Chapter 1

"Just once, Mikey. Don't be such a wuss."

"I'm not interested, Brian. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Deep down inside, you know you want to."

"Actually, I don't. Maybe you haven't been listening all the times I said no."

Brian slung his arm around Michael's shoulders and pressed his lips close to Michael's ear. "It would be so hot."

Michael pushed Brian away gently. "What's the deal with this obsession?"

Brian took hold of Michael's shoulders and turned his lover towards himself. "Imagine some hot stud who was so into you that all he could do was beg you to let him fuck you. " He tilted his head until their foreheads met and his half-opened hazel eyes held Michael's gaze captive. "Imagine me there...watching...helping....How can you not get off on that?"

"Are you bored with just the two of us?" Michael struggled to keep the hurt out of his voice, but he wasn't sure that he had succeeded.

Brian's hands left Michael's shoulders and moved up to frame his face. "Don't read more into this than wanting to have a good time. We're not women and we're not heteros. All their bullshit mating rituals don't mean anything to us. We're men."

"Maybe they mean something to me. Maybe I don't want some stranger pawing all over me while you watch."

"It wouldn't be all watching. Imagine four hands doing everything to make you come. Think of yourself being fucked by two people at once. Let loose. The Michael Novotny I've always known wasn't afraid to try something new." Brian leaned down and nuzzled Michael's neck. "He wasn't afraid to live a little." Brian stroked his hands slowly down Michael's back and pulled his lover closer. "My Mikey always knew how to turn me on."

Michael shrugged Brian's hands off and turned back to the crowd on the dance floor. He fought the spark of irritation that bloomed inside. He wasn't boring or unadventurous and he resented the sudden need to prove it. The pounding music seemed to keep time with his heartbeat. The colorful lights spun and dove, highlighting the hundreds of dancers who writhed to the beat. Michael took it all in and then forgot about the spectacle when Brian's arms circled him from behind. He leaned back against Brian's tall, lean form, and spoke. His mind raced with the concession he was about to make. "If I do--"

"I knew you'd do it," said Brian rather smugly. He always knew the right buttons to push to get Michael to see his way of thinking.

Michael spun around in Brian's arms. "I said 'if!'...If I do it, it will just be this once and never again."

Brian held up his hand. "Scout's honor."

Michael cocked his head to the side and gave Brian a look of exasperation.

"Okay, okay, Forget the scouts. I promise never to ask again."

"And I get to choose the guy."

"You can pick, but we both have to agree."

"Fair enough. If we don't agree by my fifth choice, the deal is off."

"No. We try again tomorrow and every day until the trip is over--until we do this once."

Michael wrinkled his forehead in thought. His feelings flitted across his transparent face until he agreed. "Deal."

Brian turned Michael back to the dance floor. "Start shopping, honey."

Michael nudged Brian with his elbow. "Quit it."

"What? Don't you like it when I call you honey?" Brian licked the inside rim of Michael's ear playfully. "But you're so sweet.

Michael giggled in response and dug his fingers into the arms around his waist. "Next thing you know, you'll be serenading me outside my window."

"Shut up and shop, Michael Charles--before the best ones are taken."

Michael swayed slightly to the music, pulled along by Brian's body against his. He scanned the crowd, looking for hot prospects. One was too short, another too skinny, the third one too weird. The fourth one didn't even bear mentioning after he turned around. "It's amazing how seeing someone from the back can fool you, isn't it, Bri? He could probably have that thing removed, don't you think?"

Brian growled in frustration. "Forget him. You're running out of options. I may have to renege on our deal and pick someone myself. I think you're intentionally picking losers."

"No, I'm not!"

"Then hurry up."

"But I don't see anybody who...I...find..." Michael's voice stuttered to a stop when a brief parting of the crowd revealed the most beautiful body he'd seen in a long time. A white sleeveless, form-fitting tee shirt emphasized bulging muscles and golden skin. Michael's eyes drifted downwards over the magnificent sight. Brian's voice startled him out his reverie.

"Find someone you like, Mikey?"

Michael nodded silently, still taking inventory: over six feet tall, dark blond hair, thighs that looked superb under a pair of tight leather pants. Skin that glistened with a faintly golden glow. He looked like he could go all night and not break a sweat. Michael subconsciously wished that the Greek god would turn to face him fully so he could check out the front more thoroughly.

Brian's gaze swept over the crowd, seeking Michael's target until he saw the one it must be. He knew Michael's tastes and knew that his lover would be drawn to the prime specimen across the way. 'Not bad,' he thought to himself. A lot of potential there. He focused his stare until the stranger looked at them and was caught. Even from a distance, Brian could practically hear what the man was thinking. Brian took steps to make his invitation crystal clear. He slipped one hand under Michael's tight tank top, dragging the stretchy material up slowly, revealing the taut stomach beneath. His fingers firmly traced the gentle muscle ridges, brushing against the dusting of crisp dark hair. His other arm wrapped around Michael's chest, trapping him so that he couldn't turn or escape. Brian licked Michael's ear again and pressed a moist, open mouth kiss against Michael's temple. His other hand continued its caress, daring to dip into Michael's waist band and follow the treasure trail home. Michael was moaning under his breath and the stranger was hooked. He hadn't looked away, nor had he blinked, it seemed. His face seemed like it was carved out of granite, but despite the foreboding expression, he made his way through the crowd towards the couple.

Michael was surprised when the stranger noticed him. He wished that they were closer so he could better see the look in his eyes. Then all thought evaporated as Brian began to touch him. Hands on his stomach, mouth on his face, arm holding him up. His legs felt as if they would give way as Brian teased his abs and threatened to dive into his pants and touch his cock. The teasing hand and fingers crept back up, abandoning him for the skin on his stomach that felt tight and tingly. Michael's eyes fell shut, blocking out the spinning disco lights and the kaleidoscopic view of the dance crowd. He held his breath, waiting for the next touch, the next kiss. Suddenly, it was there--a firm hand on his crotch, molding him to its heat and strength, stroking him until he thought he would explode right there near the dance floor. But it felt strange...different. And Brian's hand on his stomach and his arm around Michael's chest were still in position. Michael opened his eyes and met a pair of pale, blue eyes belonging to the beautiful stranger who had been across the room.

They danced for a short time, Brian and the stranger on opposite sides and Michael in the middle. But it was barely dancing. They pretended to move to the rhythm when it was really all about how far they could take the raven-haired man between them. How much could they touch him before he melted into a puddle? How close could they press against him before he burst into bright, blue flame? When the sensual torture seemed to reach the breaking point, Brian pulled Michael to his side and gestured with his head, to the club's backroom. The stranger nodded in understanding and they began to walk that way.

Michael, despite his sexual haze, had enough wherewithal to dig in his heels. "Not there." He wasn't totally averse to the back room scene, but they were breaking new ground and he didn't want to make a show of it. He looked back and forth at the hazel eyes of his lover and the blue-eyed stranger to let them know that he wouldn't be budged. "I'd rather go somewhere else."

Brian nodded abruptly. "Where, Mikey? Outside? The car?"

Michael sighed. "No. What about the hotel room? Is it too much to want a freakin' bed?"

Brian frowned. For some reason he couldn't put his finger on, he didn't want the stranger in their bed--even if it was only a temporary hotel bed. He wasn't sure that he wanted to waste time looking for another hotel room, either--even if there was one to be found within a ten mile radius. The White Party was a raving success this year which meant that the town's hotel rooms were booked solid. He felt the disappointment keenly. He had pushed the issue this far, but he wasn't sure that it was worth trying to convince Michael to go to the back room. And a small part of him didn't want that many people watching Michael. He was about to call the whole thing off when the stranger spoke up.

"We can go to my hotel room. I don't mind."

The stranger's voice resonated deeply, in keeping with his muscular appearance. The timbre of it sent a shiver through Michael and he found himself nodding in agreement. He turned to look at Brian for his okay.

Brian looked into Michael's eyes and saw acceptance. As long as it happened, who was he to argue? As an answer, he started to fight his way through the crowd, to the exit, tugging Michael by the hand. Outside, the trio found a taxi and sat in its back seat. Brian pulled Michael to his side and began kissing his cheek, making his way to his lips. Michael's hand slid up Brian's chest and teased his nipples. Brian's heart began to thud heavily at the touch. The stranger joined in, kissing the back of Michael's neck and sliding his big hand over Brian's taut thigh. No words were spoken other than directions to the stranger's hotel. They spent the entire time, teasing each other as a prelude to the rest of the night.

"This is it." The stranger dug into his pocket until he found the room key. He opened the door and welcomed his guests into a comfortable, moderately-sized hotel room. Most importantly, there was a king sized bed in the middle. just waiting to be used. He threw his key down on a table and turned to the couple.

Michael looked at Brian nervously. It was one thing to agree to this. It was another to be alone in a room waiting for it to happen. For a brief moment, he wished that he had gone along with doing this in the club's back room. This hotel room seemed almost too intimate. As his doubts were running through his mind, a pair of hands slipped around his waist and pulled him back into a wall of heat that scorched him from head to toe. The stranger was kissing him on the neck, gently biting the skin there, and sending a tingle through Michael's body. He looked up and Brian was smiling slightly. He whispered Brian's name and reached out for his lover's hand, needing the familiar touch to ground him. When Brian's hand touched his, Michael felt relieved. He pulled Brian towards him and tilted his face up, waiting...wanting.

Brian took in Michael's appearance with a lurch to his gut. Michael's lips were parted, moistened by his own tongue, letting breath after rapid breath in and out. His face was flushed, the tinge of blood stretching under the collar of his tank top. And the muscle bound trick was stroking every inch of Michael's torso under the shirt, his big hands moving restlessly over the toned muscles, hidden from view. Brian released Michael's hand and proceeded to remove Michael's shirt. He tossed it aside and ran his finger tips over the revealed vanilla white skin. His fingers brushed against the stranger's hand and he found his hand in a firm but painless grip. He looked up and was mesmerized by the grayish blue eyes that pierced through him. He smiled. This one liked to take control. That was good...for now. He let the stranger take his hand and intertwine their fingers. Together, they touched Michael's smooth skin, teased his hard nipples, and moved down his stomach until they hit the waistband of his pants. Brian used his free hand to open Mikey's pants. Then, together, his hand and the stranger's circled Michael's hardening shaft. Michael, by this time, was panting with his eyes shut, his entire body weight held up by the man behind him. Brian cupped Michael's face and kissed him.

Michael couldn't feel his feet touching the ground. He couldn't balance himself. He couldn't even think straight. The heat behind him and the hands touching his cock had sucked every last coherent thought out of his head. When Brian's lips touched his, Michael hugged his lover's neck and held on for dear life. At the same time, he pressed back against the stranger, increasingly excited by the thick cock he could feel pressing against his backside. Being shirtless wasn't enough. He wanted to be completely bare and have them touch every inch of his skin. He wanted to feel the thick fullness inside him--in his mouth, in his ass, against him. He wanted it all now and he couldn't get it fast enough.

Brian sucked and nibbled on Michael's lower lip, gently worrying the plump flesh with his teeth. His mouth ached for more of Michael's sweet flavor. His lips wandered across Michael's jaw, down his neck, to his chest. He licked and tasted Michael's firm pecs, taking the time to suck each nipple into his mouth firmly, raising the nubbins of flesh to firm attention. Brian dropped to his knees. His trail of kisses continued down Michael's flat abs, across his belly button, and to Michael's fly where his hand and the stranger's were still stroking Mikey's hard cock. He opened his circling fingers, thereby pushing the stranger's away and took the velvety rod deep in his mouth. The resulting gasp and trembling from the man above him made his own cock stiffen even more than it had already--to the point that his tight, white jeans felt snug and uncomfortable. He released Michael's hip long enough to open his own fly and relieve some of the pressure by easing his erection out of its confines. He was thankful that he had foregone underwear this evening. When he had freed himself, he clutched Michael's hips again and lavished his full attention on the cock in his mouth.

Michael's hands had fallen when Brian had dropped to the floor. He threaded them through Brian's hair and held his head lightly. Of their own accord, his hips gyrated back and forth slightly, penetrating Brian's mouth with relish. A slow slide of skin against his arm broke his attention. Then one of his wrists was captured by the stranger who brought Michael's hand up to his mouth and placed a wet kiss in the palm. The stranger pulled Michael's hand further up, placing it on his own head and leaving it there so that Michael's fingers threaded through the short, thick hair and held on. The stranger took the opportunity to stroke Michael's exposed flank. His hand slid up to Michael's nipples where he pinched the already sensitive tissue. Michael lost track of the hands and limbs that surrounded and touched him until a new sensation intruded. The stranger was using a moistened finger to tease the crack of Michael's ass, burrowing into the cleft and, finally, pressing against his hole. Michael's hands clenched, pulling Brian's hair and the stranger's hair with the strength of his urgency. "Oh God!" he gasped uncontrollably. "Please...Don't stop....Please."

"Say my name first...Mikey," the stranger demanded, speaking so softly that Michael could barely hear him over the loud staccato of his heart.

"What is it?" Michael whispered back. He didn't want to examine why he wanted to keep this mini-conversation out of Brian's awareness because the possible answers made him uneasy.

"Ben."

"Okay...Ben."

And with that, Ben plunged his finger into the tight, hot passage that he'd been dying to invade ever since he'd first seen the man in his arms. Mikey, as the man on his knees had called the brunette, had drawn his gaze like no other in the club. Something in the dark eyes attracted him...a mix of innocence and hidden sensuality...simple joy and underlying complexity....Or maybe it had only been that tight, little body topped by jet black hair like a mink's coat, and eyes that were as deep and dark as onyx from a distance, but up close were the deepest brown he had ever seen. Then again, it could have been the gut-wrenching sensuality of seeing the other man stroke his lover and offer him up on a platter like a sumptuous feast. Whatever it had been, Ben had accepted the silent invitation from across the room with a speed that had stunned him. And once he had drawn closer and fallen victim to the lure of those dark eyes, there was no way he could let go.

The couple made such a study in contrasts: light versus dark; tall and lean versus compact; predatory versus open and gentle. Ben had to be with them or else suffer massive disappointment. The offer of his hotel room as a rendezvous point had spilled, unbidden, from his lips. And now they were here and he couldn't let the silence continue. He had to hear his name trip from the red, juicy lips...had to hear the dark-haired beauty moan just for him. Ben worked another digit into the clasping anal passage and crooked his fingers until he stroked the prostate with just enough pressure to blow Mikey's mind. He looked down at the tousled, brown-haired head that moved back and forth at Mikey's crotch and felt his own belly tighten. What he wouldn't do to be able to be in both places at once right now. The other man paused and looked up and the hazel eyes hit Ben like a laser beam. The predatory glow in them drew him in a different way than the man in his arms. His hand left Mikey's waist and touched the kneeling man, pulling him back to worship Mikey's cock.

Brian closed his eyes and let the stranger guide him back to sucking Michael's hard-on. He hummed his pleasure and swallowed, milking the turgid flesh, and felt Michael's fingers tighten in his hair again. He was close...so close...With his eyes open, Brian could see the stranger's hand moving, apparently finger fucking Michael with enthusiasm. God! Michael must be ready to explode. Brian bobbed his head and winced with pain when Michael's hand tugged on his hair sharply. The pain suddenly eased and he heard harsh breathing above him, accompanying the rush of creamy, thick fluid in his throat. The salty cum went down easy as it always did, so he sucked and licked every drop of it, using his fist to milk the last drop. He stood and kissed Michael, allowing the salty taste to mingle in their mouths.

Michael felt himself shaking as if all the power in his body had been lost...and it had. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bed and relive all the feelings in his body, but Ben and Brian didn't give him a chance. They moved him across the room and pushed him down until he was kneeling. Ben sat on the bed and Michael moved towards him until he was trapped between Ben's massive thighs. He looked up, entranced by the desire glowing from the blue eyes. His gaze drifted down broad shoulders, a well-defined chest, and washboard abs until it reached a long, thick penis jutting upward from a nest of dark blonde hair. He measured it with his hand and stroked from the base to the tip, eliciting a long groan from the man in front of him. Ben handed him a condom with which Michael proceeded to cover the magnificent member, inch by excruciating inch. He clasped Ben's erection in his hand again and swallowed it with eagerness.

Ben almost collapsed at the sight of Michael's full, red lips engulfing him and at the heat of Michael's warm, moist mouth. His arms trembled so much as he leaned backwards on the bed that he had to lower himself to his elbows. When he had the trembling under control, he combed his fingers through Michael's hair, tracing the skull beneath. His eyes moved up slightly and he was disconcerted by the gaze of Mikey's lover trained upon him. The eyes that had seemed so light before, had darkened to an indescribable color.

Never looking away from the stranger, Brian grasped Michael's hips and entered him from behind in one smooth motion. At the moment of impalement, Michael paused in his sucking and let out a muffled, "Brian!" that resounded with pleasure. Michael grunted softly as the movement of Brian's hips made him surge back and forth. They quickly established a steady rhythm. Michael resumed his blow job with renewed energy.

Ben could have come right there if not for Brian's piercing stare still lancing through him. He watched, fascinated, as Brian's lids lowered, his mouth fell open, and his actions became a deep, plunging, in and out of Mikey's body. He seemed softer, more touchable, and Ben lifted his hand to do just that--touch the face that seemed so lost in its own world. But Brian tossed his head away at the touch and opened his eyes to a slit--only enough to warn Ben away. Though he might seem like a touchable cat, Brian's claws were sharp and ready, thought Ben. So instead of trying to pet Mikey's lover, Ben returned his focus to Mikey, himself....Mikey....He could say the name over and over again. In fact, he found himself doing so in his head as Mikey sucked him into oblivion. The added impetus of Brian's movements, only intensified the experience and Ben climaxed so hard that he thought he would turn inside out. His release exploded into the waiting protective glove after which Mikey's sucking slowed.

Ben felt the coolness of the room air, as his penis was released from its welcome captivity. The tight, wet hug was replaced by the ticklish feeling of Michael's hair in his lap. Ben stroked it, enjoying the feel of the luscious strands trailing over his fingers. The hairs on Mikey's nape clung damply, soaked with perspiration. The snowy skin of his back was flushed, glistening. and marked with faint red, finger-shaped impressions. Ben traced them delicately with his finger tips. That pleasure was cut short when Brian pulled Mikey upright and moved his lover's body up and down over himself. Fortunately, that action brought a whole new pleasure to Ben's universe because seeing Mikey's face transformed by passion sent a sharp pang of desire through Ben's body. He caressed Mikey's flushed cheek and sat up so he could taste the strawberry lips. He coaxed Michael's mouth open without difficulty and explored the humid cavern with thoroughness.

Michael had been gripping Ben's thighs and now his fingers tightened, digging into the layers of muscle--trying to hold on so that the delicious feeling of Brian moving within him would last. But Ben leaned over and kissed him, tasted every part of his mouth and he could feel himself climax again with a sharp, echoing twinge. He felt dizzy and disoriented so he leaned back and let Brian and Ben have their way with him.

All too soon, Brian's movements slowed. He jerked Michael's hips once, twice, and a third time before he came inside Michael's passage with a burst of liquid heat. Michael sagged forward onto Ben's lap, spent. He was surprised when strong hands caught under his arms and pulled him onto the bed. He had only sufficient energy to cover his eyes with one arm and attempt to catch his breath. The cool, smooth sheets beneath him dissipated some of the heat in his body and his heart began to decelerate.

Brian stood and waited, totally nonchalant about his nudity. "Bathroom?"

Ben pointed to a door across the room. "Over there. Help yourself."

Brian smirked. "I always do." He strode to the bathroom slowly. Before he entered he turned and called out, "Join me, Mikey?"

Michael shook his head in refusal. "Give me a couple of minutes to recover."

Brian shrugged and entered the bathroom alone.

Ben watched him go, amazed by how comfortable some people seemed in their own skin--as if they ruled the world--or at least their part of it. He turned to the man resting behind him with the unfathomable realization that this interlude was almost over. He had gone into this for a lark. How many times did his friends tell him to live a little--get your nose out of the books and your ass out of the classroom? So he had done something a little different and now he was reluctant to see it end. Brian was out of the picture, if only for a few minutes, and Ben wished that he could keep it that way until he did what he wanted to do. Mikey's chest was still heaving from their workout. The red flush of his skin was fading leaving him looking like an alabaster sculpture. Ben succumbed to the temptation to touch and tease the pale skin. "Mikey?"

Mikey jumped at the touch, but settled down. He felt like his skin and all the nerves beneath were jumping to attention in response to Ben's innocuous touch. "Michael. My name is Michael."

"I'm sorry. Your lover called you Mikey."

"Pet name. Since we were kids." Michael uncovered his eyes. "Ben. I like that name. It sounds strong." He smiled a little shyly. "Like you."

At the sight of that smile and the accompanying sparkle in Michael's chocolaty brown eyes, Ben felt a clutch in his chest that reached down into his gut. He pulled Michael's body beneath his and began to kiss and devour the same lips that had teased and tortured him only minutes before. To his everlasting delight, Michael was an excellent kisser with a mouth and tongue that moved expertly. And Michael's body was a wonder. Though much smaller than Ben, he was toned and athletic and so damned fuckable that it was a shame they hadn't met long ago. Ben paused to pick up a condom from the nightstand and hand it to Michael. "Put it on me."

"What?" Michael looked towards the bathroom door. He could hear the water running. Brian would be out soon. He never lingered in the shower when he was alone.

Ben smiled knowingly. "Brian can join us when he comes out. Right now, I just want to be inside you." He plucked the condom out of Michael's nerveless fingers, sheathed himself, and grabbed a packet of lube. He positioned himself between Michael's spread legs so that they were pressed belly to belly. When he was prepared, he slid his throbbing erection into Michael's anus, to the hilt, and paused. The lube had hardly been necessary since Michael's body was already open and ready from Brian's attentions. And yet the grip on Ben's cock was not diminished. He kissed Michael and declared, "You feel just as good as I imagined....Better." He pulled back until he was almost out before thrusting in again, slowly. He watched Michael's face carefully for any regret or discomfort.

They stared into each other's eyes for ages before Michael slid his hands up Ben's arms, hooked them around Ben's muscular neck and said, "Don't stop."

Ben moaned at the thrill of those words and bent his head to place a kiss on the crook of Michael's neck. He thrust in and out with rising passion, only vaguely aware of Brian reentering the room. Even when Brian pulled Ben's head back and kissed him, he never broke his stride. His attention was riveted on the feeling of Michael so tight around him.

Brian stared at the stranger's face, then at Mikey's. He could feel a spark of something deep inside, but he dared not call it by name. Mikey was his. Always had been. He always would be. This stranger, no matter that he was screwing Mikey, couldn't get what they had. Still, Brian couldn't help inserting himself into the situation. This had been HIS idea, but now Mikey was blissed out by this new man's touch. Michael's eyes were shut tight, he was biting his lip, and he was grunting with each penetration of his body. Brian let go of the stranger's hair and lay on the bed until he could reach his lover's face. He turned Mikey's face to him and said softly, "Mikey. Open your eyes." Dark eyes fluttered open but they were unfocused. "Look at me, Mikey." When Brian had Michael's attention, he kissed him slowly, teasingly--the way he knew his Mikey liked it. Their eyes were open as was their habit and just that easily, Mikey was his again. Then the muscular trick seemed to redouble his efforts, moving in and out of Michael faster and harder. Brian felt his own jaw tighten in frustration when Mikey's focus drifted and was lost. He looked up at the stranger and let his face say words which rang loud and clear without actually giving them voice: 'He's mine.'

Ben saw and appreciated the warning, but he couldn't pull out or pull away. He closed his eyes rather than deal with the drama that threatened to play out. Too soon, Ben felt the tension in his body peak and shatter like china hurled against a brick wall. His body broke out in a sweat from the explosive force of his second climax. Despite the power of the release, his erection had not waned completely. It was as if his body knew not to let this moment end too soon. He moved slower and more shallowly, hitting the right spot until Michael gasped when his own orgasm hit him. Ben felt another, less intense climactic wave wash over him as Michael's passage clenched and pulled at him. As the spasms in his body diminished, he looked down at Michael and almost froze at the stark look of desire mixed with the tiniest hint of fear. Even without a mirror, Ben knew the same look was on his own face and in his own eyes. He pulled out of Michael reluctantly and rolled to his side so that Michael lay between him and Brian.

Ben pulled off the condom, threw it carelessly to the side, and lay limp on the bed. He was as breathless and tired as if he had climbed a mountain. When he turned to his right, Brian was whispering in Michael's ear and Michael was saying, "No. I'll wait 'til we get back. Just let me get dressed." Ben watched them stand and don their clothing. He wanted to say something to stop them, but what could he say that wouldn't sound too needy? Too desperate? Brian, who had seemed so casual and unhurried before, seemed hasty, now, in his desire to leave.

Michael's fingers shook while he buttoned his pants, but Brian pushed them to the side and finished it himself. When they were done, Brian put his arm around Michael and pulled him to the hotel room door. Before walking out, Brian said, "Thanks...uh..." He stopped and squinted at the stranger whose name he didn't know and whose face he planned to forget.

Michael added to Brian's half statement, "Thanks, Ben." The expression on his face was shuttered. He preceded Brian out the door without another word. Brian frowned after Michael, then at Ben and closed the door behind himself.

Ben stared into space for a long time, trying to recall each touch, each sound, and smell...each moment...and that look in Michael's eyes. When the lonely silence of the room became overwhelming, he decided to shower, dress, and go out again...just to forget what could never be.

Chapter 2

Three years later

Michael entered his loft apartment with a paper bag tucked into his jacket. "Brian?" he called out, and did a quick survey of the rooms to find his lover. Good. No one was home. He shed his jacket and walked to the kitchen. The bag went on the counter while he proceeded to pull vegetables from the refrigerator. He found a large chopping knife and started cutting the vegetables to make a salad. His attention wasn't really on his task. It kept wandering to the bag on the counter. The paper-wrapped object seemed to stare back at him. He gasped sharply when the cutting knife slipped in his hand and sliced across his finger. He held the bleeding wound to his mouth and hurried to the bathroom.

A dash of peroxide and a bandage later, Michael was back in the kitchen, cutting vegetables again. When he was done, he looked at his creation. When the hell had he taken out the banana? With a sigh, he pulled a plastic bowl from a cabinet and placed it next to the salad. He picked the fruit slices out of the green salad and tossed them in the clean bowl. He grabbed the bowl of banana slices and a fork, and seated himself at the counter.

With all the care of a bomb squad opening a ticking box, Michael slid the bag towards himself and peered inside. He took the book out and touched the cover as if to reassure himself that it was real. Then he turned it over and looked at the back cover that sported a large picture of the author. Even if the familiar blue eyes and sculpted jaw hadn't reassured him that he was remembering correctly, the author's name clinched it: Benjamin Bruckner...Ben. Michael flipped to the author information written on the inside back jacket cover:

Michael read the plot summary for the hundredth time since his friend, Ted, had brought the book to the store, raving about how good it was, and insisting that Michael borrow it and read it. Michael had been only mildly interested until a quick glance at the back cover had almost taken his breath away. He had hidden his sudden eagerness rather well, he thought, and had even managed not to start reading the book while his customers waited for assistance locating their favorite comic books. The long wait until he could come home had stretched out like an eternity.

Michael speared a banana slice with his fork, put in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. He reminisced about his and Brian's trip to the White Party three years ago. That night with Ben had been only the first of many similar. It had started off as a one-time thing...a dare that had altered Michael and Brian's relationship. Gradually, that alteration had brought them to a very different place than Michael would have imagined. And now Michael was faced with a photo of the one with whom it had all started.

Michael had been sitting on the couch, totally engrossed in Ben's book when the metallic grinding of the elevator gears snapped him out of his entrancement. He wondered when it had become so dark in the room. He could barely see the words on the page, but had been so focused on reading that he hadn't thought to turn on a lamp. He jumped up and went to the bedroom where he tucked the book under his pillow. There would be more time for reading later. He returned to the kitchen, to his forgotten salad, and pulled out a couple of plates. He was searching through the fridge for left over chicken and a container of sauce when Brian finally slid the door open and entered the loft.

"You would not believe the day I had, Mikey!" He threw his briefcase down near the desk and walked to the kitchen where he bussed Michael on the mouth. "BRX is the biggest automobile repair chain this side of Pennsylvania and I had them eating out of the palm of my hand." He snatched a bottle of water from the open fridge and seated himself at the counter. "I was magnificent."

Michael smiled at Brian. "I'm glad you thought so. I suppose you pulled off this fantastic pitch all on your own?"

Brian grinned. "Oh, I admit I had a little help, but it was my ideas and my pushing that got the job done."

Michael took a bottled soft drink from the refrigerator, popped the top, and held it aloft. "Congratulations, Brian." They clicked bottles and drank to Michael's toast. "I feel bad, now. It was my turn to make dinner, but I got distracted. I was planning to make a whole meal with pasta and the works, but I only made the salad."

"Forget that. We're going out to celebrate. We can shower and get dressed right now."

"Oh, we don't have to go out. It won't take me long to make dinner. We already have pasta sauce that my mother sent over the other day."

Brian slid off the bar stool and walked around the counter. He pulled Michael toward him by the hips, kissed him on the forehead, and said, "I'd rather go out and have someone else do the cooking and the clean up. Afterwards, we can go to Babylon or one of the other clubs." He rubbed his nose with Michael's. "I'm in the mood for a little fun tonight."

Michael closed his eyes and debated how to refuse. Gently, he said, "I'd rather stay here with you and express my admiration--one on one."

"We can stay home any time. Tonight is special."

Michael pulled back a little from Brian. "Why does 'special' always mean picking up a third and a fourth person? Why can't special be just the two of us?" He felt a stab of hurt when Brian stepped away from him.

"Are we going to do this again?"

"Do what again?" Michael crossed his arms and thrust his jaw out with frustration. When he realized what he was doing, he assumed a relaxed pose before Brian could accuse him of pouting.

"Are we going to have this argument again?"

"It wasn't an argument. It was a discussion."

"Whatever. If you don't want to go out, just say so."

"I don't want to go out."

"Fine, Mikey. I'll see you when I get back." Brian turned to walk out of the kitchen.

Michael hated himself for chasing after Brian, but he couldn't stand this tension that seemed to spring up between them so often. "Wait, Brian!"

Brian stopped walking, but he didn't turn around.

"I'll go."

Brian turned now and looked at Michael with narrowed eyes. "Don't do me any favors. If you don't want to, then don't."

"I said I'll go."

"Fine." Brian headed to the bathroom, pulling his tie and jacket off on the way.

Michael turned to put away the salad. He headed to the bathroom to join Brian in the shower, hoping that he could still find it in himself to feel like celebrating.

In the bathroom, Brian was removing the rest of his clothes while the water warmed up. Without turning, he said, "We can always start the celebration now."

Michael walked up behind him while stripping off his tee-shirt and kicking off his sneakers. He hugged Brian from behind. "I really am happy for you."

Brian turned and looked down at Michael. His eyes were glittering with need. "Yeah?" He slid Michael's sweat pants down a few inches and gripped Michael's bottom. He kneaded the rounded muscle firmly, smiling when evidence of Michael's arousal rose between them. "If you're happy, then show me," he demanded in a soft voice.

When Michael opened his eyes, it was to his dim bedroom, lit only by the glow from a tiny lamp on the dresser. He turned over and was greeted with the sight of his lover getting his dick sucked by the guy that they had brought home. Brian's eyes were closed and he was miles away. His chest rose and fell deeply and his fingers moved carelessly through the trick's spiky, brown hair. The wet, sucking sounds and the loud breathing seemed to fill the room. Michael tried to remember the trick's name--Josh, maybe? No, that had been the last time. The truth was that Michael couldn't remember a name. What did it matter anyway? They all looked the same these days. Even the sleek layers of muscles underlying velvety, brown skin and an ass as firm as concrete seemed tedious to Michael.

Michael turned over and put his head back on the pillow and was surprised by the uncomfortable hardness. A blind search under the pillow revealed the book that he had tucked there. He pulled it out and climbed from the bed. His feet found his jeans where he'd tossed them on the floor. He scooped them up and pulled them on before walking out of the bedroom, book in hand.

"Mikey, where are you going?" Brian's voice was still dreamy and muffled as a result of his latest version of synthetic euphoria in a convenient vial.

"Living room," said Michael abruptly before walking out. He turned on a lamp, pulled a chair close to the stereo, and picked out a CD. Soon he was comfortably ensconced with headphones on to block out the noise from the bedroom and an afghan to cover his cold feet. No notice was given to the trick who snuck out of the apartment a little while later. Michael was oblivious to everything except the words on the pages until the book was pulled out of his hand unceremoniously. "What the--"

Brian turned the book over and looked at it with curiosity. "You left to read this crap?"

Michael reached up to take the book back, but Brian held it out of his reach. "You seemed busy and I didn't want to interrupt you, Brian."

"You could have joined in."

"I had a headache."

"You had a headache, so you decided to blast music through the headphones and read tiny print in the dark?"

Michael stood up and pulled the book back away from Brian. "I wasn't blasting music, this lamp gives plenty of light, and the print is not that tiny."

"Since when do you read in the middle of the night?"

"All the time!"

"I've never seen you do it."

"You're always sleeping something off. That's why you never notice."

"What the hell is your problem these days, Mikey?"

Michael sat back in the chair and hugged the book to his chest. "Who says I have a problem?"

"You've been acting pissy more and more often."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have, but until you realize it, I guess there's nothing to talk about." Brian turned and headed back to bed, leaving Michael alone with his book and his music.

Michael turned the book back over and looked at the picture of Ben. The book was fascinating, outlining a young man's struggle with his sexual identity and how he learned to express his inner self to those around him. He seemed so thoughtful, intelligent, and deep that Michael wished he could talk to him. How sad that he was craving attention from a fictional character, but he wished he could talk to anybody, to tell the truth. He snuggled into the chair to continue reading.

It was bright, beautiful morning, and Debbie Novotny was in a good mood. The cook hadn't burned any of the breakfast, several customers had left generous tips before leaving the diner, and everything was running smoothly. She felt an urge to cross herself against the bad stuff that must surely be waiting just around the corner. When she noticed her son, Michael, trudge into the diner and slide into a booth, she recognized trouble come to roost.

Debbie picked up the coffee pot, a cup, and a saucer and went to greet her only child. "Morning, honey!" she said with a cheerful smile. Michael looked up and gave her a weak smile that didn't reach his sad, brown eyes. 'Jesus! He looks like a whipped puppy,' thought Debbie to herself. She poured him a cup of steaming hot coffee and asked, "What did he do now?"

Michael looked at his mother with a wrinkled expression of confusion. "What did who do?"

Debbie cocked her hand on her hip. "Your worse half. Who else?"

Michael huffed with irritation and looked away. "Give me a break, Ma. You're always giving him shit. He didn't do anything."

"Then why are you sitting here, moping like you just lost your best friend?"

"I'm fine. There's nothing going on. Brian didn't do a thing. Are you satisfied?" He took a careful sip of coffee, then stared into the cup as if all the answers were to be found in the depths of the dark liquid.

Debbie sighed deeply. This was going to be harder than she thought and certainly called for more than a cup of coffee. "What do you want to eat?"

"Just scrambled eggs and toast, please."

"Coming right up!" Debbie walked away to place Michael's order, dole out a few more meals, and pour a few more cups of coffee. She granted each customer with a smile, a friendly greeting, and some of her earthy wisdom--whether they asked for it or not. When Michael's breakfast was ready, she stopped to take a short break.

Michael was staring into space when his mother slipped into the booth opposite him, sliding his plate to him. "Thanks, Ma."

"Enjoy it. I hope you don't mind eating and talking."

Michael suddenly felt ravenous. He hadn't had much for dinner the night before. He took a big bite, and talked around his eggs, "There's nothing to talk about."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. I know that something is going on. You and Brian used to have breakfast here all the time. Nowadays, you're never in here together."

"He's really busy with work. He has a couple of new huge accounts at the agency and he has to spend late nights."

"Is that why you never come with Brian when you visit us?"

As quickly as it had hit him, Michael's appetite deserted him. "Ma, please drop it." He put his fork down and felt the hastily eaten food churn in his stomach. He put his head in his hands and tried to will away the rising nausea.

"Sweetie, just tell me. Maybe talking about it will make you feel better. I hate to see you unhappy."

"Talking is just a waste of breath," said Michael with a hint of bitterness. "It doesn't solve anything."

"That sounds like Brian talking...the way he was before you two got together. That's not you, Michael."

"I'm just tired."

"Of what, baby?"

"Of all the partying and the drugs and the..."

Debbie patted his arm in sympathy. "And all the other men?"

"It's stupid, but...yes."

"No, it's not stupid. Look, honey, I never expected you to get married and have a white picket fence, a dog and a baby on your hip. But I did hope and expect that you would be in a relationship that makes you happy. If that's not what you have with Brian, maybe you two need to talk more and fix the problem. The longer you ignore whatever's bothering you, the bigger the problems will get."

"I AM happy," insisted Michael. Little did he know that his expression belied his words.

"You could have fooled me. You seem sad so often these days that I really want to say something to Brian."

"Ma--"

Debbie held up her hand for silence. "No, Michael. I said my peace. You don't have to tell me to stop or to butt out. I know you hate it when I give you advice." She slid out of the booth so she could return to her work. "You say that talking won't change anything? That's bullshit. You've never been a coward. You love him, but something needs to change. Let him know how you feel and find out how he feels. He'd be a fool not to listen."

Michael nodded silently. His shadowed eyes reflected today's misery, but they weren't as defeated as they had been only minutes before. Debbie pinched her son's cheek. "Tell me how it all works out, honey."

"Okay." Michael stared at his plate while he thought of what his mother had said. She was right. He had spent way too much time wallowing in self-pity and reacting. He needed to talk to Brian directly. After all this time, that shouldn't be impossible, should it? With his decision made, he ate his breakfast and actually enjoyed it a little.

Ben sat in his office, grading the latest set of essays from his morning class. They were much better than the first batch. Some days it amazed him that he was actually getting through to the impressionable minds sitting in his classroom. His mind drifted to the first day he had unpacked all his books and looked around at his new office with a sense of pride and nervousness. It seemed so long ago, but it had only been a year. This was his first teaching position and he wanted to excel. The track to tenureship was very competitive, but well worth the job security it would provide. Since day one, he had been putting his best foot forward. He needed this so he could have the finances to indulge in his other passion. Student essays were put aside for another look at his most recent manuscript. After one book, he had not been able to suppress the urge to continue writing. This was only a first draft of the opening chapter. Ben's hands fairly shook with excitement. He couldn't wait to tell Paul about...

He had to put his papers down and clasp his hands together to stop the real shaking. He couldn't believe how many times he would think about Paul as if he were still here. There were nights when he automatically reached for a second plate and days when he started to punch the digits into his cell phone. When would this forgetting stop? Still, part of him didn't mind because letting go of that meant letting go of the last vestiges of Paul. His every fiber rebelled at the idea of putting out that particular light. The pain of it ripped at his skin in bits and pieces until he felt shredded inside and out. It was with Herculean effort that he made himself ignore the agony and move on. Sometimes, the only way he could cope was to pour every ounce of his energy into his work.

He turned and pulled his book from the shelf. It had been a labor of love and he had thought about Paul when he wrote the last few chapters. He only wished that his lover had been able to read the published work before he had passed away. Alas, it was never to be. Ben was left only with his memories of a slow and painful passing and with a list of appointments so that he could get his blood drawn repeatedly until the doctors and he were sure.

Damn! Ben swore under his breath. He had forgotten to reschedule the next HIV test so that it no longer conflicted with one of his classes. He dug the phone number out of his wallet and made the call. When it was over, he picked up his papers, determined not to let the ever-present fear of the killer that could be lurking, even now, in his blood stream. He couldn't let this be his whole life. With the next and last test, he could rest easy until the next scare. Until then, he reminded himself to inhale and exhale and until he had fooled his reluctant self into living.

The essays were still waiting to be reviewed and graded. Afterwards, he needed a few more references in preparation for next week's lecture. Earlier in the week, he had been walking down Liberty Avenue when a display of comic books in a store window had triggered an idea. He would stop by the store after work to do a little digging around.

Michael was eating lunch in his comic book store. Emmett and Uncle Vic were unpacking inventory and Debbie was dusting every corner. Michael took a moment to relax and enjoy. His mind wandered to Brian. He had never had that talk because no time seemed like the right time. In his mind, he rehearsed his opening speech. 'Brian, we need to talk. Things have been strained between us and I want them to be better.' He was getting into it when in walked another customer. He swallowed and almost choked on a large hunk of sandwich when he looked up. It was him...and, oh my god, Debbie was talking to him. Michael was too busy drinking in the sight of this sexy man in a leather bomber jacket and snug jeans to panic about what outrageous words might come out of his mother's mouth. He hardly paid attention to Emmett's chatter about gaydars and Uncle Vic's question: yea or nay? It was a game they played quite often as they searched for the best way to identify a fellow gay man. Michael responded by rote to their friendly debate while his eyes moved over every inch of Ben's gorgeous form.

Then Michael realized that his mother was waving him over and he finally stood, wiped his hands, and greeted the man. He was disappointed to realize that Ben didn't recognize him. The man was even more handsome up close. He was rattling on about something or other, using three dollar vocabulary words when Michael grasped the thrust of his request. He took a seemingly long route to get to the point, though, in an almost shy manner.

"I'm looking for works that, based on their narrative, their graphics, cultural references, subtextual points of view, one might regard as...um..."

Michael waited for the man to spit the word out, but when it wasn't forthcoming, he ventured a guess. "Gay?"

Ben smiled and responded in the affirmative. He had to admit to himself that when those big brown eyes had focused on him, he had lost his train of thought. He had started to ramble and realized that he was using an old defense--bowl them over with intelligent conversation--except that he went a bit too far. The comic book store owner, Michael, cut right to the chase. And instead of being annoyed or baffled by Ben's rambling, he was polite, articulate, and knowledgeable about his comic collection. He shone with a passion that tripped Ben's memory. It was not until he had made his purchases and was halfway home on his bicycle that recollection flooded his brain. The White Party. Shit! How could he have forgotten? Luckily, traffic was light on the way home because Ben's mind was in another time and place. 'I have to go back,' he said to himself. He smiled broadly at the thought of seeing Michael again. Then the rest of his memory came back. Michael had a boyfriend. Ben wondered if they were still together. He planned to find out as soon as possible.

Chapter 3

Ben paused outside the comic store and thought about what he would say. He had already decided that he wouldn't tell Michael that he remembered him from before. Better to stay cool and collected rather than sounding stalkerish. He had a plan laid out and he thought it was a good one: invite Michael to help him with his next book and use the opportunity to get to know him better. Ben knew he could handle the material himself, but the light in Michael's eyes when he had been discussing the comics had been an inspiration. He pushed the door open and entered the store.

Michael was in the store alone when the professor returned. Over the past few days, Michael had read a lot more of the book and had been trying to figure out a way to contact Ben without seeming like some creepy fan. Now, no plans were necessary. Ben walked in the store and Michael's heart sank to his stomach like a lead weight imbued with all the nervousness in the world. Somehow, he still managed to walk and talk like a normal, carefree person, although he was a lot less calm than he appeared. "Back so soon? Don't tell me you went through all those comics I gave you already!"

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty fast."

"Oh."

Ben stumbled at his unintentional double entendre. "I mean I read quickly. Hate wasting time. Life's just too short. Who knows what could happen tomorrow or even five minutes from now?"

"Isn't that the truth? Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I hope so. I should explain. My name is Ben. Ben Bruckner."

"Michael...Novotny." They shook hands and Michael's body tingled. Those were the same hands that had touched him and wouldn't it be funny if they pulled him closer, slipped under his pants and worked their magic on his...? He shivered in remembrance. Those fingers, How good they had felt when Ben had...

Ben was all business. "Hey, Michael. I teach Gay Studies at Carnegie Mellon. I'm writing a book that explores homoeroticism in literature from Greek and Roman mythology, up to and including comic book culture--modern comic book culture. So, I'm doing a little research."

Michael deflated with disappointment. He tucked away his trip down memory lane for a rainy day. "Research. Right. Got it. Um. Well, let me see what I can find for you." He turned to look through the bins, hoping that it would give him a little time to recover from the flush that threatened to break out on his face and the throbbing in his groin. Thank, goodness for loose-fitting jeans. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Actually, I already found what I want."

Michael turned in surprise. "Yeah?" That meant Ben would be leaving sooner than Michael had hoped. 'Thought--not hoped,' he told himself. 'You have no business hoping anything.' He was so preoccupied with convincing himself, that he thought he had misunderstood what Ben wanted.

"Mm hm. You."

Michael's imagination went into overdrive at those words. Once he pulled his mind back into the present and laughed at his foolish thoughts--as if Ben would come after him for anything sexual--he responded with laughter and disbelief. "Me?"

There it was--that sparkle in Michael's eyes when he smiled that made Ben want to see more. His mind filled with thoughts of tickling Michael and teasing the pale skin so that the beautiful, brown eyes would crinkle at the corners. And those lips were just as tempting. Ben itched to run his finger across them and test their soft, pink fullness. But what was this? Michael was trying to refuse the request. Ben took his mind away from the physical attraction and focused on Michael's expression. He recalled the intensity when Michael had been talking about various comic superheroes. His knowledge and his character and plot analysis were actually quite amazing. "Yeah, I'd like you to help me with this book."

"Why? I'm no brainiac. I don't know what I'd have to offer."

"Brainiac. That's one of Superman's arch enemies, right?" At Michael's nod, Ben smiled in triumph. "See? I'm learning already, but when it comes to comics, you're obviously the expert, so--"

Michael broke in. "I wouldn't say that. It's just something I know about since I was a kid."

"No. It's definitely more than knowing. When you talk about them, you have a passion. So, what do you say? Will you help? I'll give you writing credit."

"I don't know."

"How about a portion of the nonexistent profits?"

Michael thought about it. Well, why the hell not? What did he have to lose? When the professor figured out that he'd be better off on his own, Michael could back away gracefully. "Okay. I'd love to help."

It was with relief that Ben accepted Michael's capitulation. They set a date to meet and talk and Ben left the store a lot happier than when he had entered.

Michael watched the professor leave, thinking all the while that he must have lost his mind to have agreed to do this. Judging by the book, Benjamin Bruckner was very intelligent and well educated. What could he possibly have to talk about with a man like that? The entrance of two more customers interrupted Michael's thoughts. He set about helping them and shelved his thoughts about Benjamin Bruckner for the moment.

On Saturday afternoon, Brian tiptoed around the comic books spread out on a table cloth on the floor.

"Watch it! You almost stepped on an issue of 'Sandman!'"

"Why the fuck are these things all over the floor, anyway? Christ!"

Michael muttered a response, directing it to the vicinity of his chest.

"What?"

"I said that I'm doing research!"

Brian maneuvered his way to the couch, biting into an apple as he seated himself. Between chews he asked, "Research for what?"

Michael took a sip of coffee and set the cup on the floor, far away from his comics. "I met a college professor who teaches Gay Studies. He's doing research for his new book about homoeroticism in literature. He needs my advice on modern comic books and how they relate to that. I'm really nervous about doing it. I'm probably going to fuck it up. I wish I'd said no."

"Why did you agree to do it?"

Michael shrugged. "It sounded interesting and fun. How many times will I ever get this chance?"

"Then what are you worried about?"

Michael carefully slipped the "Sandman" back in its protective wrapping. "Why would a college professor listen to anything I have to say? I didn't even finish a whole year at college."

Brian took another bite of his apple while he considered his response with seeming nonchalance. Sometimes, Michael could be so needy and he had to choose his words carefully. "Don't be so pathetic, Mikey. Obviously, if this teacher asked you to help, he was interested in what you had to say."

Michael knew that those snarky words were designed to make him feel better, but he still felt nervous. "I need to go through these to find more material."

"Are you going to be doing this all day?"

Michael looked around. He was surrounded by three feet square of comics and he still had three more boxes to go through. "Yeah, I think so."

"Have fun. I'm going to the gym. I'll see you later." Brian stood, tiptoed around the maze of comic issues, and went to get his gym bag.

Returning from a trip to the university library, Ben let himself into his apartment quietly. He didn't know why he bothered. There would be no one home to greet him except the little Buddha statue on the shelf. Being alone in his office was okay, but coming home to complete quiet was becoming unnerving. Every day, he wished that there would be someone--a lover, a friend...heck, even a dog would be nice. Unfortunately, his apartment building didn't allow pets.

He reached into his jacket pocket and rifled around. Where the heck was the damn thing? There it was--a small slip of paper. Out of the confines of his jacket and in the light of day, the phone number to Michael's cell phone became clear. They had exchanged numbers, but Michael had never called. Today, he hadn't shown up. Should he call? He didn't want to be pushy, but he wanted an explanation. After the initial anger and disappointment had come worry. What if something had happened to Michael? What if he had been in an accident or gotten sick? All sorts of ghastly scenarios ran through Ben's mind. He had ridden past the comic store on his bike and had seen Michael through the window, looking perfectly fine. The disappointment had returned full-force. He couldn't even rally enough anger to walk into the store and demand an explanation and an apology. He had ridden home in a blue funk. Walking into his quiet apartment only exacerbated those feelings.

Brian walked into the loft that was almost pitch black. He was surprised that Michael wasn't home yet. He threw his stuff down and turned on a couple of lamps. To his surprise, Michael was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His face was set in the scrunched-up way that he had whenever he was upset. Brian walked to the couch, stood above his lover, and waited. When Michael didn't say anything, didn't look at him, and didn't even acknowledge him, Brian knew it was bad. He sat on the couch next to Michael's hip, and placed a hand on Michael's arm. "What happened?"

Michael shrugged and didn't respond.

"Was it the meeting with the teacher? Did it not go so well?"

"I didn't go."

"Why not? You were so excited this weekend I thought I was going to have to hose you down."

Michael couldn't even muster a smile. "That was just anxiety. It was a stupid idea for me to think that I could actually help anyone write a book. I don't know anything!"

"Michael, you know plenty. Having a college degree doesn't prove that you're smart and not having one doesn't make you stupid. So, you got cold feet? So what? It's not the end of the world."

"I know. I'd really rather not talk about it. I don't care any more."

"Then why are you moping here in the dark?"

"I'm wishing that I knew things that other people know."

"You're thinking too much." Brian slipped his hand under Michael's shirt and stroked his abdomen lightly. His fingers inched up slowly and stroked the hairs on Michael's chest. "I'm wishing that we could do something besides talk." He leaned down and drew Michael's lip between his own. He ran his tongue across Michael's smooth white teeth and leaned back. "Open for me."

Michael turned his head away. "No."

Brian licked Michael's neck, right above the visible pulse. He pressed his lips over it and nipped the skin with his teeth. "I can make you feel better."

"Not now." Michael pushed at Brian's shoulder to put some distance between them.

Brian's eyebrows knitted in a frown. "When then? You're like a nun lately."

"Stop analyzing me."

Brian lifted Michael's legs so he could slip under them and sit back on the couch. He draped Michael's legs over his lap and said, "What else can I do? You're never in the mood and you don't want to talk."

"So what?"

"So what," echoed Brian. He didn't know what to say. Every conversation became an argument or a game of questions. Brian had never been into hashing out his feelings like a weepy baby, but he found that he missed the conversations where they actually seemed to understand each other. They both remained on the couch, neither really privy to the other one's feelings. Brian stroked Michael's thigh, brushing his hand against the soft cotton covering Michael's lean, muscular legs. They were loose at the bottom so he could easily slip his hand under and touch the bare skin, roughened by the faintest dusting of hair. His hand crept upwards, so that no inch of Michael's smooth inner thighs was left untouched. All worries were put aside because Michael had started to breathe a little faster. Despite his protests, he didn't push Brian away again.

"So call him and ask him to reschedule, Mikey."

"No."

"You'd rather torture me with this depression?"

"Yes."

"Jesus Christ, you're a pain in the ass!"

Michael hung up the cell phone. He was tired of talking to Brian about the book...tired of thinking about Ben...just plain tired of thinking of all the things he wanted to do, but hadn't done. By noon, he was ready to bounce off the walls in frustration. Two young men approached the counter with some comic books to purchase. They were having an argument...

"I don't know why you keep whining about it."

"What do you care?"

"It's getting tiresome. If you changed your mind, go talk to him."

"It's too late."

"The worse that could happen is he says no. But he might say yes."

"I don't want to humiliate myself."

"You'll always regret it if you don't ask. You should just take a chance."

They conversational volleyball game continued all through the checkout process and as they walked out the door. Michael thought about what they'd said. Why was he whining? With renewed determination, he locked up the register, grabbed his jacket, and left the store to take a chance.

Ben was packing up his bag to leave for home when the knock came on his office door. "Come in!"

The door creaked open, and in walked Michael. "Hi. It took me almost an hour to find this place. Do you have a minute?"

Ben gestured to the chair and seated himself behind the desk. "I was surprised when you didn't show up the other day. You could have at least called and told me that you weren't coming. I waited for you."

Michael felt his neck get a little hot. "I'm sorry. I know I should have called. My store is still new and I was behind on a lot of work, and...and...I got nervous," he finally admitted.

Ben heaved an inward sigh of relief. Nervousness he could deal with. It was way better than flat out rejection. "It's not like I was expecting a dissertation. All we were going to do was talk--really casual. I don't even bite."

"The thing is...I can't help but feel that you don't need my help. I barely graduated from high school. I've never gone places and written books like you have. I'm not smart like you are."

Ben frowned with confusion. Could Michael really be this down on himself? "What makes you say that? Look. Some of the smartest people I met never set foot in a classroom. That doesn't make them any better or worse than anyone else. What you know has value and you should feel proud. And when you talk about it you have..." He struggled for the right word.

"Passion?"

"You radiate it." Ben laughed at himself. "Sorry. I didn't mean to preach."

Michael shook his head slowly. "Don't apologize. I needed to hear that. I bet your students really love you."

Ben cleared his throat and fiddled with his glasses to disguise his embarrassment. "Thanks. They seem okay with me. Writing and education are labors of love for me. I can get a bit passionate about them."

Michael winked and said, "With all that passion, it's no wonder I'm feeling a little...hot."

They both grinned shyly at each other before Michael suddenly recalled that he wasn't there to flirt--didn't have a right to flirt and lead Ben on. He took a deep breath and asked with seriousness, "Is it too late to reschedule? I'd still love to help you with your book."

"I was just about to suggest that myself."

"Great!" He paused before adding, "By the way, I should tell you that, a friend of mine lent me your first book and I've been reading it. It's really good."

Ben raised his eyebrows with surprise. "So you're the one! Or rather, your friend is the one."

"Excuse me?"

"The book didn't sell many copies. It went right to the remnants table after a couple of weeks. I've been tracking down each buyer, one by one, to thank them for taking the plunge."

"People should read it. I can hardly put it down. I never met someone who actually wrote a book and now I know someone who will have written two!"

"I'm glad you liked it. And soon, you'll be able to count yourself in as an author."

Michael was at a loss for what to say next. He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the concept that he would be a contributor to an actual book! The harder he thought, the blanker his mind became until they had been sitting in silence for the longest minute of his life. "So, uh, where should we meet? Here?"

"I don't think so. I don't find this office really conducive to creative thinking. We could meet at my apartment."

"The only problem is that carting around those comics can be kind of a chore. I have boxes of them and I don't have a car. Maybe at my apartment? My boyfr--" He paused, cleared his throat, and continued. "My boyfriend has been working late these days. We'd have the place to ourselves."

Ben barely kept himself from swearing out loud. Fuck. There was still a significant other. He wondered if it was the same one from before. Michael was still talking.

"...He's in advertising. Brian just landed this huge account and he's been spending a lot of late nights. It shouldn't be any problem at all."

Brian. The name triggered Ben's memory and he thought of penetrating hazel eyes and a cock of the walk attitude. He instinctively knew it had to be the same man from before. "How long have you been together?"

"Oh, forever. We practically grew up together, but we only became boyfriends a few years ago."

Ben picked up a pencil and began to doodle without meeting Michael's eyes. "That's nice--that you've been together so long."

"You must feel the same way about your boyfriend--the one you mentioned in your book's dedication." Michael had been shocked when jealousy had reared its ugly head while he was reading the one page dedication. How could he feel that way towards a man he'd never met over a man he barely knew and who didn't remember him? But when he had read the loving words, jealousy had settled on Michael like a heavy blanket. "What's his name? Paul?"

Ben pressed the pencil into the paper hard enough to leave a dent. "Yeah. His name was Paul."

Michael wished that he could erase the sudden mask of sadness that covered Ben's face. It seems the he had put his foot in his mouth again, without even trying. "I'm sorry. Are you not together anymore?"

"You could say that...He died last year."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't...I shouldn't have...I...I'm really sorry." Michael swallowed past the lump in his throat. Why did he have to say anything?

Ben looked up and was curious about the bright sheen of tears in Michael's eyes. Why were they there? Then he remembered: Paul. Sometimes thinking about his now deceased ex-lover made Ben tired beyond belief. He didn't want to spread that feeling like a contagion. "It's been a while. You don't have to feel sorry for mentioning it. You couldn't have known." Ben almost smiled when Michael nodded, the tears welling up even more in the coal-dark eyes. Damn. This man made him want to drop everything and comfort him. Too bad he was taken. "Don't feel bad, Michael. I have my good days and bad days, but the good days are definitely winning. About this book...don't feel pressured because I suggested it. If you're too busy--"

"No!" Michael laughed, his eyes flitting away from Ben's with embarrassment. He stopped wringing his hands and said with genuine eagerness, "It's okay. I'm really excited." At the rise of Ben's eyebrow, Michael added, "Excited about working on this. Come over tomorrow night." What Michael didn't say was that maybe if he were home and surrounded by reminders of Brian, he would be able to fight the thoughts that kept popping into his mind when he thought about Ben.

"That sounds fine. What time should I get there?"

They picked a time and parted ways with a handshake. Michael spent the rest of the day smiling and whistling for no reason at all.

Michael took one last look around the apartment. It seemed clean enough and there was nothing embarrassing on display. Thank goodness for that last sweep. Having a guest sit on a dildo probably wasn't good etiquette. Michael wasn't even sure how it had gotten under the sofa cushion. He almost leapt out his skin when the doorbell rang. His heart skipped a beat when he heard Ben's voice over he intercom. The time in which the elevator came from the ground floor to his floor gave his palms time enough to sweat bullets. He wiped them on his jeans before letting Ben in.

"Hi, Michael." Ben held a couple of white bags aloft. The most delicious aromas wafted through the air. "I brought dinner. I hope you like Thai food. I got spicy and not so spicy food--just in case."

"Hi! Thai food is great. Come in." Michael gave Ben a quick tour of the place and then he brought him to the living room. It looked like it had been struck by a hurricane. There were comic books all over the place and many sheets of loose paper with notes scribbled across them. "Excuse the mess. I was inspired by a few plot lines I remembered and I had to look them up and take notes. It seems like a mess, but it really is organized."

"'Though it be madness, there is a method to it.'"

"Sorry?"

"Never mind....Shakespeare."

"Oh. Okay. So, would you like to eat first or work for a while?"

"We could do both."

Michael shook his head. "Take-out food near the comic books is just asking for trouble."

"You're right. Sorry that I mentioned it. I'm not that hungry, so I'd rather work for a while--if you don't mind."

"Okay! Let's get to it!" Michael thought about how that sounded. "I mean, let's get to work."

Ben laughed again. It had been months since he'd felt this happy in such a short period of time. Only now did he realize that he missed that feeling. He shed his jacket and sat on the floor. "Let's get to work."

Brian rubbed the back of his neck to get rid of the ache. What a crappy day. Everything that could go wrong, did. The best graphic artist broke her hand. One of the copy editors quit. A batch of mock-ups for a huge campaign had gone missing, and, to top it all off, the phones and electricity had been down for almost three hours. Some days it didn't even pay to get out of bed. He looked forward to taking a shower and dragging Michael to the gym. It had been days since they had gone together, but Michael had mentioned that he was closing the store a little early today.

When he got to their floor, the classic rock music from inside the apartment fairly shook the floor. Brian slid the door open and saw his lover with someone else. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, side-by-side. The stranger had one hand on Michael's waist and was leaning over his shoulder, holding a fork full of food to his mouth. Brian walked in and waited for them to notice him.

"Just try it, Michael."

"No, Ben. I told you. My Western Pennsylvanian taste buds will go on strike if--" His words were halted by a mouthful of peppery dumpling. "Ha!" he cried around his food before he chewed and swallowed while uselessly fanning his mouth.

"What?" asked Ben with a laugh. He leaned closer to understand Michael's muffled words.

"That was hot!" said Michael before he dove for a glass of water and drank with abandon.

"You need to expand your food repertoire, but I did bring some blander fare if you can't handle the hot stuff."

"Oh, I can handle the hot stuff," said Michael, his voice dripping with unspoken promises. Ben's eyes crinkled with amusement. Michael returned the smile and then felt a tingle on the back of his neck that had nothing to do with Thai food.

Brian watched while Michael turned and looked up. His face was a comic mixture of surprise, confusion, and happiness.

"Brian! I thought you were staying late." Michael stood and looked down at the stranger. Was that fear that Brian saw on his face? His insides started to feel cold. But there was no reason to worry. They were both fully dressed and neither one had so much as a hair out of place. Brian stood waiting until Michael approached him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. Finally noticing the comics and the notes on the floor, Brian realized that this must be the famous professor who was researching for his book.

Brian kissed Michael back, appreciating the hot peppery spices on his lover's lips. Strangely, he didn't feel like extending the taste exploration in front of the newcomer. The brawny stranger sitting on their living room floor, unfolded himself, stood, and stepped closer. He smiled and stretched out his hand. There was a wary expression in the grayish-blue eyes when the stranger said, in a deep voice, "Hi. I'm Ben Bruckner. You must be Brian."

Brian looked at the outstretched hand as if it were a hissing rattlesnake. He put his arm around Michael even as he felt the temperature inside his body drop a few more degrees. He looked the man over, his mind working rapidly. There was no denying it. He might forget a name, but he never forgot a face or a body. "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

Chapter 4

Ben paced in his apartment. After about twenty minutes of retracing his own footsteps, he decided that a short run would get his mind off his encounter with Michael's boyfriend. He changed into shorts and a tee shirt, stretched to warm up, and left his apartment. Sadly, as soon as his feet started pounding the pavement, his mind carried him back to Michael's living room.

That was almost an hour ago, the last half of which Ben had spent pacing. He ran until he couldn't catch his breath and then he ran some more. When he finally returned to his apartment, his breath was ragged and he was drenched in sweat. He went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower, full blast. He ripped his sweaty clothes and shoes off and climbed in before the water had a chance to warm. Despite the icy needles striking him, the heat in his body didn't cool because he could only remember how good Michael had smelled--sweet and spicy like a dessert. And how could he forget that hair? It was so dark and soft looking that Ben had leaned closer so he could feel it brush against his temple. That had only allowed him to soak in the heat that surrounded Michael like a shimmering aura. One hand--one touch through layers of soft cotton and Ben had felt a zing that had reached to the pit of his stomach.

The water was warm now and so was Ben. He ran his hand down his chest while imagining Michael doing so. Michael's hands were stronger and more capable than his slight form would lead one to imagine. Ben could picture them touching his chest with aching tenderness and then harder, kneading his quivering muscles, imprinting his skin with their strength, pinching his nipples...and then twisting them, just a little, just enough to make it hurt but not enough to make him want it to stop. Michael's hands would trace down the ridges of Ben's spine in a delicious tickle that set his senses on fire and then his hands would cover Ben's hips and his ass. Ben clenched with the thought of being penetrated by Michael's fingers and hands and his erection throbbed with a life of its own.

It wasn't only the hands and arms that had drawn Ben. Michael's lips had made him forget what he was thinking--more than once. They were full and pale pink, and so mobile that Ben ached to feel them against his own. The lips were like a wet dream that could taste Ben's skin, wrap around his nipples and suck them until he was ready to melt, trail along his neck, his chest, his back--anywhere they wanted to go as long as they ended up wrapped around Ben's pulsing center. His hand was a poor substitute but it would have to do at the moment. He gave up pretending that he was bathing and leaned against the shower wall. The cool tiles created a sharp contrast to the hot water raining down on his front, but he quickly became oblivious to it because fantasy Michael had his mouth wrapped around one of Ben's balls and was sucking it...slowly, sweetly, gently--running his tongue over it like it was the greatest delicacy. The other ball was receiving the benefit of Michael's gentle fingers, holding it and stroking it. And then Michael's mouth moved away and left Ben wanting to weep. The mouth returned to provide a new form of torture, licking Ben's thick cock, blowing warm breath across it, and engulfing it in a warm, wet, greedy enclosure.

More than anything else, Michael's eyes has snared him. Calling them windows to the soul seemed so insufficient. He looked in Michael's eyes and it took him back to a moment years ago when he'd first seen them and felt like his soul had been snared. If it was possible to know someone with a look, Ben knew Michael like he'd known no other. Of course it was ridiculous, stupid, overly romantic--what have you. Then the coal-dark eyes looked into his own and he couldn't refute the truth: he was hooked. Ben sagged against the tiles and let his own hands carry out his fevered imaginations as best they could. His release poured through him like a raging river, leaving him weak and shaky. He gasped for every breath and tried to stand on rubbery legs. The heat in him coursed on, so he turned off the hot water and turned on the cold. How was he ever going to get through the next few days without calling Michael? No matter how many times Ben reminded himself that Michael was taken, part of him--really, most of him--didn't care.

"You didn't have to be so rude, Brian!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was my usual, charming self."

"Like I said, you were rude."

"Did you expect me to drop to my knees and blow him in the living room, Mikey? Would that have been polite enough? Or maybe I should have left so you two could do it in private."

Michael paused in his task of cleaning up the living room. His jaw dropped. "You're jealous!" He picked up a stack of comics and placed them in the box while grinning from ear to ear. "I can't believe you're jealous."

Brian's voice aimed for bored, but was frigid instead. "I don't do jealous, Michael. If you want to fuck him in the middle of the living room...or feed each other like the world's two cutest little homos, then be my guest. Just don't expect me to ooh and ah about it." There was a moment of intense satisfaction when he saw the smile die on Michael's lips. He strode to the fridge to get a bottle of water. "And don't expect me to believe that you didn't remember him. If you're going to fuck around, at least be honest about it."

Michael felt his heart thudding in his throat and a wave of heat come over his face and chest. He frowned as hard as he could to try to contain them, but he could feel the angry tears well up. A comic book and its protective plastic cover trembled in his hands while he stood stock still and stared at nothing. After a long, drawn out moment, he threw them on the table and walked towards the loft door.

"Mikey!"

"Fuck you!" Michael slid the door open, stepped out, and stood there, not knowing which way to go. He took the stairs going up until he got to the top floor. The ladder in the corner took him to the roof of the building. It was a bright day, but cold. Pacing kept his blood circulating, but his anger kept him warm.

Brian put away the last of Michael's comics, all wrapped up in their hermetically sealed packages as he liked to tease his lover. Even after all these years, those words still seemed weird to him. His lover? Boyfriend? Partner? He rubbed his face with his hands. What had he been thinking? Everything had been fine between him and Michael for over a decade--best friends forever--until someone had come along and tried to take Mikey away. That boyfriend/wanna-be husband hadn't lasted long after Brian had made it his mission to get rid of him. Every weapon in Brian's arsenal of seduction had been utilized. Every weak point in their relationship had been fair game. And it had been a game of sorts--one Brian had never intended to lose. He had chased away the interloper and kept the prize.

Now, Mikey was up on the roof like a melodramatic heroine in a paperback romance novel, pacing the castle parapets. Brian looked at his watch. Half an hour since he'd gone up there. No more than half an hour more to go. Michael always cooled down relatively fast.

Brian picked up the rest of the Thai food. He got a fork from the kitchen and polished off the rest of the cold take-out food in honor of the infamous Benjamin Bruckner. He ate every last bite, happy with the knowledge that the professor was probably still hungry right now. 'Let him starve,' he thought. After his impromptu dinner, he turned on the TV, made himself comfortable on the couch, and waited for his little runaway to come back inside.

How was he going to face Ben again? Michael was embarrassed by the scene when Brian had walked in. And now to know that he had remembered the White Party? It had been a strange night--one he recalled with equal parts fondness and regret. Fondness because being the focus of two men seducing him had been as exciting as Brian had promised. Regret because it had put a tiny wedge between him and Brian that had widened slowly through the years. It was not enough to break them apart, but just enough to keep their relationship at a certain level that Michael wanted to pass. The reentrance of Ben into their lives only reminded him how hopeful he had been that the other men wouldn't mean anything. Individually their significance was negligible, but as a whole, their presence was like a third person standing in the room at all times--a barrier to deeper intimacy. But with Ben...with Ben it had been different--as if just the two of them had been more than enough. Maybe Michael had been fooling himself into thinking that he didn't want that because he knew he might never get it.

After wearing a groove on the building roof, Michael went back downstairs. 'I didn't do anything wrong,' was his mantra with every footstep...but he hadn't moved away when Ben had been close to him, when their heads had been touching, when Ben's hand had been on him, no matter how innocent. All they had done was talk and share a meal. He had to admit that it had felt nice and special. He used to do that type of thing with Brian and had taken it for granted until those moments had become few and far between. He searched his mind, but failed to remember relaxing like that in months and only now realized that he missed it. Lately, it had been work, gym, and the club scene to the exclusion of all else. And when he didn't want to go out, Brian went out on his own. He couldn't remember the last time they had done anything together, just for fun, without sex involved. Michael had never excepted hearts and flowers because Brian didn't 'do' romance, but as time went by, he needed more than what they had.

Michael entered the apartment, only to find Brian reading on the couch. "Hi."

"Hi, Mikey. Back so soon?"

"I've been gone for over an hour."

"Really? I didn't notice." Brian looked up and cocked an eyebrow. "Feeling better?"

Michael bit his lip and fidgeted with his hands. "I didn't do anything wrong. We were just talking. You do more than that when you go out to the clubs."

"Fine."

"No, I..." Michael stopped. Fine? That was it? No argument? He had a whole speech prepared and Brian had popped his balloon with one word. "So, uh, what do you want to do tonight?"

Brian had been all set to go out dancing, but after that scene, he wasn't in the mood. "We could watch a movie."

"A movie? Why? Do you feel sick?"

"No, I don't feel sick. Why do you ask?"

Michael joined Brian on the couch. "Whenever I suggest doing something at home, you always turn me down."

"Not always."

"For the last few months."

"I feel like staying in. Don't make a federal case out of it." Brian picked up the remote and turned on the television.

Michael shrugged. "Sorry."

"You're meeting with him again?"

"Yes."

"You remember him, don't you?"

"Brian--"

"Just answer me. I'm not going to freak out."

"Yes, I remember him." Michael could feel Brian staring at him for a long time. "But we didn't do anything other than work on the book and eat dinner."

"Then why are you acting like you're guilty?"

"Maybe because you keep looking at me like I broke some rule."

"We don't have any rules....Maybe we should."

Michael snorted. "You're kidding, aren't you? Rules are made to be broken. And what happens if one of us do break them? Do we get a time out in the corner? Detention? Do we break up?"

Brian focused on the flickering TV image. He had been kidding. He didn't want any rules, but it bothered him that Michael didn't want them either. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Michael. Something was different and Brian couldn't put his finger on it. "Is he coming over here again?"

"No."

'Good,' thought Brian.

"I'm meeting him at his apartment next time."

Brian felt a pulse start behind his right eye. He stayed cool, though. "Is that a good idea? You don't really know him that well."

"I thought you didn't care if I fucked him right here in the living room."

"Look--"

"Why should you care if I go over there?"

"Mikey--"

"Don't 'Mikey' me. And don't treat me like I'm naive!"

"Calm the fuck down!"

"I am calm!"

They glared at each other for several long seconds before breaking down into nervous laughter. "This is stupid, Michael."

"I agree."

"I know you wouldn't do anything with him. I guess I was just..."

"Jealous?"

"No! I was just venting because I had a bad day at work."

"And you were jealous."

"Shut up, Michael Charles."

Michael didn't take his eyes off the TV set, but couldn't help smiling.

"And quit smiling!"

On a Friday evening, Ben was sitting in his office, making up next week's lesson plan when he heard his jacket buzz. After figuring out that it wasn't his watch, his PDA, or his beeper, he finally found the source: his phone. He checked the screen and almost dropped the thing when he read it. The medical clinic. They had drawn his blood the day before yesterday and they said the results might be ready today. He must have accidentally put the phone on vibrate because he had never heard it ring. The message instructed him to call the clinic. He dialed and was connected to an answering machine. "You've reached the Ocean Side Medical Clinic. I'm sorry, but we're closed at this time. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911. Otherwise, please stay on the line to listen to the menu options. Press one if this is a doctor's office or hospital. Press two--"

Ben shut the phone off angrily. Shit. The clinic wasn't open on Saturday or Sunday. How could he have turned the ringer off? Two whole days before he would know the result? He wasn't sure he could take that. Mentally, he ran through the list of people he could call. He didn't want to dump this on his family because they were far away in New York where all they could do was worry about him. He considered talking to one of his friends, but tell one and he'd be telling all of the them. He wasn't ready for that level of scrutiny in his life--even from people who cared about him. Brian's glaring face popped into Ben's head as soon as he thought of Michael, so he decided against that option. He would have to make it through this weekend on his own.

Late afternoon on Saturday, Ben lost the shreds of his mental tranquility, piece by excruciating piece...

On the radio: "AIDS researchers continue to work tirelessly on a vaccine for the dreaded disease. Skeptics point to past failures with similar but less deadly viruses as proof that success will never..."

On television: "Don't take a chance with your life. Use condoms and decrease your risks of unwanted pregnancy, AIDS, and other STDs. If you have questions, call 1-800..."

In the newspaper: "Epidemiologists released startling numbers detailing the devastation of Africa, South America, and large portions of Europe. Here in the U.S., despite a previous plateau in the number of new AIDS cases, there has been a resurgence..."

Ben threw the newspaper on the table. A trip to the gym hadn't helped. Meditation hadn't helped. Now, the world's multimedia organizations were conspiring to drive him slowly out of his mind. He grabbed a jacket and swept out of his apartment to walk off some of his negative energy. He passed a convenience store, doubled back, and made a purchase. Outside, he lit up his first cigarette in a year and started walking aimlessly.

After a lot of woolgathering, Ben's feet took him to Buzzy's comic store. He looked at the sign and wondered when Michael would change the store's name. They had talked about in passing when Ben had expressed curiosity.

'All mine,' thought Ben as he watched Michael through the door. He only caught glimpses between the numerous flyers and posters pasted to the glass panels, but it was enough to make him wish he could say that about the raven-haired man who had captured his fancy. There were three customers inside and Michael was talking animatedly to two of them. He was bright--like an incandescent light and even from outside, through glass and space, through the other barriers that should warn him away, Ben was drawn. He waited until the three customers left, laying waste to three cigarettes in that short time. He stomped the last stub out, automatically pulled out a new one, and walked in.

"Hi!" Michael beamed with happiness. The smile mixed with surprise when he noticed the cigarette. "Since when do you smoke?"

"I used to a long time ago. I quit, but sometimes in times of stress..." He took another deep drag of the sweet tobacco.

"What's wrong?"

Michael's eyes reflected mounting worry in that big-hearted way he always had. Ben wasn't sure that he could stand it. He looked around the store, spying a couch in the corner. He walked over and sat down. Michael followed him, sat down, and waited. Ben watched the ashes fall onto his knee and singe his pants. It hardly seemed worth the bother of flicking them off. "There's something I never told you, Michael."

Michael's mouth tightened, but he waited for Ben to say what he needed to say.

"I told you my lover Paul died, but I never told you how." Ben stared at the space between his feet. Every word felt like it was being ripped from his chest, but he needed to speak them before he changed his mind. "He had AIDS. That's what killed him."

Michael's eyes widened and his face paled at the implication. "What about you?" His voice was scratchy as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

"I don't know. I've been negative so far. I took the last test a couple of days ago. I was supposed to get the results today, but my fucking cell phone..." Ben choked on the words and took a deep breath. "I won't find out until Monday. I'm sorry to lay this on you, but I feel like I'm going to snap. I did everything to try not to think about it and finally I had to start walking. I didn't know where I was going until I got here." He threw Michael a look of despair and desperation, hoping for a little understanding.

Michael stared into Ben's eyes numbly before he stood up and walked to the door. His hand rested on the door for a pregnant moment while he stood in quiet thought. Shaking himself from his introspection, he locked the door and put up the closed sign. Then he returned to the couch and wrapped his arms around Ben's waist as tight as he could.

Ben trembled, his emotional dam broke, and, in a rush, he shared everything--how he and Paul had met and fallen for each other, how they had broken up and reunited, how the news of Paul's disease had driven them apart as lovers. And how watching Paul give up completely had devastated Ben, who was left with a few boxes of belongings and a list of appointments with doctors and lab technicians who drew his blood and seemed to hold his fate in their hands.

All throughout the outpouring, Michael hugged Ben tightly. When Ben spoke of his anger, Michael didn't let go. When the tears came, Michael squeezed tighter and wondered how it would feel when his heart stopped breaking.

Several hours later, Michael sat heavily on his bed and pulled his shoes off. "I swear I'm going to sleep all night." Brian was standing over him, looking pissed off.

"What's wrong, Mikey? Where've you been? I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up your phone."

"I was talking to Ben." Michael's face was lined with weariness.

"You're this tired from talking about a freaking book?"

"Brian, can I just go to bed? We can talk about it tomorrow. If you want to go out, I don't blame you. I'm sure no one will notice that I'm not there."

"Ted and Emmett will."

"I'll explain it to them next time I see them." Michael pulled off his jeans and crawled into the bed. He had the makings of a nasty headache.

"When are you going to finish with that book thing?"

Michael yawned. "We're almost done. Another week or two should do it."

Brian started to strip off his own clothes.

"What are you doing?" said Michael between more yawns.

"I'm tired. I thought I'd take a nap." He climbed into the bed and under the covers. "Any objections?"

"No objections." Michael was too exhausted to question Brian staying in on a Saturday night.

"Good." Brian pulled Michael into his arms.

"He's still just my friend," said Michael drowsily.

"I know. Go to sleep, Mikey."

Michael fell asleep in a heart beat, but Brian stared sightlessly into the dark for hours.

Chapter 5

Fifty-six, fifty-five, fifty-four...It was early Monday afternoon and Ben was counting down the seconds until he exploded with impatience. Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven...Another peek at the clock on the wall and he wondered why he had come to the clinic so early. Thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two...Another patient was called in and Ben shifted in his seat. All the potted plants and soothing watercolor prints in the world didn't make him any calmer. 'Should have never had that last cup of coffee,' he thought. Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three...

"Bruckner!"

Ben's head jerked up at the sound of his name. Now that the time was at hand, his countdown was long forgotten and he wished that time would run backwards and carry him away from the clinic. Two days ago he had thought that he couldn't wait until this minute.

Encouraged by the flash of memory, Ben stood and followed the nurse out of the waiting room and into the unknown. Three, two, one...

On that same Monday afternoon, Vic watched his nephew check his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Are you expecting someone?"

"Huh? No. Why do you ask?" Michael walked to the door and looked outside as if whatever he wasn't waiting for would suddenly appear.

"You're as jumpy as a junkie waiting for his next fix."

"Sorry. Must have had too much coffee at lunch." Michael walked back to the counter and turned on his computer. He tried to enter yesterday's sale figures into his budget program, but his fingers were shaking and kept hitting the wrong buttons. "Shit," he muttered when he had to reenter the same figure for a fourth time.

Vic said gently, "Maybe you should do this tomorrow when you're feeling more composed."

"I feel fine." Michael's foot was tapping a relentless beat on the floor and anxiety radiated from him in waves. "I'm fine," he insisted, as if trying to convince himself. The door opened and Ben walked in. Michael shot off the stool like a bullet and rushed to his friend. "Well? Well?" At the grave expression on Ben's face, his heart began to race. He was afraid to ask again.

Ben smiled and put his hands on Michael's shoulders. "All clear."

Michael threw himself into Ben's arms, exclaiming, "That's fantastic!" He stretched up and kissed Ben on the cheek and then briefly on the mouth before saying again, "Fantastic."

Ben leaned back and touched the face that had been in his thoughts since he had first heard the good news. "No. You're fantastic." His thumb rubbed against Michael's cheek. Now that the burden had been lifted from his shoulders, there was so much he wanted to say, but couldn't. He cupped Michael's face and kissed him back--just as brief as before, but no less tender.

Michael's eyes fell to a point on Ben's chest. "I..."

"...can't. I know, Michael." They fell silent.

Vic took the lull in conversation as a cue to leave the two men alone. "Michael, it's almost closing time and there's no one in here. I think I'll head home if that's all right with you."

Michael nodded and watched Vic leave. He looked back at Ben. "You don't play fair."

"It's not a game to me."

Michael nodded in agreement, wrapped his arms around Ben and wondered at fate's sick sense of humor. He felt Ben's hear thudding through his chest against and thanked the heavens that at least it had done one thing right.

"We can't spend as much time together as we did before, Michael."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael looked at the couch. Had that really been the day before yesterday? Neither of them had been aware of how much time had passed until it was too dark to see. Even then, it had been difficult to separate. Like ripping the stitches out of a fresh wound. "Yes, I know why." Despite the knowledge that they had to back off before things went too far, Michael leaned his head against Ben's chest and pretended that everything was simple.

Four weeks later

Michael and Brian were at Babylon with Ted and Emmett. They were all watching the men on the dance floor.

"I give him a 9.0," said Emmett, indicating their latest target.

Ted protested. "He's not THAT good. I'd give him an 8.0."

Emmett shook his head. "You're forgetting the footwear."

Michael looked at the dancer's feet. "Are those women's pumps?"

Ted squinted his eyes. "They sure are. And they are the ugliest shoes I've ever seen. Even you, Em, would not wear that godawful pattern with those pants."

"And that shirt," added Michael. "I thought jeans and high heels had been out since the seventies."

Ted frowned. "Were they ever IN during the seventies?"

Em proclaimed loftily, "I wouldn't know. I was a mere infant then."

Ted patted Emmett on the shoulder. "I keep forgetting that some of us are a little younger than others."

Brian clapped his hand on Ted's shoulder. "And some of us are a LOT older."

"Fuck off, Brian."

"You keep working on those comebacks, Schmidt, and one of these days you might actually hurt my feelings."

Michael broke in. "Will you two stop it? Look at him now."

Emmett pursed his lips in puzzlement. "What's he doing with his finger?"

Michael mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, "I think that's a come hither move."

"Maybe. But who does he want...to..." Emmett found himself in the awkward position of being beckoned by the object of their conversation.

Ted chuckled. "He wants you Emmett."

Michael giggled. "In fact, I think he can't wait to meet you!"

Ted said, "Go get your man, Emmett."

Brian looked over at the dancer. "I bet you can wave your arms in the air higher than he does, Em. Knock yourself out."

Emmett scowled at his friends. "I don't know why I hang out with you three. You're all brats!" Then he strutted to the dance floor to join his beckoner. Very shortly, they were dancing with enthusiasm, all four arms waving in the air, putting all the nearby dancers in imminent danger of losing an eye to an errant elbow.

Ted said with satisfaction, "Now, THAT deserves a 9.5 at the very least!"

Michael looked at Emmett and his new dance partner. They had a lot of energy, but it was a little unguided. "They're okay, but let's not go overboard."

Ted took Michael by the shoulders and turned him a little. "Not Em and the pump girl. HIM. Funny. He seems familiar, but I don't think I've seen him here."

Across the way, was a man wearing a snug, silky, aqua blue shirt and skin-tight black pants. His hips swayed with rhythm that was fluid enough to make the mouth water. Every bulging muscle was like poetry in motion from the broad shoulders to the slim, but shapely hips, to the tight butt, and impossibly decadent thighs. Then he spun around and caught Michael's eye. While he weakly lifted his hand to wave at Ben Bruckner, Michael felt all the moisture in his mouth dry like a cotton ball tumbling through the Sahara.

Ted's eyes goggled at his friend. "You know him?"

"That's Mikey's new boyfriend," said Brian sardonically.

Ted's gaze swung between Michael and Brian. "Did you two forget to notify me of your breakup?"

"Brian's kidding. He's not my boyfriend. We're just friends. I'll be right back." Michael left them and went to say hello to Ben.

Ted watched, almost passing out in shock, when the gorgeous man leaned down and kissed Michael on the mouth. His head whipped around so he could gape at Brian. "And you're okay with this?"

"Okay with what?" Emmett joined them after a refreshing turn on the dance floor. The guy with the pumps had actually been a very good dancer--so limber and well-balanced. "What did I miss? Where's Michael?"

"With his new boyfriend, apparently."

"What?" Emmett stared at Brian for confirmation. Brian studiously ignored him. "Why didn't anyone tell me? You two broke up without notifying me?"

"This is what I'm saying," remarked Ted. Finally, someone who understood his bewilderment. "Look at them!" Michael and his friend were dancing and talking.

Emmett observed for a while and shrugged. "It looks pretty innocent to me." Then Michael's friend spun Michael around and pulled him in so they were spooned together and still moving to the music's hypnotic beat. It was Emmett's turn to gape at Brian. "You're okay with this?"

"Michael's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"And if he can't," Ted muttered under his breath, "his new friend can do it for him."

Emmett shot Ted a look of warning before returning his attention to a glowering Brian. "So, who is he and where did we meet him?"

Brian drawled, "He's just some guy we met him at the White Party, three years ago."

"Oh my goodness! What a small world. Isn't that the time that you two picked up a guy and had...a..." Emmett slowed to a stop when Brian's face darkened further. He spoke quickly and brightly to break the dour mood in the air. "Never mind. I must be thinking of two other friends of mine." His eyes darted around with desperation, looking for a way to change the subject. "Tell me, Brian. How are things at work?"

"Peachy, Emmett. Absolutely peachy."

The trio continued to watch the couple on the dance floor until Michael stopped and pulled his gorgeous friend behind him.

"Guys, I wanted you to meet my friend, Ben Bruckner. Ben, these are my friends, Emmett and Ted. You already know Brian. Ted is the one who lent me your book."

Ted had been taking a sip of his drink, but he almost choked on it. Ben Bruckner? "Are you the same Ben Bruckner who wrote R U 1 2?"

Ben laughed. "In the flesh."

Emmett mumbled, "You can say that again," while eyeing Ben up and down. Beauty AND brains. What a combination! He fanned himself with a cocktail napkin reserved for that purpose alone.

They chatted for a few minutes before Ben said his goodbyes. "I'm zoned and I have a class tomorrow. Nice meeting you both. Ted. Emmett." He shook their hands. He nodded at Brian wordlessly. To Michael he said, "The first draft is ready for you to look over. Are you available the day after tomorrow? My place?"

"Sure. I'll be there at six."

"Okay. I'll see you then." He briefly kissed Michael and left the group.

Emmett stared at Michael with rounded eyes. "Does he always kiss you like that?"

Michael felt pinned under the gaze of two pairs of curious eyes and one pair of frosty ones. "It was just a friendly kiss. We're just friends. I'm helping him with his book."

Ted said, "I'm your friend and I don't recall you ever kissing ME like that. What about you, Em?"

Emmett looked up, as if in thought. "Now let me think....No. Can't recall any kisses like that."

"Shut up. It's no big deal." Michael was talking to Ted and Emmett, but he pointedly looked at his lover.

Brian looked away and hopped up from where he was sitting. "I want a drink. Anyone else?" Before any of them could answer, he disappeared into the crowd.

Michael leaned against the railing, feeling dejected.

"I'm sorry, hon. We were only kidding." Emmett's face was the picture of distraught sadness.

Ted also looked apologetic. His hound dog eyes were even sadder looking than usual. "I'm sorry, too."

Michael stared after his lover. "It's okay. I know. I've only hung out with Ben a few times in the past month and Brian keeps saying he doesn't care, but I know he's worried."

"Worried about what? That you might cheat? But you'd never do that!"

Michael agreed. "Of course not." But his agreement felt a little hollow. He would never really do it, but he'd thought about Ben a lot more than he should. Over the last few weeks, things had been okay between him and Brian. They were spending a little more time at home and that made all the difference. Tonight, Brian hadn't even danced with anyone else. Michael worried that Ben's appearance might be another setback because Brian already seemed restless. It was time to find his boyfriend. He left Ted and Emmett and wove through the crowd of sweaty, half-naked men. Brian wasn't near any of the bars or tables. Michael looked in the bathrooms and even in the back room. No Brian. He turned a corner around a large pillar and found his lover sniffing something from a vial.

Brian saw Michael, dug into his pocket, and held out another popper. "Try some?"

Michael stepped back. "No, Brian." He was already feeling off-balance from the drinks he had downed earlier.

Brian stepped closer, crowding Michael against the pillar. "You're no fun any more, Mikey."

"Brian, you said you were going to lay off that stuff."

"I did. I've only done it once tonight. I need to relax." He was swaying on his feet, glassy eyed and flushed. "You should try one." He stepped even closer to Michael and waived the vial under his nose.

"No."

"E?"

"No."

"A kiss, then." Brian backed Michael against the pillar and trapped him between his arms. His eyes bored into Michael's. "Close your eyes."

Michael instinctively obeyed and felt warm lips touch his. Brian's mouth tasted like sweet liquor as his tongue swept inside, stroking Michael's mouth in an urgent caress. That's when Michael felt the hard tablet in his mouth. He had missed Brian taking it out. He swallowed it dry and said, "I told you I didn't want any."

"Then why did you swallow it?"

Michael shook his head because he had no answer. He never did. He let Brian tow him to the dance floor and they started moving to the music. The disco lights seemed to spin faster and faster and the music louder as they danced to several songs in succession. Suddenly, everything dimmed and went silent. Michael pried his eyes open and found several people leaning over him. The ceiling was straight above him and the lights were making his eyes hurt. "What happened?"

Emmett patted his friend on the hand. "You passed out." He helped Michael to sit up. "Watch it. Slowly."

"I passed out? When? How long?"

"Yes, but only for a minute. How much did you drink, hon?"

"Not that much."

"Did you take something?"

"No....Wait....Yes."

Ted and Emmett turned to look at Brian. "What was it?"

"What the fuck are you looking at me for? I took it and I'm fine." A scowling Brian brushed past the two of them and knelt by Michael's side. "You want to take off, Mikey?"

"No. I'm okay. Let me just sit for a minute." They made their way to a cluster of couches and sat down. Away from the heat and press of the dance floor, Michael felt better, though his tongue felt thick and furry. He took a sip of water from the cup that someone had pressed into his hand.

They watched the dancers for a while until Brian pressed himself against Michael's back and said into his ear, "How about that one?"

Another target for tonight. "Which one?"

"The one with the tattoo on his back."

The target in their radar was tall with a moderately muscular build--very well-defined as if he had been carved by an artist's hand. He shimmied with energy, sending his shoulder length corkscrew curls to bounce and glimmer in the flashing lights. He was hot, but..."I'm not sure..."

Brian stroked Michael's arm. "If you're going to be swooning like a Victorian heroine, we might as well go home. If we're going to go home, we might as well have some fun."

"Fine. Whatever." Michael didn't have the energy to protest. He sat back and objectively watched his lover make a beeline for the trick of the night. His eyes swept over the beautiful man's form and his interest began to pique. It might be just the thing to get his mind off everything.

Michael was burning up from the inside out. Every lick of the trick's tanned skin was like a taste of ambrosia. Every slide of his chest against the man beneath him was like the smoothest glide of silk. He explored the beautiful body, deftly roaming over the firm, but pliable curves. A cool hand on his back was like a splash of icy water that made him gasp and arch backward.

"Slow down, Mikey."

The trick immediately disagreed. "Don't stop him. He's amazing."

"Shut up," Michael said with a gasp. Even the briefest conversation was like a gnat in his ear whose buzzing distracted him from his desired conquest.

Michael shivered as Brian's hand absorbed the heat from his back until they had equilibrated into one joined organism. With that shock fading, he refocused on the body underneath his own. His mouth watered for a taste of luscious lips so he crawled up until their mouths were aligned and sucked the trick's tongue into his mouth. Their limbs battled for dominance, but Michael couldn't back down. He planted kiss after kiss, moving downwards until he reached the ridged stomach. He reddened a tempting patch of skin by drawing it into his mouth as if he would consume it and teasing it with his teeth while his victim writhed. That done, he moved on to virgin skin, tracking slowly in a downward moving feast, unchecked until he arrived at his ultimate goal--the trick's jutting erection. Brian's hands running down his back and circling around his waist were only the merest distraction. He wrapped his hand around the blood-reddened organ and would have tasted with the greatest enthusiasm had it not been for Brian pulling him back.

"Michael."

"Let go!" He shoved at Brian's constraining hands because they were keeping him from what he craved--the turgid flesh in his mouth, pounding into his throat. He was going to melt if his fires weren't quenched soon. Michael wrestled, but he couldn't break free.

Brian held on tenaciously. "Michael, hold on! Aren't you forgetting something?" Brian reached over to the nightstand without relinquishing his hold on his squirming lover.

"What??"

Brian held up a small, square, foil packet.

Michael looked at the condom and shuddered at the chill going through him. His hesitation made him newly aware of the man whose body he had been shamelessly devouring. "What's your name, again?" His voice sounded harsh to his own ears.

The trick smiled sexily. "I never told you my name. Does it matter?"

"I guess not." Why should names matter as long as they got off? Michael's supercharged sensations waned. The name didn't mean anything...the person didn't mean anything...because the sex didn't mean anything except a few moments of pleasure. He stumbled and practically fell from the bed in his rush to leave. He made it to the bathroom and collapsed onto the closed toilet. "What the hell am I doing?" he whispered to the empty room. He rubbed at his face as if he could wipe it away while the tingly heat that had been like a bonfire slowly died.

The cool air of the bathroom seeped into Michael's flesh, down to the bone, and drove him out to the bedroom again. Brian screwing the anonymous trick into the next decade was no surprise. Michael pulled a pillow and blanket from the bed while avoiding the vague question on Brian's face. He slipped out to the living room, planted himself on the couch, and waited for the unrest in his mind to go away. He said a brief goodbye to Mr. 'Does it Matter' as the trick strutted out of the loft a little later.

After the trick was gone, Brian waited for Michael to come back. No motion or sound came through the smoked glass of the wall between bedroom and living room. He hauled himself out of bed and walked out. Michael was wrapped up in a blanket and staring into space solemnly. Brian sat next to him and tickled his ear playfully. "Mi-key," he said in a sing-song manner. "You were like an animal in there. You should be proud. You should have finished what you started."

Michael pulled his head away and frowned deeply. "Why?"

"Because he was hot and he wanted it?"

"Not that. Why do you need this?"

"It feels good. Why does there need to be a reason? You were enjoying it too, until you left in a snit."

Michael looked away. How could Brian be so casual about it? "Don't you get it? Don't you care what could have happened? If you hadn't been in the room, I could have...with someone I don't know. Wouldn't that make a nice epitaph? 'Here lies Michael Novotny. He died for a quick fuck.'"

"It's a little early to be carving your tombstone, Mikey. Everything is fine. I was there and I stopped you before anything happened."

"Do you know him? Have you ever seen his face before? Do we know anything about him? No. We don't even know his name."

"If you knew his name, how would that help? His name won't tell you if he's safe."

"You don't get it."

"Why don't you explain it so I understand."

Michael ignored the sarcastic bite in Brian's voice. "What if you hadn't been there?"

"But I was."

"But what if you weren't? You're not always."

"Yes, I am."

"I haven't...and you haven't always been there."

"Name once."

"The first time."

They both sat in silence. A tic pulsed in Brian's jaw. "You were stone cold sober that time and you didn't need to be rescued. You let him fuck you because you wanted to. It was your decision. Did I give you shit about it?"

"No. That's part of the problem."

"Now you lost me, Mikey."

"Would you care? If I fucked someone else would you care?"

"What is the point of this? I'm not going to cry about it, if that's what you're asking."

"See, I think you do care."

Brian rolled his eyes.

"But you don't want anyone to know it....because you don't trust anyone."

"You're the exception, Mikey. You always have been."

Michael sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I used to think that. I used to hope."

"I mean it."

"You don't act like it. I thought that with time, you'd know that you could trust me with anything."

"What does sex have to do with trust? It's just a mechanical act. You expect too much out of it."

Michael leaned his head against the back of t