Prologue

The young boy ran up the beach, darting in and out of the waves. When the surf washed over his feet, he giggled at the bubbly chill. The foamy water receded to the ocean, leaving the smooth sand dotted with tiny seashells. The boy bent to pick one up and examine it. It was too small to put to his ear though it looked like a miniature version of the ones he'd seen before--the ones with the ocean sounds trapped within their swirling depths. He gathered several of these shells. A few feet away, a shiny, green flash caught his eye. He ran to it and added the stone to his collection.

He looked back to find two familiar figures following him at a distance. "Mama!" he cried, waving his arm at the blonde woman walking down the beach. She waved back and turned to the man next to her, as if to smile and say something. The sandy-haired man waved too, and they kept walking.

The boy collected a few more shells and stones before running back to his mother and uncle with his prizes. "Look what I found!"

The two adults smiled and made several appreciative comments about the boy's fabulous treasures.

"Those are beautiful," said the woman to her child, Michael.

The man squatted next to Michael so that they were on eye level. He took one shell from the child's palm and and eyed it closely. "Do you know what type of shells these are?"

"Sure, Uncle Vic. Conch shells. My teacher told us about them in school. She showed us a big one and I got to blow in it. It sounded like a trumpet!"

"That's right, Michael. And what about this?" Vic picked up the round, green stone and held it aloft so that the sun glinted off its surface. A small hole interrupted its center.

"I dunno. I just like the color."

"This looks like a stone called malachite. People say that this stone represents the heart. If you wear it near your heart, it makes it easier for you to love other people, and for other people to love you."

"Really?" Michael sounded only mildly interested.

"Yes--and it also protects the person who wears it from evil."

That was more like it! "Cool! Is it okay if I take these home, Mama?"

"Sure, baby."

"You know what else we can do, Michael?"

"What, Uncle Vic?"

"We can take this stone, have it polished, and make it into a necklace. That way, you can always wear it."

Michael threw his arms around his uncle's neck. "Thanks, Uncle Vic. You're the best! I love you!"

He started to run down the beach to gather more shells from the beach's sandy surface. He was only a few yards away when he ran back, hugged his mother around the waist, and said, "I love you too, Mama." Then he skipped off to add to his collection.

Vic and Debbie looked at each other, amused. "Vic, are you sure you want to waste the money? He's gonna lose that necklace in about five minutes."

"I don't mind spending a few bucks, Deb. Let him enjoy it while he can." They continued their leisurely stroll down the beach, always keeping Michael in sight.

01. Love For Sale

Michael walked out of his apartment and took the stairs to street level. A wave of moist heat hit him at the building's front door. Even though it was the middle of a sunny day, the neighborhood was empty and quiet. He stepped onto the sidewalk and stumbled. When he tried to balance himself, it only made things worse.

"What the hell!" He looked down at his feet only to find that the gray cement had been transformed into a gooey substance that was slowly engulfing his shoes. He tried to turn back and grab the doorjamb for support, but his steps had brought him too far out of reach. A sharp sensation spiked his calf and made him catch his breath, its source, a claw-like hand digging into him, reaching from the waves to pull him in.

His knees were rapidly approaching the surface of the quicksand. One hand became two, then four, multiplying until he was surrounded. He sank to his waist. The surrounding buildings had disappeared and the only sight, in all directions, was a vast, gray swamp. He struggled to float, to shake off the grabbing hands. The cold quicksand closed around his chest, filling Michael with a sense of inevitability. It was easier to slide slowly into the darkness without a fight. He lifted his arms and let his head slip under.

"Michael!"

Michael opened his eyes and found himself in his old room, on his old bed, soaked with sweat, but safe. His limbs felt hot and heavy and he struggled to fill his lungs with air. He checked the floor around the bed--just to be sure--but found only the familiar wood planks and old throw rugs.

"Michael!" bellowed his mother from the first floor.

He dragged himself out of the bed and walked to the stairway landing. "Yeah, Ma?"

Debbie appeared at the bottom of the steps. "Are you almost ready for dinner?"

He trudged down the stairs to join her. "Yeah. I just wanted to get this comic. I can't believe how much stuff I still have left in my old room." He placed the book on the coffee table. "I haven't read it in ages."

"It took you that long to find it? You were up there for almost two hours." She walked back to the kitchen to check a pot on the stove.

He followed his mother while running his hand through his hair and trying to shake off the drowsy, muffled feeling in his head. "I fell asleep."

"Good. You needed it. You look like death warmed over."

He laughed briefly. "Thanks, Ma. I'm glad I don't have to depend on you for an ego boost."

"I'm sorry, baby, but you look exhausted."

"Sleeping only four hours per night tends to do that to a person."

Propping one hand on her hip, Debbie waved a sauce spoon in his face. "That's what you get for partying all the time! Do you have to go out every night? I don't know how you manage to wake up for work."

He sighed and went to the fridge. "That's why God made caffeine." He pulled out a soda, popped the top, and took a swig of the cold, sugary beverage.

"You can't live on coffee and soda."

"I've been managing fine so far. Things have been kind of busy at work, but hopefully we'll be hiring some extra help. Until then, I have to do the work of two people."

"Michael, honey, I'm glad that you got that promotion, because we could really use the extra money, but you shouldn't push yourself so hard. Isn't there any way for you to cut back your hours?"

"Ma, don't worry about it. I've got it under control. This week was just a little busier than usual. I've had a few late nights at work that I couldn't avoid."

"Then stop going out so often! Sleep a little--it'll do you a world of good." She stirred the pot with vigor, her annoyance causing her to spill the rich sauce onto the counter.

From experience, Michael knew that her nagging could go on all night--not what he needed in his exhausted state. "You know what? I can't stay. I just remembered that I promised to meet a friend for drinks."

His mother swung around, her sauce forgotten. "You PROMISED to stay for dinner tonight! I made all this extra pasta."

He looked over her shoulder and saw massive quantities of food--the same amount she always cooked whether she was cooking for three or thirty. "I forgot about it until just now. I can't ditch him at the last minute."

"You don't seem to mind ditching US at the last minute."

"Sorry, Ma, but I promised him and I have no way to contact him and cancel."

"Who is it? You can meet him and bring him over. I don't mind, Michael. In fact, I wish you would come around with your friends more often." Debbie pleaded with her heart in her voice. "I feel like I hardly see you. Vic and I are starting to forget what you look like. It feels like weeks since you spent more than fifteen minutes with us."

"It's not a date, Ma--it's only a friend. Next weekend, I'll be here. I promise."

She turned back to the counter and started to cut up the vegetables on the cutting board. "That's what you said LAST weekend. Can't you skip hanging out with your friends just once? I miss you, you little asshole."

"Ha! You really know how to lay on the sweet talk, Mom."

"Well whadda you expect--a prize for avoiding your family?"

"Next weekend, okay? I absolutely promise not to break our date." Michael kissed her on the cheek and hugged her tight for a moment.

She accepted the token of affection with a sigh and a smile. "All right, but if you don't show up next weekend, we're selling your stuff and renting out your old room. "

"You'd never do that. You love me too much. Enjoy dinner and tell Uncle Vic I said 'Hi.' I'll talk to you later."

"You can escape just this once, but next time you say, 'Hi' yourself."

"Sure. Bye Ma." Michael swiped his comic from the table and, with a wave, bolted out the door. His steps were initially rapid and sure, but the farther he got from the house, the slower and heavier his steps became, until it felt as if he was walking through quicksand.

"Mr. Kinney, I have the report on the Kirkpatrick account that you wanted."

"Thanks, Jessica. Just leave it on the desk."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes. I need you to hold my calls for the next twenty minutes. I have to make an important phone call and I don't want to be interrupted unless it's an emergency."

"Absolutely, Mr. Kinney. Would you like me to connect that call for you?"

"No. I'd rather do it myself. Just hold my calls, but make sure that you let me know as soon as Mr. Kirkpatrick arrives. I don't want him waiting."

"No problem, Mr. Kinney." Jessica left the large executive office for her smaller one next door.

When he was alone again, Brian turned back to the laptop screen that he had been studying before his personal assistant had interrupted him. He read the words on the website, trying to make a decision.

None of them interested him because they seemed like so many others that he had read before. He was tempted to just call the agency he regularly used until one ad caught his eye.

There was no picture on the site, and the words weren't particularly exciting. Brian couldn't put his finger on what intrigued him about this ad. He decided to stop analyzing and go for it. He clicked on the link to find the contact information.

Michael had walked several blocks before his cell phone rang. He took it out and read the number on the screen before he hit 'talk' and put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Carter. This is Vincent."

"I have a date for you, Vinnie. You free?"

"Of course." Things had been a little tight this week and the extra money would really come in handy. "Where is it?"

"Be at the Timber Lake Plaza Hotel by 9:00 tonight and ask for Room 705."

"Who should I say I am?"

"Just be yourself, Vincent...and wear something nice. This guy is upscale and he's very particular."

"No problem. How much?"

They worked out the rest of the details, which Michael jotted down in a small notebook. He disconnected the call and continued the walk to his apartment where he would shower and change for later.

Brian took a sip from his drink and stretched out on the couch. The room was silent, just the way he liked it--nothing to distract him from the thoughts racing in his head. He picked up a pen and a pad of paper from the coffee table and scribbled a few notes on his team's latest campaign. He became so absorbed in his work that the ringing doorbell surprised him. He looked at his watch. Good. His date was punctual. He threw his work on the table and strolled to the door. He opened it and looked over the new arrival. The picture he had received, after making the initial inquiries, was as accurate as the written description. Silky dark hair, eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes, a nicely toned body shown off to advantage in a black tank-top shirt and tight black jeans. Nice.

"Come in. I've been expecting you."

"It's Vincent, right?"

"Yes." Michael entered the hotel room, trying not to let his jaw drop in awe. He had been in some nice places from time to time, but this room was bigger than his whole apartment. And that was just the living room. Off in the corners, he could see doors, which must lead to the bedrooms and bathroom and who knew what else.

His host waved him in and Michael stepped into the lap of luxury. Even the floorboards under the sinfully thick carpeting didn't dare creak.

"What do you do to afford a place like this?"

His host smiled in amusement. "Anything and everything, but I suppose you're just asking to make sure I'm not the police."

Michael's stomach lurched with nervousness. When he saw that the man wasn't angry at his question, he relaxed, but not completely. "No, I was honestly wondering. But since you brought it up..."

His date laughed. He had beautiful lips and large eyes framed by thick eyelashes. The only source of light was a small lamp in a distant corner of the room. In the dimness, it was hard to judge the color of his eyes and hair. The rest of him seemed all right--better than all right--tall, lean, and graceful. Not the kind of man who would have trouble getting dates for free.

"For the record--Vincent?--I'm not a cop, nor am I associated with any branch of police enforcement. Will that disclaimer suffice?"

"Sorry I asked, but it's a necessary formality."

"It's okay--I know. Why don't we get down to business?" They discussed the previously agreed upon price and money exchanged hands. That being taken care of, Michael was offered use of the bathroom for a relaxing bath.

"No thanks. I showered before I came here."

"I wasn't really asking," said the stranger with a gleam in his hooded eyes.

He paused for half a beat before smiling and smiling in a way that he knew would be inviting. "Will you be joining me?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

They headed to the bathroom. Michael began to slowly strip off his clothes while his date sat on a duvet and watched. When Michael began to approach, he was stopped by a shake of his date's head. "First a bath--then we really get started."

Michael's eyes swept the over-sized tub filled with fragrant bubbles. The faint scent of vanilla filled the air. He stepped closer, tested the water with his hand, and climbed in. Sinking down into the bubbles gave him a brief flashback to his earlier dream until the soothing heat of the water and the calming vanilla vapors washed the dark thoughts away. He leaned his head against the rim of the tub and let his body melt.

"You are so hot, Vincent," the man whispered, raking Michael's body with a lust-filled expression. He sat on the edge of the tub and added, "I think we're going to have a lot of fun tonight." He slipped out of his shirt and let it drop to the floor. He reached out to cup Michael's cheek and brush his thumb across Michael's full lips. "I can't wait to have you. If you play your cards right, there might be something extra in it for you."

Michael looked up, burying his anxiety behind a smile and a welcoming pose. No matter what, the game had to be played. In the soft light of the bathroom, his client's steel gray eyes glowed with an almost feral light. Michael could feel beads of steam collecting on his face and neck and running in rivulets down his chest. "Anything you want. I'm all yours," he promised throatily.

"Sit up."

Michael leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his knees. He heard the man reach around him and shortly after, felt a soft sponge start to stroke his back in circles. He closed his eyes again and enjoyed the sensation, tried to pretend that it was a caring lover. He remained relaxed when strong hands replaced the sponge and started gently kneading his shoulders. As the massage moved lower, he could feel his body tense. Fatigue was making him feel jumpier than usual. He should have taken a couple of poppers before coming into the bathroom. They were in the pocket of his suit--just a room away, but they may as well have been on the Moon. The more this stranger touched him, the more the tension mounted until it circled his chest like a vise.

The massage halted and Michael inhaled deeply. He exhaled slowly and felt the vise around his chest loosen. He moaned and wriggled in appreciation, hoping that the other man hadn't noticed his momentary lapse. Anything to keep the customer happy--make him think this was more than a job.

"Lean back. I want to do your front now."

Michael did as he was told, resting his head on the rim of the tub. The sponge moved to the front and stroked his chest and his stomach. Then it moved down to his thighs before floating up to the surface of the bath water, caught by the fluffy bubbles. The strong hand, which had caressed his body, now curled around his swelling erection and stroked slowly, but surely. Michael lifted his hands out of the water and gripped the sides of the tub. Despite himself, he could feel pleasurable sensations mounting quickly. His eyes squeezed shut and sank into the waves of darkness behind his eyelids.

Brian lay back on his bed with his hands interlaced behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. He counted the number of bas-relief flowers and tried to ignore the man next to him. When he finally got to seventy-five, he lost his patience. The night hadn't been bad, but now he wanted the other man gone so he could be alone--as usual.

He turned and shook the sleeper by the shoulder. "Hey! Wake up."

"Hmm? Yeah?" The eyes blinked in confusion as the trick tried to focus. Finally, he broke into a practiced smile. In the glow of the lamplight, his eyes glittered. Their deep amber color reminded Brian of a cat his sister had once had. The little furball had always been a nuisance and he'd been thrilled when their father got rid of it. "Are you ready for more?"

Brian paused, tempted, but rejected the feeling. "It's time for you to leave. Now."

The trick blinked in surprise and pouted. Maybe it was supposed to be sultry, but Brian wasn't in the mood.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, but I'm done, so you can go."

With an air of disappointment, Brian's 'date' climbed out of the bed and dressed quickly. He checked his pocket for the cash they had exchanged earlier, and then looked at Brian. "Do you think you'd want to meet again?"

"No thanks. I don't do repeats. You can show yourself out."

"Okay, but if you change your mind, here's my number." He took a card out of his pants pocket and handed it to Brian. "In case you forgot, my name is Lance."

Brian took the offered card, but didn't respond. 'Lance' shrugged in resignation, walked out of the bedroom, and out of the penthouse. When Brian heard the outer door close, he faced the ceiling again, and resumed his counting until he fell asleep.

Michael walked quietly toward the hotel door. He had left his client sleeping in the hotel bedroom--or so he thought. He nearly had a heart attack when a voice rang out behind him.

"Leaving so soon?" The man's lean form was framed in the bedroom doorway.

"Yes. It's late and I have to go to work tomorrow." He forced himself into a casual pose and prayed that there wouldn't be a problem like last month. Once in a while, he still got aches from that episode.

"When can I see you again, Vincent?" The unnamed date stalked closer, his grey eyes darlened with lingering desire.

Michael's first instinct was to reply, "You can't," but as long as he needed the money, rejection wasn't an option. He pulled out a card and a pen and wrote a name on it before handing it over. "If you want me, call this number and ask for Vincent." Without waiting for a reply, Michael walked out of the hotel room, anxious to escape. Once he had reached the hotel lobby, he found a bench in a quiet corner, and pulled out his cell phone. After he punched in the digits, the recipient picked up on the third ring.

"Lance speaking."

"Hi, Nick. It's me, Michael."

"Oh. Sorry, Michael. I didn't look at the caller ID. You done?"

"Yeah. You?"

Nick let out a bark of laughter. "He practically kicked my ass out of there! I'll tell you all about it when I see you. How was yours?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay. Where are you? I'll pick you up."

After giving Nick directions, Michael went outside to wait for his ride. Very shortly, he was climbing into Nick's souped-up muscle car. They roared out of the hotel driveway to the annoyance of several patrons who had been walking in and out of the hotel. As they departed in a cloud of dust, Michael looked back at the posh building. From the outside, it seemed like such a fantasy world, but it had become another place to do business.

A few miles away from the hotel, Nick reached out with one hand to rub Michael's neck in comfort. "You okay, babe?"

Michael shrugged in silence and stared out the passenger window.

Nick tried to tease him out of his mood. He sniffed the air in the car with exaggerated loudness. "You smell like cookies, you know--good enough to eat. I'm starting to feel hungry." It was almost enough to make Michael smile until a soft song started pouring through the car speakers. Another one of those sappy love songs. Michael sighed with relief when Nick snapped it off without being asked.

"We're going to my place, okay?"

He should answer, but experience had taught him that Nick wouldn't mind that he didn't. It was understood that he'd go along and accept Nick's offer of friendship. When had this all gotten so hard? Used to be that he could turn it on and turn it off. It was just a job. Whatever. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride to Nick's place in silence.

02. I Get No Kick From Champagne

Michael had been restocking the store shelves in the shampoo aisle when he received the call. He pulled his phone out and checked the screen. Carter again. Before answering, he checked the neighboring aisles to make sure he was alone. When the coast was clear, he answered. "Hi. This is Vincent."

"Nice to meet you, Vincent."

Michael took a quick look at the screen to see the phone number. Yes. It was Carter's number, but not his voice. "Carter?"

"Actually, this isn't Carter. He connected me directly to you."

"Oh. Sorry." Michael looked again down the aisles for any eavesdroppers while he scrambled for what to say next.

"I prefer to do my business directly. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not."

"Yeah. Anyway, are you available tonight at ten pm? If you are, we'd be meeting in Pittsburgh."

"That would be great. Where do I find you?"

"My place is at..." The john recited his address and the quickest route there.

Michael jotted the directions down quickly. "Okay, I got it. Any special requests, like what I wear or anything?"

The talker laughed. "Naked would be fine, but I'll take care of that when you get here, Vincent. Wear what you like."

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes, I have a name. I'll tell you when you come." The next sound was the disconnect buzz.

As soon as that call ended, Michael's phone rang again. He hit the 'talk' button.

"Personal phone calls are not to be made on company time, Novotny."

Michael whirled around. Fuck. Andrew was standing there, glowering. Ever since the little shit had been promoted, he had been copping a huge "Lord of Discount Shopping" attitude. "This will only take a couple of minutes, Andrew. I think my father may be next on the list for the kidney transplant. This is such exciting news!" He walked away, leaving Andrew behind and at a loss for anything nasty to say, for once. As soon as he was safe on the loading dock, Michael spoke on the phone.

"What?"

Carter drawled, "Is that any way to talk to the man giving you the good news about your father's transplant?"

Michael whispered furiously, "You promised not to call before five! I do have another job, you know. And what's the deal with connecting the john directly to me?"

"He insisted that he had to hear your voice first. Who am I to turn down a paying client--especially a regular who pays well for extra service?"

"What kind of 'extra services' are we talking about? I already told you I'm not--"

"Don't have a dick attack, Vin. This john has been a regular customer without any complaints from any of the boys. He just likes to be treated well, so don't offend him. He must be rolling in it, cuz he can afford three or four rents per week. In fact, he just had one with your little wifey the other day."

"Who? You mean Lance?"

"None other. If you're really worried, you might want to ask your boy if he took any notes. Whatever you do, don't be late and don't fuck up." Click.

Michael looked at the phone and considered calling Nick right away to get the scoop. He turned around when he heard footsteps behind him. It was Andrew again.

"Sorry about before, Novotny. Was there good news about your father?"

"Yes, Andrew. Thanks for asking. They're going to take him to the operating room within an hour. By the end of the day, he'll have a brand new lung." Michael started to walk back inside.

"Hey! I thought you said it was a kidney!" cried Andrew.

"That's what I said!" called Michael over his shoulder as he let the door slam behind him.

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"I'm serious, Nick. Carter said it was the same guy. Should I be worried?"

"Nah." Nick reached across the diner table and pulled Michael's hand away from his own mouth. but it was too late. The fingernail was already bitten down to the quick. "He was sort of an asshole, but nothing kinky--and he was hot as hell. Sex on legs as they say."

"I don't know anyone who says that."

"You should watch more TV. There's this great show about these two best friends--"

"Hi, boys. May I take your order?" The question was followed by the loud snapping of bubblegum.

Michael's heart sunk. "Hi, Ma," he said weakly. "I thought you were working the early shift today."

"Is that why you're here now? Are you trying to avoid me?"

"No," Michael lied. "Why would I do that?"

"Do you want me to answer that in front of your friend?"

"No, Mom. You remember Nick? It's been years since you two first met. Nick, you probably remember my mother, Debbie Novotny."

Nick stuck out his hand for a shake. "It's wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Novotny. It's been a while."

Debbie shook his hand with pleasure after throwing a dark look at her son. "The pleasure is mine, although Michael has been quiet about you. I keep telling him to bring his friends over, but he's always too busy. He rarely comes to see his poor old mother any more. I'm surprised he even recognized me."

"Ma, do you have to?"

Debbie gave Michael another look and reached down to pinch his cheek. "Don't whine. It's my job, Michael. I'm your mother. Rule number two in the handbook says, 'Thou shalt nag thy children until they give in to thy demands.'" She looked at Nick. "So what's your story, handsome? Have you been keeping my son 'occupied' all these late nights?"

Nick grinned. "I've been trying as much as he'll let me." He jumped at the small kick that Michael directed at his shin.

"Let me know if you need back-up. Michael's been working too hard. Ever since he was promoted at work, he's been working like a dog. He could use some fun." They chatted for another few minutes to Michael's dismay and to the impatience of the other diner patrons. Debbie took their orders and moved on to her next victims.

"What the fuck was that?"

"What? I was just being polite. Your mom seems great. She doesn't seem as pushy and loud as you keep saying."

"Give her time," muttered Michael under his breath.

Debbie brought them their meals and talked with them for a few minutes more. Then she left them alone to dig into their food.

"When did you get a promotion?"

"I didn't, but I had to give her some explanation for the extra cash."

"What if she finds out?"

"I'll tell her I lied--that I sold off my comic book collection and that's where I got the money."

"You didn't tell her that you sold most of them already?"

"Hell no! There's no point in making Uncle Vic and her feel guilty. They'd only lie to me about needing the extra money and my mom would work herself to death."

Nick reached across and pinched Michael's cheek. "You're too good--makes me love you even more."

Michael blushed and focused on the remains of his sandwich. "Thanks," he said quietly, "but I still don't do enough...I've been thinking about what you suggested."

"What suggestion?"

"That I quit my day job and work more hours for Carter. Maybe even free-lance. I could get my own website and--"

"No!" Nick dropped his fork with a clatter, which had the neighboring tables looking over in curiosity. "You can't," he added with a whisper.

"Why not? The clients think I'm good--and I'd make more money than I could at the Big Q. I'm never going to get promoted over there. My boss hates me."

"You can't because look what it's already done to you. You've been all strung out lately."

"He'll get sicker if I don't!" Michael leaned back, suddenly brimming with fear, anger, and a host of other emotions. He reigned himself in before leaning across the table and whispering, "If my uncle doesn't get the medicine he needs, he'll get sick again. I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

Nick covered Michael's clenched hand in sympathy. "Michael, this HIV--the AIDS--no matter what you do, your uncle is going to d--"

"Don't say it!" Michael pushed away Nick's hand and shook his head in denial. "NOTHING is going to happen to him." He stood, grabbed a few bills from his pocket, and threw them on the table without looking. Before he could step away, Nick grabbed his hand.

"Michael," said Nick with helpless apology.

Michael stared into Nick's eyes for a few seconds. He leaned down and gave him a hard kiss on the lips before shaking his hand loose and walking out of the diner.

Debbie appeared over Nick's shoulder. "Lover's spat?"

"Kind of. Has he always been this stubborn?"

Debbie popped her gum and grinned with wry humor. "Learned it from the best."

Later that night, after paying the driver, Michael climbed out of the cab and looked at the high-rise apartment building. Fancy. Nick hadn't exaggerated. He entered the lobby and walked up to the desk.

"Hello. I'm expected at..." He looked at the paper in his hand. "...penthouse B2."

The concierge raised an eyebrow, scanning Michael's leather pants without comment. "Of course, sir. Who may I say is calling?"

"Vincent."

"Vincent...?" The concierge drew out the pause, clearly waiting for a last name.

"Just Vincent."

"Very good, sir." The concierge picked up a black phone and dialed. Though he was standing only a few feet away, his voice was too low for Michael to hear most of the conversation. After a few words back and forth, he hung up. "Let me direct you to the elevator." He walked Michael to the bank of elevators and walked to the last one. He punched a code into the keypad next to the elevator and the doors opened with a nearly silent whoosh. "There you are. The elevator will stop on the appropriate floor." Michael stepped in and the concierge stepped back and let the doors close.

Michael stood in the middle of the elevator, afraid to smudge any of the mirrored walls. The elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors opened. He stepped off and found himself facing the only door on this floor. A sudden attack of nerves had him turning back, but the elevator had already quietly departed. He put one foot in front of the other until he was standing right in front of the door. He raised his hand and paused. "I am Vincent, not Michael. I am Vincent," he chanted to himself. After a short, internal pep talk, 'Vincent' pressed the doorbell. Soon the door was being opened by Mr. 'Sex On Legs,' himself.

The john smiled and said, "Come in. You're right on time."

Brian let Vincent into his penthouse, taking the opportunity to look his choice over. He had to admit that the photograph hadn't done the younger man justice. Vincent's hair was a little longer than it had been in the photo--just enough for it to be spiked a little on the top. In the picture he had been clean-shaven with a wholesome look. Now he had a goatee and a shadow of a mustache, which emphasized his full lips and added a hint of danger. He was also sporting two--no, three--earrings in his left ear and a few beaded bracelets on his wrists. Around his neck was a green stone pendant hanging on a leather thong that flattered cords of his neck.

"Let me take your jacket," offered Brian. When he had the item in hand, he admired the lean, muscular torso delineated by a tight, red, silky tee-shirt. And the black leather pants were just snug enough to let his imagination have a field day.

"Anything to drink?" Brian offered.

"No, thanks. I'm all right."

"Something stronger?" Brian said. He had a fair-sized collection of recreational drugs that he reserved for sex and moments of boredom.

"No, thank you."

Brian walked to a hallway closet and put the jacket away. Then he turned back to his guest. "Let's go."

Vincent followed the john without question. They took a few steps up to the upper level of the penthouse. From this vantage point, he could admire most of the penthouse's open floor plan. It was stylish, but cold. He shivered and almost bumped into his date who had stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"Do you like what you see?"

Vincent spoke without thinking. "It's pretty, but it doesn't look like anyone actually lives here." He bit his lip and went a bit wide-eyed as soon as the words left his mouth.

Brian looked across the apartment with a critical eye and then turned his gaze back to Vincent. "You're right. No one's ever said that before, though."

"Sorry. It really is beautiful--like something out of a magazine."

"Don't be sorry for saying the truth. Those who can't handle the answers shouldn't ask the questions. In here." He opened the door to the bedroom.

Vincent entered the room and was disappointed that it was just as cold as the rest of the apartment. Didn't this man ever leave a coat on a chair or a newspaper on a table? Where were the signs of life, like family photos, or a pet? While he was pondering, he felt hands slide around his waist from behind and tug at his tee-shirt. Warm breath whispered in his ear, "I want you naked...now." He turned in his date's arms, simultaneously pulling the tee-shirt over his head. When it was gone, he reached for the zipper of his pants, only to have his hands pushed away.

"Let me." The john stared into his eyes with an unblinking gaze while slowly drawing the zipper down. Vincent felt lost in the hazel depths, unable to close his eyes or turn away. He felt the man's hand slide slowly into the front of his pants and rub his growing hardness with a slow, but unrelenting rhythm. Then the familiar chest tightness and anxiety hit like a whirlwind--harder than it had the other night--and Vincent swayed on his feet.

"Shh," said the trick, although Vincent hadn't made a sound. He removed his hand and lay Vincent on the bed with care.

Vincent concentrated on inhaling and exhaling and letting the feeling pass. "Jesus! Carter is gonna kill me," he thought with self-disgust when he started to shake. He let his eyes close waiting for the anger and whatever repercussions it might bring, hoping that the man would think it was all excitement. Most guys were too into themselves to notice anyway. Instead of anger, he received a gentle hand in his hair. With his eyes closed, he could almost pretend that it was Nick comforting him--until the trick spoke.

"We can take this slow."

"No. I'm okay. It must have been the altitude. Your apartment is pretty high up," Vincent said jokingly.

The trick smiled and kissed Vincent on the lips without warning.

He abruptly turned his head away. "Sorry...I don't..."

"You don't what?"

"I don't kiss on the mouth," said Vincent in a rush.

The trick laughed heartily. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not."

"Is that the only thing you don't do?"

"Pretty much...well, that and no bare-backing."

"Rimming?"

"Sure."

"Sucking?"

"Absolutely."

"Golden showers?"

Vincent blinked and then smiled. "That's a little extra."

The trick laughed again. "I was just trying to establish boundaries. I'm not really into sharing bodily waste."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"Why not kissing?"

Vincent shrugged. "I don't know. I have to save SOMETHING for my marriage bed."

The john looked at him with interest. "Marriage? Are you straight?"

"No, but I still want to get married some day--I hope--if and when the right man comes along."

"I can't believe I actually found one."

"Found one what?" asked Michael warily.

"You know how in the movies, they always have the hooker with a heart of gold?...I always thought that was bullshit. Then I discovered you--the real thing."

"I am NOT a hooker...and I'm not some land mass you discovered."

"Sorry," said the trick. "It's just that, in my line of work I deal with people who wear their cynicism like a badge and I find you...refreshing."

Vincent decided to let that go without further comment. His date leaned close to him, practically nose to nose.

"What can I do to change your mind about kissing?"

Once more, Vincent was mesmerized by the large hazel eyes. "Nothing," he whispered.

"There's nothing I can offer you? Nothing I can promise?"

"No."

"What if I told you that ever since I saw your picture, I've been daydreaming about having your luscious lips all over me? That if you kissed me it would be more than enough? What then?"

Vincent looked back, stunned. "The answer would still be 'no.'" Despite his refusal, his lips ached with a desire to kiss this stranger and test his words.

"Fine. We'll do it your way, Vincent."

Vincent felt a heady rush. It had been a while--too long--since anyone had focused so much on him, pressing lips on his cheek, trailing kisses across his face, bathing his ear with moist licks until he felt ready to beg for more. He knew he shouldn't want this so much. This was a stranger after all--one for whom he didn't even have a name. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten to ask Nick that information. That was all forgotten in the face of a tide of passion sweeping through him. It knocked him off-kilter and, for once, he let himself go with the flow. They writhed on the bed forever--tasting, sucking, biting. Their roaming hands reached into all the secret nooks and crannies. Vincent felt the man's hand at his waist, then at the front of his open, leather pants. Soon the hot hand was inside again, stroking him. Vincent could feel his excitement rise and then plummet to the ground when the hand was removed.

"No. Don't stop," he demanded in a husky voice. His cheek was kissed again, before his nameless lover turned to reach behind him and then turned back.

"Never," said the lover before resuming the kiss. His hands moved down Vincent's back and into his pants, cupping his bottom.

Vincent was distracted by a strange sensation. He broke the kiss, reluctantly and pulled at his date's right hand. Two fingers were gloved by a condom. "Extra cautious, are we?"

The trick looked at him with seriousness. "I'm dying to touch you."

"If that's what you want."

"If there's anything you don't want to do, just tell me. I won't flip out. I only want to touch you. Trust me. You'll enjoy it."

Vincent nodded. He closed his eyes and let his trick arrange their bodies for better access.

Brian tilted his head back and watched the younger man with pleasure. Vincent's eyes were closed, his head thrown back. He was mouthing silent, unknown words. Occasionally his tongue would snake out and moisten his lips. His chest rose and fell with increasing irregularity, signaling that he was close to the edge. Brian slowed the movement of his hand and his lover's dark eyes snapped open.

"What?" he panted. "Don't...slow...down."

"I want you to breathe."

"What?"

Brian demonstrated. "Inhale." A perplexed and frustrated Vincent followed his example. "Exhale slowly." Vincent breathed out again. "Inhale...exhale." With their eyes locked on each other and breathing in synchrony, Brian stroked Vincent's prostate with the same regular rhythm until the dark, brown eyes fell shut and Vincent seemed to hold his breath for long moments. Then he shuddered and sagged in spent passion. His cock twitched and spurted out thick white fluid that landed on Brian's stomach.

"Oh my God," was all that Vincent could say. He dragged in deep breaths and gazed, unfocused, at Brian. "Oh my God," he repeated.

Brian smirked with self-satisfaction. "I'm not a god--not yet anyway, but thanks for the compliment."

Vincent laughed. "Well, I'd be calling your name, but you never told me what it was," he pointed out.

"Don't you remember what I told you?"

"No."

"When I spoke to you on the phone, I told you I would tell you my name when you came."

A pause. "Oh."

"Since you came," he smiled with smug satisfaction, "I can tell you now. It's Brian."

Vincent breathed the name. "Brian."

"Yes, Vin?"

"Nothing. I was just saying it. Brian what?"

"Kinney. Brian Kinney."

"THE Brian Kinney? You're famous--and loaded! Why do you..." Vincent's voice drifted off and he looked abashed.

"Why do I pay for company?"

Vincent nodded.

"Would you believe, to save time? The chase doesn't excite me anymore. Everyone seems the same."

"Believe it or not, I have the same problem."

"So why do YOU do this?"

Vincent shrugged. "I'd rather not talk about that if you don't mind. I'd much rather do something for you--Brian." He propped himself on one elbow and caressed Brian's chest. "I've been neglecting you."

"It's all right. You don't have to...mmm." Brian's words were stopped by Vincent's lips on his nipples. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that Vincent had an unbelievably long tongue. He hoped that it would be put to good use tonight. Vincent tweaked his nipples and kissed his chest. Then the warmth of his hand drifted down to Brian's pants which had not yet been removed. It found it's way inside the pants and massaged him with expertise. "Wait," Brian requested.

"I can't wait," said Vincent against Brian's chest. He lay on top of Brian and stroked harder and faster.

"Then slow down," Brian begged, helpless to lift a hand to help himself.

"Next time it'll be slower."

Vincent's hand pulled and stroked him into oblivion. When Brian came, Vincent masked his loud cries with the palm of his hand while he milked the last few drops of semen from Brian's cock and balls.

"What was that about?" asked Brian when he had caught his breath and Vincent had slid to his side.

Vincent lifted a hand and stroked Brian's jaw with gentle movements. "You're an advertising big wig, right? You call the shots for lots of people?"

"I guess so."

"Maybe you need to let someone else take control for a while. Now get some sleep so we can be ready for round two." He pulled Brian to him, his front to Brian's back, and settled his chin on Brian's shoulder.

"Don't let this power go to your head, Vincent. There might be some role swapping later on."

Vincent smiled in the darkness. "Bring it on." And they both fell asleep.

Brian got up from the couch and stretched with pleasure. He had finished his review of the Kirkpatrick account and felt more than ready to deal with the upcoming day. He glanced at his watch. Three a.m. and all was well. He had taken a brief nap, but then awoke feeling energized and full of ideas. He left Vincent sleeping in the bedroom and came out to finish his work. Now he padded on bare feet back to the bedroom.

In the dark room, the light from the hallway fell upon the figure sleeping on the bed. Vincent was tossing and turning restlessly and talking in his sleep. Brian approached the bedside and sat down.

Michael was walking through the Big Q, checking inventory and answering customer questions. He turned down the toy aisle where he ran into his mother. She walked towards him and handed him a phone. "It's for you." He took the phone with surprise and began to speak. It was Carter calling about another job. Michael walked slowly while talking until he reached the front of the store near the cash registers. Mounted high on the wall, behind the Customer Service counter was a double set of large speakers. It was then that he realized that his phone conversation was being broadcast throughout the store. He walked away, hoping that would alleviate the situation, but it didn't. He warned Carter and they ended the phone call by mutual agreement.

As he was wrapping up the conversation, his mother came to his side and asked, "Who was that on the phone?" Michael replied that it was a friend. His mother told him, "We have to go."

He followed her through the store exit and began climbing a seemingly endless flight of stairs. When he thought he couldn't go on any longer, they reached a landing. Debbie burst through the door, and Michael followed. On the other side of the door was a balcony high above a crowd of thousands of screaming people. Michael was bewildered by the sheer size of the crowd. They were all yelling at him to jump. "JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!"

Michael refused, but then a voice came over a hidden loud speaker and offered him a million dollars to do it. He climbed onto the railing and threw himself off. As his body rushed to meet the ground, the crowd disappeared and was replaced by a body of deep water. Floating on the water was a small boat. In the small boat was a young boy. The air rushed silently past Michael's ears as he tried to aim for the boat. He felt a hand grasp his, slowing his plummet. He looked up to see a shadowed face...

"Vincent, wake up."

Michael stared at Brian's face in bewildered silence. Gradually, his location came back to him. "What time is it?"

"It's three a.m. and you sounded like you were freaking out."

Vincent sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep out of his face. Just to be sure, he leaned over the edge of the bed, as was his routine, and checked the floor. Still solid. "I'm fine. Just a dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I don't even remember it. I'm probably just tired or something. Somebody wore me out, you know."

Brian grinned. "Too bad. I don't suppose you're in the mood to continue where we left off?"

"I'd love it, but I don't--"

"I'm not just offering you hot, wild sex. You can stay here until you have to leave. I might even make you breakfast."

"Really?"

"No, but I'll order breakfast to be delivered. How does that sound?"

Vincent lay back on the bed and sighed. "It sounds perfect...after I sleep for three more hours. Then I have to get going."

"Oh, you have someone else waiting?" said Brian with studied nonchalance.

"Just my boss at the Big Q--my day job. He thinks being the dictator at a discount store gives him limitless power over our lives. He's a shmuck."

"If you hate it, I could help you find a new position."

"Doing what?"

"You were mentioning something earlier about taking charge. I think a position has just opened up which you might find interesting. So...are you?"

"If the salary is right," joked Vincent.

"We can negotiate that, but only after you complete the application."

"Okay."

"The first line asks for your name."

Vincent hesitated, not sure that he wanted to play anymore. He looked Brian over cautiously. "Are you serious?"

"Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," said Vincent doubtfully.

"I was too a scout--until they kicked me out. Apparently they don't give out merit badges for fellating your bunk mates."

Vincent laughed, but soon became serious again. "How do I know you're for real?"

"You don't," said Brian simply. "You'll just have to take a chance."

"Besides the money, what's in it for me?"

Brian slid closer to the brunette and kissed him on the forehead. Without breaking contact, he whispered, "I can take care of you." He leaned back to look into Vincent's wide eyes. He watched the decision making occur in his eyes. He could almost see when the answer clicked.

"I already told you. My name is Vincent."

03. I've Got You Under My Skin

"Come on, Michael. Come out with me." Nick kicked at a clump of grass on the ground and sprayed small particles of dirt on his sandals. His next target was a rubber ball that someone had abandoned on the park grounds. It hit his toes and bounced into a patch of clover.

"Can't. I promised my mother I would come over tonight." Michael lugged the basket they had used to bring lunch. Nick was carrying the blanket and the frisbee.

"So what? I'll come with you. Your mom was nice when we were reintroduced the other day--even though she didn't remember me at all."

"You look really different, now. She'd remember if I reminded her of your hair. Back then, she always said she liked that color on you."

"Really? Maybe I should dye it blue again. What do you think? Maybe she'd like me even better."

"She already DOES like you a lot. Keeps asking when I'm going to bring that 'nice, handsome hunk' over."

"See? It's perfect. We'll go to dinner, then we'll go out."

"Aren't you working tonight?"

"Hell no! It's the Fourth of fucking July. I'm gonna have a good time! I'm gonna get dressed up, get drunk--"

"Get laid, get fucked up..."

Nick's face fell, and he frowned at the ground. "I told you I stopped that shit. I've been clean for three years now."

Michael was instantly regretful. He wrapped his arm around Nick's and held tight for a few seconds. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I talk without thinking. I know you've worked really hard to stay off the drugs."

Nick pushed him away while laughing. "You're such a sucker for a sad face."

Michael laughed in return. "Fuck you," he said affectionately.

Nick jumped so he was walking backwards in front of Michael, arms spread in an offering. "Just name the time and place. I'm there."

"I already refused. Can't you take no for an answer?" Michael smiled to take the sting out of his words.

Nick stopped walking backwards, forcing Michael to halt. He gazed into Michael's eyes with a serious expression. "Someday, you're going to regret not taking me up on my offer."

Michael sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. He'd heard this too many times before. "I know. Someday, your prince will come--"

"Or my princess." At Michael's doubtful expression, Nick explained, "Sometimes I like guys who are a little femme, too. But usually I like them big and butch like you." He reached out and pinched one of Michael's lean biceps.

"Stop it." Michael smacked his hand away. "Like I was saying, someday, your prince--or princess--will come and sweep you off your feet. Then you'll forget about your pathetic loser of a best friend. I still expect postcards, though--and invitations to fabulous pool parties."

Nick turned around and started walking more quickly. "You're not pathetic. Don't you ever get sick of putting yourself down? Maybe I should ask myself why I would be madly in love with a pathetic loser."

Michael picked up the pace until he caught up. "I was just kidding! Why are you jumping on everything I say today?"

Nick stalked over to a swing set, threw the blanket and frisbee on the ground, and sat on a swing seat. He started pushing himself with one foot, setting himself moving in a slow arc. Michael moved behind him and gave him a gentle push.

"Are you going to see him again?"

"See who?" said Michael, playing dumb.

"You know who! The Golden Trick."

"No. You said so yourself. He doesn't do repeats."

"If he calls you, you should go. He must have liked you."

"Bullshit. He didn't even fuck me."

"Exactly! He didn't fuck you, but he still paid you, didn't he? It must be love. You should find him, marry him, and have a few dozen babies," said Nick a little snidely.

Michael stopped pushing the swing and stepped around until he could see Nick's face. "You're jealous!" he said with astonishment.

"Fuck off. No I'm not."

Michael smirked. "You are. You're jealous."

"Whatever," said Nick in dismissal. "While you're having a boring time with your mother, I'll be enjoying a fabulous time at Babylon."

"What's so special about that? You go there all the time."

"They're having an Independence Day party. They're gonna have a giant tank filled with red, white, and blue bubbles and a wet swimsuit contest. I'm a shoe-in for a prize. I already have my suit picked out."

"Oh. Sounds like fun." Michael tried to hide his disappointment. He wouldn't have minded joining in on the festivities.

"I'll probably get my pick of guys when they see how hot I look."

"You better be careful."

"Don't be such a wet blanket, Michael. Maybe if you had some real fun once in while, you wouldn't put a damper on mine," said Nick with indifference.

"Sorry."

Nick hopped up from the swing and started walking across the park again without a word. Michael trailed behind him, trying to figure out if they had just had a fight without him realizing it.

"That was incredible, Mom! I may not be able to eat again for a week. And the tarts were perfect, Uncle Vic. You should have let me help you, though."

Vic raised his eyebrows in mock disdain. "The day I need help making a simple tart, is the day I hang up my chef's hat for good. Besides, it was good to do something with my hands. I haven't had that much fun in a while."

Debbie and Michael looked at each other. Michael shook his head subtly, but Debbie would not be restrained.

"Vic, sweetie, if that's the most fun you've had with your hands in a while, then we need to talk."

"Mom!" Michael groaned. "Leave him alone. He just got out of the hospital."

Vic touched Michael's arm gently. "Don't worry. I am not a fragile piece of glass. You mother may have a motor mouth, but when I'm up to full strength I can talk rings around her."

"Then why don't you?"

Vic leaned back in his chair with a smug air. "I've been to hell and back. I nearly died. I should be dead. Petty things no longer concern me. I'm above all that." His speech was ruined by the wad of garlic bread that hit him in the nose. "Deb!"

"Oops. Did I do that? Must have slipped out of my fingers. It's all that butter, you know."

"Mom, will you please behave?" Michael took the loaf of garlic bread and placed it out of Debbie's reach. "And don't waste the food. There are people who would give anything for a piece of bread."

Debbie and Vic smiled at each other, and then burst into laughter.

Michael looked confused. "What did I say that was so funny?"

Debbie collected herself before Vic, and replied, "It wasn't what you said honey. It was..." She giggled again.

"It was the way you said it," added Vic helpfully.

Debbie looked at Michael with tender amusement. "You'd make the perfect wife and mother someday."

Michael digested that and then looked down at his plate. "Thanks. And you wonder why I don't come here more often."

Vic tried to smooth Michael's ruffled feelings. "We're not laughing at you. We're laughing with you."

"But I'm not laughing."

Debbie and Vic laughed again. Vic stood up with his empty plate. He walked behind Michael and planted a kiss on top of his head. "Stop pouting and come help me with the dishes."

Debbie stood up to help clear the table. "Let him sit. If we make him do work, we might scare him off. Then we won't see him until Christmas."

Michael watched his mother and uncle clean up after dinner. Each one had their role and performed it without a hitch--kind of like a synchronized swimming team, he thought. Vic looked so much better. He was still thin and still a little gray, but he had some spring to his step and his breathing seemed normal now. It was hard to believe that he had been on the brink of death just a few short weeks ago. Michael felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and saw an unfamiliar number.

"I just have to use the bathroom. Take it easy, guys. I'll be right back to help."

"Sure, hon," said Debbie. She and Vic continued to wash the dishes together, chattering about this and that.

Michael left the kitchen and dialed the number of the most recent call. "Hello. This is Vincent."

Jessica sat on the chair across from Brian Kinney's desk and took notes in shorthand. "Mm hm. Got it. Do you want the entire thing bound, or just put in folders?"

"Bind them. That way they won't lose any of our ideas. And book a meeting with their PR Department. We need to coordinate this campaign so it goes smoothly."

"No problem, sir. Will AJ continue to head this project?" She could have kicked herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth and her boss's face tightened into a mask.

"Let's be clear about this. AJ may be the new fair-haired boy around her, but I am still in charge of this project and this goddamn department."

"Yes, sir," said Jessica abruptly.

"I'm sorry, Jessica. I didn't mean to bark. You're probably the only other intelligent life in this agency. Blame my mood on my bitch of a headache." Brian leaned his head on his hands and massaged his temples. He hadn't been sleeping well. He had even tried another rent boy, but it had been mechanical, and not the tension reliever it usually was.

Jessica smiled sympathetically. "I have some aspirin if you'd like."

"Thanks. You're a life saver." He took the aspirin when she returned with them. After she left the office, he chugged the pills down with a swig of bottled water and stretched out on the couch in his office to wait until they kicked in. Staring at the ceiling reminded him of the last time he had thrown someone out of his bed. That inevitably led to thoughts of HIM. Brian was still pissed off that the little shit had refused to tell him his real name. His best Kinney charm hadn't had its usual effect. To be honest, though, usually he didn't have to charm OR ask twice. That was as true in the work place as it was in the bedroom. But this one had resisted quietly even though he had looked scared shitless doing so--a hooker with a heart of gold and balls of steel. Brian laughed at the mental picture.

He turned on his side and closed his eyes. As soon as he did, his head was filled with images of inky, black hair and alabaster skin. He reached down and adjusted himself. At the touch of his own hand, his cock twitched and began to rise to attention. Brian shifted so he was facing up again. He hesitated. Jesus H. Christ! It was like being a horny teenager again! But the impulse seized him and wouldn't let go, driving him to unzip his slacks and reach in. He let one foot fall to the floor, and then touched himself.

Behind his closed lids, a movie played out. He visualized the smooth expanse of Vincent's chest, interrupted only by a small patch of dark, silky hair in the center, as he began to jerk off. His mind moved down from the chest to the taut, washboard stomach. Mentally, he fucked Vincent's belly button with his tongue, making his lover cry out. His hand moved faster and his tension rose to a fever pitch. Vincent was on his stomach, his round, smooth ass propped up by pillows, his wrists bound in silk scarves tied to a headboard--his tantalizing body spread and ready for the taking. Brian entered him slowly, his only preparation a palm moistened generously with his own saliva to make the going smoother. When Brian had seated himself to the hilt with one assertive move, the two of them panted in unison at the sensation so exquisite that it bordered on pain. Brian surged back and forth, riding that sweet ass for all it was worth until the tight feeling spread from where they were joined to his stomach. Desire ripped through him until he slowed down, pacing himself so this bliss would last as long as possible. His control lasted only so long until he couldn't resist any more and had to move with more speed and depth or spontaneously combust.

His head was filled with the imaginary sound of the dark-haired beauty beneath him, moaning in ecstasy, begging for release. Brian didn't have the will to see to the other man's pleasure--he was still too wrapped up in his own. He inhaled deeply, imagining that Vincent's spicy sweet scent filled his head. The aroma, imaginary though it was, left him breathless. He saw himself bending over to lick at Vincent's moist neck, savoring Vincent's salty essence. Brian rolled and squeezed his own balls, seeing a pair of full red lips swallowing them whole. The sights, the sounds, all the sensations--they were all there, but not there...imagined, but too real. When release came, it was with a thunderous rush that ebbed away achingly...slowly. A knock on the door brought Brian crashing out of his daydream. Fuck.

He grabbed tissues from the box on the sofa table and cleaned himself up. The knock came again. If I get up, whoever is on the other side of the door is so fucking fired, he thought. Luckily for the unseen person with bad timing, Brian's shaky legs would not allow him to stand just yet. Eventually, whoever was at the door gave up and walked away. Brian lay on the couch until his heart stopped pounding and his breathing slowed its ragged pace. Then he stood, walked to where his jacket was hanging and pulled out his cell phone. He dug further and found his wallet. Inside was Lance's card. He ripped it up and threw it out. He pulled another one out. On it was scribbled the name and number he sought. He dialed and waited until the call connected and the voice he remembered said, "Hello. This is Vincent."

"Hi. It's Brian."

"Brian who?"

Brian looked at the phone with dismay and surprise. Then smiled. Maybe those balls of steel were bigger than he'd thought. He was sure that Vincent knew who he was. How he could be so sure was a mystery to his own mind, but he decided to play along: "Never mind, your voice doesn't sound familiar. I was actually looking for Vivian. This isn't her phone is it? I'll just hang up and..."

"No! Wait!"

Too easy. It was sort of disappointing. "I'm sorry?" Brian said casually.

"I did recognize your voice. Hi, Brian."

Brian felt inordinately pleased with himself. "I figured as much. Nobody forgets a night with me."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're arrogant?"

"All the time. They're just jealous of my good looks, sex appeal, and vivacious personality."

"And..." Michael let the question hang.

"And of course, my stunning modesty."

"Arrogant isn't strong enough a word."

"If it bothers you, I'll call someone else." Brian started counting, but he only got to three.

"No! I mean, uh, no, that's okay, Brian. Did you want to arrange a date?"

"Yes. How about tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes. You busy?"

"Kind of."

"Change your plans."

"I can't. It's the Fourth of July."

"So fucking what?" Brian hadn't meant to let his control slip, but he couldn't fathom that he was about to be turned down. He could just see it in the headlines of the "Gay Tattler": Golden Boy Strikes Out with Rent Boy, see page 5 for the full story. "What are you doing?" he asked, hoping that he didn't sound like he gave a shit one way or the other.

"I'm going dancing at Babylon. I'm meeting a friend of mine."

"A real friend or one of the temporary kind?" He wasn't sure which answer would be worse. A prickle of annoyance signalled that either answer could bother him and that both answers might.

"A real one. Maybe tomorrow night?"

"I'll call you if I'm still interested." Brian jabbed the disconnect button and stared at his phone while he hashed over the conversation.

Is Vincent playing hard to get? Or was he avoiding me? Who does he think he is?

He went back to his desk and spent an hour in a fruitless attempt to concentrate on work. Eventually, it became clear that he was accomplishing zilch, so he decided to leave early for the weekend. He drove home in his jeep with the radio turned on full blast. When he got tired of listening to the pounding techno music that was his usual style, he changed the station. A mellow voice filled the car. Without the skull splitting noise to distract him, his mind began to wander without his expression, leaving him to wonder if he still had his Babylon member I.D.

"I knew you'd show up," shouted Nick triumphantly, over the loud club music.

"No you didn't."

"I did. You love me."

"Of course I love you."

Nick's eyes took on a teasing glint. "You want me, don't you?"

"What I want is a drink and to start dancing."

"What are you waiting for? The bubbles are warm and you are dressed to kill." He admired Michael's skin-tight black, spandex swim trunks and skimpy, electric-blue tank top. In honor of the holiday, the tank had two stripes--one red, one white--running down the sides. "Yummy."

Michael could feel himself turning red. "Don't stare. I should have worn something else." There weren't many other men andeven fewer women dressed as skimpily as him.

Nick leaned close and said in Michael's ear, "I could eat you with a spoon, you look so delicious."

"Nick, quit it."

"Come and dance with me, hot stuff."

Michael let himself be lead to the dance floor. Soon, the awkward feeling of being half-naked in public faded and he lost himself in the music. Nick moved close until they were chest to chest and wrapped his arms around his friend's waist. "They all want you," Nick warned.

"Who?"

"All of them. But I'm the only one who has you. You'll never leave me, right?"

Michael looked into his friend's beautiful eyes. It should have been so easy to let himself fall for Nick. "Never." He wrapped his arms around Nick and let his head rest on his shoulder. They swayed together, not really in time to the music anymore.

From the balcony, Brian saw Vincent dancing with another man with similar height and coloring. The two of them moved and gyrated to one song after another. Then they took a break and went to the bar together. Christ, they were practically soldered at the hip! While he kept surveillance, Brian received numerous propositions, all of which he refused. He must be losing his mind to turn down freely offered sex, but tonight, his prey had to be one particular person. He watched until he saw Vincent separate from his doppelganger before making a beeline for his target.

"Vincent! Vincent!" Brian's shouts went unheard so he muscled his way through the crowd to the bathroom entrance, until he was right behind the brunet. He grabbed Vincent's shoulder to get his attention and was shocked when he was shoved away hard enough to make him stumble and collide into a couple of people.

When somebody grabbed his arm, Michael retaliated with more vehemence than usual. A casual grope was one thing, but some assholes just didn't know know when to stop. "Keep your hands off me! He turned to say something else when the identity of his attacker penetrated his surprise. Sometimes it didn't pay to have a night off. "What are you doing here? I wouldn't have thought this place would be your style."

Brian shrugged. "I still like to dance and party."

Michael stepped further into the bathroom. "Have fun."

"Dance with me?"

"In here?" The bathroom was full with men waiting to use the toilet, people sniffing, injecting, or smoking every type of illegal substance one could imagine.

"No. Out there." Brian pointed to the dance floor with his thumb.

Michael thought about it for about two seconds. Night off meant no Vincent, no tricks, and no bullshit. He grieved for the cash he'd be sacrificing if he did this, but he didn't feel like playing games tonight. "No, thanks."

"Just like that? No?"

"Just like that."

"How much would it take to make it worth your while?"

Michael's stomach twisted into a tight knot. He brushed past Brian and left the bathroom. "Fuck you and your goddamn money." He walked away, his anger giving him the impetus to fight through the crowd. After several minutes of searching, he found Nick dancing with an attractive man in his early thirties. The stranger seemed a little different than the usual patrons: not a hard body, not a queen--an actual, normal man. Michael approached, unwilling to cut in if Nick was hooking up. He moved close enough to see the man hand Nick something and say, "This is my card. If you're looking for extra money, give me a call. I think you'd be very popular. Your friend, too." The man acknowledged Michael with a nod. "I saw the two of you dancing and you make a really hot couple."

Nick turned around to see Michael standing behind him. He slung his arm around his friend's shoulders and said, "Hi, sweetie. How're they hangin'?" He leaned his head against Michael's. "My friend and I will consider your offer. Thanks--uh--you didn't tell me your name."

"Theodore Schmidt, CEO of Jerkatwerk.net. My name is on the card, in case you forget."

"Sure. Thanks Ted," said Nick brightly before pulling Michael away. "Jeez! Do you know what that guy wanted me to do?"

"Nothing you haven't done before, I bet," said Michael.

"I don't do my stuff on film, honey. What if I wanted to run for President? Imagine the scandal if yet another President was caught with his pants down. Or worse yet, caught with another man's pants down?"

"All you'd have to do is say you sucked, but you didn't swallow. I don't think it counts then."

"Ha ha. You missed your true calling, Michael. You should have been a stand-up comedian." Nick was dripping with sarcasm.

In response, Michael punched him lightly in the side. "Just you wait. Someday I'll be a star on stage and screen. Then you'll wish you had sucked up to me."

"I already wish that." He pulled Michael to face him and kissed him, licking the seam between his lips and sucking on his bottom lip. "Yum. You taste like cherries," he said with a smile. "Give it up."

Michael dug the Jolly Rancher candy out of his pocket and gave one to Nick. "You only get one."

"Sheesh, some people are so stingy. Don't you steal these from work, anyway?"

Michael stuck his nose in the air. "I always pay for them."

Nick flicked the button nose and laughed. "Don't stick your nose up at ME, young man. Come to the bar, I'll buy you a drink."

"Actually, I was coming to tell you that I'm going home."

"But you just got here!" Nick protested. You didn't even see the swimsuit competition! Who am I going to gloat to when I win?"

"You can always tell your biggest fan. There's a mirror in the bathroom."

"Jesus! What's got you in a mood tonight?"

Michael sighed. "Sorry. I'm tired and I have a headache. I really don't mean to ditch you again, but I gotta get out of here."

"I'll come with you. I'll give you a fabulous back rub that will make all your worries melt away."

"It's okay. I don't want to interrupt your fun. I can just--"

"...accept a ride from me. What do you say, Vincent?"

Michael and Nick turned simultaneously and found a familiar, tall, slim, hazel-eyed man standing behind them.

"Vincent? Who the fuck are you?" Nick looked at the man with puzzlement. Within seconds, the reason why he seemed so familiar came to him. "You! What do you want?"

Brian replied to 'Lance' without taking his eyes off Vincent. "I wasn't talking to you. Your friend knows what I want. Right, Vincent?"

Nick took in Michael's shell-shocked appearance and immediately took charge. "Get the fuck away from him. He's not interested right now."

Brian let his anger boil over at the friend's interference. "I bet YOU would be for the right price."

Nick clenched his jaw and balled up his fists. His urge to retaliate fled when Michael turned on his heel and ran through the crowd. He glared at the ex-john before turning and running after his friend.

Inside Babylon, Brian scoped out the crowd, but saw nothing and no one that interested him. Damn it. He hadn't envisioned that his plans would crash and burn like this. Since there weren't any likekly prospects, he decided to do his best to get drunk on the club's watered-down liquor. When he had drunk as much as he could stand, he lurched out of the club and hailed a cab ride home.

04. All Of You

When Nick made it out of Babylon's front door, Michael was nowhere to be seen. He decided that Michael had probably gone home so he walked to his car and drove to his best friend's apartment.

Michael grabbed his shirt from where he'd thrown it over a railing, before running out into the night. He ran down the street until he was puffing for breath and was forced to slow to a walk. As he put one foot in front of the other, his thoughts raced...

Why the hell did I run? All I had to do was say, "No," and that would have been it. Or instead of freaking out, I should have taken him up on his offer and charged him a mint for it. What if he calls Carter and complains?

He walked until he was reached the rough part of town. Pushers on every corner. Flashes of gun metal if you looked closely enough. But you didn't dare look closely because hard eyes would notice and might take offense...might point the metal at you. Michael had been living here for a few years, so his face was familiar to most of the residents. He kept to himself and they mostly left him alone.

He passed by a street corner The Market. It was just a street corner, but if you wanted something or someone a little "different"--drag queens, transvestites, trannies (pre-op, post-op or in transition) dominant, submissive, young--this was the place to find it. Even if it wasn't standing there waiting, there would be someone to help you find it. It didn't seem that long to Michael since he had been one of the occupants on that corner, praying for a trick to pick him up, praying for them not to notice him. He'd been one of the "young" ones. Even at twenty-two, he could pass for sixteen easy. Sometimes that attracted the law, but he had become acquainted with the various beat cops in the area. Once they knew him by name, they left him alone and focused mainly on getting the jailbait off the streets.

He saw one of the kids, JC, being lectured to by a burly policeman. The cop looked stern and the boy looked bored out of his skull. JC had been working this corner for over a year. If you stopped to talk to him, he would tell you about his big plans to find a sugar daddy and retire to the Bahamas. With his looks, it was possible. He was beautiful and all the johns loved his mocha colored skin and gray-green eyes, framed by impossibly long eyelashes. Adding to his exotic air was a head of curly hair the color of old copper and a sprinkle of cinnamon freckles on his cheeks. So far, though, the closest his good looks had gotten him to the Bahamas was the poster at the travel agency a few blocks away.

Michael approached them. "Hey, Carl. What's up? Why are you giving JC a hard time? They run out of murders for you to solve?"

Detective Horvath turned around and smiled at the familiar voice. "Vinnie! Long time, no see. Why don't you talk some sense into this kid? He's wasting away out here."

Michael looked the boy over more carefully. The slim red-headed boy looked thinner than usual, but not by much. Several of the kinder residents on this block tried to feed the boy every chance they got. Many of Debbie's care packages had come in handy to fill the bottomless pit of the teenager's stomach. He would make enough money to get by, except that most of it went to his pimp.

"You want something to eat?" Michael offered.

JC shifted from one foot to the other while he decided between making some cash and taking a free meal. His hunger won out. "Sure, I want a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake."

Michael looked at Carl. "You wanna join us?"

"No, thanks. I was actually on my way to work when I saw Baby Bear here trying to hustle a nasty character."

"Hello! I'm standing right here! Don't talk about me like I'm invisible. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, right. The last kid who was picked up by that john, 'handled' himself into four weeks of traction. The surgeons managed to put all the broken bones together, but he's never been the same since."

Michael nodded in agreement. Anyone who'd been here long enough knew about Shadow. He had come from somewhere out West and, before anyone even knew who he was, he'd been attacked and left for dead. He barely spoke to anyone or looked anyone in the eye, moving around like one of his namesakes. "Let's go, JC, before I change my mind." They said goodbye to Horvath and began walking.

"Don't tease, Mama Bear. I'm a growing boy. I need the calories."

"Don't call me that. You should be off the streets so you can let someone who cares about you stuff you with food and give you advice you won't listen to."

JC broke out in a rare smile and threw his arm around Michael's shoulders. "That's what I have you for. I don't need my real mother. She's a lost cause anyway." They had already talked about his mother who was a drunk and who had paraded a series of 'uncles' into JC's life. A few of the surrogate fathers had been okay, but many had been after what little money JC's mother possessed or after JC himself. When his mother had blamed her own son for trying to break up one of her countless, short-term relationships, JC had high-tailed it out of there, leaving her and the wanna-be pedophile in drunken bliss together.

"Why don't you just adopt me? You, Nick, and me could be one big happy family," added JC, only half-kidding.

"I tried to get you to move in with me. I could have gotten you a job at the Big..."

"Please! Don't even mention that dump where you slave away. As broke as I am, I still wouldn't work OR shop there."

"It's really not that bad. The pay is okay and the hours are good."

"I'd have to wear one of those tacky red jackets." JC shuddered in horror. "What a nightmare." The boy might be poor, but he wore his clothes with flair.

"Shut up. We're here."

The two young men entered the fast food restaurant and placed their orders. When they were seated, JC dove in and practically inhaled his food. Michael surreptitiously pushed most of his fries over to JC's side of the tray. They ate in silence and when they were done, the younger man sighed and leaned back with satisfaction. "I really needed that. Thanks, Mama Bear."

"Don't call me that," replied Michael, automatically.

"But why not? JC reached across and patted Michael's cheek lightly. "You act like one--always watching out for me and trying to feed me." He looked at Michael with sharp eyes. "You could look more like a bear with a little more facial hair and--"

"No. I don't want to."

"That's okay. I was just inspired by all that fuzz on your face." JC stroked the soft hair on Michael's chin with one finger. "When the hell are you gonna scrape this shit off?"

"Maybe never. I think it makes me look older...more dangerous."

JC burst out in guffaws. "Dangerous? Even if you grow hair over every inch over your body, you'll still be a pussycat. Shadow could probably kick more ass than you."

Michael drew himself up with wounded dignity. "I'll have you know that underneath these slim arms--"

"Skinny."

"...underneath these SLIM arms, lie muscles with the strength of steel."

"You're legs are skinny, too."

"No they're not. My thighs are too big, actually."

"Not like anyone could tell under those parachute pants. Whatcha hiding under there?" aked JC with a twinkle in his eye.

"I wear what I wear because it's comfortable. I like the baggy pants, okay?"

JC glanced under the table. "THOSE pants are pretty nice. You should wear skimpy shorts more often."

"It was only for the party at Babylon."

"Oh shit! You went to the Independence Day Party? I almost forgot! Was it good?"

"It was all right. Some of the crowd was lame, so I left early."

"Too bad. Next year I'm gonna save up so I can go to all those parties."

JC was always making plans which never happened, thought Michael sadly. Maybe he would put some cash aside so he could take the kid out to some of the more popular bashes. Right now, though, he was beat. "Do you want to crash at my place, JC? My air conditioner is working."

JC looked tempted, but still refused. "I have to go back out there before the Duke sends Ecks to kick my ass."

Michael tensed at the mention of the pimp and his enforcer. The Duke practically owned the teenager and most of the people working this corner of town. Someday, Michael promised himself. Someday, when I get enough money, I'm going to take him so far away that people like the Duke won't even know where to look.

"Let's go. I'll walk you back."

"You gonna protect me from all the bad guys, Mama Bear?"

"No, Baby Bear. I'm going to protect them all from you."

After Michael had walked JC back to the corner, he continued to his apartment. The old building didn't look as shabby in the dark. The occasional burst of fireworks from the nearby park lit the windows in a rainbow of colors, capturing Michael's fancy for a moment. The flash of crystalline beauty evaporated and only the grim, dark bricks and glass remained. He entered and ran up the four flights of stairs. He was about to put the key in the lock when he noticed the dingy glow of lamp light from under the door. He could hear a voice talking. God, it was Nick waiting to chew him out. He opened the door and was immediately bombarded.

Nick slammed the phone down. "Where the fuck have you been? I've been worried sick! No one knew were you were! I thought I was going to have to start calling morgues and hospitals and the police." Nick's hair stood on end as if he had been running his hands through it.

Michael absorbed the attack casually. "I took a walk and I treated JC to dinner. Then, I came home."

"You could have called me or told me before you ran out like the cops were chasing you. Why the fuck were you so upset?" Nick's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What did that guy do to you? If he hurt you--"

"Calm down. He didn't hurt me. He surprised me is all. I don't like it when Vincent and Michael intersect."

"Huh?"

"It's what you suggested. When I'm working, be Vincent. When I'm not, be Michael and put Vincent away."

"I was talking about myself."

Michael started pacing, but the small efficiency apartment didn't allow him much room to maneuver. "Well, I tried it anyway. It even works most of the time. But tonight he was there and I was Michael and he tried to make me into Vincent. I can't be both at the same time, you know? I can't!" He stopped in his tracks. "I think I need to leave town."

"What the fuck? Some asshole tries to pick you up and you lose your marbles? You're the one who needs to calm down."

"I'm serious, Nicky. I've been thinking about this for a while. If you and I pooled our money, we could have enough to leave this town and move somewhere safe. And JC would come along too."

"JC? Will you listen to yourself?" Nick sat on Michael's bed. "That asshole--"

"Brian."

"...that asshole, Brian, may not have fucked your ass, but he sure fucked with your head."

"This has nothing to do with him."

"Do you really believe that or do you think that my IQ dropped to single digits in the last few hours?"

"Nicky--"

"Don't Nicky me. What did he offer you besides a ride home? Did he threaten you?"

"He said nothing!"

"Then why the sudden relocation plans? What about your mom and your uncle? Did you think about them and what they'll say? Is someone after you because that's the only thing that would make sense?"

Michael's frantic pacing came to an abrupt hall. He sank to the floor at Nick's feet and leaned his head against Nick's knee. "He wanted to dance with me."

"I hate to break it to you, babe, but you WERE at a dance club." Nick ran his fingers through Michael's hair, massaging the scalp with gentle fingers. "No reason to freak out."

"I refused and he offered to pay me."

"Well, maybe he was desperate."

"Desperate!" Michael snorted. "Did you see him? Of course you did. Unlike me, you actually fucked him."

"Technically speaking, he fucked me."

"Same difference. The point is that you've seen how hot he is. Guys were throwing themselves at him. And he's rich--really rich."

"Maybe you should just go along for the ride. Let him help you out. You can always dump him when you get tired of it."

"I can't do that."

"Why not? You like him or something?"

Michael stopped his rumination and looked up at Nick with alarm. "What? Like him? No, I don't."

"Bullshit. You like him. It's 'cause he didn't fuck you, isn't it? Despite what I said earlier, I hope you don't read too much into that because he's no Prince Charming, babe. He's just another jerk with too much money, who wants to ream your ass and forget about you."

Michael shoved away from Nick's knee and leaned against the bed. "Thanks. That makes me feel so much better. Remind me to come back to you when I need a kick in the head."

Nick slid off the bed and onto the floor next to Michael. He looped his arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "I'm only looking out for you. Guys like...what's his name?"

"Brian. Brian Kinney."

Nick's jaw dropped in surprise. "THE Brian Kinney? Holy crap, dude! You may be in the Pennsylvania big leagues. The really the famous one?"

"I looked it up in one of my mother's old magazines. It's him all right."

"I heard he was straight, but I guess we know better, eh? And he wants YOU?" said Nick incredulously.

"Fuck you. I'm hot enough for anyone."

"Of course you are. I didn't mean it that way." Nick kissed Michael on the temple. "You're practically on fire." He smiled. "Stop pouting. You know I don't want to share you."

"It's just a job, remember?"

"Yeah. I know." Nick pressed his lips to Michael's cheek again and held them there while he breathed in the scent of Michael. He could feel Michael's heart beating beneath the tee-shirt, against his arm. "You know me and how I get jealous when they mess with you," he murmured against Michael's face.

"Nick--"

"Don't say anything okay? Just enjoy the fireworks and pretend this crap doesn't exist for a while."

Michael let Nick pull him onto his lap and they sat there for a time, wrapped together and listening to the boom and crackle of the fireworks outside.

Michael walked into his mother's house, accompanied by Nick. It was overflowing with people and the party was going at full swing. After they had mingled for a while, Michael became aware that one of the strangers, a tall man with hooded eyes seemed to follow his every move. The watcher's stare became more and more intense until Michael had to escape.

He found Nick and together they went outside to the backyard. The normally square plot of green grass, scraggly bushes, and hardy flowers had been supplanted by a large, above-ground pool. They climbed in and played around in the cool water. Off to the side, Michael saw a redheaded boy playing alone.

Michael told Nick that he wanted to climb out of the pool and keep the boy company, but as he neared the ladder, the water began to rise. He tried to jump with the swell and keep his head above water, but it rose too quickly. It closed above his head and surrounded him with a sea of green, murky liquid. He tried to hold his breath, but very soon his chest ached with the effort. The world started to dim. He began to struggle...

"Open you eyes!" said Nick frantically, shaking Michael by the shoulders. "You're having another nightmare!...Breathe, Michael...Michael?...Michael!"

Next