Nick of Time     Nick of Time

 by Riley Cannon

  

Nick of Time
 Author: Riley Cannon
 Subject: B/K, Genevieve, AU; rated NC-17 for m/m loving Posted to: TS,
TSXF
 Feedback: Yes, on list or private at silverheels17@yahoo.com Archive: Yes
 Disclaimers/warnings: Tom Fontana and HBO own them, I'm only borrowing
them for non-profit angst and smut. Warnings... Okay, this might have a
teensy bit of an edgier note than usual, I'm a lousy judge of that, but
most of the usual stuff is present as well. It also contains a few
Hollywood clichs, the kind gleaned from watching Jackie Collins mini
series. Not that I have, of course, ever done such a thing. ;) Summary:
Suppose one day in the spring of 1997, Toby got behind the wheel of his
expensive car and took a different route, one that did not lead to either
a girl named Kathy Rockwell or a place called Oz. Suppose further that
Chris, while no innocent angel, had also taken a different turn that
didn't include any murders. And then suppose that fate once more goes and
smacks into destiny... Dedicated to Danielle, on her natal day; supplier
of endless wonderful ideas for Come in from the Rain, possessor of vast
musical knowledge, unflagging supporter of the B/K boys, Red Sox fan
extraordinaire, and all around really peachy person. g 

Beta'd by Mav - thanks for the fabulous job.  Part One 
 -1997- 

Standing in the Nevada desert, Toby tracked a shooting star across the
vast night sky, feeling that immensity but not overwhelmed by it. It was
closer to a soft and quiet Zen moment, knowing he was a part of all that.
That was new concept for him and he thought it was one he could come to
enjoy. You never saw the sky like that back home, not all of those stars
filling it up. Even back there in Vegas you didn't stop to notice. How
could the Big Dipper up there hope to compete with all the bright and
gaudy splendor back there in the city? 

He felt the desert chill and shivered, zipping up his leather jacket. His
borrowed leather jacket, black as that sky and comfortably broken in. If
his teeth kept chattering, it was less to do with the crispness of the air
than with the keyed up excitement of being pulled over at this road stop
on the way to nowhere in particular. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, boots crunching on the gravel, and heat
seeped into him as a hard and solid body pressed against his back. Arms
looped around his waist, lips brushed the nape of his neck and nuzzled his
ear, low voice rumbling, "Didja make a wish, Toby?" 

He shivered again, that voice saying his name in a way that sent a sharp
thrill of pleasure straight to his groin. Those twitches of interest did
not go unnoticed, long fingers stroking through his jeans. Had he made a
wish? Oh, yes, he had. And as he sighed and leaned back into Chris Keller
he could feel it already starting to come true.  

~a week ago~ 

Poolside, stretched out in the sun and feeling it warming his pale skin,
Toby made a face at the tall glass of ice tea at his elbow. His expression
was about as sour as the slice of lemon wedged on the rim. He didn't want
an ice tea, not unless it was of the Long Island variety. Promises had
been made, though, and he would like to think he could keep them longer
than twenty-four hours. Although he suspected that would not be one of the
surer bets anyone could make in this city. 

Toby sighed and got more comfortable on the lounge, smiling back and
waving as Genevieve climbed out of the pool. She picked up a towel, drying
her hair, hoping she had his attention. That's what the black bikini was
for, daring for her if fairly modest for anyone else. It did look good on
her, her figure back after three babies. He watched her dive back into the
water and wondered if her bright optimism was real or for show. God knew
his own was phonier than the tits on that bleached blonde over there. 

Shifting around again, Toby wondered if he needed more sunscreen as he
watched the woman's companion apply some more to her well-pampered flesh.
She had the look of someone whose face vaguely rang a bell but he couldn't
pin it down. Besides, gaze hidden by the lenses of his sunglasses, he
found himself far more inclined to study her companion - her much younger
and far more eye-catching companion. Toby found the tube of sunscreen and
squeezed some lotion into his palm, slowly rubbing it over his throat and
chest as he continued to watch the other man. Standing over there in a
pair of navy blue swim trunks, tall and tan and with so much lean and
muscular flesh on display, there was definitely a lot to admire. 

As if sensing his stare, the handsome, aquiline profile swung his way and
revealed a pair of crystal blue eyes that Toby could swear held a glint of
amused interest. One might suppose being admired was only a matter of
course for this man. What else to make of that slight tilt of the head, a
hint of a smirk and wink sent his way? Unaccountably flustered, Toby
grabbed up the magazine Gen had abandoned and tried to pretend he was
fascinated by People's latest dirt on the British royals. All the while he
was following the movements of the other man, absorbed with that easy
grace, his attention caught by a tattoo on a beautifully toned upper arm,
a Cubist crucifixion drawn in black ink. 

Toby watched him stretch out beside the peroxide blonde, insanely
wondering for a flash how the guy might prefer a real blond. The dark
head, hair cropped short, moved closer to the woman as if whispering sweet
nothings in her ear, and the jolt of jealousy Toby felt at that was even
more bizarrely inexplicable. With an audible huff, he focused on the
magazine, only looking up again as Genevieve joined him. He smiled at her,
reminding himself the whole point of this vacation was to salvage their
marriage. That was not going to happen with him wandering any further
afield from the straight and narrow bridal path. 

Put all the emphasis on straight, and underscore it twice.  

Chris slanted a look over at the blond, sunlight glinting off the golden
hair, and watched a bikini-clad brunette go over to join him. He would
have pegged them for newlyweds but they looked too uncomfortable for this
to be their honeymoon. She was good looking but just a shade too
self-conscious about it, checking too often to make sure she had hubby's
undivided attention. It made him think the hair and figure, the new bikini
to show it off, toenails painted candy apple red, were all part of some
Cosmo Girl makeover after ten years of marriage and two point however many
kids. She was probably imagining those and a few other tricks - "How to
Give Him a Blowjob He'll Never Forget" - would win back hubby's wandering
eye. Chris wished her luck, but if the way hubby had been eyeballing him
was anything to go by he had a hunch the deck was stacked against her. 

Too bad, they'd probably made a cute couple on their wedding day, looking
like they had stepped right down from the cake. Just like him and Kitty,
back in the day; they hadn't even lasted long enough for one of the
2.whatever kids, though. 

He sighed, stretching out in the sun, loving its heat. He turned his head,
watching Ken and Barbie head back inside and scored the guy an A for
effort at least, as he slung an arm around her waist. If his back and
shoulders were any stiffer, though, they would have to be carved out of
stone. 

Really fine back and shoulders, however, and the ass shown off in pale
blue trunks would also be worth writing home about. 

Beside him, Amanda's voice grated, yanking him back to reality.
"Christopher, why didn't you tell me what time it was?" she said, like it
was him wearing the dainty gold wristwatch instead of her. "I'm missing my
soap." 

"Yeah, and that'd be some kinda cataclysm." 

Her pale green eyes had a sharp glint as she looked at him, careful not to
let it turn into a frown. Mustn't ruin the facelift, after all, the best
her movie producer ex-husband's money could buy. Of course that money was
also paying for him so a person might think he didn't have a lot of room
for snarking. Odds were she was only trying to figure out what cataclysm
meant, anyway. 

As Chris gathered up her things and trailed after her back into the dimmed
and air-conditioned luxury of the hotel, he found himself wishing he could
roll the clock back about twenty years because even back then he must have
had a few better options than this.  

Caught up with all the drama going on at home - no, his mother assured
him, the children were not being any trouble, well, not if you didn't
count Gary holding Heidi the hamster hostage until Holly surrendered his
Pokemon cards, or Harry using the walls to draw on - Toby handed the phone
to Gen and finished dressing. Nothing fancy tonight, thank God, the black
polo and khakis would do, and he ran a comb through his hair as he
listened to Gen chattering away. He patted his stomach and sucked it in,
wondering what it would take to get abs like Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yeah I'm
Sexy down at the pool. 

Best not to dwell on that really, he concluded and called over to Gen,
"See you downstairs." 

"At the slot machines?" She had her hand over the receiver, like she
didn't want Victoria to know. 

He nodded back at her, smiling, remembering why he had fallen in love with
her for just a second there. Unable to hang onto it any longer, he forced
out another smile, put on his glasses and headed out, tuning out the other
people crowded into the elevator with him - although it was on the tip of
his tongue to suggest the middle-aged woman, pocketbook digging into his
ribs, might want to tone down the perfume a shade. 

He managed to keep his mouth shut, though, and separate from the others in
the casino, making his way to the slot machines, all he and Gen knew how
to play. Well, he had played some poker in college but had never learned
to be any good at it. For a second he stood there and toyed with the idea
of venturing over into the more exotic realms of roulette or blackjack.
His bank account wouldn't mind losing, but his ego might, so his brief
flirtation with that walk on the wild side fizzled out and he picked out a
row of safe and easy slots, an older couple just leaving with a bucketful
of loot. 

Picking out a machine by the scientific method of eeny, meeny, miney, moe,
Toby stuck a coin in a slot, pulled the handle, and watched two cherries
and a lemon come up. There was a hypnotic rhythm to the action,
encouraging him to zone out, thoughts turning over and over like the
tumblers in the machine, random images popping into his head, all of them
connecting up in a neat and linear sequence in the depths of his psyche.
Billy lingering in his office with that file on the Morganstern case,
leaning over his shoulder to point out the information he'd dug up for
Toby, breath hot against Toby's cheek. Arriving two hours late at the
restaurant, the maitre d' telling him Genevieve had waited more than an
hour before going home; the maitre d's censuring gaze letting him know
that was no way to mark an anniversary; finally getting home hours later,
drunk and apologetic, begging to be forgiven as Gary and Holly peeked down
through the staircase railing. The police car pulling him over, the
officer telling him to hold his arms out to his side, close his eyes, and
touch his nose - how he hadn't even come close to managing that; being
arrested and booked for DUI, unable to dispute the video taped evidence,
but slapped on the wrist and only made to promise to not let it happen
again. Billy handing him the aspirin, rubbing his shoulders, asking if
he'd like to go grab a bite later. Everybody watching him after the second
arrest, hovering, smothering, bleeding their anxiety all over him -
everyone but Billy. Billy saying not to let it get him down, and how about
grabbing another bite, and would Toby like to come up for a drink? Calling
Angus from a bar, please come pick him up, Angus worried and disgusted at
him getting sick in the car. Genevieve, tearful, betrayed, both of them
shouting - Gen flinching away from him as his anger and frustration boiled
over, the glass front of the china cabinet shattering under his fist,
cutting him; the kids, faces frightened, huddled over on the stairs, and
he never knew what else he might have done if he hadn't caught that
glimpse of them. Billy ... Billy tugging him down to the sofa, Billy
kneeling between his legs and opening his pants, Billy's face buried in
his crotch, looking down and watching Billy suck his cock - 

He shook his head to clear it and yanked himself back to the here and now,
the slot machine spewing out a flood of coins, as if rewarding him for
acknowledging he was a hopeless fuck up. 

He sighed and scooped the coins into the plastic cup beside the machine,
considering what machine to try next, reminding himself all the
complimentary drinks were probably watered down anyway, wondering what was
keeping Gen - and turning to see him standing there, watching ...
assessing. Not Billy, oh no, so far beyond Billy's league as to be from
another species altogether. Billy had been sweet and needy and eager to
please, almost hero-worshipping him for reasons beyond any comprehension.
And safe, safe, safe. 

Him, though, standing there in tight black leather pants, and a
short-sleeved white cotton shirt with hardly any of its front buttons
fastened - safe was not remotely any word that sprang to mind. Exciting
did, though. Hot did. Christ, I'd like to peel him out of those pants. --
yeah, that did, too. 

Oh man. 

Not to mention, why was that guy looking him over like Tobias Beecher
might be his idea of a choice and tasty morsel? 

"Ah," Toby nervously fiddled with the plastic cup, the coins clanking,
"did you, umm, want something?" 

Mouth curved in a generous smile, blue eyes glinting just the way Toby bet
a tiger's would right before it snarfed its prey, the guy said, "I don't
know." Those eyes ran over him, head to toe, conveying more of an erotic
sizzle than Toby could ever remember feeling. He moved in closer, invading
Toby's space like some force of nature that couldn't be contained, so that
all Toby could see or hear or smell was him. "Whatcha got?" he purred,
low, the words almost vibrating against his skin. 

"Ah, I," Toby licked dry lips, torn between calling for help and going
with the flow, "if you want the money--" 

"I got money." 

"Well--" Breath was warm against his cheek and he could barely catch his
own. "What...then?" 

Fingers, long, tapered, almost touched his face, that smile even more
seductive, the eyes thoughtful. "You," he said, just that simply, touching
him this time, index finger tapping his bottom lip, rubbing. 

Oh Christ. 

"Toby? Toby where are you?" 

He latched onto Genevieve's voice like a lifeline. "That's my wife. I have
to...to go to her." 

Still smiling, still so goddamn close Toby could feel his body heat,
almost feel his pulse, he said, "Somethin' stopping you ... Toby?" 

He shivered despite the heat, just the way he said his name doing ...
something to him, something that made the hair on his arms stand up and
his belly flip over. He swallowed and pushed past him, that brief brush of
their bodies electrifying him, almost running into Gen in the process. 

"Toby, are you all right?" she said, giving him a worried look. "You're
flushed," she said again, touching his forehead as if checking his
temperature. 

"I'm fine," he insisted, still breathless, still unbearably aware of the
other man. "Let's get out of here, get outside for a while," he said,
setting his plastic cup of coins down, taking her hand and almost dragging
her towards the doors, not really feeling safe even then, out on the
street with the crush of people and the lights of the Strip all around
them. 

*Jesus fucking Christ - what the *hell* had that been about.*  

Stretched out on the bed and bored out of his mind as he surfed the tube,
Chris looked over with a meager scrap of interest as Amanda flounced back
into the bedroom and began pulling drawers open. "What's up?" 

"Hah! Not my goddamned ex, I can tell you that," she informed him, hauling
suitcases out of the closet now. "That was Arnie, he says Charlie's in the
ICU, keeled over from a heart attack that he supposedly had when he was
playing tennis but Arnie says it's more likely it was from fucking that
little bitch whore of his!" She emphasized each point by slamming clothes
and cosmetics in the suitcases. 

Fortunately Chris had a scorecard by now to keep track of all the
characters in Amanda's real life soap opera; Arnie was the Beverly Hills
lawyer who had taken her ex, that would be Charlie, to the cleaners, when
Amanda found out he was screwing his latest star - that would be the
current Mrs. Sherowski. The pitiful thing was Chris had actually been
really interested in that drama a little while ago, back when he was
scouting it out for its Ponzi potential. 

"You flyin' back to L.A.?" he said, scootching up against the piles of
pillows heaped on the bed. 

"Have to protect my interests," she said, stuffing another suitcase full.
"My tits and ass made that man and nobody better forget it." 

Chris thought he'd put money on her taking down the current Mrs. Sherowski
if it came to that. "Should I pack?" 

She reached over to run a hand along his leather-clad thigh, squeezing his
crotch. "No, sugar, you stay right here while I go put on a show." 

He pulled up a smile that he knew never betrayed one ounce of what he was
really feeling as she fondled him. Sometimes he worried that he'd gotten
so good at hiding what was really going on inside. Sometimes he worried
that tight control was going to slip and get him into a shitload of
trouble. 

"And you'll stay out of trouble?" she said, squeezing again. 

"Sure," he said, voice as mild as his smile. "I'll go sing in the choir." 

"You do that," she said absently, going back to her packing. "Although
where you're going to find a church in this town..." 

He tuned her out, resting against the pillows as she finished up and swept
out, already rehearsing her act. When he heard the suite's outer door slam
shut, Chris slid down to lay flat on the mattress and stare up at the
ceiling, frustrated at the pointlessness of his life and hating every
minute of it. 

So - this was it, this was what he had to look forward to for all the long
years stretching out before him? Oh, yeah, there was a happy thought all
right. One more Ponzi, keep ahead of the cops, trade his body for some
cold, hard cash until the next con came along -- the future didn't come
any brighter than that. He sighed, one arm laid over his eyes, wanting to
zone out, wanting to get off the goddamn ride. 

Had there been some moment in the past where he'd had other chances, when
he could've walked down a whole different road? A time when he really had
wanted to be something when he grew up? He couldn't remember now. And what
did it matter anyway? 

He sighed again and sat up, pulling on his boots. He needed to get out of
here, do ... something, anything but stay here, trapped inside his head.
Mostly he needed to not be here when Amanda got back because he couldn't
take much more of that. First sign the bloom'd gone of the rose: when you
looked at someone and wished to Christ they would just drop dead on the
spot. 

Well, hooking up with her had been a desperation move when the Ponzi had
fallen through - fallen through because his partners in crime had left him
high and dry. Not that Ronnie'd had a lot of choice, Chris admitted, an
ironic smile quirking his mouth as he stepped into an elevator. He
broadened the smile and put some menace in it, the older couple backing
further away and the 20-something girls looking scared - but still eating
him up with their eyes. Long as they all gave him some space, he didn't
care. He folded his arms over his chest as the elevator headed down to the
lobby, thinking about the last time he'd seen Ronnie, handcuffed and
getting shoved into the backseat of a patrol car, picked up on an
outstanding warrant for a robbery back east. Nothing Chris or Angie could
have done to help him. And Angie - yeah, Chris was going to nurse a grudge
over that for a while yet, mostly because he'd thought she had more brains
than to get suckered like that. Freelance photography boy was going to
make her a star? Sure, that was gonna happen. And Chris even hoped he was
wrong, but the vibes he'd picked up from Marco told him the guy was just
another kind of grifter and Angelique's only claim to fame was going to be
getting plastered across the pages of some skin mag. What could you do
when somebody'd got stardust in their eyes, though? And, fuck, maybe Angie
was right and he was just a cynical bastard pissing on everyone else's
parade. 

Maybe if he'd had a few dreams, once upon a time, he'd be some other
place, living a better life. It was pretty to think so, anyway. 

The elevator stopped and he got out, aware of attracting more interested
looks as he walked through the casino, amused by the looks - and a little
pissed off, too. No, skintight leather pants were not what you wore if you
were feeling shy and demure and didn't want to be noticed, but why
couldn't anyone ever look at him and see there was more going on? 

Oh, yeah, `cause there wasn't. He was always forgetting that. 

And now he was here ... he still wanted to be somewhere else. None of the
games interested him; gambling was for suckers, his old man had always
told him, and Christ knew if there was one thing Jake Keller had been an
authority on, it had been on how to part those suckers from their cash. He
walked on, headed towards the doors, pulling up as he spotted Golden Boy
again, over at one of the slots, stuffing in coins and pulling the handle.
He lingered there, looking the guy over again, wondering what Golden Boy
would look like out of the preppie uniform and into his own pair of
leather pants. Or just flat out naked. Head tilted, Chris licked his lips,
eyes raking him up and down, not at all sure which image he liked best. 

Golden Boy turned then, spotting him and looking startled, looking ...
yeah, pretty intrigued, too. "Ah, did you want something?" he said, a cute
stammer in his voice that went with the scared rabbit look. What turned
Chris on, though, was the glint of fire he'd seen for just a second in
those light blue eyes. 

Chris smiled, not masking how the blond was making him hungry, and moved
in closer. "I don't know," he said. "Whatcha got?" He was close enough to
sniff him, catching a whiff of aftershave, something light, just a trace
of spice. 

"Ah, I," Golden Boy licked his lips, swallowed, still not bolting, "if you
want the money..." He offered the cup of coins he'd won from the machine. 

"I got money." Some of it was even his own - more or less. 

"Well..." 

Chris leaned in closer, his breath puffing against Golden Boy's cheek. He
reached out, fingers within a millimeter of touching skin. He smiled,
watching those eyes get big, watching those wide, thin lips part, the pink
tip of a tongue showing. "You," he said, touching him this time, index
finger tapping his lower lip, rubbing it, wanting that tongue in his own
mouth. 

Ah, fuck. 

"Toby! Toby, where are you?" some woman called out and Golden Boy - Toby?
- gave a start, saying, "That's my wife. I have to... to go to her." 

Yeah, and Chris could see he was all fired up to do that. "Somethin'
stopping you ... Toby?" 

Looking scared, looking excited, Toby pushed past him, letting their
bodies brush for an instant even though there was plenty of room,
practically running down the pretty brunette. Chris hung back, watching
wifey fuss and coo, watching Toby throw an anxious look back at him and
grab her by the hand, hauling her out of there. 

Chris smiled, watching them go, way too tempted to chase him down. That
tiny glimpse of fire - Chris wanted to see that again, wanted to feel that
fire, wanted to risk going up in flames. 

He shook his head, looking around quickly, suddenly feeling too exposed,
like anyone could look at him and know what he was feeling. He did push on
to the doors then, filling his lungs with the hot, dry air as he got
outside, the gaudy bright lights of the Strip shining all around him. He
waved down a taxi, climbing into the backseat and asking the driver if EZ
Riders was still in business and to take him there if it was. Slumping
down in the seat as the taxi wove its way through traffic, Chris looked
out the window, watching the lights, watching the people, wondering how
you could feel so alone in a crowd like that.  

"Toby," Genevieve squirmed uncomfortably as Toby pressed her against the
wall, "someone could see." 

"No one will see," he reassured her, his body still thrumming with the
excitement of the encounter back there in the hotel. He rubbed against
her, kissing her neck, burying a hand in her hair and trying to turn her
face to him so he could kiss her mouth. 

Stiff and unyielding, though, Genevieve kept her head turned away, the
tension in her body increasing with every caress. When Toby ran a hand up
her leg, hiking up her skirt, she whimpered - but not with pleasure.
"Toby, please -- don't." 

He braced both hands against the warm concrete wall, still pressed against
her but hopeless defeat killing any arousal. "Gen, I'm just trying to make
this work." 

"By treating me like a whore?" she demanded, voice clogged with bitter
tears. "Is that what you do with your whore?" she went on, betrayal and
hurt in every word. "Does she make you feel good when she's on her knees
in some filthy alley?" 

He let out a deep breath and stepped back, fighting to keep a lid on his
guilt-fueled frustration. "I thought the idea was to add some spice to our
marriage." 

"Maybe you'd like a lap dance, too," Gen snapped back, straightening her
skirt. 

"Yeah," Toby said, the agitation boiling over now, "I won't hold my
breath." He ran his hands back through his hair, not sure how much longer
he could keep going on with this sham, keep up this bland and polite
faade. All he wanted was some passion, some fire and excitement - to feel
the kind of thrill he'd gotten, cornered back there in the casino, dark
blues eyes caressing him and making him feel desirable. Genevieve's eyes,
hurt and resentful, only made him feel like a selfish jerk. 

This wasn't going to work, he could see that with startling clarity. The
only real question was which of them would be the first to admit it out
loud, pronounce their marriage dead past any hope of resuscitation. Hell,
his parents still hadn't done that after more than thirty years. 

He walked back out to the bright lights, hearing Gen's footsteps behind
him a few seconds later. "Go back to the hotel," he said, waving down a
cab and holding the door for her. 

"And where are you going?" 

"Do you care, as long as it doesn't get in the papers?" 

That got a reaction, anger heating her eyes and making her beautiful,
making him want her. Making him hurt because those flashes of anger, when
she was close to hating him, were the only times she was filled with life
and passion now. "Do what you want to," she said, getting into the cab.
"It's what you're best at. She jerked the door out of his hand, slamming
it shut. 

Good - Toby watched the cab's taillights disappear into the traffic, glad
of her anger, her humiliation. That could be enough to force her hand,
make her ready to call it quits. You know, unless he found the balls to do
it himself. 

He sighed, strolling along, feeling the heat, none of the neon glitter
appealing to him right now. He stopped another cab and climbed in,
remembering what he'd read in a guide to visiting Las Vegas, how it had
appeared that certain establishments were clustered together in one area.
"You know Paradise Road?" 

The driver looked back at him. "Sure. Anywhere in particular?" 

"Any suggestions?" 

"Well," the driver pulled back out into the stream of traffic, "depends if
you want booze and girls, or booze and guys." 

Toby thought about it, thought about a hard, sculpted body and tight
leather pants. "Booze and guys," he said. "Make it somewhere dark and
quiet, though." 

"Got just the place," the driver assured him, driving on, turning off the
strip.	

He walked into the club, not much too look at on the outside, but
everything he wanted right now - lights turned low, ceiling fans
circulating cigarette smoke, an in-house blues band playing something up
tempo. Tables and booths, and a long bar, plenty of people but not crowded
to the point of suffocation. Toby went up to the bar and leaned against
it, ordering a beer, nodding as a bottle was set down on a napkin before
him. He curled his hand around the cold glass, sliding up and down along
the neck for a moment before he turned to look around some more, fighting
to ignore the call of the beer, the tempting sound of bottles and glasses,
liquid pouring. 

His gaze traveled along the booths, back to where a pool table was set up
- and he sucked in his breath as he saw him again. His back was turned,
but that was hardly any deterrent to identification, not with that ass
encased in smooth black leather. Toby watched him, hunger stirring in his
belly as strong as the desire to drink; watched him lean over the table
and make a shot, annoyed at the way others were ogling, wanting that to be
his exclusive privilege. 

Angry at himself, he turned back to face the bar, curling his fingers
around the bottle again but still not raising it to drink. It's so easy,
Tobias, just pick it up and swallow, you'll feel alllll better then. He
closed his eyes, fingers gliding up and down the long neck, thumb circling
the rim, something sensuous in the feel of the cold, smooth glass. 

"Looks like the bottle's havin' a good time anyway," that voice purred in
his ear. 

Toby didn't jump. He just turned his head to look at him, to watch him
take the bottle from him and raise it, put it to his lips and tip it back,
the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed. The bottle was put back
down, that same tempting, teasing smile back as the band started on
another song, the beat slow and sexy this time. 

"C'mere," he was told, long fingers grasping his hand and tugging him out
onto the small dance floor, pulling him close as they moved in time to
that beat. 

Oh man. Toby wrapped his arms around the other man, rubbing up and down
the powerful back, unable to resist temptation as he ran a hand over that
ass, feeling nothing but the smooth, warm leather. No underwear. He
smiled, burrowing closer. "Aren't these hot?" 

"I don't know, Toby - you tell me." 

Bastard. Gorgeous, sexy bastard. Toby slid the other hand up to cup the
nape of his neck, pulling at the short, dark hair. "What's your name?" He
needed a name, he didn't want this to be an anonymous encounter. 

"Chris," lips grazed along Toby's jaw, "Chris Keller." 

Chris... He nodded, cradling the back of his head and drawing him in,
kissing his mouth and tasting a trace of the beer, tasting desire as hot
as his own. 

<><>*<><> 

Part Two 
 "What's your name?" Golden Boy murmured, like it really mattered, and
Chris soaked up the way Toby was touching him, pressed really close and
with a hand cupped around the back of his neck, rubbing his hair. 

"Chris," he whispered back, lips ghosting along Toby's smooth jaw. "Chris
Keller," he repeated as Toby pulled him in for a kiss, slow and deep,
tasting him. He opened his mouth wider, flicking his tongue against Toby's
and breathing hard with the excitement of the kiss, hands buried in silky
blond hair to make the it even deeper. When the need to breathe forced him
to come up, he wrapped his arms tight around Toby and nuzzled into his
neck as they moved to their own rhythm. 

The music was hot and slow and sexy and it didn't feel like anything was
letting up as the band finished their set and took a break. Chris snagged
the beer bottle with one hand and Toby with the other, and tugged him
along toward the back of the establishment. "Let's get some air," he said,
leading him out into the courtyard. 

There was a picnic table out there over by the wall, benches on either
side, a patch of grass vying with the concrete, and insects buzzing around
the light over the door in the hot, dry air. Toby looked around at it all,
made a face at an empty condom packet dropped by the table and flicked it
over into the trashcan before settling down on the bench. "Not a lot
cooler out here," he said. 

Chris parked his butt on the table facing him, legs braced to either side
of him on the bench. "Yeah, well, you'd melt the ice in Alaska," he told
him, just to see his reaction. 

"Uh-huh," Toby shot him a skeptical look that said Chris was going to have
to do better than that, "and does that line actually work?" 

"Been known to." Chris smiled, hungry for him, wanting another kiss, and
not so sure it had only been a cheesy line this time. He took another swig
from the bottle, handed it over and watched Toby give it a long and
serious look before tilting it back and filling his mouth. Chris barely
waited for him to swallow before he swooped in for another kiss, tasting
the beer still cool in his mouth, hands cradling Toby's head as the kiss
got hotter, making his cock ache. 

Lack of oxygen forced them apart once more and Chris sat back, retrieving
the bottle for another mouthful as Toby's hands stroked along his thighs,
liking the feel of the leather, liking a whole lot more than that judging
by the way he scooted closer. Even so, Chris was taken by surprise as Toby
bent his head and rubbed his cheek along one thigh - and a jolt of sweet,
scorching pleasure went right through him as he watched Toby's tongue
flick out along the leather. Who the fuck was seducing who? 

"You got a thing for leather?" 

Toby sat back, thinking that over. "I don't know." The way he said it, you
got the feeling he was inclined to test it out and see. "I'm Tobias
Beecher, by the way," he added, looking like he thought he should have
mentioned that before they'd had their tongues down each other's throats,
and holding out his hand. 

Chris smiled and shook the hand, holding onto it afterwards. "Pleased to
meet ya, Toby." 

"So," Toby didn't try to extract his hand, "do you come here often?" 

"Well I don't know," Chris drawled suggestively, winking, "kinda depends
on how you mean that." 

Toby looked puzzled for a moment and then the double entendre dawned on
him and he gave Chris a huffy look. "I mean," he said with a sniff that
went with the look, "do you frequent this establishment?" 

"Yeah, much as I frequent any place I wind up." Chris relinquished the
bottle to Toby for another drink, watching the muscles of his throat work
as he swallowed the liquid on down. "My old man brought me here the first
time when I was about ten." 

Toby handed the bottle back and gave him a worried look. "Your dad was
bringing you to a gay bar when you were ten?" 

Chris laughed. "No, I think Jake mighta drawn the line at that much. It
was just a biker hang out back then." 

Going by his expression Toby wasn't entirely sure that was much of an
improvement. "What did your mother think of you being at any kind of bar
at that age?" 

Chris shrugged. "Being she was dead by then, not a hell of a lot." 

"Oh. I'm...sorry." Toby clearly thought he had committed a grievous faux
pas, but even that wouldn't make him let go of it. "There are things
called babysitters, though." 

"There are," Chris agreed, amused at Toby's concerns over his younger
self's welfare so long after the fact, "but Jake figured the sooner I
learned the ropes, the better." 

"Do I want to know what kind of ropes you're talking about?" 

"Hmm," Chris leaned in, rubbed the lip of the bottle along Toby's mouth,
"probably not." 

"I might surprise you," Toby said, and flicked his tongue against the
glass. 

Chris shuddered just from watching that and imagining how that tongue
would feel on his cock. "You know what?" He put the bottle down and curved
both hands around Toby's head. "You just might," he finished, and went in
for another kiss. 

Toby pushed up into it and Chris moaned into his mouth. Square, practical
hands hiked up his shirt and teased over his belly - and unsnapped his
pants. His eyes opened in time to catch a delicious look of satisfaction
on Toby's face, that look and the bold fingers pulling down his zipper
turning him on so fucking much. He'd been right about that fire, he'd
known it would be like this; this was no scared and timid rabbit, this was
another hungry wolf. 

And then Chris couldn't think about anything except the sharp, sweet
sensation of Toby's tongue in his mouth as it flicked against the roof of
his mouth, and Toby's hand in his pants, audacious fingers wrapping around
his cock and stroking. Chris humped up into that touch, groaning as the
blond kept up that caress, a thumb circling the head of his cock before
gliding back and forth over the slit. Panting, Chris dragged his open
mouth along Toby's cheek and pulled some air into his lungs. He pressed
their foreheads together and gripped Toby's shoulders, tuned into nothing
but the other man and those brilliant fingers, aware of only the hot, damp
smoothness of Toby's back as he tugged the polo up and ran his fingers
along the ridge of spine. Toby's other hand crept along the inside of his
thigh and Chris moaned again, kneading Toby's back. He spread his legs
wider, running his hands up into thick, silky gold hair, aching to have
that blond head buried in his crotch right then and there, practically on
the brink of coming from imagining that, from absorbing every teasing
caress. "Oh Christ," he murmured, ready to lay back on the table and bring
Toby with him. Toby flashed him a wicked smile, like he knew exactly what
Chris wanted - like he wanted it just as bad. Going in for another kiss,
craving that as much, Chris pushed his tongue into Toby's mouth, the
friction on his cock driving him crazy. No one had made him this hot in
... in forever. 

He rubbed his cheek against Toby's and nuzzled his throat - and looked
over his shoulder to discover they were drawing an audience. Some other
guys were over by the door, rubbing their own crotches and licking their
lips, avid gazes riveted on him and Toby. "Fuck." He muttered it under his
breath and put his mouth to Toby's ear. "Stop. Toby, stop," he whispered,
voice urgent with the need to continue. 

"What?" Toby turned his head and tried to kiss him, not moving his hand. 

"We're putting on a show," Chris whispered again, watching them over
there, intruding on this and coveting it for themselves. 

Toby stilled then, twisting around to look for himself. "Fuckers," he
growled. 

"Easy, tiger." Chris held him still, feeling his muscles tense, excited by
that passion. He could think of some far better ways to put it to use,
however. "Come on, let's get out of here." 

Still pissed off, Toby nodded after a moment and sent him a look of
regret. He carefully tucked Chris back into his pants and zipped them up,
giving him a pat. "Sorry." 

"Just hold the thought, huh?" Chris said, flashing him a smile before he
hopped down from the table and backed the gawkers off with a look. They
parted like the Red Sea as he and Toby strode by, on through the bar and
out to the curb. "Holding that thought?" he said as he scanned the street
for a taxi and waved one over. 

"Oh, yeah," Toby assured him, backing it up with a caress along his hip. 

Chris laughed and turned to embrace him as the cab pulled up. "Where're we
going?" he said, nuzzling the soft hair at Toby's temple. Any destination
would be fine by him, as long as Toby was there. 

He wrapped his arms around Toby, only wanting to hold him as tight and as
long as he could.  

"That's...a good question," Toby said, pressing into the fervent embrace,
moved to return it. "We can't go back to the hotel." 

"Sure we can," Chris murmured against his ear. "We'll just go to my room."


"Won't your friend mind?" 

"Nah. She's back in L.A., left me to my own devices." 

And wonderful devices they were, too, Toby thought as he nestled in just a
fraction closer, his hands curving over the leather-encased ass. 

A car horn sounded and the cab driver demanded, "Hey! You boys want a
ride, or are you just going to stand here dancing cheek to cheek?" 

Toby frowned and stepped back to give her a hard look. "Yes, we want a
ride." 

"Then get in `cause I'm burning gas sitting here." 

"Bet she gets a lot of tips?" Chris whispered in his ear, holding the door
for him. 

Toby laughed and climbed in, settling back against the seat with a
contented sigh as Chris sidled up beside him. He gave the driver their
hotel and turned his head to look out the window, watching the street, the
lights and the people, pretending he had no idea Chris was moving in on
him. Moving in so close he could feel Chris' breath warm against his neck.
Then lips brushed his nape, the tip of a tongue darting along his skin,
and he couldn't quite smother a whimper. 

"Where're you boys from?" the taxi driver - Maxine, by her ID - asked,
stopped for a light. 

"Back east," Chris said, undoing the buttons on Toby's polo shirt. 

"Uh-huh," Toby confirmed, "back east," and he bit his lip as Chris slipped
a hand inside the shirt, rubbing over his pecs, long fingers catching hold
of a nipple and playing with it. 

"Out here on vacation?" Maxine asked again, and Toby could have sworn she
was angling the rearview mirror to get a better line on the backseat as
the light changed and she drove on. 

"Yeah, uh-huh," Toby managed to get out. Chris had one arm slung around
him so he could caress his chest, while the other hand was getting busy in
his crotch. "Chris," he hissed under his breath, turning to give him a
desperate look. 

"Shh," Chris breathed back, clearly enjoying himself. "That's right," he
said, cupping Toby's crotch, "mixin' business and pleasure." 

"What kind of business?" 

"Well I'm in investments," Chris said, perfectly conversational, not at
all like he was busy working Toby's zipper down. 

"I'm..." Toby swallowed, exquisitely tormented by fingers stroking his
nipples while the other hand was simultaneously wrapping around his cock,
knowing he could not possibly achieve any sort of nonchalance. "I'm a
lawyer," he managed to say, hearing the gasp in his voice and half-tempted
to smack Chris. 

The other man buried his face against Toby's shoulder, obviously muffling
laughter. 

Maxine craned her neck for a better look in the mirror. "Bet you make some
good money." 

"Can't complain," Chris said, studiously working his fingers to the tip of
Toby's cock. 

Toby sucked in a deep breath and bent his head close, his lips right
against Chris' ear as he whispered, "I'm gonna get you for this." 

Unchastened, Chris winked and said, "Lookin' forward to it." 

Funny, so was Toby. But he thought Maxine had gotten enough of an eyeful
and carefully withdrew Chris' hand from his pants. He pressed a kiss to
the palm and whispered again, "That feels really good, Chris, but the rest
of the world doesn't need a show. Let's keep this just for us." 

Chris gave him a surprised look but didn't seem upset. Exactly the
opposite, in fact. He looked like he'd just heard something he had been
waiting for all his life. He shifted around so they were only sitting very
close together on the seat and nudged his shoulder against Toby's, head
tilted as he whispered back, "How `bout kissing? That okay?" 

Toby checked to make sure Maxine was paying more attention to traffic than
to he and Chris, and murmured back, "Kissing is fine." He reached for
Chris' hand, giving it a squeeze. "This is good, too." 

Long fingers squeezed back and Chris nodded, evidently in definite with
agreement with that. He shot a look up front as if also making sure they
weren't providing any vicarious entertainment, and then dipped his head to
kiss the corner of Toby's mouth and then his lips, soft and lingering this
time. "It's way better than good, Toby," he breathed, pressing their
foreheads together. 

Yeah, it was, and Toby reached over with his other hand, running his thumb
along Chris' cheek and cupping the nape of his neck, content with just
that. And Chris wasn't acting like this was the worst moment of his life,
either. It was exhilarating, being with someone who really wanted to be
there, who was just as into you, and to not have a trace of doubt in your
mind about that. Being desired had to be the most powerful aphrodisiac of
them all. 

He was also realizing that old clich was true, about not judging a book by
its cover, because something else coming in loud and clear was that there
was a lot more to Chris Keller than a spectacular body and bowl-you-over
sex appeal. Not, however, that those qualities were not worthy of some
lingering and intensely personal admiration. 

And as the taxi pulled up at the hotel entrance, Toby knew he'd be a liar
if he claimed not to be excited at how close that scenario was to being
played out now. You know, assuming he had the balls to make it all the way
through the lobby and up to the room. 

Chris gave him a worried look as they got out of the cab. "You okay
there?" he said, somehow extracting a wallet from those pants and opening
it up. 

"Yeah, fine," Toby said, not so much lying as trying to psych himself up.
What was the worst that could happen, after all? Even if Genevieve did
spot them, she would only assume Chris was a drinking buddy, and any
screaming hissyfit would be reserved for the privacy of their suite. 

No, the worst thing that could happen was if he gave into those fears,
gave into worrying what other people would think. Staying on that path was
only going to destroy him, one way or another. Someday Genevieve might
even be grateful for what he was about to do, since chances were good she
would be a casualty of that self-destruction. 

Maxine and her cab were gone and Chris was looking at him, head lowered
and trying to catch his eye. "Hey, you with me, Toby?" he said, giving his
shoulder a squeeze. 

Toby looked at him and nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, I'm with
you, Chris. Let's do this." 

Chris gave him a puzzled look at that, not quite sure what to make of that
comment. "O-kay." 

With a soft laugh, Toby patted his arm and said, "Believe it or not,
I...don't do this a lot." 

"I believe you," Chris said, looking at him thoughtfully, touching his
face. "You know what? I'm not sure I've ever done this," he said, and Toby
had a feeling he was talking about something more than sex. 

"Well, even if it is the blind leading the blind," Toby amazed himself by
moving closer and resting his hands on Chris' waist, right where anyone
passing by could see them, "I have a hunch we'll figure it out pretty
quickly." 

"I've got that same hunch," Chris said and pulled him close for a second.
"Come on," he stepped back and caught one of Toby's hands, tugging him
towards the doors, "let's do it," he finished with one of those 1000-watt
smiles.  

"Now," Toby said as they reached Chris' suite, frustrated at having had to
keep his hands entirely to himself on the long, long elevator ride in that
car packed with other people, "about that payback..." 

Chris leaned back against the closed door, arms folded over his chest and
one leg crossed over the other, a come and get me look in his eyes. "Yeah?
What about it?" 

Toby stepped close, his breath caressing the other man's throat while his
hand rubbed over a leather-clad hip. "It starts...now," he said and ran
his tongue along a tendon in the strong throat, over the Adam's apple and
up under his chin. Chris pressed his head back against the door to give
him even better access, and put up no resistance whatever as Toby unfolded
his arms and spread them out to either side in imitation of that tattoo on
his arm. Pretty sure he should be ashamed of himself for any such kinky
thought, Toby indulged more sinful impulses, working Chris' shirt open
hands exploring that beautiful chest, fingers catching at a nipple and
stroking it until Chris moaned. Toby wanted to hear that again, louder,
and bent his head to lave the little knot of sensitive flesh with tongue,
again and again until Chris worked one hand free and buried it in Toby's
hair, dragging his head up for a ferocious kiss. Toby opened his mouth
wide, his own hands curved around Chris' head now, fingers pressed into
his scalp as Chris' tongue fucked his mouth. 

"Oh Jesus Christ..." Chris gasped out, dragging his open mouth along
Toby's cheek and just holding onto him for support. 

Toby chuckled, just as breathless, and ran his hand up along that tattoo.
He didn't know if what was happening between them was sacred or profane
but -- damn -- it felt good to just let go. 

He nuzzled Chris' temple, kissed him there. "There a bed around here?" 

"Uh-huh." 

That was good because every brush of his lips along Chris' skin, every
slow caress of the other man's fingers along his face, was making him
really weak in the knees.  

Not even about to try and guess what was coming next, Chris led the way
into the bedroom, only certain this was the best ride of his life. 

"Nice bed," Toby said, looking around. "Get on it." 

Chris raised an eyebrow and smirked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

"All the way," Toby insisted, straddling his hips when Chris complied. 

"So - you haven't done this a lot?" 

"Mmmmm," Toby leaned down and kissed his mouth, "no - but I have a really
vivid imagination." 

"I'll bet you do," Chris said and ran his hands along the strong, lean
thighs enclosing him. 

Toby nuzzled his chin and licked the hollow of his throat, one square hand
splayed over a swell of pectoral muscle, rubbing a nipple. "What's your
favorite fantasy, Chris?" he whispered, raising up to look at him. 

Erotic images flashed through his head and vanished, leaving only one, and
Chris rolled his head to look over at the dresser, afraid to let Toby see
it. 

"Chris," Toby cupped the side of his face and turned him back, watching
him, searching his eyes, "tell me." 

"It's stupid," he said, trying to locate one of those other fantasies, one
Toby could actually fulfill. 

"I bet it's not," Toby said, voice as soft as the look in his eyes, the
back of his fingers running along Chris' face. "Tell me." 

And Chris looked up at him, knowing he was a fucking idiot, but... "It's
one where I...where I meet someone and fall in love," he said, voice
dropped to its lowest volume, even quieter than when he went to
confession. He wasn't surprised at the silence from Toby. What the hell
could anyone say to that, after all? Even so, he couldn't help risking a
glance at him, to see how he'd taken it, and then Chris wasn't sure what
to make of what he saw. 

Toby was giving a thoughtful look, eyes a little sad but with a spark of a
smile in them at the same time. "That...sounds like a good fantasy," he
said at last. 

Chris shrugged, looking over at the dresser again. 

"Maybe," Toby went on, and Chris felt those sweet lips touch the corner of
his mouth and then graze over his lips, "it'll come true." 

As much as Chris knew he was an idiot to hear any kind of promise in those
words, that awareness wasn't enough to keep them from setting off a tiny
flutter of anticipation in his stomach. Of course ... that could have had
something to do with the way Toby was kissing him, too, long and slow and
deep, the kind of kisses that could turn your bones to jello. 

"Ohhh... Jesus, Toby..." Chris groaned as Toby rubbed against him,
pressing their groins together. "You're gonna kill me, baby," he murmured,
loving the delicious agony as Toby humped him again. 

And there was that chuckle again, not quite manic, but way too sexy to
ever be entirely innocent. "Well, we don't want that," Toby said and moved
back off the bed. He ran his hand along Chris' left leg and raised it off
the mattress, pulling off his boot and sock and tossing them over his
shoulder, repeating the ritual with the right leg, and then taking a
moment to strip his own feet bare. 

Sprawled back on the bed, both of them still otherwise clothed, Chris
raised up on his elbows and whimpered in sheer anticipation as Toby's arms
hooked under his thighs and dragged him nearer the edge of the bed before
he went to his knees and reached for the snap, and then the zipper,
tugging it down slowly, slowly, and then parting the leather and freeing
his cock. Chris watched those blunt fingers wrap around it, getting a good
grip, and licked his lips at the look Toby shot him - hungry and devilish
and so hot his cock was already rock hard. He caught his breath, chest
heaving, as he watched that blond head bend toward his cock, that amazing
tongue flicking out and along the shaft, slow and soft licks around the
head, right before Toby opened wide and took him all the way down, until
Toby's head was buried in his crotch. 

His breath left him on a loud groan and he sank down on the soft mattress,
chest rising and falling as he tried in vain to catch it again. Toby's
bobbing head kept time with him, tongue and lips working magic, as if
Chris' enthusiasm was spurring him on. Not at all inclined to dampen that
ardor, Chris reached down to stroke Toby's hair, hips thrusting to meet
Toby's mouth as the blond head moved up and down the hard length of him.
"Ohh, fuck, Toby...," he bit his lips and licked them, "that's good,
that's good..." He closed his eyes and moaned how good it was, Toby
sucking him off like Chris' cock in his mouth was a dream come true. Only
... he moaned again, one hand pressing Toby's head into his crotch, the
other rubbing over his chest, totally addicted to Toby's mouth ... only he
didn't want this first time to be over too soon, and he wanted his own
taste of that dream. 

Fingers threaded through Toby's hair, he tugged, gentle at first but then
with a firmer insistence as the other man stubbornly stuck to his
pleasurable task. "Toby," Chris got more air in his lungs, raising his
head to watch him, "Toby, come here." He tugged again, and then almost
wished he hadn't because this was even worse, Toby's eyes flashing him
that wicked look, eyes bright with how much he was enjoying this --
especially this part, as he oh so slowly dragged his mouth up Chris' cock,
tongue stroking all the way. Chris had to throw an arm over his eyes, not
able to bear the combination of watching Toby licking so hungrily around
the crown of his cock and those light blue eyes watching his devastation
with such impish joy in the act. 

Really glad to know he wasn't the only one having the time of his life
here, Chris sank back as the mattress shifted and Toby crawled over him,
welcoming the heavy warmth of him. He curved both hands around Toby's head
and drew his face down, kissing the daylights out of that decadent,
glorious mouth. 

"Having a good time?" he whispered when he had gotten enough of that -
enough when he knew he could kiss that mouth anytime he wanted. 

Toby looked down at him, the answer lighting up his eyes and in his smile.
"Fuck yes I am," he murmured back. Evidently he needed more kissing right
then because he worked a hand under Chris' head, fingers digging into the
short hair as he held him there for a long, long kiss that started with
Toby nibbling along his lower lip and ended with Toby's tongue flicking
against the roof of his mouth, both of them breathing raggedly. 

"Know what'd be good now?" Chris said, still breathless. 

"Oxygen?" Toby said, in no better shape. 

Chris grinned, not quite able to laugh. "Besides that." 

Toby sat up, straddling him again. "What?" 

"Getting bare assed naked," Chris told him, wanting to see him, needing to
see him. And he added, "You first," to see how he'd take it, and because
he really meant it. 

Toby gave him a look of endearing shyness that didn't seem so incongruous
under the circumstances, not when Chris had a feeling Toby'd meant it
about this mostly happening in his imagination up to now. "That...sounds
good," he said, and Chris didn't doubt that was sincere as well, what with
how those light blue eyes were eating him up, already stripping him, "but
maybe you should go first." 

"Nuh-uh," Chris smiled at him, letting the hunger show. "Show me what ya
got, Toby," he added, gaze dropping to his lips, his chest, and his
crotch, fingertips dancing over the tell-tale bulge there. 

Sucking in a deep breath at that touch, at the challenge, Toby climbed off
the bed, looking so unsure of himself now that Chris wanted to pull him
close and tell him it was okay, they could turn out the lights and finish
in the dark. Some other instinct told him to hold his horses, though, just
let Toby have a chance to get used to it. That's how wifey did it, he'd
bet; lights out, hurry up and get it over with. And then the frigid bitch
probably complained to her girlfriends how she never had an orgasm. 

Well Toby was getting one tonight - and maybe it wouldn't be only one
night. 

Chris tried to push that thought aside, wanting to concentrate on the
moment he had. The rest would happen ... or it wouldn't. 

"That's it," he said, and whistled as Toby finally tugged his shirt up
just a ways, baring some midriff, "show me some skin." He laughed at the
huffy look from the other man - but the shirt went higher, Toby starting
to get in the spirit of things, flashing his nipples before pulling the
polo down again and looking self-conscious. 

"I really wish you'd go first," he said, the bottom of the shirt bunched
up in his hands. 

With a sigh, Chris tucked himself back into the leather pants before he
slid off the bed, bare feet sinking into the luxurious carpet. "How about
this?" he said, coming close. "We do it together." 

Toby looked at him, nodded. "That might work." 

"Ya think?" Chris flashed him a grin and then some skin, undoing the snap
and zipper once more, just enough for Toby to glimpse his pubic hair.
"Your turn," he said, helping out by reaching over to unbuckle his belt
for him. 

"God, I'm a dork," Toby muttered under his breath, fingers fumbling
awkwardly at his zipper. 

Chris tipped his chin up and kissed him. "No, you're not. Here," he caught
Toby's hand, guiding him through it. "Like that, slow and easy, make my
mouth water for more," he murmured, his fingers touching underwear and
insinuating themselves under the waistband until coarse, curly pubic hair
tickled the pads. Mouth against Toby's ear, voice pitched to its most
seductive timbre, he told him, "Come on, baby, I want to see everything,
every sexy square inch of you, and I wanna know you in the dark `cause
I've mapped every inch with my fingers and tongue." 

Toby sighed, groaning as Chris' tongue lashed against his ear. "I bet you
say that to all the boys," he said, voice soft, something underneath the
humor that made Chris hurt. 

Chris' hands framed his face, looking into his eyes, feeling like he was
falling into them. "Maybe," he admitted, "but I never meant it before."
And he could feel the truth of that with a certainty that almost scared
him. He was investing too much, too soon - and wild horses couldn't make
him stop. 

Toby looked back at him, searching his eyes, and coming in for another
kiss. "Like this?" he said, breaking the kiss and stepping back, whipping
the shirt off over his head and flinging it away. 

"Well," Chris took in the broad shoulders and prominent collarbones, "you
might want to refine your technique if you ever take it up professionally,
but," he smiled and ran his fingers over those beautiful bones, "it's
definitely thumb's up from me." 

Toby's gaze boldly dropped to his crotch. "Just your thumb?" he said. 

"Mmmm - no, not just my thumb," Chris assured him, dipping his head to
flick his tongue along those bones and give the hollow of his throat a
long, lazy lick. 

"Chris?" 

"What?" 

"Couldn't we get naked faster?" 

Chris chuckled against his throat. "Yeah, I think that's doable," he
agreed, taking a moment to kiss his mouth again before dropping to his
knees in the soft, lush carpet, yanking Toby's pants and boxers down to
his ankles, mouth truly watering at the sight of the big, beautiful cock
bouncing in front of him. One hand gripping Toby's hips, fingers digging
into the firm muscle, the other grasped that cock, gliding along it, thumb
circling the wet tip as he appreciated the beauty of it, loving the way it
felt in his hand - loving even more the feel of it in his mouth as he took
it deep, until his nose was buried in that rust-colored thatch of hair.
Oh, yeah, -- the musky smell of Toby, the salty taste as his tongue worked
over the slit, how alive Toby's cock felt -- this was very doable. 

<><>*<><> 

....to be continued...	Please send feedback to Riley Cannon.