driving homophobe. Adin began singing the Oompa-Loompa song, only his lyrics were far more lewd. Jackson put both mugs of coffee on the nightstand. Soon, infected by Adin’s mirth and singing, he too ended up crumpling. Laughing uncontrollably, they grasped each other, wilted over each other, wet-eyed and breathless and aching. Adin finally dropped onto his back. “Oh shit,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “I never thought of it that way -- ‘Just how queer are we’?”

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Obsessed

- 77 -

Jackson was still chuckling, hands covering his face. “Adin Swift and Jackson Spey measure an eight-point-six on the Homo Scale.” His head rolled back and forth on the pillow. “I can’t believe I said that.” “I can’t, either, but I’m glad you did. I needed the laugh.” Adin turned onto his side, close enough to Jackson so the length of their bodies made contact. He carefully wiped the moisture from Jackson’s cheeks. “I think we’re queer for each other, that’s what I think. I haven’t wanted any man but you since I stopped drinking blood. I haven’t wanted any woman but Celia since I stopped drinking blood.” Jackson cracked an eye open and slid him a glance. “So what does that make you? Monogamously bisexual?” “I guess it does.” They started tittering again. “I don’t know what I am anymore,” Jackson said. “I just know there are people I want to get cozy with and people I don’t want to get cozy with. And the latter far outnumber the former.” “So no more trying to slap labels on our asses, okay?” “Agreed,” Jackson said. “But… what if I just slapped your ass, empty-handed?” Jackson gave a laconic shrug. “As long as you don’t turn it into a fetish.” “How about if I used a belt?” “I’ll have to think about it.” “You think too damned much.” Adin knew Jackson had already given his assent. Saying he would think about it meant he was open to it. Otherwise he would’ve issued a flat refusal. Maybe the prospect even excited him a little. It certainly excited Adin. Jackson turned toward him, propping his head on his upraised arm. His other hand rose to Adin’s face, and his expression became almost wistful. With melting tenderness, he glided his fingertips over Adin’s features, down to his shoulder, up again to his ear. His thumb lightly circled over its ridges. Adin kissed at his fingers.

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Obsessed

- 78 -

“I need a shower.” Taking an audible breath, Jackson withdrew his hand and slid toward the edge of the mattress. “Alone?” Adin asked. Standing, Jackson paused. His mouth seemed to twitch into a smile of concession. “No. What the hell. I’m already in too deep.”

*** The rest of their Sunday together seemed, in terms of Adin’s mood, to match the progress of the sun. From morning until mid-afternoon, the day was suffused with a bright, warm glow. After a breakfast of Belgian waffles, bacon and orange juice, eaten with relish while the two men read the Sunday paper and occasionally discussed its news and features, Adin coaxed Jackson into a photo session. He wanted something to take back with him, a bit of sustenance to carry him through their period of separation. Of course, Jackson balked at first. He despised having his picture taken, as if a camera could somehow steal his soul. But Adin cajoled, and he gave in. For two hours they photographed each other -- posed and natural, nude, dressed, and in between -- around the apartment. Adin’s favorite picture, although he treasured each one, showed Jackson shirtless, leaning on one shoulder against his bookshelves. His legs were crossed casually at the ankles. His arms were crossed just below his chest. His jeans, top button open and zipper partially down, rode low on his hips. It was pure, staggering beefcake… from the smooth bulges of his biceps to the nicely divided pecs with their embellishment of ebon hair; from the shallow pit of his navel to the black track that crept down his belly and disappeared, flaring out, into his briefs. He had sleek abs, too, like narrow steel docks resting side by side. Adin loved running his hands over them. He’d never liked six-pack abs, which always reminded him of the shell of some big, ancient tortoise.

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Obsessed

- 79 -

But maybe it was Jackson’s expression that so captivated him. The little smirk he wore made him look impish and enigmatic and slightly sinister. There was a hint of challenge in that expression. The pose was like a white-hot brand on Adin’s libido. He knew no other man would or could ever pique his desire the way this one did. That hint of a lush welcome mat of pubic hair, at once modestly concealed and blatantly carnal, somehow seemed to symbolize their whole relationship. They took close-ups shots, as well, but these were usually more sentimental than scurrilous and weren’t posed. Adin took a picture of Jackson’s forearm and hand. Jackson captured Adin’s profile, and apparently found it so arresting he immediately printed it. “I love the interplay of light and shadow,” he said, studying the print. “It makes your face look like statuary.” Then he ran one fingertip, as if he were touching a person rather than a piece of paper, over the obsidian sweep of Adin’s lowered eyelashes, the stray curls at his ear and temple, the illuminated ridge of his cheekbone. On another photo, more frontal, his finger traced the shape of Adin’s lips. And he murmured, almost irritably, “You really are sinfully gorgeous, Swift.” When both of their digital cameras as well as Jackson’s 35-millimeter were packed with photos, they had a light lunch and settled into the couch to watch an old movie. There were no more sexual engagements, just impromptu caresses. The sun lowered. Jackson stripped the bed. A dull ache nagged Adin’s heart as he helped remake the bed with a clean set of sheets. “Hope you can get that coffee stain out,” he said, trying to lighten his mood. Jackson smiled. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” “Have any plans for the holidays?” Adin asked. “I usually spend Thanksgiving with an older couple down the street, Don and Dolly. I think it’s their way of repaying me for doing maintenance and repairs on their place. Not that they have to, though. I enjoy their company.” Jackson made neat hospital-folds in the top sheet at the foot of the mattress. “They’re real Old Milwaukee -love to eat, drink, argue, watch football, play cards. I like being there.”

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 80 -

His description made Adin feel good, even a bit envious. “Sounds like you’re looking forward to it.” “I am. I always do.” “What about Christmas?” Adin asked. “I’ll be doing the Solstice celebration with the coven. I’ll have brunch with Angelina on Christmas Day.” He glanced up at Adin as they straightened the quilt. “More traditions. Guess I’m a creature of habit.” Angelina was Jackson’s best female friend, a West Indian woman who was lovely inside and out. Their bond was unique and a bit mysterious, and they were profoundly devoted to one another. But there was nothing in the least bit sexual or romantic about the relationship. They were like brother and sister. Adin adored Angelina. “I don’t have any traditions,” he said, dropping to a sit. “Time to start building some.” Jackson came around the bed and sat beside him. “You seem a little glum.” “This is hard,” Adin murmured. “What is? Talking about the holidays?” Adin stood up, his blood rising along with his body. “No, not talking about the freakin’ holidays!” He briefly gripped his head then let his hands fall to his hips. “You just don’t get it, do you?” Jackson frowned up at him. “Now what don’t I get?” “Fuck it,” Adin said, waving the question away. When was he going to learn to censor himself? He sure as hell didn’t want to repeat his declaration of love. Instead, as he walked to the bedroom door, he muttered, “I really envy your self-possession, Jackson.” “Wait!” Jackson bolted up from the bed. Looking irked, he grabbed Adin’s arm. “How did you get such a fucked-up impression of me?” he asked resentfully. “What fucked-up impression?”

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 81 -

“The impression conveyed in that snide little throwaway line about selfpossession. And that comment you made earlier about me and magic, how it’s all I care about.” “I didn’t mean that’s all you care about.” “Still, you keep implying that I’m some emotionally frigid, self-contained bastard without any real feeling for anybody.” “I never had that impression of you. Maybe that you’re self-contained, yeah, but not --” “I have feelings for a lot of people!” Jackson broke in, fuming. “Angelina, you and Celia, my coveners, my neighbors, the strangers I help out. Hell, I even care about my mother, even though I haven’t heard from her in fifteen years. I’m not some goddamned human icicle.” “I never thought you were,” Adin muttered. But the rant had only made things worse. It had stung him. It hurt to be lumped in with everybody else. With a surprising sharpness, it hurt like hell. “Having feelings” or “caring” sure as shit wasn’t the same as being in love. “Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” Jackson asked, peering into Adin’s face. Dismissively, Adin shook his head. “Nothing. I should get going.” Moving around the apartment, he began gathering his scattered things. Jackson merely watched him. He seemed bothered, but Adin couldn’t be sure. He tried not to look at Jackson any more than he had to. This sucks, he kept thinking, trying to keep himself occupied with sheer movement, trying to shift his focus to Woodbine and his home and Celia. Why couldn’t this weekend just have been a sexual romp, a sizzling break from routine… the way it seemed to have been for Jackson? Why couldn’t they just be friends who liked to get it on with each other once in a while? Why did the dolorous phrase unrequited love keep running through Adin’s head?

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Obsessed

- 82 -

Because his love for Jackson wasn’t going to ebb any more than his desire was, that’s why. Both had been freed and royally fed this weekend. Both were going to thrive. Adin knew he would fall back into his comfortable groove and again find joy and satisfaction in his life with Celia. But he knew something else, as well. He would always be aware of the side of the moon that was turned away from him. He would miss it -- God, how he would miss it -- and not rest easy until it once more graced his sight. Adin wanted to slap himself. These thoughts belonged to some laudanum- and alcohol-besotted nineteenth-century poet. But he couldn’t help how he felt. He couldn’t help any of it. Standing at the dining table, he scanned his small heap of belongings. He hadn’t even double-checked his bag to make sure every toiletry and piece of clothing was in it. But at least his laptop, camera and cell phone were accounted for, and those were the things that mattered most. Jackson was leaning against the edge of the table, pretty much letting Adin be. But his eyes never seemed to have moved from Adin since they were in the bedroom. And damn, he had the most piercing gaze. “Sorry I got a little squirrelly,” Adin said. “This weekend’s been pretty intense.” “Yeah, it has been.” Jackson’s voice was subdued. “A real ‘roller coaster of emotions,’ as the media might say with all their blazing originality.” Adin chuckled quietly. “Will you stay in touch?” “Sure, if you want me to.” “Of course I want you to.” Adin gripped the top of a chair, bracing himself. “Uh, this is going to sound… Well, it isn’t going to make me look good, but I’m just kind of… wondering about something.” He forced himself to meet Jackson’s gaze. “Do you think, after this weekend, you’ll be more inclined to pursue --” Jackson’s eyes glimmered. “Sex with men?” “Yeah.” “No.”

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 83 -

Adin felt a balmy shower of relief. “But you’ll still fuck around.” “Probably, occasionally. I happen to like getting my rocks off.” Adin shook his head in disbelief of his own hypocrisy. “I’m really sorry. I had no right to bring that up.” “True. You’re not exactly a monk yourself.” That went without saying. It was Adin, after all, who was returning to the other person he both loved and loved to fuck, the one to whom he gave a far greater portion of his time and his company. But was she the one to whom he had given the greater portion of his being? An electric wire seemed to vibrate in Adin’s gut. He fidgeted. “So, when should we have our next binge-and-purge?” The question obviously bewildered Jackson. “Our what?” “Our next manlove binge-and-purge. Maybe I could come back after the holidays. Would that be all right with you?” “Yeah, that would work. Just give me a call.” Still frowning, Jackson stood up from the table and moved beside Adin. “I don’t like the way you put that.” “Why?” “Because you make it sound like we overindulged in each other and now we’re puking each other up. Without a second thought.” Jackson’s expression became more distressed. “I’m getting mixed messages. You’re confusing me, Adin.” “Then we’re even.” Grabbing his things, Adin walked to the door. “Wait a minute,” Jackson barked, following him. “What the fuck --” This whole good-bye scene was becoming far more wrenching than Adin had anticipated. He felt all at-sea, unsure of the nature and extent of Jackson’s emotional commitment to him. He put his things on the floor and faced the man he loved. “Maybe I need some fucking reassurance,” Adin blurted out. “Has that ever occurred to you? Maybe I need to know this wasn’t just some sexual adventure on your part.”

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 84 -

“It wasn’t,” Jackson murmured, touching Adin’s face. His fingers trembled, light as wind-stirred feathers. He offered nothing more except to repeat, “Believe me, it wasn’t.” “Then what --” “Please, let’s not get into that now.” Jackson’s voice was a strained whisper. “This isn’t easy for me, either. And I hate like hell that you made me admit it.” Their bodies came together in a sudden, desperate hug, each man burying his face in the other’s neck. Adin drew in Jackson’s scent. He wanted to store it inside himself, hoard it. He wanted to be able to bring it out at will and revel in it, the way a miser might finger his stash of coins. He felt a clump of Jackson’s shirt balled within his hand before he even realized he’d clutched it. But he didn’t let go. He felt a clump of his hair trapped in Jackson’s hand. And Jackson didn’t let go. For countless minutes they held each other tightly, almost possessively, their hearts thumping in counterpoint against each other’s chest. They said nothing. When they finally eased apart, their lips touched. It was an awkward kiss, even more awkward than the first one, but far more poignant. “Hey, take care of yourself,” Jackson said. “Don’t fondle any cocks while a homophobe is watching.” “I won’t be fondling any cocks but my own,” Adin answered. “Until I see you again.” Jackson grinned. Feeling vastly better, Adin picked his things off the floor. Well, he thought, I might be in love and he might be in something else, but it will do. It will do. “Please thank Celia for me.” Adin nodded. He opened the door. As he was about to step outside, Jackson’s voice sounded at his back. “I’m gonna miss you, Swift. How’s that for self-possession?” Adin turned. “I love you like crazy, you handsome bastard. Truly, madly, deeply. And don’t ever forget it.”

Chapter Seven The four-hour drive to Woodbine made Adin’s transition back to his fulltime life much easier. Spending the night alone in the house would help, too. He was grateful for these small favors fate had bestowed. In the course of his trip he called Celia, who was still busy with that baby shower in Oconto Falls. She made him laugh. Adin realized he did miss her. Seeing her again would be a comfort to him. Getting back to work tomorrow morning -- he was in the midst of a fascinating translation project -- would require most of his concentration. That, too, would prove a welcome respite from missing Jackson. Eventually, like water seeking its own level, his life would smooth out. And everything would be all right. The rest of the time Adin spent on the road, he compulsively reran the weekend’s events in his mind. Jackson’s image seemed to ride the dashboard like a figure of St. Christopher. For all he knew, the wizard had wrapped him in some protective enchantment. It was something Jackson would do. Adin’s heart seemed to beat in two directions, pulsing toward the north, toward the south. It was as if everything he hadn’t felt for the past six hundred years, he was feeling now. And he had no choice but to accept and accommodate those feelings. He turned on the radio and, shortly thereafter, turned it off. The songs were too evocative. As he edged around Green Bay and neared Suamico, his headlights punching through the darkness and the scent of pine enveloping his car, Adin realized he’d be traveling through Oconto Falls. He could’ve called Celia and asked where she was, met up with her. But he didn’t. He needed this inky, lonely night to himself. He wanted to wrap himself and his thoughts in it.

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 86 -

He also realized that not a single deer had leapt across the road in front of him -a strange bit of good fortune, considering it was November. Jackson must have cast some spell. It made Adin smile… and made his beating heart once again reach toward the south. He thought of calling Jackson but immediately rejected the idea. What would he say? And why would he want to feel even more like a moonstruck adolescent? Drawing closer to the forest that snuggled against Woodbine from the west, Adin mentally plucked petals from daisies -- he loves me; he loves me not. But the laser-red discs of some critter’s eyes, glowing from the right-hand shoulder of the road, made him lose count. He told himself it really shouldn’t matter -- their periods of togetherness were fulfilling enough -- but, for some reason, it did matter. Adin wanted Jackson to cherish him the way he cherished that spellbinding man. Can’t fly too close to the sun. Why? The wings will be even more beautiful the closer we get to the sun. “Will they?” Adin whispered to the darkness. But this wasn’t the place for an answer. He was nearing his home. Woodbine held some of the best and worst memories of his long life. Jackson and Celia were both inextricable elements in those memories… and, it appeared, would continue to be so. As Adin steered up his driveway, portions of the chalet’s architecture reminded him of them both. He parked in the attached garage, pulled his things from the car, and entered the kitchen. The light above the sink was on. Unfailingly, Celia was considerate. The canister of Earl Grey, a cup and saucer, and a spoon sat on the counter. Smiling, Adin lifted the teapot. It was full of water, waiting to be boiled. He’d turn on the burner a bit later. Walking to their shared office, he laid down his laptop and dug the camera out of his bag. Tonight, once his tea was ready, he’d download the photos he’d taken and save them, backing up the files in every way he could think of. Funny, he really didn’t want to share them with Celia. He had no problem talking to her about the weekend, but those pictures seemed to belong in his cache of private memories.

K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

- 87 -

He went to the bathroom, took a leak, then sat on the toilet seat and started pulling dirty clothing and grooming aids out of his travel bag. His fingers bumped against something hard. He grasped whatever it was and lifted it out. His breath stopped. The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. With something inside. Adin could tell, because there was a narrow gap in the volume’s leaves. Staring at the cover, mouth open to encourage respiration, he got up and went back to the office room. Feeling a bit lightheaded, he dropped into his desk chair. One page of the book was dog-eared, the same page where the gap appeared. Adin turned to it. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

The buttons he’d torn off Jackson’s shirt were neatly aligned in the book’s gutter. A folded piece of paper was also tucked there. Adin’s eyes filmed. He heard Jackson saying, Yeah, once. It might look like we didn’t live happily ever after… but maybe we did. Blinking, his throat blocked, Adin opened the note. There was Jackson’s sharp, athletic, unmistakable handwriting, as unique as the furniture he built. I expect you to sew these back on the next time you’re here. Shoot for late Jan/early Feb, weather permitting. P.S. Since you know a fag thing like Greco-Roman wrestling, I assume you know how to sew. Throwing his head back and laughing before he had a chance to cry, Adin vowed he would indeed sew those buttons on, with the most loving care.

K. Z. Snow K. Z. Snow, a multi-published author, writes all kinds of stuff. She has 2½ degrees in English and has worked as a teacher, sales promotion specialist, and editor. Although currently concentrating on erotic romance (paranormal, fantasy, and contemporary), K. Z. has also published more traditional romances, an urban fantasy, and a topical dystopian thriller. Other works are always in progress or waiting to be submitted. Her paranormal Cemetery Dancer was a 2008 EPPIE finalist. She lives in the oft-frozen tundra with three significant others: two dogs and, alas, a man.