Ok, here's a new fic. It's written in yet a different style than the other two--in first person, entirely Colin's POV. I tried to get Colin's 'voice' down as best I could and hope it works. This one will have a lot of mansex in it, and some of it will be hardcore, so be warned.

This first part doesn't however, and warning to the phobic...it contains THE WIVES (but no sex with them).

It all started with a phone call.

That sounds kind of melodramatic, I realize, and it isn’t even strictly true, but as a beginning, it’s near enough for Jazz, as my wife likes to say.

To be honest, this had been building up for at least the past year, probably a lot longer, and the phone call was the catalyst that sent the whole mess rolling downhill. Looking back now, I’m glad it happened when and how it did, even if I wasn’t particularly thrilled at the time. At any other time, I’d probably have been in the middle of touring goodness knows where and the call for help most likely would have gone unanswered.

What would have happened then?

I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know. And I’m glad I don’t have to.

Looking at him now, stretched along his side, the sheet twisted over his legs and the faintest of smiles playing across his lips as he sleeps, I can’t help but thank whatever might be out there prodding things along for putting me in the one place where I could have the opportunity to make a difference. Moonlight shimmers across the sweat slowly drying on his chest, gilding him in pure silver, and I find I love him more in this quiet moment than I ever have before.

“Thank you,” I whisper to whomever’s listening, watching as his hand, elegant fingers curled, searches along the still warm, still damp sheets for me. I’ll be joining him in a moment, I’m quite sure, and curling into the deep bed-warmth of him, but for now I’m simply content to watch the moonlight play across his skin and keep my mind from wandering to waters better charted by the rays of the sun.

*******

It was late October and Brad and I decided that we needed a break from touring. The work, and the company, were pleasant, as always, but the never ending string of anonymous hotel beds, recycled airplane air, and the sound of a loved one’s voice exclusively through a telephone speaker had worn us both to pretty much of a frazzle. Besides, I began having dreams that featured me walking through the door of my house, only to have Luke shrink away from my welcoming grin and ask his mother who in the heck the bald guy was.

As we’d both agreed to do Improv All-Stars with Drew and company some three weeks later, it seemed the perfect time to get off the road and recharge our batteries for a little while.

And so it was that on that fateful day, I was in my own kitchen, in my own home, humming along to an old song on the radio in my own absolutely endearing way as I stirred the thickening sauce of what would eventually become dinner. Luke was spending the night with a friend, and Deb was in the living room, a dry white in hand, cackling over a script she’d been sent that was either incredibly good, or incredibly bad. Every so often, she’d read a line aloud to me, and after hearing several, I still couldn’t tell which one it was, though I enjoyed the cheer in her voice and the obvious delight she took sharing that joy with me.

Contrary to the occasional bits of gossip that have crossed my ears over the years, Deb is not my ‘beard’. She’s an outstanding woman whom I love deeply, and, I’m sure, always will. She’s brash, and bold, and always willing to play, something that a painfully shy bastard such as myself needs on occasion, especially in a partner. She is also incredibly supportive of me, especially in ways that would send most other women—hell, most other men, for that matter—screaming for the hills. I’m an incredibly lucky man, and don’t think I don’t know it.

In any case, cooking was soon complete and we shared the fruits of my labor in the kitchen, with candles lit for ambience, and when we’d finished, I cheerfully sent her back to the living room and her script, a fresh glass of wine in her hand, while I set about cleaning what little still needed it. I can house husband with the best of ‘em, and the fact that I genuinely enjoy it just makes things all the better for me, lazy bastard that I am.

I was just wiping my hands when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” I announced, stepping over to the kitchen extension. “Mochrie and McGrath, you kill it, we chill it. Will this be carry out or drag in?”

After a moment of hesitation which could have gone either way, a soft, tremulous voice came over the line. “Colin? Colin, it’s….”

“Pat!” I finished for her, genuinely pleased to be hearing from her again. It had been ages. “Goodness, it’s wonderful to hear your voice! How are you?”

“I…well….I….” The tone of her voice told me all I need to know on that subject, and the slow pace of my heart began to thump along more quickly, like an old steam engine just starting out.

“Pat? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I…well…. Colin, have you, by any chance, heard from Ryan in the past three days or so?”

The steam engine was quickly picking up speed. “Why no, Pat, I sure haven’t. But I just got back from touring last week. Maybe he called before then. Hold on a minute and let me ask Deb if she’s…..”

Turned out, I didn’t have to go far to ask, or even really verbalize the question, since my wife, upon hearing who was on the other end of the line, hurried back into the kitchen. Her smile slipping from her face, she answered my two raised eyebrows with one small shake of her head. “No,” I relayed into the phone, “she hasn’t heard from him either. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

A laugh most definitely on the watery side answered me and I exchanged concerned looks with Deb.

“Pat?”

“I…. No. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. Really. I apologize, Colin. I shouldn’t—”

“No,” I said, injecting some sternness into my voice. “Do not apologize to me, Pat, and don’t say that you’re bothering us, because you aren’t. We’re friends, and friends help one another.” Heaven help me, I was beginning to sound like some demented advertising jingle for the Hallmark Corporation. If I started spouting Snack Fairy-ish blather next, I’d have myself committed.

I paused a second to gather my scattered thoughts, before trying again.

“But really….”

“Pat, listen to me. It’s obvious that you’ve got a problem, and I hope it’s equally obvious that I will do whatever I can to help. So, tell me what’s wrong, and what it is I can do to help fix it.” I smiled a little, knowing she would hear it in the tone of my voice. “You know I won’t leave you alone until you do, so just make it easier on yourself and spill the beans now, eh? Don’t make me pull out the big guns.” That got a slightly stronger laugh, so I decided to go for broke. “Or, God forbid, Deb.” That earned me an honest guffaw, as well as a healthy smack to my belly that nearly drove the air from my lungs. My mock double-over-in-pain was met with absolutely zero sympathy, though a cold bottle of my favorite beer was pressed into my hand, and I accepted it as the peace offering it was probably meant to be—though with my wife, you were never sure.

Or, at least, I wasn’t.

“You’ll think I’m being silly,” she finally replied, her voice, thankfully, stronger and more sure than before.

“Why, I’ve always thought you were silly, Pat, but that’s never interfered with our friendship,” I joked, hoping for another laugh, which I got. “Talk to me. I want to help.”

A gusty sigh. “We had a fight,” she announced, reluctantly. “Three days ago. He walked out in the middle of it, and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

I nodded, unsurprised. Both Pat and Ryan have artistic temperaments, and fighting for them is like breathing for me. Deb is much like them both, I daresay even worse sometimes, but when you try to fight against someone who won’t fight back, well, let’s just say our household is a bit more peaceful than many. “Did he pack any clothes?” I heard myself ask.

“No,” she replied. “Just took his wallet and his keys and left.” She sighed again, a small, desolate sound that made my sympathy gene sit up and start taking notes. “I didn’t worry until the next afternoon, you know?”

I nodded again. Ryan’s all-nighters were the stuff of legend among a certain set. He’d never gotten up quite enough guts to pull one on me, but I’d certainly heard about them from more than one person. With a lot of colorful words thrown in for good measure.

“Then I started calling around,” she continued. “I called Matt first. Of course, he said he wasn’t there and he hadn’t seen him, but….”

And yet a third nod. Matt, a celebrity of note in Ryan’s native Washington, was also one of his closest friends, and was known for his love of a good scotch, a good cigar, and a good large-breasted woman or three, and not necessarily in that order. That Pat didn’t trust him to tell the truth as far as Ryan was concerned wasn’t exactly surprising.

“…also tried everyone local I could think of, even the, you know, hospitals, but it’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth! The kids are wondering where he is, and I don’t know what to tell them, and it’s just…I wish…I….”

“It’s okay, Pat,” I said, soothing her as much as I could with my voice. “All-Stars is coming up in a little bit now. Did you try Drew? Maybe Ryan decided to head down there a little early to cool off.”

“No. I didn’t want to get him at a bad time or something, and besides, he’s Ryan’s friend, and I…well, I never know….”

Again, the trust factor, and though I adore Drew and consider him a dear friend, I could understand her point. If push came to shove and Ryan told Drew he didn’t want to be found, Drew would make sure he stayed lost, unless it was an emergency. Which this wasn’t. Yet.

“…probably tell you if you asked him, though.”

“True,” I mused. “And I’ll do that, as soon as we’re finished here.” A thought came to me, then. “Pat?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to tell me, of course, cause it’s really none of my business, but, why were the two of you fighting?”

Pat sighed heavily. “No, no, you need to know, Colin, and it’s part of the reason I’m calling you. Not,” she hastened to reassure, “that you have anything to do with it, just that you might be able to figure out some way to, I don’t know, fix it?”

“Go on,” I said, slipping into one of the kitchen chairs and taking a deep swallow of my beer. Goodness, did that hit the spot after so many months of watered down American…well…crap. Deb looked at me, and I nodded. She laid a hand, strong, soft and lovely, on my wrist, and I turned my own to clasp hers, taking in the warmth and smoothness of her skin with a genuine sense of pleasure.

“Well…it seems pretty damn petty, now that I’m talking about it, but….” I could feel her gathering up her courage, even three thousand miles away. “It had been building up for awhile, you know? But the straw this time was when he missed the kids’ soccer matches. Even that wouldn’t have been so bad, except this was the third time this week, and even the kids could see through his excuses. So I decided to confront him while the kids were away, just the two of us, you know?” She fell silent for a moment, and I took another sip of my beer, squeezing Deb’s hand just a little as I ran my thumb over the back of it. “Anyway, I don’t think I would have been as worried and upset as I am now if he would have kicked and screamed and sarcasmed me to death, like he always does when we fight, but this time…this time….”

“What happened?” I asked softly, though I already had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say. And I wasn’t disappointed.

“It was like I wasn’t even in the room!” she yelled, the volume forcing me to pull the earpiece away for a second before replacing it. “I sat there and tried to talk. Nothing. I ranted. Nothing. I raved. Nothing. I screamed. Nothing. I cried. Nothing! Damnit, Colin, it was like…like talking to one of the dogs! Hell, even they’re more responsive than he is! And his eyes…they’re like looking at a doll! There’s nothing there! No emotions, no life, no nothing!” She took in a deep breath. “And I…I got scared, I guess, because he’s been doing that…that…emotionless doll’s eyes thing more and more often, and, well, I suggested therapy, and….”

I hissed through my teeth, loud enough for her to hear, and she groaned in reply. Suggesting therapy to Ryan was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Not the right thing to do if you wanted peace or answers.

Or teeth, in most circumstances. At least…still in your head.

I also understood the dolls eyes analogy much too well. My father used to have a friend, when I was a young boy, whose amateur hobby was taxidermy—though what he did was pretty much an affront to the good name of taxidermists everywhere. Still, the animals were already deceased when they reached him, and he did his best, but the eyes he chose to fill the empty sockets were—let’s just say they were the fodder for many a nightmare in my less-than-flaming youth and leave it at that.

Sometimes, especially toward the end of Whose Line, Ryan’s eyes had taken to reminding me of that man and his house of hairy horrors, but I’d always told myself that it was a simple case of burn-out, and that once he got back to home and family and away from Hollyweird and all of its nihilistic vampirism, that look would gradually go away.

Apparently, I had been as wrong as I could be on the subject.

And Pat was wrong, as well, in saying that it had nothing to do with me, because I was probably the first person to notice that dull, blank, uncaring stare. And when I noticed it, I made the quite deliberate decision to change from trying to make the audience laugh to doing everything in my power to make Ryan laugh. It broke every rule of Improv, and I’m sure my fellow players had problems with it at one point or another, but it was something that I had no desire, or, to be truthful, ability to stop.

I was too far gone in Ryan himself by that time, you see.

“Colin? Are you still there?”

I shook myself from my reverie. “Yes, hon, I’m still here. Sorry about that. Just thinking.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Like the flu,” I chimed in instinctively, and she laughed softly. I smiled as well, pleased.

“Ah, heck,” I heard her breathe. “Colin, you know my pride, but this time…I can’t do anything, and I hate feeling so helpless. But I know that you can. You can find him, and you can help him. He’ll let you, where he won’t let me. And…and…I know this, and I need it, and I’m asking…whatever it takes, Colin. Whatever it takes to bring him back from whatever…whatever Hell he’s gotten himself stuck in. Even…even if things change between he and I permanently, I need to know that he’s okay. I need to know he’ll be okay. Because, Colin, I…I don’t know the man I’m married to anymore. And that scares the hell out of me.”

At her words, I sat back in my chair, slightly stunned, head slightly tilted, eyes slightly wide. Deb, I noticed, was leaning in closer like a backyard gossip on wash-hanging day.

Pat was no more Ryan’s beard than Deb was mine, but where Deb was fully supportive of certain areas in my life that she could not share, Pat was less so. That’s not to say that we hid anything from her, nor did she pitch a fuss over what was. We just tended to be more…circumspect…around her so as not to rock the boat too much. That said, for her to be telling me what she was telling me was tantamount to receiving a blank check with no limitations on its use.

Her only safety net was her knowledge that I would never abuse the trust she placed in me.

I wondered if I could ever be that brave. Off-stage, at least.

After a long moment, I nodded. “Alright, Pat. I’ll do what I can. I’ll call Drew, and if Ryan hasn’t cancelled out, I’ll head down to Vegas a little early and do some poking around.”

“Oh, no, Colin, I didn’t mean for you to….”

“You can hash that out with Deb,” I threatened, grinning. “You’ve given me carte blanche, right?”

“Well…yes….”

“Then let me do this my way. I’ll keep you abreast of the situation as much as I can. If you need to talk, any time, you know how to reach me, and Deb as well, okay?” Across from me, my wife nodded vigorously.

“O-okay,” she replied, drawing the word out uncertainly.

“Pat?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll find him. And I promise to try my best to fix whatever can be fixed. I give you my word.”

“Your word’s always been more than enough, Colin. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do. So, you just try to relax and keep calm and take good care with yourself and the kids, and let me worry about what needs worrying about. Deal?”

“Deal.” I could hear the beginnings of a genuine smile in her voice, and that made me happy.

“Alright, then. Call us back if you need anything, or just want to talk, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Pat.”

“Night, Colin. And thank you.”

“My pleasure, dear.”

When I hung up the phone, Deb smiled. If there was a bit of rue in it, she hid it well. “Off to save the world again, Captain Hair?” she asked, her voice warm and full of affection.

“Well, you know, it has been three days,” I deadpanned.

“That long, has it?” she replied, eyebrows raised in mock surprise and, grinning, I was reminded all over again just what a wonderful comedienne she was; the real ‘funnyman’ of the family. Luke had inherited her style, and I was third in a family of three and didn’t mind a bit. “Call Drew,” she said, giving my hand one final squeeze before releasing it and standing. “I’ll go get your suitcase. Most of your stuff came back from the cleaners yesterday, so it’s ready to go.”

“I can—”

“Call Drew.”

My crisp salute sent that beautiful laughter of hers spilling all through the house, and I couldn’t help but shake my head, chuckling as I punched in Drew’s number from memory.

The phone rang three times, then clicked. “Carey.”

“Rhymes with scary?”

A beat. “Well, if it isn’t chrome dome himself, the Shiny One, Colin Mochrie! How you doin’, buddy?”

“Very well, Drew, thank you. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain.” Another pause. “You’re not calling to punk out on me, are you? Cause your name’s already on the marquee and it would be a real bitch to have to buy enough White-Out to erase the damn thing.”

“Would I do that to you?”

“Never can tell with you Canadians.” He laughed. “So, anyway, what’s up? Man, it’s gonna be great to see you again. It’s been fucking forever!”

“Looking forward to it myself. Actually,” I continued, lowering my voice conspiratorially, “I’m hot on the trail of the elusive ‘Long-Legged Stick-Bird’. You haven’t, by any chance, seen his distinctive beak around anywhere recently, have you?”

Yet another pause. “Define ‘recent’.”

“Dr-ew.”

Drew sighed, loud and gustily. “Fine. He got here day before yesterday, happy? Said something about wanting to get away from the rain. Fucked if I know. He’s upstairs now fending off strippers at the VIP pool.”

“I doubt he’s trying very hard,” was my droll reply, and I couldn’t help but grin as I heard Drew’s answering chuckle. “Seriously, though, thanks, my friend. I really appreciate it.”

“Trouble on the home front?”

“Eh, let’s just say he left without a forwarding address and there’s been some concern.”

“Damn.”

“I’ll handle it,” I replied. “And don’t worry, I won’t disclose his location. I might need a favor from you, though.”

“Name it, buddy. Anything you want, you got.”

“I may take you up on that offer one day, Drew,” I teased, “but for now, I just need my reservations changed. I’m feeling a sudden desire to get there a little early.”

“Well hot damn!” he replied, genuinely pleased. “That’s great! You want to fly in tonight? Cherrie D’Vine and her Ladies Sublime are putting on a command performance, if you get my drift.”

I chuckled. “Goodness, Drew, what is it with you and the crossdressers?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know they’re all one hundred percent f-e-m-a-l-e. Though I could order a couple trannies too, if you wanted.”

“I…think I’ll pass,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “Tomorrow should be soon enough, if you think you can get a room.”

“Hell, man, I practically own this joint! Consider your reservations changed. Oh, and don’t worry about rebooking your flight. I’ll take care of it and call you with the new information.”

“Drew,” I demurred, “you don’t have to….”

“I don’t have to do shit except die, so quit being so damned nice and let me do this, okay? I like to spoil my friends, and I can’t do that if I never see you.”

I ignored the not-so-subtle jab about my less than stellar attendance record with the All-Stars. Ryan, after all, appeared even less than I did, and though I love all of those guys to death, sometimes I just needed a break from it all. “Well,” I finally said, “you’ll be seeing me tomorrow. I’ll try and find some way to make it up to you.”

“Just be your usual zany self, and all is forgiven.”

“That’s what I like about you, Drew. Easy to please.”

“And hard to satisfy,” he finished for me, laughing heartily. “Alright, let me go get these reservations and tickets changed. A limo will be by to bring you here from the airport, so look for your name on a card. I’ll give you a holler once I have the flight information, ok?”

“Thank you, Drew.”

“No problem,” he scoffed, but I could tell he was pleased. “Wait’ll I tell….”

“Eh…I’d prefer he didn’t know,” I said, feeling the beginnings of a blush heat the tips of my ears. “I’d kind of like to surprise him, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’ll bring the camera and the bean dip!” He laughed again. “Damn, it’s gonna be good to see you. Take it easy, Col, and I’ll see you tomorrow, k?”

“You bet. Goodnight, Drew.”

“Night? Hell, this party is just gettin’ started, baby!”

Hanging up, I tossed the phone onto the center of the table and slumped a little in my chair. I was enjoying the peace and quiet of familiar surroundings, and the warmth and love of my wife and son, and I’ll admit to being the smallest bit resentful of Ryan, for running away, and Pat, for asking that I get him back. As much as I wanted to see him again—and there wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t ache with that wanting, some more than others—I would have preferred it on terms a little bit more equal. That his abandonment of his family should necessitate the same for me…..

Then again, I am who I am, and because of that, the word ‘no’ seems destined to be forever stricken from my vocabulary.

With a sigh, I pushed myself up from the table, ignoring the groaning protest in my knees, shuffled into the living room and then up the stairs. In the master bedroom, Deb was smoothing the last of my shirts into a garment bag, and I moved in to stand behind her, sliding my hands to link around her tiny waist and lowering my face so that my cheek rubbed against hers. I breathed in deep to take in her scent. “Mm.”

“You need a shave,” she joked, tempering her words by covering my hands with her own and turning her head to buss my cheek.

Removing one of my hands, I reached up to run the flat of my palm over my smooth scalp, my eyes widening in mock horror. “Don’t tell me it’s growing back already! Damn that depilatory!”

That earned my poor, abused belly a second smack, this time with the sharp point of an elbow, and I ‘oof’ed, overdramatically, I’ll be the first to admit, and almost earned myself a third. Laughing, Deb spun away from me, the hem of her skirt flaring pleasingly around her legs, and stepped into the bathroom to collect some toiletries.

Left temporarily alone, I stepped to the wall nearest the closet, where Deb had hung some of her favorite candid photos of life on the set for both of us. Considering who was in almost half of those pictures, the irony of having Ryan Stiles in our bedroom was never ignored. By me, at least. Deb simply hung them because she enjoyed looking at them, and for no other reason than that. I’d finally stopped feeling guilty about it years ago.

At that moment, I had eyes for one picture in particular. It had been taken, I think, the second year I was on Whose Line UK. It was entitled The Four Yanks, and showed Greg, Mike, myself and Ryan mid stage, our arms slung comfortably around each others’ shoulders. Our grins were so wide, they nearly swallowed our faces whole.

Goodness, we looked so young then. I was still bald, of course, but heavier; Greg was still bespectacled, but leaner, Mike McShane was still Mike McShane, and Ryan…. My hand came up to brush against the glass, thoughtlessly. Ryan had looked younger than us all, in some ways innocent, but in other, greater, ways, so full of life that sharing the stage with him meant getting pulled into his vortex and simply going along for the ride.

Sometimes standing next to Ryan was like standing too close to the sun, and the thrill of it all was as unbearable as it was unbeatable.

Another photo, down and to the right, drew my gaze next. I’d never liked it, but Deb was fond of the unguarded look on my face and so I didn’t argue. It was taken during the last taping session of Whose Line US, with three of the four in the picture before. We were all older, yes, but Ryan had changed the most. He was a shell of his former self, every line of his body bespeaking boredom, with his job, with his life. His eyes were empty of anything resembling human emotion, and I felt my skin pebble in chill-bumps in response.

“You miss him,” Deb murmured from my side, slipping an arm around my waist and squeezing.

“I miss the old Ryan,” I softly replied, eyeing the picture of the ‘Four Yanks’ again.

“He’s still there.”

I looked down at her, brows raised. “You think so?”

“I do,” she replied, her voice soft and contemplative. “And I think he’s waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“Yes, for you to come and coax him out.”

I sighed. “I’ve tried that, Deb. Every way I could think of, and a few I made up on the spot. For years, now. If he’s waiting for something, it must not be me.”

“It is you,” she replied, with absolute, bedrock surety.

“How do you know?”

She smiled up at me, eyes gently chiding me for missing what she knew to be obvious. “Because you’re the one he gave his heart to all those years ago. You just have to find the right way to reach him, that’s all.”

“I…honestly don’t know if I can. It’s been so long. And I’m…tired…worn out.”

“You can.”

“Your faith in my abilities never fails to astound.”

Her laugh was fresh and honest and good. “It should. I married you, didn’t I?”

Overcome, I took her fully into my arms and kissed her with all the love that I was feeling, and when it ended for breath, she pushed me gently away, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, laughing gaily like the schoolgirl she once was. “You still need a shave!”

Who am I to argue with such wisdom?

*******

True to his word, Drew booked me on an early morning flight, first class all the way. The flight was smooth, the service quite pleasant, and by the time we landed, I was beginning to feel the first stirrings of excitement in my belly. Yes, I missed my wife and son already, and yes, I still carried some resentment over having to leave them so soon, but the lure of the bright lights, the stage, my friends, and, most importantly, seeing Ryan again, dulled the rest to background noise and I felt an irrepressible smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

That smile quickly became repressible as I felt my entire face grow hot with embarrassment. Painfully shy, I’d often rather walk across a bed of live coals barefoot than to have undue attention paid to me in public. And what I was seeing not more than ten feet in front of me was about as undue as it could get.

Drew had promised my name ‘on a card’, and there it was, big as life and twice as discomfiting. The woman holding it, a young, attractive brunette, was dressed in the livery of a limousine driver—or the cap and jacket of one, at any rate. The jacket’s hem fell to mid-thigh, and below that, all I could see were long, coltish legs and black pumps with heels so high that even standing seemed impossible, but standing she was, her perfectly white, perfectly capped teeth bared in what I could only term a shark’s grin. Beneath the jacket, she wore, at least as far as I could tell, absolutely nothing, and I saw three neatly dressed businessmen walk into one another while staring at the no doubt surgically enhanced assets she was so carefully displaying.

Really, I wanted to just blend into the woodwork, disappear into the crowd and let it drag me along until I reached the terminal exit. A taxi would be just fine, and I’d save myself all sorts of nightmares of the ‘standing in front of the class naked’ variety. Drew could pout all he wanted to, as far as I was concerned; his ‘harmless’ pranks sometimes went a little over-the-top, and this was one of them.

Then, of course, the Canadian in me hopped up on a barstool and started a furtive conversation with my basic personality, insisting on showing me graphic pictures of the poor woman, some two hours hence, trying to explain to her red-faced boss why she hadn’t collected a fare, maybe having to pay it out of her own pocket…or G-string, or whatever…which then took food out of her newborn babe’s mouth…and…stop it already! I get my own point.

Sucker!! screamed my Super Ego as my feet made up their own minds and dragged me, kicking and screaming internally, toward the half-clad driver, all but hearing every single one of the ‘dirty old man’ thoughts that surely accompanied the strange looks I was getting from my fellow passengers.

As I walked, I looked around, checking for paparazzi, seeing in my mind’s eye tomorrow’s headline in the local rag: Snack Fairy Picks Up Hooker in Airport. See page 6 for details.

Thank goodness this was Las Vegas, and I wasn’t that important, name on a marquee or no.

Turned out she was a very sweet young woman, well-spoken with dreams of stardom in her wide hazel eyes and a condo off the Strip. Apparently, half naked limo chauffeuring is pretty good work, if you can get it.

The trip was pleasant, and once we arrived, I convinced her that I didn’t need help with my bags, gave her a generous tip, and as the car drove on its silent way, I stood to watch my name scroll across the marquee. A childish thing, I know, and I’d like to think that my ego isn’t quite at the point where it needs such massaging, but to see my name in lights is always a nice thrill, so I indulge when I can.

Registration was mercifully uncomplicated, and before I knew it, I was tipping the bellman and closing the door to a ‘high rollers’ suite twice the size of any I’d been in before. I surely wasn’t going to argue the point, especially when I spied the Jacuzzi large enough for ten, twenty if we were being especially friendly. Of course, I only had one other in mind, but it would do, and quite nicely at that.

After hanging up my clothes, I walked over to the phone, which was already flashing messages, hit the ‘retrieve’ button, and allowed myself to tip backward into the sinfully comfortable double-king sized bed, smirking at myself in the ceiling’s octagonal mirror.

“Yo, Cap’n Hair, welcome to Sin City! It’s so damn great to have you here, man, you have no idea. So get settled in, get naked—or in your case, semi naked—and give me a call. We’re at the pool again, and the strippers are just warming up! See ya!”

As the message clicked off, I chuckled, shaking my head. Drew and his strippers. They’d certainly gone up in quality the more famous—and rich—he became, but strippers were never really to my taste, the way they were to some of my castmates. Sure, they were beautiful enough to look at, I suppose, but my interests have always run in a different direction. Which, I guess, should come as no surprise to anyone.

Part of me wanted to sleep off what wouldn’t become jetlag for another day or so, but I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I did. Add to that the fact that Ryan was only a couple of floors above me, and the lazy bastard went down without a whimper. Pushing myself off of the over-stuffed bed, I quickly stripped and pulled on a pair of swim trunks Luke had chosen for me, as he’d absolutely refused to be seen with me wearing any of my older ones. They actually weren’t bad, and were pretty comfortable to boot. Giving myself a cursory once over in the full length mirror, I nodded and slipped into some sandals. Sure, I was never going to be a guest star on Baywatch, and I was about as pale as an anemic snowman besides, but I’d managed to keep my weight down, and the workouts I’d been forcing on myself to keep my aging body supple showed some results. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it could have been worse.

Spraying on some extra-super-duper-strength sunblock—the kind that protected the Venusians—I dialed Drew’s number to let him know I was ready.

*******

All of five minutes later, I opened my door to find a beaming Drew on the other side looking like a well-fed surfer right off the water. His welcoming grin was enormous, as was his hug, which was as comforting as it was sweat-sticky. Before pulling away, he gave me a quick kiss, tasting pleasantly of mint and something fruity—and very likely alcoholic. When he pulled away, he scanned me from head to toe, his eyes widening slightly.

“Well, whadda ya know! Mochrie got buff!”

“I was always buff,” I joked, tilting my nose in the air, knowing that I was not now, nor had I ever been, ‘buff’, but enjoying the banter nonetheless. “I just chose to hide it before.”

“Yeah,” he snickered in reply, “in the same place you hid your hair, right?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but gave up the pretense quickly since my traitorous lips couldn’t help but quirk into a grin. “You’re looking well.”

He ran a hand through his now very blonde, shaggy hair. “Yeah, well, ya know,” he said, sounding oddly adolescent. “Anyway, it’s so great to see you, man. You all set?”

“I am, thank you.”

“Then let’s go up and have some fun!”

“Ha. Ha.”

He looked at me for a moment, blankly, then snickered when it caught up to him. “Oops!”

“Mm.”

Entering an elegantly appointed elevator, Drew used a key card to take us to the roof of the large hotel-casino. As the doors prepared to open, I found myself sliding behind my friend, almost trying to hide, even though I’m several inches taller than he is. Noticing, he patted me on the side but, mercifully for me, chose not to laugh. “Relax,” he murmured. “It’ll be cool. You’ll see.”

I highly doubted that, and remained resolutely behind him as the doors opened and he exited the car, at least as far as the first several steps were concerned. Then I stopped, letting the doors close behind me and feeling the uncompromising Nevada sun beat down on my unprotected scalp.

There was music, and it was surprisingly mellow, complimenting the muted conversations and laughter that filled the rather large space. The women, and there were more than I expected, were quite lovely, and quite naked, with cosmetically perfect bodies, tumbling hair, and breasts that defied gravity as well as description. There were several in the pool—which was designed apparently to resemble a lagoon with jutting rocks and waterfalls—playing volleyball. Several men, all strangers to me, were watching them, their eyes jittering as if following the bouncing ball in one of those old fashioned TV commercial jingles. I covered my lips with my index finger, an old trick to keep me from laughing, and tore my eyes away, following Drew’s trail as he made his way toward the most intense knot of fawning female flesh.

Somewhere in there, I knew, amidst those beautiful bodies and smooth, sweet smelling flesh, Ryan was holding court, and my stomach began to flutter unpleasantly. I knew what I was experiencing; it was as plain as the nose on his face: performance anxiety, and I wasn’t even performing yet. Even though I’ve always tried to be perfectly honest with myself and accept myself for who and what I am, I knew that there was absolutely no way on this earth that I could even come close to competing with the wealth of physical perfection on display there. Me, a balding, middle aged man with a rubber face, snow white hair and skin to match. Sure, I had a gift for funny, but that was when you stuck a camera in my face, and I didn’t see any around at the moment. And who needed funny when you had all that to entertain you?

Especially if you were Ryan Stiles, and all that was par for the course.

My legs were getting that rabbity feel to them, and I was just about to turn back toward the elevator when Drew’s voice piped over the music and conversation and laughter, halting me in my tracks. “Hey, Stiles, c’mere a minute. I got somebody I want you to meet!”

“Damnit, Drew,” came his voice, gravelly from too many cigarettes and too much whiskey and sexy like none other, “can’t you see I’m busy?!?”

“Busy schmizy. They’re not going anywhere. Get your ass up here, will ya?”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you want to stare at it.”

“Yeah. It’s what I live for. C’mon, man, you’re holding up the works!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he growled, sighing in that overly dramatic way that I remembered from our days sharing a stage. He must have been in the shallow end of the pool, because when he stood, all I could see was the top of his bleached-by-the-sun curls over the heads of the adoring female minions who surrounded him on the deck. As he climbed the steps, his face, and more of his bronzed flesh was revealed, causing my mouth to go suddenly dry and my heart to thump painfully in my chest.

Reaching the deck, he was still mostly hidden by the women surrounding him as he scowled down at Drew, bare-chested and dripping. Unfazed, Drew gestured vaguely, and Ryan turned, and our eyes met….

The world fell away, and it was that vortex all over again. My feet were moving without my conscious permission, and his were as well, pressing indifferently past the wall of female bodies, his strides lengthening until he was nearly running, his eyes flashing something that I couldn’t quite read, and then his body was crushed against mine and suddenly we were both flying, weightless, only to crash into the cool, clear water of the pool, his arms tight around me.

He was kissing me before we even broke the surface, tasting of scotch and tobacco, sharp teeth worrying at my lower lip, suckling it before driving his tongue into my mouth and fluttering it in that reptilian way he had. Though I was supposedly well past my sexual prime, I was as hard as a rail-spike by the time our heads broke the surface, and if the long, hot stone pressing against my belly was any indication, he was right there with me.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, finally pulling away, but just enough to rest his forehead against mine as our feet found purchase against the pool floor. “Jesus Fucking Christ. Colin….”

“Surprise?” I damn near squeaked, because it was all I had the breath for.

“Oh, yeah,” he murmured, dropping his head to mouth the pale column of my neck, and the musk of him made me groan and do a slow grind against his thigh. “Fuck,” he groaned against my flesh. “Fuck, Col…oh… Jesus….”

And then, over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, I heard something else. Clapping. Wolf whistles. Laughter. Arousal battled with utter mortification and I wanted to sink back beneath the water—and perhaps grow some gills while I was at it—but Ryan was having none of it. I opened my eyes to his glare silencing the onlookers, and they turned their faces away, some with disgusted expressions. I doubted Drew would allow that to last for very long. Despite his politics, he knew how it was between us; protected it, even.

“C’mon,” Ryan growled, grabbing my hand in a painfully tight grip. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

I in no way resisted as he tugged me along through the water to the set of steps by the elevator, though I did wage a silent battle with myself over whether or not to attempt to cover my more than obvious reaction to Ryan’s greeting. That battle ended quickly when Ryan stepped out of the pool proudly, displaying himself for all to see—not that, of course, he had anything to be ashamed of in that department, but I don’t think it would have mattered if he had. He was making a point, and it was a rare person who could make one better.

“Have fun,” Drew said, waving cheekily to us as Ryan slipped the plastic key card from the pocket of his trunks and jammed it into the slot.

The doors opened immediately, and he ushered me inside, pressing me flat against the back wall as soon as they slipped closed and grabbing me through the cold, wet material of my trunks, squeezing firmly, just the way I liked it. “Jesus, Ryan,” I grunted, trying to push forward and pull back at the same time. “I’m not going to make it to the room at this rate.”

“That’s the idea,” he rumbled, leaning down to scrape his teeth against the juncture of my neck and shoulder before lowering his head further to tongue a nipple. “Too long, Col. It’s been too long.”

“Oh, God,” I breathed, my head slamming back against the wall of the car as I felt the heat pooling in my groin. “Ryan…God…stop.” I reached down and grabbed his wrist. He was strong, but I was stronger, and I applied just enough pressure to make him release me just as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

Thankfully, there was no one waiting to get on, and this time, it was I who dragged him down the hallway to my room. Hormones made me shove the keycard in the wrong way twice, but I finally got it right, and finally, blessedly, we were inside. The air conditioner, set to Antarctica, had my entire body break into chill-bumps and sharpened my nipples to points hard enough to etch glass. It should, by rights, have dampened some of my ardor as well, especially considering my wet and now freezing swim trunks glued to my pelvis, but looking down, I saw that if anything, I was enjoying the cold more than I should have.

Without saying a word, Ryan stepped around me, put his hands on my hips, and pulled the sodden trunks down. It was a bit of a fight at first—as anyone who has tried to strip off a wet bathing suit in a hurry knows—but finally I was free and he was on his knees, taking me into his hot, wet mouth.

It was my turn to start swearing as he took me deep, easing me into his throat and milking me with his tongue. It had been so long and it felt so damn good and I knew I wasn’t going to last. I threaded my fingers through the dampened ringlets of his hair, trying to concentrate on its softness and not the magic Ryan was creating, but it wasn’t working very well. He drew me out, then took me back in, and when he used the tiniest hint of teeth, my fingers tightened spastically in his hair and he hummed his pleasure, and it would have been game, set, and match if he hadn’t pulled completely away and grabbed my tight around the base while looking up into my eyes. “Fuck me, Colin,” he hissed. “God, please fuck me. I need you.”

“Later,” I said, drawing myself across his lips as I pressed my left hand against his head.

“Fuck later. Now!”

I looked down at his petulant face, and the first stirrings of a plan came to mind.

It might come as a surprise to some, but sexually, with me at least, Ryan is a bottom. A pushy bottom, but a bottom nonetheless. And though pushy, I tended to cater to his whims, since what he wanted, I wanted as well, and so it made for a happy union between us.

But what I was starting to see—and kicking myself for not seeing it earlier—was that Ryan, by virtue of being Ryan, had his whims catered to no matter what. Whether through charm, or intimidation, or simple name recognition. Whatever he wanted, he got. Money. Sex. Women. Friends, or those who pretended to be friends.

And it hit me that that was part of the problem.

A Ryan alive was a Ryan challenged. Giving in to him presented no challenge.

I was going to give him that challenge, even if it killed me in the process. And goodness knows, it just might.

Slipping my hand down, I placed my fingers at the points of his jaw and pressed, not hard, but with definite intent. “Take it,” I hissed.

He tried to turn his head away, but I wouldn’t let him. “Take it.” My fingers pressed harder, beginning to unhinge his jaw.

Something flashed in his eyes, and when I looked down, it was to see his cock jump, and I knew I’d hit upon something. “Do it,” I said, letting my voice drop to its lowest register. “I won’t ask again.”

I could see the battle raging in his lust-darkened eyes. I wasn’t one of his whores. I would simply walk away, and he knew it. And it had been too long for him as well.

I kept my hand on his jaw, letting him feel my heat and my strength, and pressed forward. His mouth opened and I eased inside and it was damn near the most glorious thing I’d ever felt. He took me hard, and rough, pleasure bordering on the edge of pain, and it was exactly what I needed. Within minutes, I was thrusting into him and spilling myself down his throat until there was nothing left. Easing out, my knees unhinged and I did a slow slide down the wall and into his arms, and he kissed me again, now tasting of scotch and tobacco and me.

Reaching between us, I traced the outline of him through his trunks, using just enough pressure to be felt, but no more. He whimpered, but every time he tried to press himself into me, I simply lightened my touch. “Please, Col,” he whispered, close to begging. “Don’t tease. Fuck, it hurts!”

Nodding finally, I gathered my strength and stood. “Take off those trunks and get in the bed,” I ordered, pleased when he jumped up and did as I asked without hesitation. Turning, I made for the bathroom, and rustled around in my toiletries bag until I had the bottle of lube—the cinnamon kind that I knew he favored.

When I returned, I had to stop, breathless, just to take him in. He looked so glorious lying there on his back, long legs slightly spread, hands at his sides, his cock, long and thick and oh so gorgeous pressed flat against his belly. “You are so beautiful,” I whispered, meaning every word. He was like a bronze statue of some long forgotten god, the god of lust, perhaps, and I was a more than willing proselyte ready to worship at his altar.

I completed my path to the bed and stopped. “Give me your hand.”

Without thought, he did so, and I uncapped the bottle and poured some of the lube into it, spreading it along the smooth, soft skin of his palm and fingers before releasing it.

“Touch yourself.”

“Colin….”

“Please….”

With only slight reluctance, he wrapped his big hand around his shaft and began a slow pump, moaning and thrashing his head back and forth.

“Yes,” I hissed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His lubricated thumb swiped across his crown, and he trembled. “Oh, God. Oh, God…Col….”

“Shhhh.” Moving to the foot of the bed, I crawled in between his legs and spread them, watching avidly as his strokes became faster and firmer, twisting and tugging and squeezing. Pouring out a little more lube, I coated my fingers and, still watching and licking my suddenly dry lips, I eased my fingers along the cleft of his ass to his entrance and circled around the rim, staying with him as he bucked and moaned. “Is this what you want?” I asked, slipping a finger into him, feeling him, inhumanly hot, and oh so tight.

“God yes!” he shouted, bucking again, the tendons and veins in his neck standing out in bas relief. “Fuck yes!”

“You need this, don’t you.”

His answer was a string of expletives that would have turned a sailor’s face red.

“Oh yes, that’s it. Yes, that’s it. So nice, Ryan…so very nice.”

I began to thrust in time with his own, and added a second finger, quickly followed by a third, hitting his prostate with every thrust and loving the sound of his ragged screams.

“Colin!” he yelled out. “Colin! I’m…I’m gonna….I’m….fuck!”

I watched for the sign, and when I saw it, pushed into him with force, pressing the pad of my middle finger against his prostate and vibrated against it, milking it hard even as I leaned fully over, displaced his hand and took him down my throat.

He grabbed my head and thrust blindly, once, twice, and then, with a shout that would have shattered the windows had they not been reinforced, released into me in a jet like lava and I greedily took every drop as his back bowed and held there in an impossible arch.

Finally, he collapsed bonelessly back on the bed, and with one last, long lick, I released him and began to remove my fingers.

“No,” he said, broken-voiced and panting. “Stay. Please. Stay.”

Thanking fate for my long arms, I kept my fingers nestled inside as I crawled up his sweat-soaked body and lay my head down on his chest, placing butterfly kisses on the salty skin and listening to his heart thundering in my ear. Eventually, his arm came up and I felt his fingers gently ruffle against the fringe at the back of my head, and I smiled. His breathing gradually began to slow, and I eased out of him, and completed my journey up his body until I was lying beside him, one leg thrown across his. He turned to me, a soft smile on his face and a flicker of life in his eyes. “That was….”

“Very nice,” I replied, closing the distance and kissing him gently. Then I pulled back and looked into his sleepy eyes. “I love you, Ryan.”

It wasn’t sappy, or romantic in the least; nothing that romance novels or fairy tales are made of. It was a flat out matter of fact statement of truth, and I sealed it with another gentle kiss.

His answer came in the way he took me in his arms and arranged me so that I lay more or less completely atop him, placing my head in the crook of his neck and running his fingers gently up and down my back.

And in this way, we both allowed sleep to take us.

*******

I woke up several hours later thrusting into a rather plump pillow that had mysteriously inserted itself beneath my pelvis sometime during my sleeping hours. Ryan’s mouth was hot against my back, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses down the length of my spine, followed by a wide swath of tongue tracing back up. I shivered under the onslaught, and his chuckle was deep and amused. “Wondered when you’d finally wake up, sleepyhead.”

“Jetlag,” I ground out as his huge, hot hands came down to the cheeks of my ass, beginning a deep and entirely too pleasurable massage.

Still chuckling, he reached between the pillow and my hips and took me in hand, squeezing. “This doesn’t seem to be suffering.”

“Oh, it’s suffering alright.”

“Well, it’s going to have to suffer a little longer,” he replied almost primly—though it was all for show, and we both knew it—as he released me and resumed the massage. “Drew called,” he continued, voice casual as his hands continued doing their incredible things to me.

“Yeah?” I tried to sound casual as well, but suspected it was a failure and was grateful for the muffling effect the pillow still under my head had on my voice. I’d yet to open my eyes. I was enjoying this far, far too much.

“Mm. Hm.”

“And what did our fearless leader have to say?”

“Well,” he said, and I moaned as he spread me and placed the tips of his thumbs against my entrance, moving them in a slight circular motion that curled my toes, “he wants us out of here by six—it’s almost four now, by the way—and he’s got ten grand in chips waiting for us at the teller’s.”

“V-very generous of…him,” I stuttered, my hips doing their own version of the Scottish Reel as he began to press slowly inside. God, I was hot.

“That’s Drew for ya,” he replied, sliding in up to the webbing on his palms and then slipping his thumbs up and down against one another in a motion that felt entirely too good, slowly stretching me, preparing me for him. “Always willing to put out.”

“And you…enjoy…every minute of…it.” If he continued like this, I was going to be entirely spent before the main event even started. Not that I wanted him to stop, of course.

“Only if you’re talking money.”

“Really,” I replied, patently disbelieving.

He snorted, his fingers beginning to move a little faster. “Why would I settle for that, when I already have this?” He slid in, hard, to make his point—not that I didn’t already understand it.

“Be-because,” I said, panting, “we…hardly ever see one another…and your…sex drive…is inhuman?”

“We’ve already established the second, and the first can easily be changed,” he replied, withdrawing his thumbs and positioning himself against me, pressing, but not yet entering, letting me feel his size, and his heat. “But regardless, you’re the only one I do this with.”

At ‘this’, he eased the crown inside me and white sparks went off in the back of my eyes. It was a long time since I’d allowed myself to be taken like this, and Ryan wasn’t exactly the best person with whom to get back into the swing of things after so long an absence.

“Relax,” he grunted, keeping totally still and bringing his hands down to my lower back, beginning a deep massage. “It’s only me.”

“Therein lies the problem,” I hissed. “Physically,” I hastened to continue as I felt his hands hesitate.

“You’re bigger than I am,” he reasoned, going back to what he was doing.

“Tighter, too,” I gasped, gradually feeling myself relax around him.

“Fuck yeah,” he agreed, and I couldn’t help but smile against the pain, which really was dissipating. “More?”

“I’m not…desert.”

“You are to me.” Without waiting for my reply, he eased in another quarter inch, using my surprise as its own relaxant. “Jesus, Colin,” he gasped. “You’re…so fucking….”

“Yeah, I know.”

I felt him pulse within me.

“I don’t think I can….”

“Go for it,” I murmured, preparing myself as much as was able.

“You sure?”

“Do it!”

And then he was fully sheathed within me and the air was driven from my lungs, and he moaned as my body twisted and tightened on instinct not knowing whether to accept the intrusion or repel it. And suddenly he was on top of me, flesh pressed tight against me, whispering urgently in my flushed ear, long fingers stroking what remained of my hair. “Shh, Col, it’s only me. It’s only me. I love you. It’s only me. Shh.”

I let the heat of him sink into my muscles, like a hot towel in a sauna, and felt myself again begin to relax—all except for a certain part of me that apparently actually enjoyed the pain I’d been in, since it was anything but relaxed.

“Oh, Col,” Ryan moaned in my ear. “That’s it, yes, that’s it. Let me in, baby. Let me in…God!”

“…not…your baby….”

“Gotta…gotta move…. Get ready….”

True to his word, he began to ease back out, and this time I was relaxed enough to allow the pleasure of his movement to eclipse what little pain remained. Pulling his chest away, his strong fingers bit into my hips and he eased me up somewhat so that my weight was partially on my knees. He was already panting, and he’d yet to complete his first thrust. I had a feeling that this wouldn’t last very long, but now that the pain was gone, I was determined to enjoy it for as long as I could. Let’s call it a guilty pleasure and leave it at that.

“Ohhhhh,” he groaned as he eased back inside. “You are so fucking tight! Hot…. So…fucking… . Oh, Col…Jesus….”

As his thrusting began picking up momentum, I eased up onto my elbows and settled my knees a bit, changing the angle of penetration and giving myself the leverage I needed to slide back and meet him with force. The sound of sweating flesh slapping against sweating flesh was a turn-on all its own, and when one of his hands left my hip to grab the headboard and increase the strength of his thrusts, I began to believe in Heaven again, for surely I was touching it.

My own cock was weeping as it jutted out, trying in vain to establish friction with the air surrounding it. The pressure gathering in my balls was starting to become acutely painful, but right then, all it did was add to the overall sensation, and I think perhaps I might have screamed, which caused him to growl, low and deep, and bite down on the taut skin of my back.

Then he drove into me with all his strength, and froze, holding us both on the edge. “I can never get enough of fucking you,” he rasped out. “Do you realize that, Col? Never. Fucking never ever, ever.”

And then he started pounding into me so frenetically that I might have wondered if I was going to be torn apart, except that he was hitting my prostate with every single stroke, and after a moment, I found that I didn’t care about anything at all.

When he began grunting nasally, mixed with high pitched whimpers, I knew what that meant, and I ached for it, and then it came as he stiffened and I was filled with stinging liquid heat. His hips bucked against me blindly and he cried out my name and God it was so fucking good.

Then he collapsed on top of me, his dead weight driving me into the mattress, his mouth landing next to my ear as he gasped and sobbed for every breath. Though I bore his weight easily, the pain in my nether regions was beginning to become a bit of a problem, and when his cock softened and slid from me, I eased his body off and to the side so that I could turn and take my problem, as it were, into my own hands.

“No,” he said, still gasping and trying to bat my hands away. “Just….”

“Can’t wait,” I grunted, tugging myself hard. I had to come. I had to. Not coming wasn’t an option at this point. Problem was, I didn’t think I could.

“No, Col, wait. I’ll do whatever you want. Tell me. Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” I replied immediately. “Your mouth. I need….”

And he was there, and it was hot, and wet, and perfect, and almost too damn much, and I whimpered in frustration, tossing my head like a horse new to the bit. And he understood, and took my sac in his large, gentle hand, massaging lightly, gentling me, allowing me to feel him and only him, and it must have jarred something lose, because when I came, finally!, it felt like I would never, ever stop, and just when I thought it was over, he squeezed my balls gently, and gave one hard suck, and whatever I had been doing before paled away to nothing compared to the explosion that consumed me to ashes.

I think I might have passed out, because when I opened my eyes again, I was on my back and he was lined up along my right side, peppering my face with kisses as he stroked the sweat-soaked fringe of my hair. “Unh?” I said, or something equally witty, causing him to laugh.

“You back with me?”

I licked my lips and blinked a few times. “Yeah. I think so. Did I….?”

“Yup.” Though he could have sounded cocky—what man wouldn’t?—he didn’t. Instead, there was concern shading his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I replied after a moment. “It was just….”

“Fucking intense.”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go so long. I’m….”

“It’s fine, Ry.”

He smiled at me. It was as genuine as it was rare, and I could feel myself falling in love with him all over again.

“What?”

“Ry. You haven’t called me that in forever.”

“I didn’t realize you missed it.”

He grabbed me tight, then, as if trying to meld himself to me. “Fuck, Col, I miss you.”

“Well, you have me now.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I do.”

And then the phone rang.

Drew Carey was toast.

*******

Less than an hour later, yet another knock came to my door just as I was straightening my silk tie. Though I wasn’t looking forward to a night of dinner and gambling and goodness knows what else, I didn’t have it within myself to say no. Especially to Drew, who’d gone out of his way to make sure my first day here was a memorable one. I was pleasantly sore, and more than a little tired as I checked my reflection in the mirror one last time, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles in my dark suit before going to the door and opening it.

Drew was beaming at me from the other side, clad as I was in an expensive suit, and looking tanned and refreshed. “Damn, Mochrie,” he said, slapping me on the arm as he sized me up and down, “you sure do clean up nice!”

“Why thank you, Drew. So do you.”

“Yeah, but you’re used to seeing me in these duds.” Laughing, he grabbed my hand, his grip warm and slightly sweaty. “C’mon. We’re meeting the others at the restaurant.”

Grabbing my key card, I stuffed it into my pocket with my wallet and stepped out into the cool, dim hallway.

Drew must have seen my involuntary glance over his head, because he smirked. “He’s already there, keeping the girls company.”

My smile faltered the tiniest bit. I could feel it there, trembling on my lips, threatening to fail altogether. Suddenly, the night was even less appealing than it already had been. “Drew….”

“Don’t worry, man,” he soothed, reading my thoughts incorrectly, “these are classy ladies.”

I sighed. “It’s not that….”

Stopping, he turned and looked me square in the eyes, expression serious. Releasing my hand, he reached up to touch my face, gently, like butterfly wings. He’s always touched me like that, and to this day, I’m unsure why. “Look,” he said, “I would never put you in that kind of position. Not without asking you first.” I rolled my eyes, and he grinned. “Alright…not offstage. Anyway, they’re for a couple of buddies of mine who are coming out to dinner with us. Well, and for me, too,” he continued, blushing a charming pink. “They’re nice, I swear. Really classy. And they won’t, you know, do anything….”

He was pleading, and I didn’t have the heart to make him suffer any further because of my hang-ups. “It’s fine, Drew.”

“Really?”

“Really. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

The smile on his face was like a child’s on Christmas morning, and it warmed me unaccountably. Grabbing my hand again, he led me down the hallway and into whatever the night held in store for me.

*******

Dinner, it turned out, was, at least in part, more pleasant than I had anticipated. The restaurant he had chosen was charming, with dim lighting and wonderful ambiance, intimate without being cloying. Ryan stood as we entered, looking incredible in his dark suit, white shirt, and pale green tie. He smelled lightly of cologne and scotch as he hugged me in greeting, pressing a warm, brief kiss to my cheek before releasing me. His eyes were shadowed, but contained the faintest hint of a sparkle, and I nodded, smiling slightly, as I sat beside him in the chair he’d saved for me. To my left was a stunning young blonde woman in a beautiful Vera Wang sheath, and when I greeted her, her smile danced in her eyes the way that Ryan’s wanted to, but didn’t. The other two women at the table were equally beautiful, refined, and well-dressed. Remembering Drew’s comments to me in the hallway, I gathered that they were high end escorts whose time was purchased for the evening. The knowledge didn’t bother me. It was pretty much a fact of life in the business I was in, and the women seemed agreeable enough company.

In fact, Christa, the woman seated to my left and Drew’s date for the evening, professed a love of cooking, and much of the meal was spent in pleasant conversation with her over various dishes and cooking techniques. Which, as it happened, had the added benefit of keeping me from doing my infamous ‘bump on a log’ impression when Drew, Ryan, and the two other gentlemen who I didn’t know except to name, began to trade increasingly boisterous war stories that went well beyond my comfort level.

At some point during the meal, I excused myself to use the facilities, and as I was washing my hands, the door hissed open and Ryan entered, looking dashing and more than slightly predatory. “She wants you,” he growled, heels clicking across the ceramic tiling of the bathroom.

“Excuse me?”

“Drew’s date. Bambi or Fifi or whoever the fuck she is.” Reaching out a long arm, he grabbed me around the waist and pulled so that our pelvises were melded together. I could feel the burning heat of him leaching through the expensive fabric of his trousers, and mine as well.

“It’s Christa, and she happens to be a very nice person.”

“Whatever.”

I sighed. “Ryan….”

Lowering his head, he gave me a kiss that I could only call ‘claiming’, all slashing teeth and probing tongue, and after a moment of giving in to it, I pressed my hands against his chest and gently pushed him away. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Ryan. It clashes with your suit.”

He snorted and shook his head, but didn’t release his hold on me. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“They’re all looking at you,” he attempted to explain, the alcohol he’d consumed giving his words a soft slur. “Drew probably shelled out fifteen grand for those whores and they’d give it up to you for free if you crooked your damn finger at ‘em.”

I had to laugh. “I think you highly overestimate my attractiveness, especially to members of the opposite sex.”

“Fuck.”

“Ryan,” I said softly, pressing my hand over his heart, “I can’t help being who I am. Maybe they like that I talk to them, instead of through them.” I paused for a moment, replaying what I’d just said and hating how sanctimonious I sounded. I shook my head. “It’s not like I’m asking for the attention, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Everybody loves Colin,” he replied, and there was a sarcastic tinge to the words that I didn’t much care for.

“And Colin loves very few. Remember that.” Giving him a slight smile, I broke his hold on me and left him standing there at the sink.

*******

The rest of the meal passed quickly and uneventfully, and before the hour was through, we were back in the hotel and striding through the bells and whistles and tin-canned atmosphere of the casino on our way to the VIP area. My weariness was beginning to catch up with me, especially after such a pleasantly strenuous morning and afternoon, but Drew gave me another one of his looks, and once again, my inability to say a simple ‘no’ came back to bite me. Ryan, unfortunately, was spending much of his time trying to get some sort of reaction from me by alternately hovering and completely ignoring me, and the game was only adding to my tiredness.

I may be younger than I appear, but High School was still a very long time ago, and my patience for its games has long since worn thin, as my son would be only too happy to tell you.

It had gotten to the point that by the time we entered the rarefied air of the private, high dollar section of the casino, I was ready to dump all ten thousand that Drew had foisted on me on a single spin of the roulette wheel, just to be done with it all. I might have, too, but the way my luck had been running so far, I’d have won and been stuck there until goodness knows when.

Instead, I accepted a glass of white wine and wandered around the small area until I settled on a thousand dollar blackjack table that wasn’t too crowded. My heart wasn’t in the game, and I lost half the money within moments. Feeling guilty for throwing away money that wasn’t even mine, I concentrated a bit, and managed to win back my losses, and then some, but as it usually is in Las Vegas, it all went downhill from there. Rather quickly, I had lost all of Drew’s money, and some from my own pocket as well. When I yawned for the third time in five minutes, I gave into the inevitable, tipped the dealer, thanked my tablemates, and retired from the game.

Leaning against the long, oaken bar, I watched with a good deal of fondness as Ryan, Drew and friends boisterously took over one of the craps tables, laughing and obviously having the time of their lives. Drew, as always, appeared to be winning big and Ryan didn’t seem to be doing too badly either. It cheered me considerably to watch Ryan laughing and cracking jokes, bounding around like the tall goof he was. My heart gave a gentle pang as the memories of what was washed over me at the sight, and for a brief moment, I ached for the old days and Whose Line so badly, I could taste it.

Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely adore Brad, and our friendship and tours are one of the highlights of my life, but sharing the stage with Ryan has always been pure magic and nothing, and no one, will ever compare.

As if reading my heart, he looked up, and our eyes met across the space separating us, and the vortex threatened to open again. This time, however, I resisted its pull, content for the moment to stay where I was; a silent observer. He gave me a grin, and I raised my glass to him. He winked, and then the moment was gone.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, I placed my empty wine glass on the bar, pushed my weary body away from it, and strode over to the craps table, where the high-spiritedness had only increased.

“Hey, buddy!” Drew enthused as he saw me approach. “How you doin, huh? Wanna join us?” He giggled, blowing alcoholic fumes into my face that were strong enough to sting my eyes. I had the distinct feeling that he was going to regret this, come morning.

Then again, this was Drew, so probably not.

I held my hands up. “Thank you, Drew, but no. I think I’m….”

“Awww…c’mon! Don’t be a…a….a….” He looked around, drawing a complete blank.

“Stick in the mud?” I supplied.

“Yeah! That!”

“Yo, Stiles!” one of Drew’s friends yelled. “Give him the dice! Maybe that’ll change my luck!”

A chorus of agreement came from around the table, and I shook my head, demurring. “Thank you, but….”

And then Ryan looked at me, and I saw a look in his eyes that I’d seen a thousand times over the years. The one that said ‘you’re gonna hate this, but play along anyway’. The one that I could resist only on the rarest of occasions. This wasn’t one of them.

Giving him my patented long-suffering sigh, I froze in position and allowed him to do as he would. Smirking, he dropped the dice into his other hand, reached up, and rubbed the pads of his long fingers over the top of my head in a sweeping circular motion. “For luck.”

The laughter was loud and instantaneous. Drew cackled so hard I feared he would rupture something, especially when he collapsed against the table and nearly fell to the floor. I was well used to laughter coming at my expense--had come to enjoy it really since no harm was meant-- though I made damn sure that none of the others knew that, narrowing my eyes until Ryan turned away in mock fright.

Putting the dice back into his now supposedly lucky hand, he shook them and tossed. Cheers erupted, and I sighed again as I was patted, thumped, and basically manhandled.

Collecting the dice, Ryan turned to me again, and I took one deliberate step back. His lips turned down in a moue and his eyes got wide and sad.

“Not a chance,” I said, aiming for sternness.

“C’mon….”

“No.”

“Awww, c’mon. Please?”

“No.” I turned my nose up slightly. “You don’t need it. My luck lingers.”

Drew collapsed again, laughing so hard tears sprouted from his eyes. The others laughed as well, loud and heartily, and I finally allowed a smile to crease my features, pleased to have added my little contribution to the gaiety of the evening.

When the laughter finally stopped, I let my expression harden and stared at both Drew and Ryan, using my extended index finger to illustrate the seriousness of my next words. “And if either of you even think of using this on stage next week, I will make you regret it until your dying day.”

The twin gulps of two boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar greeted my threat, accompanied by a Greek Chorus of “oooooooooh’s” from the assorted onlookers.

One of the gentlemen at the table, a newcomer who I didn’t recognize, turned to his friend and said, “Stage? Isn’t he a little old to be a groupie?”

I thought Ryan was going to blow a gasket, but the croupier, a young man seeming barely out of his teens, chose that moment to step in, to my eternal mortification. “Sir,” he commented, “did you have a chance to read the marquee outside our establishment when you came in?”

The man shrugged. “Yeah. So what?”

The croupier pointed to Drew. “Drew Carey.” Then to Ryan. “Ryan Stiles.”

“Yeah. I know that. So?”

He pointed, lastly, to me. “Colin Mochrie, improv god.”

All eyes came to stare and I wished heartily for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I could feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment and I ducked my head, staring blindly down at my shoes. Then Ryan’s arm was around my shoulders and I told myself to pull it together. At last, I looked up and tried a smile on for size. It fit poorly, but it would have to do. “Why thank you, young man,” I replied airily. “There’ll be a little something extra in your pay packet next week.” I waited a beat for the chuckles to subside. “And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I bid you a fond adieu. Goodnight. You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

Drew squeezed my arm and Ryan, passing off the dice, led me away from the table and to a shadowed, private spot just inside the doors. “You okay?” he murmured, tucking me along his side and stroking my back with the tips of his fingers.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “Now that my face isn’t on fire.”

He chuckled softly. “Can’t blame the guy for telling the truth.”

I sighed again, and this time he did as well. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“For being an idiot earlier. For being one now.”

“I’ll accept your apology for earlier, but you’re certainly not being one now.”

He ducked his head and I watched the light play off his sun-lightened curls. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have to bring you into the thing, either.”

Turning in his arms, I looked up at him, using my hand to tilt his chin until our eyes met. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ry. If anything, you made me happy.”

He blinked, slowly, confused. “I…did?”

I had to laugh. “Yes. You did. I love playing with you, you nut! And I miss it. More than you could ever know.”

“Oh…Col…” he whispered, and the kiss that followed was like none that we’d yet shared that day, filled with the fondness of memories, the bitterness of regret, the salty tang of tears, and, perhaps, the promise of tomorrow. When we parted, we touched our foreheads together, standing, for one brief moment, in a world all our own.

Then we broke apart by mutual consent and I grinned up at him. “You’re buying me breakfast tomorrow, so go back there and win more of Drew’s money.”

He looked at me, confused. “But I thought….”

“I’m beat, big guy,” I said, real regret coloring my words. “And still on Toronto time.”

“Alright,” he said softly, meaning anything but.

I took his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“I….”

Someday, I told myself, I would stop caving so easily. Reaching into my pocket, I withdrew my wallet and slipped out the second key card I’d been given. “Make that later tonight.”

The smile he gave me was worth every bit of sleep I’d lose. And then some.

*******

I awoke the next morning to sunlight beaming through a small break in the thick curtains, a warm body curled behind me, and a heavy arm thrown across my waist. Blinking fuzzily at the clock, I noted that it was just past seven, and I’d been asleep for almost nine hours. Behind me, Ryan—and I could tell it was him without having to look, thank goodness—was snoring lightly, which was always the case when his allergies were particularly bothersome. Rather than being annoyed by the sound, I found it quite endearing and spent several moments refamiliarizing myself with it as I allowed my body to awaken at its own pace, something I rarely had the luxury of doing.

Within moments, certain needs made themselves known, and I eased myself out of Ryan’s embrace, and out of bed, without waking him, an easy enough task given the years of practice I’d had.

Morning ablutions complete, I reentered the room in a dark robe to find that Ryan, still asleep, had turned himself onto his back, adopting what I called his ‘starfish position’; all arms and legs spread to their limits and no space for another being over the size of a small dog or infant. Except, of course, that this was a double-king which was roomy even if you were the size of a mutant giraffe. Though still asleep—and I could tell that from his breathing, having become acutely attuned to it over the years—he sported a tiny smile while, some three feet below, he was, as Brad would no doubt say, sporting wood.

Crossing the room, I went to the closet, and my suit hung therein, and removed the dove grey silk handkerchief I’d tucked in there last night before dinner. It would do perfectly for what I had in mind. Shaking it out, I refolded it into a long rectangle perhaps three inches wide, perfect for a blindfold, or perhaps a sexy wrist restraint, but neither was what I had in mind at the moment.

Shedding my robe, I carefully climbed back into the bed, taking care to time my movements to the rhythm of his breathing, and to keep myself as much away from his body as I could. If he felt my heat, he would curl in, and that would defeat my purpose, you see.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually I was where I wanted to be; sitting back on my heels, one knee a few inches away from his right thigh, the other just back from his trim waist. Handkerchief in hand, I treated myself to another long, silent stare. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen his naked body hundreds of times before. I just never tired of looking at it, tracing every line and sharp angle with my eyes, noting each tiny change and storing it in my memory for the time when distance and commitments would once again separate us, as often as not on different continents entirely.

I slowly traced my gaze from his face, looking as always no matter how many years have passed exactly like a mischievous young boy after a hard day’s play, down the elegant column of his neck, across the breadth of his shoulders and down his hairless chest, still well muscled even in his middle age, along his slowly softening belly and the faint trail of gingery hair to the place that wasn’t at all soft, but tall and proud, like he was himself

Taking the edges of the handkerchief, I slipped the looped end over his erection, letting it flutter down to the base and listening carefully to his breathing.

Good, still asleep.

I was always the heavier sleeper of the two of us, allowing him to get away with things like he had done yesterday, or even sliding into bed with me last night and curling around me without waking me up. Deb often despairs of my ability to sleep like the dead, asking me what would happen if a burglar or worse would break in in the middle of the night. I always tell her the truth—that the poor unfortunate would spend his time wishing that his mother had never met his father after she was done with him. I’d never have to leave the bed at all. It always makes her laugh.

Enough of that.

The ends still in my hand, I pulled the material up the majestic length of his shaft to the crown, then let it flutter down again, still keeping a weather ear out for any changes in his breathing. When there were none, I upped the ante, just slightly, tightening my grip on the silk and making the next slow, smooth stroke a little more forceful.

He moaned softly in the middle of an inhale, turning his head just slightly as his left leg crooked at the knee, then relaxed again. Smiling, I repeated the maneuver, listening as he moaned again, then murmured something that I couldn’t quite decipher. Satisfied at the reaction, I pinched off the trailing ends right at his shaft, then wrapped the rest of the material around him, and took him, very gently, in hand, moving the silken sheath slowly, gently, up and down his length. I slid the flat of my palm beneath the heavy weight of his scrotum and lifted it into my hand, my thumb brushing just lightly against its textured surface, feeling the skin tighten and tense.

Some time between the sixth stroke and the seventh, the rhythm of his breathing changed from aroused but asleep to aroused and awake. His eyes stayed closed, though; he was pretending, even though he knew that I knew he was awake. It was a game we sometimes played, and I’ve never tired of it. By his reaction, neither had he.

I continued to move lightly enough not to bring orgasm, but not so lightly as to cause him to lose interest…among other things. Not that that seemed to be a problem. His chest was moving deeply with his increased breathing, and pearlescent fluid collected at the tip of his erection. I wanted to taste it, and so I did, leaning forward and taking only the head between my lips, using the point of my tongue to swipe the liquid away before tracing around his circumference, first clockwise, then counterclockwise, always varying my rhythm while my hand motion remained completely steady and slow.

When I dragged the flat of my tongue across him, he stiffened, and sighed, abandoning all pretense of sleeping. His fingers came down to touch my face, then his nails dragged though the hair at the base of my skull and I wanted to purr.

I actually felt bereft when his hand left my scalp, but that feeling was short-lived when it slithered along the top of my thigh and clamped snugly around me.

Damn, I’d forgotten about those long arms of his again. I hadn’t intended to be part of the festivities, so to speak, but now that I was, backing out wasn’t really an option. Well, it was an option, but not if I wanted my penis and I to be on speaking terms for the rest of the week.

When in Rome, and all that; I shifted slightly so that my hips were a bit closer to his slowly pumping hand and he thanked me by giving me a squeeze-tug-swipe combination that almost sent me flying off to Mars before I was able to rein it back and concentrate on my reason for being where I was.

I took more of him into my mouth…not much, perhaps another half inch, and stopped, continuing to use my tongue in a way I knew he enjoyed as my hand kept up the same slow, steady, gentle motion, urging the soft silk up and down his pulsing shaft. His hips began to thrust, his grunts demanding more, but I was bound and determined to take this at my own pace.

Ryan had no such compunction, and was using every trick in the book to get me off. He knew me so well that it didn’t take long before I was spilling myself over his hand, the sheets, and his belly. It took all of my effort not to bite down on his sensitive crown at the moment of my orgasm, but I couldn’t suppress the reflex completely, and when my teeth dragged across his flesh, his hips bucked so wildly, I was nearly thrown from my perch.

A sweet lethargy came over me at my completion, but I continued to stroke him leisurely, fondling his sac and running my tongue around in its never ending circles. I could keep this up for hours, and had on one memorable occasion when some minor drug ingestion had rendered him less sensitive than normal. Of course, we were both a bit younger then but I was still confident in my abilities. I may tell the newspapers that I only have one marketable skill, and that may be true to some extent, but I do know how to make love—particularly to one Ryan Lee Stiles.

His hand moved away, and if I hadn’t already come, I would have just at the sight of him cleaning me from his fingers. Feeling a blast of erotic heat going through me at the sight, I decided to again step things up, and made my grip tighter as I began to move my lips along his shaft in time to my hand movements. He began to growl, deep in his chest and when I judged the time was right, I closed my fingers around his scrotum and gave the whole thing a nice gentle squeeze and then tugged, just lightly.

With a strangled cry, he poured himself into my waiting mouth, and I greedily took everything he had to offer, not giving up until he was soft and pliant once again. Sighing in satisfaction, I released him and levered myself over until I was lying beside him. He leaned over and kissed me, his eyes once again heavy-lidded and sated. “Good morning,” he burred.

“It’s still early,” I replied. “Go on back to sleep.”

“…time…?”

I checked. “Almost quarter to eight. What time did you get in?”

“…dunno,” he mumbled in response, eyes blinking slowly. “Four? Five, maybe?”

“Then you definitely need a little more shut-eye. Go ahead. The world can do without you for a little while longer, Captain Sex-Fiend.”

His eyes opened wide for just a moment. “Me? You’re the one who started this.”

“Technically, you are. I was just responding to a presented opportunity.”

“See how you are?”

Chuckling, I brushed my lips against his. “Sleep, now. It’ll do you good.”

Rolling to his side, he placed a hand on my cheek, allowed his eyes to finally close, and was fast asleep within thirty seconds.

********

Fifteen minutes later, a knock sounded on the door and I sighed, pulling on and belting my robe. “Who is it?” I asked, peering through the peephole and seeing only a blur of white.

“Room service, sir,” came the muffled answer.

I cocked my head in confusion. “Are you sure you have the right room?” I hadn’t ordered room service.

“Positive, sir. It was ordered by a…Mr. Stiles…early this morning. Should I take it back to the kitchen?”

“No, no,” I replied, undoing the locks and opening the door. “Please, come in.” I gave the young man my best smile and he returned it, briefly, before staring studiously ahead, deliberately blocking out any sight that wasn’t between him and the table toward which he was rolling his small silver cart. Which, I suppose, was for the best, unless seeing a six and a half foot tall naked man in bed was top on his list of things to do for the day.

Then again, perhaps it was. It surely was on mine, after all.

At the table, he took out a fine linen tablecloth and placed it over top, then set out some real silver silverware and china plates, followed by the covered dishes from which delicious scents were emanating, and lastly a silver carafe filled with strong coffee. “Oh, bless you,” I sighed, eyeing the carafe and taking in a deep breath of its pleasant scent. “This is all very wonderful. Thank you very much for bringing it.”

His smile was shy but genuine, blue eyes twinkling. “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Mochrie. I’m Jason, and if there’s anything else you need, anything at all, you just ask for me, okay?” He placed the morning paper beside the plate.

“I will, Jason, thank you.”

With another smile, he nodded to me, took hold of his cart, and wheeled it to the door and out of the room.

After a two second argument with myself over whether to wake Ryan, I decided against it, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat down to breakfast.

The phone rang just as I was finishing the last of my potatoes, and I hurried over to it before it rang a second time, intent on allowing Ryan to stay asleep for as long as he needed it. “Yes?”

“And a good morning to you, Lucky Bald Guy!” came the cheerful response. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very well, thank you, Drew. And yourself?”

His boyish chuckle was all the answer I needed on that particular subject. “I’m not getting you at a bad time or anything, am I?” he asked, a bit belatedly.

“Just finishing the last of my breakfast. What’s on your mind?”

“Actually, I kinda need to talk to Stiles. Is he there?”

“He is,” I affirmed. “But he’s sleeping right now. Can it wait?”

“Damn, I wish it could, but I’ve got a couple guys here down from Oregon. They’re thinking about opening some comedy clubs up there, and they’re kind of anxious to talk to him about it.”

I bit back a sigh. “Does he know?”

“Know what? Oh…yeah. Yeah. He talked to them a little bit last night.”

“Alright. I’ll let him know, then.”

“Great! Thanks, man! Tell him to meet us down at the casino when he’s ready.”

“Will do.”

“You’ll…um…be up at the pool later, right?”

I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. It wasn’t as if I’d had anything else planned, after all. “Sure, Drew.”

“Fantastic! I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

By the time I’d made it to the bed, Ryan was already awakening, arching his long body in a slow stretch so sexy that I wanted to jump him then and there, Oregonian investors be damned. The sparkle in his eyes as they fluttered open told me he knew exactly the effect he was having on me, and when he added a little groan to his repertoire, all the blood in my body cheerfully hopped aboard the southbound train. “You’re evil.”

“And ya love me for it,” he replied, husky-voiced from sleep.

“Among other things,” I agreed complacently, coming to sit next to him. “Drew’s looking for you.”

“Yeah? For what?”

“Something about comedy clubs and men from Oregon.”

A string of expletives turned the room briefly blue, and the light went from his eyes as if a switch had been flipped.

I laid a hand on his warm shoulder as he rolled to exit the bed. “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

Sitting up, he slumped down over his knees, sighing. “Yeah, I know, but I talked to them yesterday, and I don’t want to leave ‘em hanging.” He sighed again, scrubbing a hand over his face, thick with morning stubble. “Damn it.”

Squeezing his shoulder, I stood. “You’re welcome to use my shower.”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, because I’d make you use it with me, and then those assholes would leave, and Drew would be pissed.”

“Far be it for me to put a kink in your plans,” I replied, smirking.

He grinned wickedly at me. “Oh, you put a kink in a lot of things.” Standing, he grabbed me and kissed me hard on the lips, then pulled away. “I’d better leave now, while I’ve still got the will for it.”

I waited until he’d gotten his hand on the door handle. “Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“You might want to….” Letting my voice trail off, I gave him a deliberate look as he stood there, naked and glorious and more than half erect.

He chuckled, then shrugged. “Fuck ‘em. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head, unbelted my robe, slid it off and tossed it to him.

“Screw that,” he rumbled, tossing the robe to the floor and striding back toward me.

It turned out he was a bit late after all.

*******

Shortly after Ryan had left, I picked up the phone and called Deb. It was still quite early, Toronto time, but I knew she’d be awake. She was the one who had suggested, wisely, I thought, that she be the go between for myself and Pat. I gave her what news I had, told her I missed her, had her pass on my love to Luke, and was finished within five minutes. This left me at rather a loose end since I didn’t want to go to the pool until I knew that Ryan, or at least Drew would be there, and I certainly didn’t want to go down to the casino. The Jacuzzi looked promising, but I’d likely fall asleep in it, only to be found, drowned, by some poor housekeeping woman who’d only wanted to change the sheets.

Walking over to the closet, I pulled a favorite book out of my bag and settled back on the bed with it, soon becoming deeply engrossed in the world of spaceships and mayhem.

Sometime later, a knock came to the door, and I rose, grumbling slightly. “Yes?”

I had to smile when the most instantly recognizable voice I’d ever heard in my life filtered through the solid metal. “Room service!”

“Oh yeah? What kind of services are you offering?”

“Open the door, big boy, and find out for yourself!”

Grinning, I did just that, grabbing his wrist and yanking him inside, engulfing him in my arms in a tight hug, which he enthusiastically returned. After a moment, he pulled away, adjusting his trendy glasses and laughing up at me. “Man, I should try that line more often, if this is the kind of greeting I’m gonna get!” I just chuckled and shook my head as he looked around, eyes widening comically. “Wow, Mr. M, I’m tres impressed! Name on the marquee, high roller suite. Screwin’ the boss sure brings nice perks!”

“I’ll have you know that Drew did all this.”

His jaw dropped. “Wow! You’re fucking Drew, too? You dirty dog, you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Greg,” I deadpanned, leading him over to the couch in the suite’s living area and sitting down beside him. “How’s life treating you? Coffee?”

He shook his head ‘no’. “Can’t complain. How’s tricks with you?”

“Not bad,” I allowed. Four months ago, he’d toured with Brad and I through Atlantic City, New York and Pennsylvania. I hadn’t talked to him since and found I’d missed his unique personality and solid friendship. “You’re here early.”

“So, might I note, are you. Anything up with that?” he asked, too casually.

One of the things that makes Greg so good at what he does is his gift of insight. He just seems to know, instinctively, what your weak points are, and he mines that soft underbelly relentlessly until he comes up with comedic gold. And he doesn’t always shut it off when he’s not performing. To know Greg Proops is to be uncomfortable about fifty percent of the time, but it’s also what makes him fun and exciting to be around.

Sort of like improv.

“There might be,” I replied, finally, fully intending to enlist his help in the matter. “Let me get some stuff straight in my head first, though, before I get into it.”

“No problem, man,” he replied agreeably, folding his hands behind his head. “I’m up for whatever.”

“How about a dip in the pool?” I asked. The prospect didn’t seem so bad now, with him to keep me company. “Drew’s strippers should be arriving.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, there’s a big enticement.”

I shrugged. “You could always go Dr. Ruth on them.”

He looked at me, grinning. “Now that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all morning. You’re on!”

******

Some four hours later, I was toasted medium-well and had had to pull a ballcap over my slowly reddening scalp or face its wrath later. Still, I was having a pleasant time in the warm sunshine, letting the ebb and flow of life wash over me uncaring, and enjoying the good spirits of everyone gathered there.

Ryan and Drew had burst onto the scene an hour after we arrived, and Greg was welcomed enthusiastically and pulled into their games while I, as was my custom, cheerfully demurred. Greg returned to his lounge by my side an hour later, two steins of surprisingly good beer in his hand and an “I’m getting too old for this shit” look on his face. We’d watched from the sidelines since, trading quips and occasionally taking dips in the refreshingly cool water while fending off the occasional stripper who turned a smile our way.

At present, Ryan was in the pool, seven naked women surrounding him, facing off against Drew, and his seven strippers, in a rather spirited game of naked volleyball. With his decided height advantage, Ryan was confined to the pool’s deep end, but it didn’t seem to matter much, as his team, such as it was, was winning handily. Of course, it probably didn’t help much that Drew appeared to be receiving sexual favors from one of the more amply endowed women while the game was in progress.

“Wonder how she can stay under water so long,” Greg observed almost clinically. “You’d think those plastic tits would just keep dragging her back to the surface.”

“Good suction?” I replied, without really thinking about it, only realizing the import of my words as beer sprayed from Greg’s mouth. I was suddenly glad the brim of my hat shadowed my face enough to cover my blush.

A cheer rose up as Ryan’s next spike hit Drew squarely on the head for game point, and his teammates mobbed him in a flurry of naked skin and bobbing breasts. Greg mock-wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to me. “Man, I don’t know how you can handle that shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“That,” he said again, gesturing to the pulchritude of femininity surrounding Ryan, watching as he bestowed a healthy kiss to each one in turn. “How can you watch that and not get all freaked out about it?”

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing, sure, but….”

He sighed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I returned the sigh. “Greg, I’m married. It’d be a little hypocritical of me to play the jealousy card, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Bullshit. You love him.”

“Very much so,” I agreed. “Your point?”

He stared at me as if I’d grown a second head, though it was a conversation we’d had several times before and, no doubt, would have several times again.

“I’m not a jealous person, Greg,” I explained for the umpteenth time. “I never have been, and hopefully I never will be. It’s just not who I am.”

“I don’t get you, Col. I really don’t.”

“It’s not hard. Jealousy implies ownership. I don’t own Ryan. I don’t own my wife. I only own me. If it makes him happy to be with those women, then so be it. I don’t lose any sleep over what I can’t control.”

“And if I walked over to him right now and told him I wanted to screw around…?”

I pretended to think it over for a moment, well knowing the history between them. “Probably ask him to take a shower when he came back to my room,” I answered, completely straight-faced.

He stared at me for a moment before cracking, braying that high-pitched, grating laughter he sometimes had and shaking his head. “You know, for ‘the nicest guy in the world’, you can be a real prick sometimes.”

“Guilty as charged,” I agreed, toasting him with the last of my beer.

“I swear, man, I can’t decide if you’re a saint, insane, or a space alien from Outer Whereverthefuckstan sent here specifically to drive me right out of my fucking gourd.”

“The third one. Definitely. Payback for all those bald jokes you’ve pulled on me over the years.”

A comfortable silence fell between us for a bit as we watched Ryan begin an impromptu tonsillectomy on the most attractive of the women there, using nothing but his tongue.

“You said you didn’t care about this shit as long as he was happy,” Greg mused, still watching. “Do you think he’s happy?”

“No,” I replied, dead-face seriously. “I don’t.”

“I don’t think so either.” He turned to me. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m…not sure yet.”

“It’s why you’re here this early, isn’t it.”

I nodded, thinking about how much to reveal, and then deciding to spill it all, knowing that Greg wouldn’t take it back to Ryan. I softened my voice to ‘sub microphone level’. “He left Pat.”

“No,” he said, low-voiced and completely surprised. “For good?”

“I don’t think so. At least, I hope not.”

“Damn. I bet she was off the fucking wall.”

“She was. She loves him very much.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like…remember toward the end of the show, how it started to seem like he just didn’t care anymore?”

“When he phoned it in, you mean? Last one out of his chair, first one back in it? Yeah. Big time. We all figured it was major burnout.”

“Yeah. We did. And I figured, I guess we all did, that once he got out of this damn rat race, things would get better.” I fiddled with my wedding ring, guilt welling inside me. “And on the few occasions I’ve seen him since, it seemed that was the case. But…Pat says it isn’t. If anything, it’s gotten worse. And I’ve been so busy, so wrapped up in my own thing, that….”

His hand came down on my shoulder, warm and supportive. “Col, you can’t blame yourself for this shit. You said it yourself, man, some things you just can’t control.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed, “but his happiness is very important to me. And I haven’t seen it, except in isolated bursts, for a very long time now.”

“I know what you mean,” he mused, gaze far away. “I saw him and the guys up in Washington last year and I talked to him about it a little. Or, at least I tried to talk to him. He damn near tore my fucking balls off.”

I turned to him, shocked. Greg and Ryan were very close, and for him to react that way…. “This isn’t good.”

“Not by a long shot, man. Not by a fucking long shot.” We watched as Drew, laughing uproariously, pushed his teammates around the net to join on the dogpile on Ryan. “He’s not helping things either, you know.”

“I know,” I replied, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. “But he loves Ryan in his own way, and he’s trying to do what he thinks is best.”

“Bull. You don’t throw money and chicks at problems and expect them to go away. He’s only making it worse, and the stupid fool can’t even see that.”

“Greg, he’s trying to help. Which is more than I can say for myself.”

“Oh really,” he replied, his sarcasm as biting as ever. “And you’re down here early, away from your wife and kid, for what, again? To ogle fake tits and maybe stick it up a wet snatch or two that you don’t even want? Please, give me more credit than that, man. Give yourself more credit, for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, raising my hands in surrender, “I give. The question remains, though, how we’re going to resolve this problem.”

“We?” he asked, eyes wide again. “As in you and me?”

“And anyone else we can think of. I don’t think I can do this alone, Greg. It’s gone too far.”

“Well, I’m with ya, man. All the way.”

“Thanks, Greg. I really appreciate it.”

“No problemo, Col. It’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right.” I lifted my empty glass from the deck. “Well, this pasty white butt has had about all the sun it can take for one day. I’m going to crawl back into the hole.”

“Again, I’m with you. Melanoma really isn’t my bag, if you know what I mean.”

Standing, I held a hand out and helped him out of the lounger. “I’m going to go to my room and get this sunblock and chlorine off.” I thought for a second. “I’ve got a Jacuzzi I haven’t been able to try out yet. Care to join me?” I grinned. “Clothing optional.”

“Why Mr. Mochrie, is that a proposition I hear before me?”

“Call it what you like. Mi Jacuzzi es su Jacuzzi. Or whatever.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Bowing, I gestured toward the elevator. “After you.”

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

As I followed Greg to the elevator, I could feel Ryan’s gaze burning holes in my back. Turning slightly, I gave him a bright, genuine grin and wave, miming for him to call me later, when he was done with the festivities. By the scowl I received in return, I had the feeling I’d be seeing him sooner rather than hearing him later.

When we arrived at my room, Greg said, “I need to run down to my place for a second. I’ll be right back up.”

“Ok. I’ll get the jets running.”

Quirking a grin at me, he nodded and strode off to the main bank of elevators that would take him to his room.

Stepping into my own, I tossed my cap onto the bed and walked into the bathroom, quickly stripping off my trunks—much easier without the erection, let me tell you—flipped them over the rail, and stepped into the shower. The tepid water felt good on my skin, washing away the residue of sunblock and chlorine from the pool, and I left feeling refreshed. Not bothering to towel off, I walked back into the main room and plugged the drain on the Jacuzzi, then started to fill it.

As the suite came with a rather well stocked bar, I grabbed a fairly good white from the rack, opened it, and took it and two glasses to the tub, setting them on the rim, and stepped inside.

The water was just covering the topmost jets when the knock came. “C’mon in!”

Greg stepped in, a tin under his arm. “You really should keep your door locked, man. I coulda been a burglar after your cash and jewels.”

“You would have left sorely disappointed.”

He chuckled, eyeing me. “Or just sore.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“So I’ve heard!” Chuckling, he approached the tub, laid the tin next to the wine bottle, shucked his suit and climbed in. “I’ve brought goodies,” he said, opening the tin and allowing the unique scent of really good pot waft out. “Care to partake?”

“But of course.”

“Right on!”

As I poured the wine, he expertly rolled a joint, licking it closed and firing it up with practiced ease. He took a long toke, holding the smoke deep and passed it over. “Mellow shit, man.”

I took a hit, enjoying the taste; he was right, the smoke was far less harsh than what I was used to, and I was used to some pretty quality product. “My compliments to your dealer,” I said, passing the joint back to him. “Very nice.”

“I can hook you up, if you want. Excellent quality. A little pricey, but….”

“You get what you pay for,” I finished for him, taking a sip of my wine which, oddly enough, complimented the quality of the smoke. I was beginning to feel it by the third hit and found myself smiling benignly at nothing.

Greg chuckled next to me. “Man, Col, you sure have loosened up since those frightened hummingbird days back in jolly olde England. I gotta say, man, back then I never could have pictured we’d end up like this, sitting in a Jacuzzi together, naked, sharing wine and getting stoned.”

I shrugged. “People change.”

“Tres profound.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

A comfortable silence once again descended as we passed the joint between us until there was nothing left. “So,” he said finally, stretching his arms out along the rim, “how do we solve a problem like Ryan?”

That gave me a case of the giggles, and I just let them flow, knowing it was useless to stop them. He stared at me, grinning and half-laughing himself, watching as I palmed the tears from my eyes and finally garnered enough control to sit upright again. “Damn, that felt good.”

“I am to please.”

I shifted slightly until one of the pulsing jets was near my lower spine, massaging the tension and pain that was still there after my battery pack accident several years back. The gentle massage, the pot, and maybe even some of the wine combined to leave me feeling more relaxed and mellow than I had in ages. “This is nice.”

He gave me a genuine smile, lighting up his eyes, which really were quite attractive, hidden though they were behind his glasses. “I’m glad you like it, man. You seemed a little more tense than normal. Glad I was able to help.”

“Mm.” As I looked across the churning water, I remembered that marijuana also had another effect on me; it loosened me up enough to be able to say things about myself and my life that I would under ordinary circumstances never have divulged, even under the threat of death. When you’re shy, keeping most of yourself to yourself pretty much comes with the territory. “Have you ever,” I mused softly, running my hand over the surface of the water, “felt like you were so deep inside yourself that nobody could ever reach you? Like things were happening around you, but nothing ever really touched you?”

“You mean like depression or something?”

“Maybe. But not…hell, I dunno.” I sighed, grappling with my thoughts and losing. “There’ve been, I think, times in my life when I’ve felt that everyone has had a piece of me but me. Not often, mind you, but it’s happened.” I shook my head. “I know I’ve phrased it poorly.”

“No man,” he countered. “I can dig that. I think most people go through that shit at least once in their lives. I know I did.”

“But you climbed out of it. I did, too. But…what if something happens and you can’t? Or maybe you don’t even know it’s happening, and things just keep piling up and you don’t stop it because you don’t know you should?”

“We’re talking Ryan, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it seems to me that could be part of it.”

“Could be.” He reached for the tin again. “This sounds like it’s gonna get mondo deep, man. Let’s up the ambiance a little, what do you say?”

“Go for it.”

He gave me the honor of the first toke, and I drew it in deep, holding it until I thought my lungs would burst. I could feel more of my mind relaxing. I handed the joint over with a nod of thanks.

We passed the smoke between us, each deep in thought. The heat of the Jacuzzi was starting to get to me, but in a good way. I only hoped Greg remembered to lock the door.

“You’ve said before that you’ve seen Ryan happy sometimes,” Greg said finally, his normally crystalline edges blunted just slightly by the pot.

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Well, usually when we…you know.” I knew I was blushing badly and dropped my eyes back to the water, now swirling in endlessly fascinating patterns that I could almost, but not quite, decipher—like tea leaves at the bottom of a cup.

Seemed like the pot was getting to me as well.

“Make love?”

I nodded, still too flushed to look up and meet his eyes.

“Well,” he continued, sounding introspective, “it makes sense. I mean, he loves you, and when you guys are like that, it’s probably safe for him to let down his guard.”

“Was it like that for you, too?” I asked, finally gathering enough courage to look him square in the eyes.

“Me and Ryan, you mean?”

I nodded.

He snorted. “Fuck no. We were poison, man.”

I cocked my head. “Poison?”

“Poison,” he affirmed. He paused for a moment, then continued, voice soft and contemplative, “Have you ever been to a shore were the waves are, like, totally stoked and just keep smashing against the rocks like drunks with a major attitude problem?”

Smiling slightly, I nodded. There were enough places like that in Canada, to be sure.

“Sometimes, you think the rocks are winning, cause the water just totally breaks and the foam spumes up high, but then the next day you come back, and you think the waves are winning, cause that little jetty that used to be there isn’t anymore.” He took another long drag and passed what was left back to me. “It was like that for us, man. We just kept ramming against one another, trying to see who would break first. Totally intense, but….”

“Poison.”

“Yeah.” Taking off his glasses, he wiped at his eyes and I felt my heart break, just a little, because I knew what it was like to love Ryan, and what it was like to have him love me in return. He finally looked back at me. Without his glasses, his face was oddly defenseless, vulnerable, and quiescently beautiful in a way I’d never noticed before. I had the most intense desire wash over me to kiss him then, to taste the depths of this new, hidden Greg. I held back when he began to speak again. “But you…things are different with you, man.” He laughed, softly. “I used to think it was because you were soft. But you’re not soft. I think you’re probably harder than the rest of us put together, and I think that’s what makes you safe. Because Ryan knows he can let go with you, and trust you to be strong enough to catch him when he falls.”

I gave into my impulses then, kissing him long and soft and slow, and he responded almost immediately, moaning low in his throat and grasping my arms in a grip that was an eyelash short of painful. I could have easily lost myself in the taste of him alone; an exotic combination of bitter and sweet, sharp and mild, soft and hard, and nearly too heady to resist. The one thing I did not want to happen, however, was for Ryan to walk in on it, since that would make an already bad situation exponentially worse, so, with reluctance and my heart pounding loudly in my chest, I pulled away.

Greg slumped against the tub, his breathing as rapid as my own. “Well,” he husked, his voice an octave higher than it had been, “that was certainly…unexpected.”

“But very nice.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sounding bemused. “Yeah, it was.”

We spent the next several moments in quiet contemplation—and in truth, I was also waiting for my erection to subside. “So…about Ryan….”

“Ryan….”

“Yeah. Tall guy. Big nose.”

“Big—.”

“Yeah, that too. I was thinking….”

He broke into a genuine laugh. “It’s the weed, man. Totally frees your mind.”

“Mm. That it does. Anyway, something you brought up made sense. About making love, or what it entails. Maybe… maybe Ryan doesn’t need safety. Well, he does, in a way, but maybe he doesn’t.”

He laughed again, long and loud. “Now, that’s definitely the MJ talking!”

“I’m rambling, I know, but hear me out.” I held up a hand. “There are these…places, I’m sure you’ve heard of them…private, heavy membership dues, nobody knows, nobody sees. You can go there to step…out of yourself…or into yourself…for a little while….”

“Like the Pumphouse, you mean?” he asked, naming one of the most famous—if, indeed, fame can be attributed to an extremely private club; a Country Club for the Kinky Set, as Ryan had always phrased it.

“Exactly like that.”

“Well, hell yeah, man! There’s one close by. I’m a member.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

We shared a laugh.

“So am I,” I continued. “I’ve been there a few times, though only once with Ryan.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes wide, “tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“I probably am, yes.”

His eyes lit like a man who’d just seen his numbers come up on a Keno board. “This could so totally work!”

“It could also explode in our faces.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, man. I mean, think about it. What’s the worst that can happen? The scene gets too intense, he calls a halt, bingo, we’re back where we started.”

It was my turn to snort. “Ryan? Ryan Stiles? Call a halt to anything in front of his friends and acquaintances? I think we’re talking about two different people here, Greg.”

“Not necessarily,” he countered, holding up a finger. “What if he didn’t realize, at least at first, that there was anyone else there but the two of you? Has he ever objected to being hooded?”

“We might have tried it once or twice,” I allowed, knowing that was a dicey one. Ordinarily, he would reject the notion flat out of hand. But sometimes, if he was in just the right mood, it would arouse him so quickly, I’d have to think fast on my feet to keep the party from finishing before it had even started.

Luckilly, thinking fast on my feet is what I do for a living.

Still, it wasn’t sitting quite right with me. If it worked, it could provide the crack required to help him get what he seemed to need. But if it didn’t, it could ruin twenty five years of friendship, love, trust, and a the heart of a damn good man besides. I sighed. “I don’t know….”

“Well, feel him out then,” he said, quite logically. “Show’s not till next week. We’ve all got time to fill, and I, for one, don’t intend to spend all my time losing all my fucking money down the maw of some big business casino. I don’t think he does, either. Mention an interest, maybe let it slip that some other friends might be there as well, see what he says.”

I nodded. That made sense. It would give him the time he needed to back out without losing face, while knowing the score before he went in. “That’s doable.”

“Have you guys, you know, done any group shit before?”

“Once or twice,” I again allowed. “Though it was when we were seeing each other more frequently than we do now.”

“Mixed? Just guys?”

“Just men. I have no desire to sleep with any woman who isn’t my wife.”

“Totally understandable, man. Just asking.”

“I’m not upset,” I assured him.

“Fuck, man, between you and the weed, I don’t think you’d be upset right now even if somebody did come in here and steal all your shit.”

“Probably not,” I agreed, sliding forward on the bench enough to lay my head back against the rim of the tub. “Ahh, this is nice.”

“It is, man, totally, but now I’ve got the worst case of munchies known to mankind.”

“This suite’s pretty well stocked,” I replied. “Please, help yourself.”

“Nah. I want some exercise. Take a stroll. Take in the sights. See how many old ladies I can piss off by dumping their quarter buckets. Let’s grab some chow anywhere but here, huh? You with me?”

I shrugged, not really caring one way or the other. “Sure, sounds good.”

“Awesome, man. Meet you down in the lobby in what, twenty?”

“Make it a half hour and you’ve got a deal.”

“Thirty minutes it is.” He hopped up out of the tub and pulled his suit back on over his wet body. Grabbing his stash, he winked at me. “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble, now. See ya in a few.”

And then he was gone, whistling and just as mellow as could be. It was a good look on him.

******

A series of beeps at my door heralded Ryan’s appearance, and when he walked in, he was still clad in his swim trunks and sporting a respectable hard-on. Not more than one step inside, he stopped and waved dramatically at the air. “So, Greg was here.”

“He was,” I agreed, zipping and then buttoning my jeans. “We’re going out to find something to eat. Would you care to join us?”

His gaze traveled from me, to the tub which was still draining, and still had the empty glasses and bottle sitting on the rim, and then back to me again. His eyes narrowed. “What went on here?”

“A soak and a toke?” I offered, eyeing him pleasantly.

“What else,” he demanded.

“A little wine, a little conversation between friends. Why, was there something else I was supposed to do? If so, I’ve forgotten, I’m afraid.” He growled, and I held up a hand. “We both got tired of the sun and came back here to relax and catch up. Now, we’re hungry and going to get something to eat. If you want to come, you’re more than welcome. If not, I’ll see you later on tonight, right?”

He stared at me for a long moment, clearly torn. It was obvious he wanted to start an argument, fling whatever accusations he had to fling, but it was just as obvious that I wasn’t going to accommodate him. His broad shoulders slumped; his battle lost, mine never entered. I swore I could see the tiniest trace of blush on his cheeks. It might have been sunburn, however. “I was kind of hoping you’d help me with this,” he said finally, gesturing vaguely to his groin.

“You were, were you?” I asked, deliberately lowering my pitch.

“Well yeah. Considering you were the one who gave it to me.”

I shot him a disbelieving look. “Two dozen naked strippers and I gave you that erection? I must be pretty good,” I surmised, “since I’ve been down here for the past hour.”

When he shrugged, thirty years dropped magically from his face and form. If he were wearing a sneaker, he might have dug its toe into the carpet. The blush deepened, touching his ears, and my heart fluttered in my chest, once again completely and utterly charmed.

“You know how much I love the taste of chlorine,” I finally answered.

“I could wash,” he offered hastily, feet already heading toward the bathroom.

“No,” I said, holding up a hand and halting him in his tracks.

“No?” His eyes were wide, hurt.

I smiled. “Let me.”

Taking him by the hand, I led him into the large bathroom with its equally large walk in shower. Urging him into the shower, I stepped in with him, and turned him so that he faced the far corner next to the shower head—which I had no plans on using. “Hold on,” I instructed, grasping each hand in turn and placing them on the metal bars that lined the square stall. “Tight.” I whispered.

Even without being able to see him, I knew he gulped.

I eased his trunks over his erection, which by now had achieved truly massive proportions, and down his long, lean legs. “Step out.”

He obeyed quickly, and I tossed the trunks into a corner of the room.

“Stay just like that,” I ordered, touching him briefly mid-back as I stepped out and watched his entire body tremble. “I’ll be right back.”

In the bathroom proper was a series of wire shelves which held plush towels, bathmats, washcloths and, most interestingly, an assortment of sponges, loofahs, and shower mitts. I considered the loofah briefly, then discarded it as being too abrasive for my current purposes. Instead, I chose a shower mitt was highly textured and slightly rough to the touch. It would do perfectly.

Stepping over to my open toiletries bag, I withdrew a bottle of very mild shower gel and dabbed a small dollop on the sponge after I’d slipped it over my hand. Turning on the tap at the sink, I wet the sponge and pressed in the gel until a slight lather had built up; enough to soothe, but not too much that the texture of the sponge couldn’t be felt.

Smiling to myself, I stepped back into the shower and pressed my body against his, rubbing my chest down his warm back and feeling my always sensitive nipples harden. He moaned softly. “Ready?”

“God, yes,” he rasped, his hands white-knuckled on the bars.

Sliding my arm over the almost non existent crease between waist and hip, I reached down with my covered hand and grasped him firmly, beginning to pump immediately.

“Oh…fuck!” His head snapped back, nearly colliding with mine before swinging forward and nestling itself in the cool tile of the corner. “Jesus…fucking…Christ!”

“Mm,” I purred, licking along his shoulder blades before nipping at the skin there. “You like this, do you?”

“I…fuck…Col….” Increasing the strength of my grip, I took him hard and fast, easily handling his frantically pistoning hips. “Oh, god, oh god, oh god, oh god, Col…I…need you…inside me….”

“All in good time,” I replied, adding a slight twist to my strokes. “Right now, let me take care of you.” I peppered his back with kisses, nips and licks as he frantically sought release by my hand. When he began to keen, I stood up on my toes, licked the shell of his ear, and whispered, “Come for me, Ryan,” before biting down on the thick muscle of his shoulder. Hard.

“God!” he screamed out, his release spurting against the tiles in four sharp jets.

His legs gave out, but I was ready, catching him neatly on my lap and holding him there with the strength of my legs. My hips and knees protested the position and the weight, but I bore both willingly, releasing his softening penis, tossing off the sponge, and wrapping both arms around his waist as his chest labored in heaving gasps. His body was limp and pliant against my own, and I stroked his chest and belly, gentling him down until his breathing became less erratic and his heartbeat stopped thundering through his back and into my chest.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, totally drained.

My own legs trembling, I pushed us both to a standing position, and I turned him around again, having him lean against the wall for support. Palming his neck, I brought his lips down to mine and kissed him with warm affection. “Better?”

“Oh, yeah.” He bore the dopey grin of the well loved, and I chuckled.

“Care to join me for dinner?”

His eyes tracked down to the juncture between my legs, and the back of his hand brushed against me.

“I’m saving it for later,” I replied, tipping him a wink and a cheeky grin.

He blinked. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Then I’ve done my job well, yes?”

“Was that all it was?” he asked, sounding vaguely hurt.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a goof sometimes, you know that?” Giving him another sound kiss, I stepped back and out of the shower. “You need a shower and a nap. I shouldn’t be gone very long.”

“I’m sure Drew’s got something planned,” he replied, then gave forth a jaw-cracking yawn that had me wincing.

“Well, leave me a message letting me know what it is so I can be sure to avoid it.”

“Col….”

“You are sensitive today. Is there something I should know about?”

“Nah. Just tired, I guess.”

“Then take a shower and hit the sack. I’m sure Drew can handle life without you for a few hours.”

“Yeah,” he finally admitted. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

The scowl didn’t fit on his post-coital face, and he dropped it in a second, giving me a tired grin in its place.

“I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Okay.” As I turned to leave, I heard my name float over my shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Turning back, I smiled at him. “I love you too, Ryan.”

I quickly pulled on a shirt and tucked it in, then stuffed my wallet into my pants. As I left the room, I heard the shower hiss on, and I smiled again. Maybe things would work out after all.

*******

The evening that followed was one I’ll remember with fondness for a long time to come. It started when the elevator doors opened and I strode into the chilled lobby to find Greg, leaning against a wall, waiting for me. His smile was warm and welcoming. “You’re late.” His eyes scanned down, and his grin became a leer. “Ryan?”

“Ryan.”

“You could have called, you know. I’d have waited.”

“I’ll take care of it later,” I replied, blushing. “Let’s just go. I’m starving.”

“I know just the place, man. Let’s get a groove on.”

We wound up at a small bistro within walking distance of the Strip. The food was excellent, and the microbrewery beer was even better—thick and heady, just the way I preferred it. Greg was in an upbeat mood, offering up a running commentary on the patrons that had me smiling so much, my cheeks began to hurt. No one recognized us, for which I was immensely grateful, and when our ravenous hungers were finally sated, I paid the bill—after the expected argument—and we left, ready to take on the night.

After a spate of people-watching—during which I was beginning to fear that my smile would become permanently etched to my face—we toured through some of the lesser known, and smaller, casinos, occasionally slipping coins into one of the machines and trying our luck, just for the fun of it. I won a hundred dollars on a video poker game—a full house came up on the first deal. Greg, for his part, won nearly five hundred on one pull of a one-armed bandit, almost causing a minor riot as he ran down the aisle, arms flailing over his head, slipping into an eerily good Scarlett O’Hara imitation and screaming, “As Gahd is mah witness, Ah’ll nevah go hungry aga-in!”

We were recognized in a couple of places, but the fans seemed content with a few autographs and a picture or two, and we were mostly left to our own devices.

When we began our invasion of the more well known casinos, I was sure we were going to be thrown out by security on more than one occasion when Greg made good on his earlier threat and ran down several rows of gleaming machines, gleefully tipping over the coin buckets of random elderly women. I spent most of my time on my knees, uttering profuse apologies as I helped chase after and gather errant quarters, dollars, and tokens, more often than not garnering a kiss on the cheek and a fond “why thank you, young man” for my services. I feared the varying shades of lipstick left behind could never be washed off.

After one such incident, when Greg had managed to dump three completely full buckets, and I’d managed to capture every last coin, I rounded the corner to find him leaning against one of the machines, leg cocked and foot resting on the cool metal. “I swear, man,” he said, “sometimes you just suck the fun out of everything.” The twinkle in his eyes belied the seriousness of his words, but I felt obligated to explain myself nonetheless.

“That could have been her entire life savings.”

“So? She shouldn’t be down here gambling away her fucking Social Security check in the first place!”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward the exit, not liking the way a certain burly man in grey was eyeing us, and having no desire to spend the rest of the night in jail.

Eventually, we wound up back at our own hotel, but unlike last night, I was still fully energized and wanting to play. I tried to get Ryan through my room, and his, but the phone wasn’t answered, and I decided against calling Drew. Instead, I followed Greg through the casino proper and toward the entertainment area where we would be performing on the main stage in a week’s time. We passed by numerous smaller rooms, each with a portable sign-board outside announcing the evening’s activities, if any, until Greg stopped, staring at a particular board.

“What?” I asked, moving around him to read it for myself. “The Comedy Jar—Open Mic Night.” I looked at him, a sinking feeling in my gut as I saw that crazy ‘let’s go to Hell in a handbasket’ look come into his eyes. “Oh, no. No. Huh uh.”

“Aw, c’mon, Col! It’ll be fun!”

“Fun? Greg, do you know how many lame stand-up acts I’ve sat through in my lifetime? Fun is about the last word I’d use to describe it.”

“Who said anything about ‘sitting through’?” he asked, his eyes whirling and twirling and coming up ‘tilt’.

Shaking my head, I stepped back. “Not a chance. Besides, I don’t do stand-up, remember?”

“Fine. Then you can sit your fine ass down in the front row and heckle me all you want.” He waggled his fingers. “Free shots, Col. I don’t make this offer to just anyone, you know.”

He made for the door, but I caught his shoulder and pulled him back. “Greg,” I said seriously, “our contracts.”

“Contracts schmontracts. Besides, I read mine. It only says I can’t perform at any other venue. It doesn’t say I can’t perform here. Especially gratis.” He grinned. “Think of it as free publicity, man. Besides, these dudes are smart. If I asked them first, they’d bust their own ‘nads getting me down here. And you know it. I’m just not asking, that’s all.”

Sighing, I nodded. It was probably true. A name act, performing free of charge. Well…. “Okay,” I said, finally giving in…again. “But if Drew comes down here with a gun, I’m putting you in the line of fire.”

His smile was sunshine itself. “You got a deal, my man. Let’s kick some ass!”

The room was dark, small, and smelled of booze. To the right and left of the center aisle, there were ten rows of six chairs each, and right before the slightly elevated stage sat three small, linen covered tables. The tables were empty, and there were about ten or so people loitering in the chairs listening to a young man whose delivery was so soft, even with the microphone in front of him, that I could barely hear his words, let alone get the gist of the jokes he was trying to tell. The applause was listless and sporadic, and I felt a brief stab of pity for the struggling comic.

The tables in the front were roped off in velvet, and when Greg stopped before them, an usher clad in a tux that had seen better centuries stepped forward, fully intending on stopping us both. Then he got a good look at us and froze, blinking in startlement and confusion. “Sirs?”

“Yes?” Greg snapped back, pretending to be as confused as he was.

“I…um….don’t….”

“This is open mic night, right?”

“Well, yes, but….”

“Open as in open to anyone who wants to brave the stage?”

“Well, yes, but….”

“Well,” he said, grinning and spreading his arms, “here I am.”

“But….”

“Unless you don’t need another comic.”

“Uh, no sir! I mean, yes sir! I mean….”

I finally decided to step in, if only to save the poor man from the stroke he seemed so determined to bring onto himself. “I think you’re cleared for takeoff, Captain,” I said, clapping Greg on the shoulder.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Oh, garcon, if you wouldn’t mind lifting the rope and letting my friend have a seat in the front, there? He’s a little near sighted, you know. It’s the hair loss. Does bad things to the eyes.”

“What’s your excuse, then?” I murmured, smacking him as the usher all but tripped over himself unhooking the velvet rope and gesturing me through.

The entire conversation was conducted softly, unnoticed by the crowd or the comic who seemed to be finally winding down. I sat down at the middle table, discovered it was much too low for my knees to fit comfortably under, and turned my chair so that it faced the stage, crossing my legs and arms and waiting to see what would happen.

The next comic up was a young woman, attractive, of middling height, who, though she had somewhat of a standard repertoire, presented it in such a fashion that I knew that if she kept up with it, one day she just might catch a break. I offered up my applause enthusiastically when she was through, and when she looked down at me, she froze, and paled. I gave her my widest grin and a cheerful ‘thumbs up’ and, patting her chest, she stumbled away from the microphone. I chuckled to myself, imagining what her reaction was going to be when she bumped into Greg backstage. I wasn’t disappointed when I heard a high pitched squeal that garnered more unknowing laughter than any of the jokes told thus far.

Laughing to myself, I just shook my head at the true absurdity of it all.

While she was performing her routine, several more people had entered, now making the total perhaps a dozen and a half, maybe a little more. The venue was so small that they didn’t bother to use an announcer, and so when Greg came out, it was to silence.

Then a murmur passed from mouth to mouth, raising what few hairs remained at the back of my neck. It was a questioning sort of sound, the kind people make when they’re not quite sure if what they think they’re seeing is, in fact, really what they’re seeing. I chuckled again, thoroughly enjoying myself.

Striding up to the microphone, he gave it a deliberate tap or two, chuckling evilly as the audience, such as it was, winced from the feedback. “Hi,” he began. “My name’s Greg, and don’t think I don’t know why you’re all here tonight. You,” he continued, pointing to a woman in the second row, “are too fucking drunk to see the damn cards on that video poker machine you’ve been playing for the last eighteen fucking hours, and you,” he pointed to a disheveled young man in the third, “just got your ass booted out of the Bouncing Titties Burlesque Show, and the rest of you slobs just lost your last fucking quarter in the slot machines and this is the only place they’ll let you sleep it off.”

The laughter he received was rued, but genuine, and then he was off, launching into one of his older routines. I happily lost myself in it, enjoying watching a true master in action, when I felt him staring down at me. I realized with a start that I had a task to perform, and so, sitting up, I performed it.

“YOU SUCK!!!”

“Excuse me?” He cocked a hand to his ear.

I heard a smattering of boos and chanced a quick glance behind me to see that the room was now more than half full. Turning back around, I said, “YOU HEARD ME!”

“No,” he replied. “No, I didn’t. Cause, like, the glare from that head, man, it totally deafened me.”

The cheers were loud and healthy. The audience was against me, and I didn’t mind one bit.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! YOU SUCK!!! GET OFF THE STAGE!!!!”

Now I was getting booed, and I could tell that Greg could barely keep his mirth inside. “You think you can do better, huh?”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“Alright, big man. You think this is so easy, get your ass up here and you try it!”

More cheers and raucous laughter, entirely at my expense. I knew I’d been well and truly set up and, grinning in resignation, neatly and with nary a care, stepped into his trap. “FINE! I COULD OUT-FUNNY YOU WITH BOTH LIPS TIED BEHIND MY BACK!”

And with that, I stood and jumped onto the stage.

He pretended to punch me, and I pretended to be hit, wheeling my arms and stumbling back, catching myself at the last second. Then I turned to face the crowd, now almost three quarters filling the room, and the murmur returned, louder this time.

“Oh my god!” Greg cried out, his mouth open in faux awe. “It’s the fucking Snack Fairy!”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed, and the murmur became a low rumble of slow recognition, threatening to erupt at any moment. Greg grabbed the mic, grinning wildly. “No, ladies and gentlemen, your eyes aren’t deceiving you. It’s my pleasure, no, my honor, to present to you, Canada’s Own, Colin Mochrie!”

The cheers erupted then, full throated and full bodied, as the room stood in unison, applauding loudly. Near the back, several people rushed out, the news all but tumbling from their lips, and several more rushed in, having heard it. In a heartbeat, the room was filled to capacity, and folks were continuing to stream in, standing along the walls and cheering as loudly as the rest.

“We are so screwed,” I murmured to a laughing Greg as I stole the microphone from him. “Greg Proops, everybody! Greg Proops!!”

The cheers continued as if they would never end, and we both basked in it, arms thrown about one another’s shoulders and grinning to beat the band. The poor usher’s stroke seemed assured as he bustled to the back, screaming for help and trying to push back the crowd of people demanding entrance to the already overpacked room.

Finally, though, a silence descended; one packed with expectancy. Eyeing the crowd, Greg grabbed back the mic. “Sadly,” he said, his voice full of distress, “my good friend Colin here doesn’t do stand-up.”

“Awwwww!” the crowd murmured in unison and disappointment.

I crooked my hands up at the elbows, palms out in a “what are you gonna do?” gesture.

“But,” he continued, brightening, “as you all know, he’s a master at a certain comedy style called improv, and it just so happens that I dabble a little in it myself! So what do you say? Think you can convince him to do a little improv with me?”

The cheers erupted again, even louder, if possible, than before. Then he started the chant to which I’ve never been immune, egotistical as that sounds.

“Colin! Colin! Colin! Colin!”

I must admit, though, that even more thrilling to me was the prospect of doing this completely unrehearsed, seat of the pants improv that was my favorite, and that I hadn’t been able to do in years too many to count. It was a rush like none other, and I willingly allowed myself to be carried along with the thunderous cheers like a small boat on a wind-swept lake.

Finally, I nodded, and the cheers erupted again. Cupping my hand over the mic, I asked Greg, “Okay, genius, what game are we gonna play?”

It needed to be something the audience would recognize from the show, but most of the games were too structured to be preformed impromptu. The singing games were out, though I knew that before the night was over, I was going to hear at least one ‘do a hoedown!’.

That left games like ‘Questions Only’, which wasn’t as much fun with only two people, ‘Change Letter’, or ‘Secret’.

“How about ‘Alphabet’?” he asked.

I nodded in agreement. The game was entirely doable with just the two of us, spur of the moment, and was especially attractive without the damned mouse traps. “Alphabet it is.”

“Right on, man!” Waving his arms for quiet, he lifted the mic again to his lips. “Ok, to warm you up, we’re gonna do a little game for you called ‘Alphabet’.” Over the applause, he continued, “For the five or six of you assholes who haven’t seen the show—.”

“What show?!” some joker hollered.

“Usher! Escort this man off the premises.”

More laughter.

“As I was saying, for those of you who haven’t seen the show, Alphabet is pretty simple.”

“Except if you’re doing it with mousetraps,” I ventured wincing and stepping gingerly on my feet.

Cheers.

“True. Anyway, the object is, we start a scene, and second guy has to start his sentence with the letter that comes after the letter that the first guy started his sentence with. You with me?”

“Yes!!”

“Okay, then. What letter should we start with?”

“H!” came the first shout.

“H it is! Now, what should the scene be about?”

“You and your boyfriend just had a fight!”

We exchanged glances, both shrugging. “Alrighty, then. We’ve got the letter, and we’ve got the scene. Anything else?”

“Nope,” I answered, adrenaline flowing through me, making my arms swing.

“You start, then.”

Immediately, I felt myself slipping into character. “Harry,” I said, eschewing the mic and using my training to make my voice carry to the back of the room, “I really wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

“I do too, Biff, but shit’s just not clicking between us anymore, man.”

“Just one of those things, I guess,” I sighed.

“Kiss me? For old time’s sake?”

The audience erupted into wolf whistles as, smirking, I stepped forward and planted a sound kiss on his lips. “Like that?”

“Mmm.”

More wolf whistles.

“Nothing wrong with your lips,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

“Or yours!” he enthused, running his tongue deliberately around his mouth to more cheers and lewd laughter.

“Perhaps we could give it another try?” I asked.

“Quite interesting to come home and find the two of you with your tongues jammed down each other’s throats,” came a deep voice attached to the very long shadow that suddenly poured across the stage.

My heart leapt in my chest, then did a slow flip flop, half joy, half utter surprise.

The audience leapt to their feet screaming like there was no tomorrow.

Greg just leapt. “Ryan Stiles, everyone! Give it up for Ryan!!!” Which was pretty serendipitous, if you think about it, since R was the next letter of the alphabet.

“Steve!” I cried out, nearly two minutes later, plastering a look of guilt on my face and backing away slowly. “You weren’t supposed to see that!”

“T-think I’ll be l-leaving now,” Greg stammered in mock fear, beginning to tiptoe away.

“Unless you want to be talking out your ass for the rest of your life, Harry, you’d better just stay right where you are.” Ryan could be very imposing when he wanted to be. Greg looked positively dwarfed, though his eyes were laughing.

“Very funny,” I said, stepping around Ryan and putting my arm around Greg’s waist. “Maybe if we could all just calm down and talk about this?”

“We were just breaking it off,” Greg supplied, sliding carefully away from me. “Really.”

“You have a pretty funny way of showing it,” Ryan growled.

“Zip a dee doo dah!” I shouted, apropos of nothing. Hell, next to X, which Ryan had probably deliberately skipped, Z was the hardest letter to do.

“Alcohol, anyone?” Greg asked, miming holding a bottle and glass.

“Biff,” Ryan stated, staring deep into my eyes, “do you love him?”

“Canada Dry,” I answered Greg, to general laughter, then looked to Ryan. “No, Steve. I love you.”

“Don’t not kiss him on my account,” Greg said cheekily.

The house erupted.

I looked up at Ryan. He looked back at me. Then he stepped forward, took me in his arms, and laid on me a kiss that damn near made my knees buckle.

“Enough!” shouted a fourth voice, and Drew came striding onto the stage. By now, the crowd was cheering so loudly, I feared for my hearing. Ryan pulled his mouth away, but didn’t let me go. “You call that a kiss?” Drew continued. “That’s no kiss! This is a kiss!”

And, grinning, he turned to Greg.

“Fuck,” Greg muttered, and the audience convulsed with laughter as he dashed away from Drew’s grasping hands and began to run around the stage, shrieking like a girl in a horror movie.

“Get your ass back here, Four Eyes!” Drew roared, breaking the pattern of the game, though by now, none of us cared. At least he remembered that ‘G’ came after ‘F’. With Drew, that was never certain. “You deserve it for the stunt you just pulled.”

“Hell,” Greg sighed, defeated, freezing in place and allowing Drew to come over to him and plant a wet, sloppy kiss squarely on his lips, ending the game to cheers that brought the house down.

Life could be damned good sometimes.

*******

Of course, when the impromptu show was over, Greg and I got read the royal riot act, but we could tell that Drew wasn’t really as angry as he pretended to be. Technically, we really hadn’t done anything wrong except indirectly cause several fire code violations due to the packing of the room. We let him rant and rave and do his boss thing, knowing that when he ran out of invectives and insults to our mothers, the storm would blow over, never to be mentioned again. Drew was like that, and it made him a good man to work for—and with.

Both Greg and I demurred when Drew finally wound down and changed the subject to finding some liquor and getting pissed. I was slowly coming down from my adrenaline-fueled high, and it left me feeling spent and exhausted. Surprisingly, Ryan agreed and, dropping an arm across my shoulders, walked complacently with myself and Greg as we headed for the elevators that would take us back to our rooms.

We were stopped by fans a few times along the way, but after signing my fifteenth autograph, my eyelids began to droop, and Ryan, while still maintaining his outward friendliness, began to give off the subtle air of a cat who just might be ready to unsheathe his claws at you if you keep petting him like that. Sensing that, the fans backed off, and the rest of our walk was unmolested.

After a short stop to let Greg off, with a tired “night, guys, see you tomorrow”, we headed up to the top floor and exited into the dim stillness of an empty hallway. Ryan led me to his room, which was, not so coincidentally, an exact duplicate of my own, right down to the kind of hideous pattern on the bedspread.

Without much thought and already half asleep, I toed off my sneakers, yanked off my shirt, shucked my jeans, and fell into bed in my underwear and socks. Still not fully asleep, I heard Ryan sigh quietly, and then begin to disrobe. The sibilant hiss of clothing sliding against skin ordinarily would have been a turn-on, but at the moment, it simply left me feeling warm and content. So much so, in fact, that I jumped a little when I felt his hand on my calf, but it was only so that he could remove my socks. Then, because he has this need to feel skin on skin with me whenever we’re together, he gently lifted my hips and removed the last of my clothing.

Several seconds later, I felt the mattress depress as his weight slid upon it, and then the heat of his body as it came to press against mine from behind. “You know,” he rumbled close to my ear, “we’re gonna wind up freezing if you don’t let me turn down the covers.”

“You’ll keep me warm,” I replied confidently, sliding back so that our bodies met all along their lengths. And it was true, too. Ryan gave off the ambient warmth of a thermonuclear blast, leaving me bathed in sweat most mornings after the nights we spent together.

“Yeah, but who’ll keep me warm?”

Okay, so he had a point.

Sighing, I lifted my body and he scrambled to pull down the spread, blanket and sheets. Then I tumbled back in, enjoying the coolness of the soft, clean cotton against my bare skin. He slid in again, this time on his back, and with deft hands maneuvered me so that I was lying on my side, facing him, my head on his shoulder, and my arm thrown across his waist. His hand felt very nice tracing nonsensical patterns up and down my back, and I let out a long, quiet breath, feeling the last of the tension dissolve from my body.

It’s been a joke for years that Ryan and I have some sort of telepathic communication going on between us that allows us to read one another’s intentions, finish sentences, and the like. And sometimes, I wish that were the truth. The facts are a bit more mundane than that, consisting of a combination of a long and enduring partnership, similar personalities, training and experience, and a healthy dollop of good, old-fashioned horse sense. And, of course, a natural chemistry between us that, like all others of its kind, lacks any sort of rational explanation. We just…fit, and it’s been like that for us from the first. If I was a New Age practitioner, I’d say that our souls have been entwined through many lifetimes and incarnations, but since I’m not, I think that the Muppets said it best: We’re ‘old friends who’ve met again for the first time’. Or something along those lines.

In any event, I could tell, even in the darkness and even half asleep, that something was worrying away at Ryan’s thoughts. It wasn’t anything outward; his body felt relaxed and supple against mine, his breathing soft and regular. But still, I knew there was something wrong.

Another similarity between us is our tendency to clam up when someone asks us a direct question that we don’t particularly want to answer. The best way to try and wriggle the answer out is to do what the Americans call an ‘end around’ and, sleep be damned, that’s what I was going to try.

“Fun show tonight.”

He snorted softly. “I thought Drew was going shit kittens when he heard what you guys were doing.”

“I can imagine,” I replied, smiling as I pictured the scene. “Run fast, did he?”

“Like his ass was on fire.”

“Mm. Well, we didn’t plan it or anything. Just sort of came up, spur of the moment.”

“Hell, I don’t mind. I thought it was pretty funny, myself.”

“Well, you sure surprised the hell out of me when you showed up on stage.”

He laughed, rubbing my back firmly. “Glad I can still get a rise out of you after all these years.”

“Oh, you get that practically every time you look in my direction.”

His heartbeat sped up then, but not for the obvious reason, I knew. We were trembling on the precipice of the problem.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding almost shy, and on Ryan Stiles, that’s a strange look.

“I’d think it’s pretty obvious.” He hesitated, and I ran a hand lightly over his chest. “C’mon, Ry, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Noth—.”

“Ryan….”

“Alright,” he said, a bit irritably, though I knew it was just for show. “It’s just…. Damnit, Col, twice now, I’ve asked you to…you know…come inside me, and twice you’ve said ‘no’. I usually don’t have to beg you for something like that. Is it…something I did? Something I didn’t do? Something I said?”

He sounded so sad and unsure, I couldn’t help but tighten my arm around him, squeezing him tightly to me. He grunted, and I eased up, just a little. “No, Ryan,” I murmured, brushing my lips against the skin of his chest. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it? Why don’t you want to…?”

“I do!” I insisted. “I love being with you like that. You know that.”

“Well, I thought I did….”

“Well, you can stop thinking, because I do. God, being inside you, it’s…amazing. Wonderful. I feel…transported.”

“Then why, Col? You asked me what the problem was, and now I’m asking you. Why?”

I paused, trying to figure out the best way to frame my answer, and I heard his heartbeat gallop away in his chest, felt his body tense subtly along mine, as if he was expecting an answer he didn’t want to hear, and was steeling himself against it. “Stop it,” I hissed, clasping his side along his lower ribs and squeezing firmly. “Stop it right now. I love you, Ryan. I’m in love with you, so much so that it hurts sometimes, the intensity of it. I’m also extremely attracted to you, and I don’t foresee any one of the above changing any time in the future.”

I could feel his chest concave as he let out a silent breath of relief.

“As for why I haven’t done that with you,” I continued, “let’s just say I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

My neck bent at an awkward angle as he raised himself up on his elbows. “Right time? When the hell have you ever needed a ‘right time’ to fuck me?”

Sliding slightly away, I turned and copied his pose. “Since I’ve had this plan in mind.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, sounding much more like the man I knew. “What kind of plan?”

Internally, I shrugged. I hadn’t intended on bringing up the topic quite so early, or quite in this way, but I guessed I probably wouldn’t get such a golden opportunity again. “You remember, a few years back when we were here, that club I took you to?”

“The kinky Country Club?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah….” he said, warily, but with an undercurrent of definite interest.

“I was thinking of paying it another visit. With you, of course,” I hastened to add, just to avoid any misunderstandings.

“Really.” Oh yes, the interest was definitely there, even if he wasn’t quite willing to admit it aloud yet.

“Yes, really. I mean, we’ve got some extra time before the shows, and I thought, maybe….”

“Maybe what?”

I sighed. He was being deliberately obtuse, but I didn’t really mind. Feeling him out on the thing was my objective, after all. “Maybe…see the sights. Dance a little. Check out the rooms downstairs.”

Bingo. His heart started galloping away again, though for an entirely different reason than before. Though we hadn’t been in any of the rooms in what they called ‘The Dungeon’ the one time we visited the establishment together, he knew what they were used for, and if his increased respirations were any indication, he was interested in far more than a simple tour.

“What would we do there?” his voice was so deliberate in its innocence, I had to grin.

“Ah, well, that would be cheating, you see.”

“And if I said no?”

“Then I’d consider the matter closed.”

His hand came down on my thigh, lightly caressing. “I…think I might like that. If we went, I mean.”

With one victory in hand, I bit the bullet and tried for a second. “I was actually…speaking to Greg about the place earlier.” His hand stilled. “He’s a member, too. He was talking about taking a trip over, maybe when Jeff arrives.”

“Jeff, huh?”

Good. I hadn’t blown it yet.

“Yeah. Apparently, you and Jeff share similar…tastes.”

“And you tasted him when?”

“Only when we kissed on the set,” I replied. “Nice lips. Very soft.”

Nicer, if not quite so soft lips covered mine then, and I forgot all about Jeff. Hell, I even forgot my own name there for a minute. Okay, maybe a couple of minutes. Ryan is an excellent kisser.

I decided, spur of the moment—it seemed my night for that—to let talk of Greg and others lie still for awhile. I’d planted the seed in Ryan’s mind. There was time enough to see if anything germinated.

And speaking of germination….

“Ryan?” I asked, slightly breathless as he finally broke the kiss.

“Mm?”

“Remember what I said right before I left the room this evening?”

“Mm. Hm.”

I grabbed his hand and ran it slowly down my belly to its intended target. “It’s later.”

It most certainly was.

*******

The next two days passed rather quickly, and were actually kind of fun. Greg had suggested visiting the local water park, bored with watching strippers poolside and not particularly wanting to casino hop again. After a moment of thought, I agreed, and, surprisingly, so did Ryan, which was especially enjoyable for me since, aside from lovemaking and brief spates of conversation, we’d spent very little social time together. Don’t get me wrong. Sex and Ryan go together like…well….sex and Ryan, but I missed my best friend, too, and was glad to spend some time outside the bedroom with him.

Visiting a water park with Ryan and Greg was much different than the few times my son had convinced me to take him. Then, I’d done the ‘adult thing’ and lazed around in the sun while he took on all the slides and body surfed in the wave pool until I feared his skin would begin sloughing off.

This time, however, it was expected that I would be a full participant in the fun and games to be had, and I did my best to be a trouper, putting on my game face and taking up every challenge issued. The two-person slides were, I’ll freely admit, the most fun, though Ryan and I had to take the tubes lying down as we were taller than most, and I spent some time trying to will down my natural reaction to having him between my legs and lying flat against me as we took the twists and turns of the slides. The ice cold water we were dumped into helped a great deal, thank goodness.

We walked around a bit and came to what were termed ‘racing slides’. I’m sure you know the ones I’m talking about; the slides that start in the clouds and plunge straight down, leaving your stomach somewhere in the area of your tonsils, your heart fluttering around like a wounded bird, your testicles trying to crawl back home, and your brain wondering if maybe it would be a good idea to bring a parachute along. Or maybe some really good tranquilizers. The slides were side by side, and the object was, as is probably pretty obvious, for two sliders to race to the bottom.

When we stopped before them, Ryan turned to me with a look that exactly mimicked Greg’s of the night before, minus the glasses. I could see why Greg called them ‘poison’ to one another; it was like being out with twins in some respects. “Race ya.”

I thought about demurring, then figured what the heck, I wasn’t planning on forever, anyway. “Yeah? What’ll I get when I win?”

“Cocky bastard, aren’t you?”

I puffed out my chest in pretend pride, fists planted squarely on my hips. “So I’ve been told, yes.”

That earned me a slap to the belly which practically drove the air from my lungs, definitely making me unpuffed. “Hey!”

“Ok,” he looked around, thinking. “If, and I use that word loosely, if you win, I…I’ll get up on that table over there and do a hoedown on the topic of your choice.”

“In front of everyone?”

“In front of everyone. You can even get Greg to sell tickets if you want.”

Ooooooh. Sometimes in your life, there are opportunities much too good to pass up. This wasn’t one of them, but it was close enough. “You’re on. And, should the impossible happen, what do you get if you win?”

Thinking some more, he finally looked down at those huge flippers he calls feet and wiggled his toes. “You get to kiss these in front of everybody. With tongue.”

“And moaning!” Greg inserted cheerfully. “Lots of moaning!”

“I’d rather kiss your ass,” I muttered.

“That’s for later,” he leered.

“Oh, a two part prize, is it?”

“What’s the matter? Chicken?”

Greg helpfully supplied the clucking noises, only laughing at my glare. Perhaps I should ask Santa for intimidation lessons this Christmas.

“You wanna race him, troublemaker?” I asked my very unhelpful friend.

He held his hands up and stepped back, his once perfectly coiffed hair now soaking wet, stringy and plastered to his head. Made me want a camera; blackmail can be a good thing. “Oh no. You two lovebirds just go right on ahead. I’ll stay down here and referee.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “Like that’ll be fair.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I can be very objective.”

“Mm.”

“Did I or did I not share my stash with you yesterday?”

“You did.”

“And did I not allow, nay, encourage you to heckle me while I was in the middle of my act?”

“Only so you could set a trap for me, you wiener!”

“Big wiener,” he corrected. “Really big. Hugely big, in fact. Don’t you forget it.”

“I’ll…try not to.” I replied drolly. He flipped me the bird. I flipped it right back.

“C’mon, man,” Ryan interrupted, as impatient as ever, “are we gonna race or what?”

“Fine!” I said, flapping my arm. “Let’s get this over with. You’d better be practicing your hoedown by the time you get to the bottom, cause I’m going to be expecting it the minute you get out of the pool.”

“Yeah, well you just worry about making sure your tongue’s clean. I don’t want these pristine beauties ruined by your germs.”

“You don’t seem to mind it when I’m kissing your—.”

“BEEEEEEP!” Greg quipped, and we all had to laugh.

Shaking my head, I finally grabbed Ryan’s forearm and tugged. “C’mon, let’s see how many of those stairs we can climb before we start needing oxygen tanks.”

Greg cheerfully twiddled his fingers at us as we started for the stairs, lumbering like dinosaurs through the knots of lithe, tanned and altogether too young teenagers who stared at us like we were dinosaurs.

“They really should invest in some elevators,” I muttered as we reached the fifth landing and had at least five more to go.

Ryan smirked back at me, more than a little winded himself. “Tried already, gramps?”

“You know,” I replied after pretending to think about it, “I think I am. Too bad you’re so keen on racing me. I think maybe by the time I’m through here, I won’t have the energy left for any horizontal activities you might have had planned for later in the evening.” So saying, I grabbed my hip and pretended to hobble up the next set of stairs.

He stared at me, eyes widening. “We…could climb back down….”

“No, no,” I replied, airily. “We’re almost halfway there. I don’t think my poor, feeble, geriatric body could possibly handle that long climb back down. Or much of anything else, really.” Shaking my head, I huffed out a sad sigh as I passed him on the stairway and continued the climb.

I knew he knew I was joking. I also knew he wasn’t sure how much. Oh, not about the age thing, of course. We’re only six months apart, after all, and I’d like to think that despite the color of my hair—and the lack thereof—I’ve kept rather nimble in my dotage. But to be too tired for bedroom escapades was sure to get Ryan where it hurt the most—literally.

So I pretended to hobble as I continued upwards, sliding against the rail when the occasional lithe teen sprinted past. When we finally reached the top, I picked the left slide and he was left with the right. A young woman with ebony hair and the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen in my life was the attendant on Ryan’s slide. Though he was more than twice her age, he couldn’t help but flirt with her; flirting to Ryan is as natural and unconscious as breathing is to the rest of us mere mortals. “Don’t tell me I’m too…short…to ride this,” he said in a deep, smooth voice that would have sounded smarmy on anyone else save, perhaps, Barry White.

Those beautiful eyes roamed his body, taking note of all the ways in which he was most definitely not ‘short’ and a very becoming tinge of rose bloomed on her cheeks.

“Too young, then?” he asked sweetly when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to answer.

“Ryan,” I mock-scolded, “how about letting her do her job, hmm?”

He shot me a sideways, flinty glance, but deliberately relaxed, changing his whole affect completely and instantly, something he’s an absolute expert at. “Okay, what do I have to do?”

The young woman smiled a ‘thank you’ at me, and I nodded in return. She looked back at Ryan. “Lie down flat on your back with your feet up against the gate. Cross your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankles. When the gate opens, down you go!”

“Ryan…” I warned before he could embarrass the poor girl any further. He curled a lip at me, but complied and followed her instructions, as did I, checking with my own attendant, a young surfer type with tousled hair and a look that told me exactly what he thought of two men our age on this ride at all, let alone having the nerve to flirt with what was undoubtedly his girlfriend.

I made sure to give him my toothiest smile. He flushed and looked away, finger jamming on the button that started the countdown to oblivion.

The lights changed from red to green, the gate opened with a loud buzz, and my stomach shot out of my mouth as the rest of my body plummeted down the slide. Only years of training kept the scream locked in my throat, and all thoughts of our little bet flew out of my head. I didn’t care whether I won or lost, as long as I arrived at the bottom in one piece.

Though it seemed like my entire life flashed before my eyes in those few brief seconds, the adventure was over almost as soon as it had begun, and the water at the bottom was soon shooting up my nose at an alarming rate. Choking and sputtering, I dragged myself to my feet only to see Ryan turning to me, a smug grin on his face and one foot tilted slyly in my direction.

“Great,” I muttered, wiping the water out of my eyes. “You sure he didn’t cheat?” I asked Greg as I came to stand beside them.

“Nope,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “He won by a nose.”

That startled a laugh right out of me, and I grinned at Greg, who winked back and ushered me over to the table, which Ryan had taken over, warm hand resting lightly at the small of my back.

Ryan was sitting primly on the table itself, his one foot square on the bench and the other flapping at me at the end of his crossed leg. As I looked covertly around, I saw that there were entirely too many people in the vicinity for my comfort, but a bet’s a bet, so I looked down at him with more annoyance than I actually felt.

“So, I have to kiss those, huh?”

“Don’t forget the tongue!” he chirped.

“And the moaning!” Greg added, having more fun with this than the two of us put together.

“How could I forget?” I replied drolly, though inside, I was secretly amused. Because I remembered something about Ryan that he himself had forgotten. He might have won the bet, but I…I was going to win the war.

Carefully grasping his foot by the heel, I planted several dry kisses over the top, from the ankle juncture to the tip of his big toe and back.

“I’m not feelin’ it,” he said when I chanced to look up at him.

“I’m not hearin’ it either,” Greg parroted. I resisted the urge to kick him.

Saying nothing, I slid his heel forward and repeated the process on the sole, knowing by the sounds that we were beginning to draw a crowd. Ordinarily this would be a bad thing, but for what I had in mind, it was just perfect. The only problem was how to go about this without getting myself arrested for lewd acts. Ah well. Ryan was rich. He could pay my bail, if it came to that.

So thinking, I raised my gaze again and gave him my sweetest smile. Ryan’s learned not to trust that one, and I saw a sliver of panic run through his eyes as he tried to tug his foot out of my grip. I was having none of it.

“Tongue, huh?” I murmured just loudly enough for him to catch. “If you insist….”

Lowering my head back down and using my free hand to conceal what I was doing from the gathering onlookers, I drew my tongue smoothly along his instep—one of the most erogenous zones on his body, and one that he, in his cockiness (pardon the pun) had completely forgotten.

To his credit, he managed to swallow most of the whimper that tried to escape his lips, but I could hear it, and smiled as I licked another long stroke, feeling his foot tremble in my grasp. The next part was going to be harder to disguise, but I was determined to go through with it, if for nothing other than lesson giving purposes.

Moving slowly up his foot, still cupping my hand around the lower part of my face, I reached his toes and took two of them into my mouth, darting my tongue between them, then giving it a little twist.

“Oh, Jesus,” he mumbled, trying harder to yank his foot away, but I had it in a solid grip and wasn’t about to relinquish it. Instead, I moved over to his big toe and took it into my mouth, treating it exactly as I would a larger part of his body, making sure he realized every nuance of the mimicry. And he did. Acutely.

“Towel,” he gasped to Greg. “Now.”

As Greg looked around, askance, I looked up, noticing Ryan had placed his hand over his groin in a feeble effort to hide his response to my ministrations. I chuckled low in my throat.

The moan I was waiting for came right then, and I pulled away, smirking in triumph. “Bet me, will you?” I murmured. My victory almost turned into a loss as I looked fully at him. His face was deeply flushed, his pupils so dilated that they looked almost black, and I wanted nothing more than to ravish him then and there, audience be damned. My better sense prevailed, and I stepped away even as Greg was addressing the crowd.

“Show’s over, folks. Be back here in fifteen, when we’ll really give you something to look at!”

Then I saw a big, buff, bare chested lifeguard type trying to bull his way through the laughing onlookers, and I grabbed Ryan’s elbow and yanked him from the table. “Let’s beat it before we wind up in the slammer,” I ordered, using my best 1930’s gangster movie voice.

They followed me with alacrity.

When we finally reached the lockers unaccosted, Ryan turned to me. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

“Why? It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Oh, I could play innocent with the best of them.

“Teach me to bet against you.”

“You loved it, Stiles,” Greg added, smirking. “And don’t even try to deny it, man.” His gaze zeroed in on Ryan’s crotch, where the evidence was still rather plain to see. “So, you’re a foot guy, huh?” he continued, obviously enjoying the hell out of the situation.

“Shut up.”

Greg put up his hands. “No shame in that, man. I’m into it myself…with the right person, of course.” He leered at me and nearly earned himself a black eye from the always possessive Ryan. “Chill, dude. I’m just messin’ around.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t funny.”

“Of course it is! You just got your dick in a knot ‘cause your bet backfired on you.”

Ryan glowered, but to his credit, he quickly calmed, ducking his head. Greg was right, and he knew it. “Let’s just get outta here.”

“I’m all for that, man.”

And so we went.

*******

“Oh, thank God!” Drew cried as he spied us walking in through the lobby doors. “I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere! Where have you been?”

“Playing in the water,” Greg answered. “What’s up, man? You look like shit.”

Drew raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yeah, well how I look doesn’t matter right now. I need your help, and you two,” he said, pointing to myself and Greg, “are going to give it to me. Think of it as repayment for last night’s little stunt.”

“What, kissing your ugly mug wasn’t enough?” Greg demanded, hands spread wide.

“That was just an appetizer, baby.”

I guess I was wrong about Drew forgetting about things after they were over.

“Listen, you know about that celebrity golf-poker thing tomorrow, right?”

I nodded, Ryan having mentioned it to me earlier. I also knew, sure as my name is Colin, that I wasn’t going to like what was coming next. I was right.

“Well, welcome to the club, gentlemen, because you’re in it.”

“What?!” Greg and I asked, together.

“You heard me. The two guys from Friends dropped out and I entered you in their places.”

If that wasn’t irony, I don’t know the meaning of the word.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, “I’ve put up your stakes, so you don’t have to shell out any cash.”

“That’s…er…nice of you, Drew,” I said, “but I don’t play golf, and I’m not a very good poker player, either.”

Greg nodded. “What he said.”

“Doesn’t matter. We need bodies to fill the seats, and you’re the big winners.”

“I’d rather lick Ryan’s feet.”

“Hey!” I said, grinning as I slapped Greg. Drew just looked confused.

“Guys, please. You’d really be helping me out, and besides, all the proceeds go to charity.”

“Which charity?” Greg asked, his eyes very narrow. I knew that if the R in Republican so much as hinted at coming out of Drew’s mouth, he was going to be gone like a cool breeze.

“The International Children’s Fund.”

I sighed. He knew just where to get me. Children’s charities are a weakness of mine, and I never pass up an opportunity to help if I can. I rubbed at my eyes. “I know I’m gonna regret this, but…I’m in.”

“Greg?”

It was Greg’s turn to sigh. “Oh, alright. If Baldy over here can do it, so can I.”

“Great!”

“Just don’t put me at Ryan’s table,” I warned. “I’ll be out within a hand.” I have a pretty darn good poker face, but he knows all my ‘tells’.

“Alright, I’ll make sure you’re at different tables, at least to start, but I’ve paired you with him for the golf thing.”

Ryan and I groaned simultaneously. Ryan is a good scratch golfer. I, on the other hand, am abysmal. Being Scottish, you’d figure I’d have at least a smidgen of golfing ability in my genes, but…no. It’s just not my sport.

“We’re playing Foursome, and I’m paired with Greg, so quit complaining. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

As famous last words went, they beat ‘Shut up and touch the monkey!’, but not by much.

*******

I shrugged my shoulders at Ryan, giving him my best ‘I’m really sorry’ look. I wondered if it was possible to bend a golf club into a ‘U’ shape. If it was, Ryan would have an entire bag filled with them before the day was out. It was only the fifth hole and we were already hovering in last place. My first two drives off the tee were things of beauty, let me tell you. I shanked the first one into the lake, and the second one into the deep rough so far off course that we needed a map and a compass just to find our way back to the fairway. It wasn’t like I hadn’t warned him, or anyone else within hearing distance, for that matter. Golf and I were just not made to go together. I was a fair putter, if the course included windmills and a metal circus animal or two, but put me on a real golf course and all that went out the window.

It didn’t help that as a last minute replacement I was forced to use rented clubs—rented clubs made for someone right-handed. Which I most definitely am not. Everything was bass ackwards, and any minute skill I might have miraculously displayed was completely neutralized by the clubs. Not that I was blaming them, mind you. They just didn’t help matters any.

“Before we get to the back nine, I’m getting you some left-handed clubs if I have to buy them myself,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, putting a hand on his corded forearm. I knew how much he loved the game, and how he’d been looking forward to the tournament. I hated that I was ruining things for him, hated, even for just a second, Drew for forcing me into it. That hatred—and that was too strong a word anyway—slipped away quickly. I could have said ‘no’, after all. It was my fault that I didn’t, not Drew’s.

He looked at me, and the tension drained from his body as if through a sieve. The smile he offered up touched his eyes, making them sparkle beautifully in the sun. “It’s alright,” he said finally, and I knew he meant every word. “It’s a beautiful day, and we’re here together, and that’s all that counts.”

Ryan can be a hard-ass sometimes, but it hides a core of incredible mushiness. It’s a rare person who gets to tap that core, and I’m quite proud to be considered among the few. He really is a good man, and I’d say that even if I didn’t love him.

Greg and Drew weren’t doing much better. Ryan is a better golfer than Drew, but Greg is better than me, so it evened out. Except that Greg’s drives off the tee didn’t go as wildly awry as mine did. I briefly wondered if Drew and Ryan had any side bets going, then decided it was probably better if I didn’t know. I was under more than enough pressure already.

We were currently on a par 3 hole. Ryan had managed to get the ball on the green in one, but the cup was at least ten yards away, uphill and to the left. “Just try to get it somewhere near the hole,” he said, handing me the putter. “I’ll do the rest.”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” I answered, brushing my hand against his as I grabbed the club. I wasn’t optimistic. The green had a nasty leeward pitch and if I kept true to form, I’d boomerang the damn thing and we’d wind up in the fringe. Again.

He patted me on the shoulder, giving me another genuine smile. “Just try the best you can.”

That was never in doubt. Standing before the ball, I looked toward the cup and tried to calculate the distance, force, pitch, and everything else that went into a good putt, and in the end, gave that all up and did what I do best: improvised. With a quick prayer to goodness only knows who—the god of golf, maybe—I breathed out and swung.

Then I headed back to my bag without bothering to look. What was the point?

A murmur that sounded somewhat appreciative stopped me in my tracks, and I had just turned around when I was engulfed by six and a half feet of warm exuberance. “What?” I asked. “Did I get close?”

“Close? Col, you just sunk it!”

“I…what?”

“Look!”

So I looked. I couldn’t see the ball anywhere. There was a deep sand trap on the opposite side. Maybe that’s where I’d ‘sunk it’. Ah, well. The day couldn’t last forever, could it?

After a long moment, Ryan clouted me on the back and walked over to the cup, where he bent over and…pulled out the ball.

Holy Moses.

“A birdie!” Ryan yodeled to Drew, who was just behind us. “Eat that, Carey!”

Well. Maybe the god of golf had listened after all.

*******

We ended up in tenth place, which, out of twenty teams, wasn’t too bad at all. Ryan had followed through on his threat—over my strenuous objections—to buy me a set of left-handed clubs, and though it didn’t make all the difference in the world, did make some. My drives were a wee bit straighter, and although I never duplicated my miracle putt, at least you didn’t need binoculars to see the hole from where my ball landed either. Ryan carried the day, of course, though by the eighteenth hole, I could see that his back was starting to get to him. I made a mental note to rectify that problem as soon as we got back to the hotel. Besides, I had some massage oils I was dying to try out.

Drew and Greg finished twelfth, and, as it turned out, he and Ryan did have a side bet on the game. A fair amount of money changed hands, more than enough to cover the cost of my never-to-be-used-again clubs, and Drew wore his sour look all the way back to the hotel.

As it turned out, a massage wasn’t in the works; at least, not right then. The golf tournament went on longer than planned and poker was about to start. As it was being televised—a fact that Drew had conveniently failed to mention—we were ordered to our rooms to shower and change into presentable clothing. Which meant suits, unfortunately. There’s something inherently wrong with playing poker in a suit, in my opinion. Ruins the whole ambience of the game.

But face time to an actor is face time to an actor, and I’d already promised in any event, so a suit it was. I deliberately chose a color that would go with a certain silk handkerchief that had seen a far different use than that for which it had originally been intended. After showering and dressing, I tucked it into my pocket and smiled. Ryan might not be sitting at my table, but I’d have a part of him there, at least.

When the knock came, I answered it, smiling again. Ryan was looking gorgeous in his custom tailored suit. He gave me a kiss, then offered his arm, and when I took it, I noticed his gaze track to my pocket, where it froze. “That...isn’t….”

“Oh, it is.”

He laughed then, shaking his head in disbelief. “You amaze me, sometimes.”

“I consider it one of my duties in life,” I replied, only half-joking.

“What, keeping me on my toes?”

I shot him a sideways glance, and when he realized the import of his words, he blushed to the roots of his hair.

“Mission accomplished,” I quipped, stepping onto the elevator with him and heading down to Greg’s floor.

Greg was, as is to be expected, nattily attired, his hair poofed to true Proops perfection. He was the only one among us who didn’t have a problem playing poker in a suit, but I suppose that’s to be expected, too. It was his uniform of choice, after all.

Meeting up with Drew in the lobby, we all took the short walk down the Strip to where the tournament was being held. Arriving, I was dismayed to see the velvet ropes, limousines, red carpet, and paparazzi lining the sidewalk, cameras flashing like fireworks. Drew was the first to be recognized—being the most well known among us—and was pulled forward to be photographed. Ryan quickly followed. I was quite content to stand far back out of the limelight, but that didn’t remain the case for long as Ryan reached out and grabbed onto both Greg and I, pulling us forward and into the maelstrom.

Mercifully, we didn’t have to endure the attention for long before we were allowed to enter the venue. An usher escorted us to a large room where twenty tables of seven contestants each were set up, the felt toppings green and garish under the harsh lighting.

Greg and I were seated, side by side, at a table near the door with several television personalities that I recognized, and several more that I didn’t. Drew and Ryan were escorted to one of the ‘featured’ tables, where still cameras were set up to take in every second of the action. I promised myself then and there that if I had to go ‘all in’ on an unsuited deuce and seven, I would before allowing myself to be seated at that particular table. Face time is one thing. Constant scrutiny while playing poker in a suit is quite another.

Greg joined cheerfully into the conversations taking place around the table while I sat back, taking it all in. My palms were slightly damp, a sure sign of my nerves, but I resisted the urge to wipe them off on my pants. The charity liaisons entered and circulated among the tables, thanking us all for taking part, and I resolved to write out a check before the night was through, since not a cent of my own money had thus far gone to the charity which I was supposedly representing. I’d learned that the stakes, both for golf and poker, were ten thousand dollars each per player, and I marveled that Drew had coolly dropped almost a hundred thousand dollars on one day’s play. Then again, for him, it was probably like dropping a quarter into the sewer grate. Annoying but certainly not devastating.

When the liaisons finally left and conversation resumed, Greg turned to me. “So, did you mention to Ryan what we talked about the other day?”

“Partially. I also told him that you were thinking of visiting, but no more than that.”

“Well, Jeff’s flying in tomorrow, and when I talked to him yesterday, he was totally up for it.”

I nodded. “I’m just not sure how to bring up the ‘audience’ part,” I confessed.

He grinned at me, squeezing my leg under the table. “We’ll think of something.”

Why was I not surprised?

*******

It was two hours later, and the assembled players had decreased by about two-thirds. Greg and I were still in the thick of things, and we’d been moved to several different tables when there were too few players left at our own to make playing feasible. Thankfully, however, we’d so far managed to keep away from the featured tables. As I was being dealt reasonable cards all night, I decided to see just how far I could go with it. Prize money was given out—to be immediately donated to charity, of course—for the top ten finishers, and I was bound and determined to be one of those ten. Drew and Ryan, still at said featured table, were still in the running as well, Drew in particular amassing several towering stacks of chips and looking as smug as smug could be. I might have liked to knock him down a few pegs, but that seemed as likely as seeing snow in the Sahara.

Once again, Greg and I were the only ones remaining at our table and were asked to move. I, with my chip stack and lucky handkerchief, joined with a group of six others, none of whom I knew. Greg was escorted to Ryan and Drew’s table. The three of them had adjoining seats, and from where I was seated, directly opposite, I had an unobstructed view, despite the cameras.

When I settled in, the first deal came around, and I would have bet anyway, even if I hadn’t been the big blind which, by now, was up to eight thousand dollars. I had pocket queens for the third time that night, and thus far, the ladies had never steered me wrong. I immediately raised on the big blind, to the groans of the others, and everyone folded save for the young woman on my left.

Smiling sweetly at me, and with a bit of a glint in her eye, she called my bet, and the flop was laid down. Nothing much to help me there, but a possible straight and a possible flush for her, if she was holding the right cards.

She was hard to read, especially since I’d only just met her, so I played it safe and simply checked my hand. Blindingly white teeth showed as she doubled the blind, and, after a second’s worth of thought, I matched it.

The turn came next, and another lady showed her face, and the suit wouldn’t help the flush she was trying to build, if, indeed, she was building one. Nor would it help a straight, which was all low cards.

I became a bit disconcerted when I felt her skirted thigh press smoothly against my own, rubbing just slightly. I kept my expression carefully blasé as I looked around the table, catching a wink from Ryan and giving it back to him. The leg moved away, then, only to return scant seconds later, with a bit more pressure and movement.

It’s a game, I told myself. Only a game. Pretend you’re onstage and she’s the local schoolmarm trying to get the attention of Sheriff Colin.

That thought brought an involuntary grin to my lips, and her leg moved away again, allowing the pressure in my chest to loosen.

This time, I played more conservatively, only matching the blind, and almost before the chips were out of my hands, she was doubling my bet, smiling coyly. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and calmly matched her bet.

Then came the river, putting a second three on the table, and a full house for me. Time to fish or cut bait, as Ryan might have said. I decided to fish. “All in.”

The coy smile brightened a notch, becoming something very nearly predatory. As she had a larger chip count than I did, she had chips left over when she pushed her pile in to match mine. “Ok, Dimples,” she said, “show me what you got.”

“Ladies first,” I replied in my smoothest voice.

Smirking, she flipped over her two hole cards, both of which were clubs. Matched up to the three clubs already on the table, she had a flush. “Nice, huh?”

“Mm,” I agreed. “Not as nice as these, though.” And I flipped my ladies, showing her my full house.

“That was mean!” she cried, slapping my shoulder and gifting me with the most overdone pout I’ve ever seen, onstage or off.

“I’m sorry,” I replied as I reached across the table to gather my winnings.

“Maybe it’ll make me feel better if you kiss me,” she said, and for a moment—and this is the absolute truth—I found myself looking around for Brad hidden somewhere, microphone in hand, because this was exactly the sort of stunt he’d pull.

Seeing no one, I turned back to her. “Would you settle for a nice handshake instead?”

“Fine,” she sighed, holding out her hand.

“Hello, I’m Colin,” I replied, grasping her hand briefly and gently before quickly releasing it. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Her name was one I vaguely recognized as someone who had been with Second City LA for a time before opting for a role in a short-lived sitcom about, if I remembered correctly, an institutionalized woman and her equally disturbed parents. That premise never sounded very funny to me, but then again, what do I know? I’m Canadian!

“I love your eyes,” she gushed, treating me to the alcohol fumes on her breath. Her hand landed on my thigh and began to trace its way upwards. I put a stop to that immediately, taking care not to use too much force to remove her from my person.

“Maybe it’s better if we just played cards, eh?”

“Hm. Only if you’ll agree to a little side bet with me.”

“And that would be?”

Her grin sparkled through again. “I win the next hand, you’re naked in my bed by midnight. You win, I’m naked in yours. Either way, you can’t lose. What do you say?”

“I’m very flattered,” I replied, trying to project as much sincerity as I could, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your kind offer.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest like a disgruntled teenager, and I found myself wondering if her sitcom act was really just an act. There’s a reason they call it Hollyweird.

“I’m not used to being turned down, you know,” she said finally, trying for another grab on my leg, this time much closer to my groin.

Shifting away, I took her hand firmly in my own. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I didn’t intend to. I’m just here to try and win some money for a charity I care very much about. And I’d like to be able to concentrate on doing that.”

By this time, we’d gathered the attention of the others, which was making me even more uncomfortable than the young woman herself was.

“So, you’re saying I break your concentration?”

I sighed, wondering what it would take to break through the alcoholic haze she seemed immersed in.

I soon found out as a shadow loomed over the table. I looked up to find Ryan standing over me, staring down at the poor inebriated woman to my left. “May I have a word with you, please?” he asked her in a calm, polite voice that belied the look of restrained anger he was sporting.

“Ryan, it’s….”

“Please.”

Beaming, the woman stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and he grasped her arm, leading her away from the table with nary a glance back at me.

In the shadows, out of the range of camera and microphone, he turned her so she was facing him, but he was facing away from me, so I wasn’t able to read his lips. I could read his body very well, however, and whatever he was saying was undoubtedly most unpleasant.

When the woman returned, scarcely a minute later, she was pale and quite subdued. She gave me a tremulous smile and slid her chair as far away from mine as was possible, given the proximity of the other players. I sighed, then stood. A bathroom break had apparently been called while we were speaking and I hadn’t heard it. I headed for the facilities, meeting Ryan outside the door. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Ryan, I appreciate what you did, but I’m not a damsel in need of rescuing when there’s a problem, you know. I was handling the situation.”

“Didn’t look like it from where I was sitting,” he rumbled, talking to the carpet instead of me.

“It might have, if you’d given me a little time.”

“Colin, she was groping you, for fuck’s sake!”

“Yes,” I agreed, “and I was convincing her not to. In my own way, Ryan. Not your way. Mine.”

“Fine!” he whispered harshly, flapping his hand as if swatting at a bee. “I won’t even bother from now on, then. Is that what you want?” His face was pinched, his eyes hard and lifeless as diamonds. Damnit, damnit, damnit. This went deeper than our little spat, and I knew it. I’d heard some of the ribald conversation—carefully edited for television, of course—going on at his table and knew he was going back into that place where no one could reach him.

“No, Ryan,” I said finally, taking his tightly balled fist and massaging it until it opened to me, then threading my fingers through his. “I love you, and I’m grateful that you keep an eye out for me. Never doubt that. And when I need help, you’re the one I look to first. You know that.”

“Yeah,” he said after a long moment of silence. “I do.”

“But in most situations, even ones that are uncomfortable for me, I can take care of myself. No one in this world knows that better than you.”

“You’re right. Again.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Damnit, Col, I know it isn’t!”

Okay, so that was the wrong road to ride down. “Listen. Do you have any plans after this thing is over?”

He finally looked up at me. “No.”

“Then how about we go back to my room. I know your back is killing you, and it just so happens I packed some wonderful oils that just might help with that. If you’re lucky, I might even scare up a couple of candles, just to set the massaging mood. How’s that sound?”

He slumped a little as his strong fingers clamped convulsively over my own. “That sounds…like heaven.”

*******

Well before midnight, it ended for me. I’d kept my promise, bowing out in tenth place. Frankly, I was surprised I’d made it that far. After my conversation with Ryan, my luck began to turn sour. Even the ladies were against me, and when I lost out on a queen high full house to a king high full house, I knew that winning, for me, wasn’t in the cards—if you’ll pardon the pun.

Another bathroom break was called as I ceded my seat to mild cheers, fifty thousand dollars the richer. Greg met me in the stalls. “I talked to Ryan about our little plan,” he said as he was washing his hands. “He said he might be into it.”

“At this point,” I said, shaking my head, “it might be the only thing that gets through to him.”

“I know. He’s totally going into ‘I’m being a major prick, so don’t fuck with me’ mode, man. Our ‘friends’ at the table aren’t helping any. They’re talking about getting laid over at the Pink Flamingo after the game.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Cause you know him?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s it.” Drying my hands, I grasped his arms and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, and kick Drew’s ass for me, huh?”

“Fuck that, man.” Grabbing my cheeks, he pulled my head down and kissed me full on the lips, using his tongue wonderfully and making me, for the moment, forget my mild depression. “Now that’s for luck.” He looked at me for a long moment, speculation shining in his eyes. “You know…nah, forget it.”

“No, what?”

“I…It’s too damn bad you’re so gone on Ryan. I’d like the chance to do a little more exploring, if you know what I mean.”

I smiled enigmatically. “You never know what’s in the cards.”

And with that, I left.

*******

“Oh, god, yes. That’s it!” Ryan groaned, lifting his head briefly before dropping it back to the bed.

“I’m glad it’s helping,” I replied, continuing my long, firm, oiled strokes down the lean planes of his back. I’d invested in massage therapy classes shortly after Ryan’s accident with Chip, and as far as I was concerned, they were among the best investments I’d ever made. I could feel every knot, every ripple of tension in the long body beneath me, and I set to work with a will; a search and destroy mission, if you will.

Ryan had stumbled into my room shortly after 1am, completely exhausted and his jaw clenched in pain. He’d only stayed out so long because he’d continued playing long after I left, finally dropping out in third place. He’d turned down the offer of female companionship and headed straight—so to speak—to my room for his promised candle-lit massage, and I was determined not to disappoint.

“Oh,” he moaned, “you have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” I replied, having been on the receiving end of more than a few massages myself. Sometimes they seemed almost better than sex. And, of course, sometimes they led to sex. Either, at this point, was preferable. I just wanted to take his pain away, by any means necessary.

I slid down so that I was straddling his thighs with my knees, and went to work on the most painful part of his back, his lower spine. The deep massage caused grunts of pain, but the knots themselves were like lead balls deep beneath the skin, his over-stressed tendons bundles of frayed wire. I hated hurting him, but it was the only way to get those knots loosened enough for the oils to be able to penetrate and heat. Hurting Ryan was like hurting myself. Worse, really. I’d much rather take pain than cause it. Unless, of course, pain is the goal, or, as in this case, the means to an end.

His grunts soon became moans as I deliberately lightened my touch, coaxing the muscles, ligaments and tendons into a state of deep relaxation. The sounds he was making were having a definite effect on me, but my main goal was to get him so relaxed that he’d drop off to sleep. I’d simply take care of myself later if need be.

“’m sorry,” he slurred, already halfway to dreamland.

“About what?” I asked, continuing to stroke his back, occasionally dipping down to his glutes, though I made sure to keep my touch purely clinical.

“…girl…being an ass….”

“It’s alright,” I replied. “You meant well.” Sliding down still further, I worked on his thighs and calves, turning them into putty. Soft snores soon began filling the room, and I smiled, lightening my touch still further until I was barely touching him at all.

Finally, I swung my leg over him until I was kneeling on his right side. I looked down upon him, his long, trim body oiled and glistening in the flickering light of the half dozen candles I’d lit, and felt such an overpowering rush of love and lust that, for a moment, I felt as I would explode from the pure force of it all. It felt as if I’d been hit squarely in the belly, and had the wind driven from my lungs. Completely unexpected tears stung at my eyes, and the vision before me prismed, diffusing it, making it soft and fine, like muslin drawn over a light. How much I loved him then. How much I love him still.

Bending over, I brushed a kiss against his ear. “Sleep well, sweet prince,” I whispered. Straightening, I brushed the very tips of my fingers against his hair, crisp where the gel still lingered, soft where it didn’t.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. Very soft, like a lone mouse scratching at the baseboard. Sighing, I climbed down from the bed and shouldered into my robe, belting it over my naked body and crossing the room quietly. Greg was on the other side of the peephole, dressed in casual clothes, his hair slightly mussed, and I eased open the door just enough for me to step through.

When I did, I saw that Jeff was there as well and, with a grin, I embraced him, taking care to keep the lower half of my body prudently away. Though I don’t know him as well as the others, I like Jeff, always have. He’s an excellent singer and a wonderful improver, and there’s just something about his boyish charm and sparkling eyes that speaks to me. “It’s wonderful to see you. You’re here early.”

“Some last minute plans fell through, so I took an earlier flight. How are you doing, Colin? You’re looking well.”

“Very well, from what I can see,” Greg quipped, zeroing in on the obvious bulge hidden beneath the thick folds of my robe. “We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?”

“Would I be answering the door if you were?”

“Fucked him stupid, did you?”

I glared at him, determined not to turn this into a game of “Questions Only”. Greg can be merciless when he wants to be. Which is pretty often. “His back was killing him. I gave him a massage, he’s finally asleep, end of story.”

“Not quite the end of your story, though, is it.”

“Greg….”

He held up his hands. “Just telling it like it is, man.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You could come down to my room and I could take care of it for you, you know. Believe me, it would be my pleasure.”

And I was tempted. Sorely. By this time, I was so aroused, I was in physical pain, and the thought of Greg, on his knees, well…it shouldn’t have to be spelled out. “If this were any other time,” I said finally, “I’d take you up on that offer in a heartbeat.”

“But….”

I put a hand on his arm, inadvertently transferring some of the oil onto his t-shirt. “You saw how he was tonight. When he found out that I left him there sleeping while I went downstairs to have sex with you….”

“Who says he has to find out?”

“I do.” Releasing his arm, I held up my hand to forestall his objection. “Greg, it’s who I am.”

“We all keep secrets, Col.”

“Not ones this big. At least, I don’t.”

“It’s only sex, man.” He looked over at Jeff, who nodded. By the look in his eyes, he wasn’t at all adverse to the possibilities. And, heaven help me, I wasn’t either.

“I came here to help Ryan,” I finally whispered, though my body was screaming obscenities at me from all angles. “Not to hurt him. And this…this would hurt him. And I won’t do that.”

After a moment of staring, he snorted and shook his head. “You really are an alien, man. That’s the only fucking thing that explains it.” He cocked his head. “You’re sure….”

“Perfectly.”

“Alright, then. Have fun with Mr. Righty. Or, in your case, Mr. Lefty.”

I rolled my eyes. “Was…there another reason you came up here?”

He shrugged. “Well, we figured if Ryan was out stuffing whores, you know….”

“Ah,” I replied, nodding. Then I smiled. “I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities.”

He clapped me on my back, grinning. “Any time, my man. Any time at all.” Jeff smiled and nodded as well, giving my ego a boost.

“Well, you guys have fun.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Col. We will!”

Waving to them both, I slipped back inside the room. Ryan was deeply asleep, his light snores long and regular. Walking back over to the bed, I looked at him, bathed in candlelight, once again committing every line, curve and angle to memory. As flustered as I was, business didn’t take very long to be completed, and after making a quick detour to the bathroom to wash my hands, I snuffed out the candles, enjoying the scent of vanilla in the waning smoke. I slipped into bed on my back, sliding over until I was close enough to feel his heat, but not enough to wake him. I stared at the ceiling in thought for a long time until sleep finally came to claim me.

*******

The next morning found myself and Ryan being awakened by a very insistent Drew, who had problems that only Ryan could help him with; problems that, apparently, were so pressing that if they weren’t handled that very second, the entire universe as we knew it would spin off of whatever axis universes have and who knows what would happen then?

Hanging up the phone, Ryan shrugged an apology to me, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were once again hard and closed off to me. I bit back a sigh, knowing that it was through my own choices that I had been transported into this world straight out of a soap opera—and not a very good one, either. I could have stayed home with Deb and Luke, probably should have, but I hadn’t, and I was just going to have to make the best of it.

“Sounds like an all-day event,” I remarked from my place in the bed, blankets pulled up to my neck. Amazing how cold it got when Ryan wasn’t there to warm me. Though, to be honest, the Ryan I was looking at now seemed every bit as warm and inviting as an iceberg. I shivered internally.

“With him, God only the fuck knows,” he muttered darkly, fumbling around for his discarded clothing.

“Well, I think I’m going to try for a little more sleep, then play things by ear. You know how to reach me if you get bored, or want a little company, or something.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice obstructed by cloth as he yanked his t-shirt over his head, inside out. Pulling on his boxers, he then draped his suit pieces over his arm, and dangled his huge shoes from his fingers. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

I smiled as best I could. “Sure thing.”

And then he left, without even a goodbye kiss. Which I guess I should be thankful for, since it may well have frozen my lips.

I woke again, all too short a time later, to the disconcerting feel of someone’s gaze on my back. Turning my head, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and saw Ryan standing there, freshly washed and groomed, staring down at me. I smiled. “Did you forget something?” I asked, voice husky and thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” he replied, squatting and leaning forward so that his lips brushed over mine. Then he laid his smooth, freshly shaven cheek against mine for a long moment. “Seems like all I’m doing this week is apologizing to you,” he murmured, finally pulling away to look me in the eye. “You don’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you. No one does, but least of all you.”

“You’ve been under a lot of stress,” I said. “I understand. It’s alright.”

“No, damn it, it isn’t!” He rose to his feet, swiping a hand over his face. “Sometimes…sometimes I just wish you weren’t so damn accommodating.”

“Part of my charm,” I retorted, smiling up at him. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve been necessarily that accommodating. I mean, I have been deliberately withholding something I know you want.”

“Yeah, but there’s a huge difference between fucking me and just standing there, taking it when I lash out at you like I’ve been doing. Or leaving you like I did this morning.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, “but regardless of how it makes me seem, I do understand, Ryan. I know what stress does to people, and I especially know what it does to you. Yes, you’ve…hardened…in the past several years, but….”

He snorted. “Hardened? Colin, I’m the fucking Petrified Forest! Did you know that the other night, I actually saw fear in Pat’s eyes?”

I laid back, totally stunned. I knew, obviously, about the fight, but Pat had underplayed things dramatically if what Ryan was telling me was the truth. And I had no reason to doubt it was. “Is that why you came down here so early?” I asked gently.

This time, Ryan didn’t merely swipe his face with his hands, he buried it in them. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I mean, damnit, she’s my wife! I’ve known her for so long, and I’ve seen her look at me a lot of ways, but fear….” His hands dropped down and I could see that his eyes were shining, and not in a good way. I stood immediately and gathered him into my arms, pressing his head so that it rested on my shoulder. His own arms came around and clamped convulsively at my waist. His hot tears scalded my naked flesh, and my heart broke more with every drop. “I just…left,” he continued, tears still falling. “Didn’t even tell her where I was going, say goodbye, nothing. Just…gone. And I thought, while I was driving, that if Pat could be afraid of me, what about my kids? My kids…. God, Col, if I ever saw fear of me in their eyes, I’d just….”

“No,” I growled, fisting my hand in his hair. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it, Ryan. I’m warning you. Don’t.”

“But….”

“No! Those children adore you, and I know, I know!, that you’d sooner have yourself dipped inch by inch in boiling oil than to ever give them cause to fear you. Pat knows that, too. So do I. And if you’d give yourself the smallest of breaks, you’d know it too.” He was still withholding a large part of himself, too trapped behind the walls of his own making to even know where to look for a way out, let alone realize that there was one.

Taking in a deep breath, I decided to let go the largest secret I was holding. “Ryan, I know you and Pat had a fight. She called me two days after it happened.” He stiffened, and tried to pull away, but the attempt was half-hearted, and I didn’t let him go. “You need to hear this, my friend. She wasn’t scared of you. She was scared for you. Scared enough to come to me and ask for my help. Not for her, or for the kids, but for you.” I let him think about that for a moment. “To inspire that kind of love and loyalty in a person, well, that makes you pretty special, don’t you think?”

He started to break down then, but somehow held it back, though the strength of will that took is something I don’t want to think about too deeply. I heard him mumbling something over and over again into my shoulder, and when I sharpened my ears, I heard two words running together until they’d lost all sense of coherency.

I.

Can’t.

“What, Ry?” I finally murmured, stroking his back soothingly. “You can’t what?”

After a moment, he pulled away enough so that our faces were a few inches apart. Face flushed and tear stained, he opened his mouth and screamed, “I. Can’t. Feel!”

“Okay,” I whispered, pulling his head back to my shoulder. “Okay, okay, okay. We’re going to get through this, Ryan. We will. You’ll see.”

“I can’t feel,” he moaned over and over again. “I can’t. I just…fuck! God! I just want to…”

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s going to be alright, Ry. It is. Shh. We’ll find a way through this.”

“No shrinks,” he warned, already sounding somewhat better for the pressure he’d just let off. “I’m warning you.”

“No, no, none of that,” I assured him, stroking his back again.

The phone began to ring, and Ryan immediately stiffened, and I let loose a string of curses in my head that would have made a longshoreman stare at me in awe to hear. “Let it ring.”

“It’s probably Drew,” he husked.

“Drew can go to Hell for all I care right now.”

His chuckle was watery, but it was there. “He knows I’m here, Col. And he won’t stop until someone answers.”

“Fine,” I bit off, releasing him. “Don’t move an inch.” Striding over to the phone, I yanked it off its cradle and put it to my ear. “I’m sorry, Drew, but you’re going to have to do without Ryan for a little while longer. He’ll be down when he’s ready, and so help me, if you call again I will come down there and personally treat you to a telephone enema.” Slamming the phone back down, I looked up to find Ryan staring at me through wide eyes. Drew Carey was no man to fool with. But then again, neither was I. Especially when my dander was up. It doesn’t happen frequently, but despite what Greg accuses, I’m only human.

Striding back to him, I took him by the arms and decided to go for broke. “I want you to listen to me, Ryan, and listen well. I don’t care what plans you have for tomorrow night. You’re going to break them. No Drew. No strippers. No gambling. And no booze. Do you understand?”

Taken aback, he could only stare at me and nod dumbly.

“Good. Tomorrow night, at seven sharp, you and I are going to the club. Greg and Jeff will be there as well. Maybe some others, if I decide it’s right, but no one you don’t already know and trust. This stuff has gone too far. I’m taking matters into my own hands, and you are going to let me. Is that understood?”

He nodded again, jaw slightly agape. I didn’t know what thoughts were running through his mind, but I could take several good guesses. I could also tell that he was beginning to get aroused, despite what we’d just been through. There’s a very fine line between pain and pleasure, and I was using that, and my intimate knowledge of the man before me, to try and blast a hole through the wall he’d so studiously built around himself.

If it failed, then so be it. But I wasn’t going to admit defeat without having bothered to even try. Ryan was worth far more than that to me. In fact, he was, and is, priceless.

“Now,” I continued, in my more usual tone of voice, “if you’re still planning on getting together with Drew, I’d suggest going into the bathroom and splashing some cold water on your face, or he’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

He stood there for a moment longer, still staring at me. “You came down here early,” he said finally, “to help?”

“I came down here because I love you.”

“But Deb! Luke! You hardly….”

“I’m here because I love you, Ryan Stiles.” I let a small smile shape my mouth. “Besides, Deb wouldn’t have let me stay up there, even if I wanted to. She loves you too, you know. Hell, she even packed my bags for me.”

He could only shake his head, dumfounded.

“Don’t try to understand,” I said gently, going up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Just accept. If nothing else, it’ll keep you out of the loony bin.”

He began to grin, and I shrugged. “Hey, you said I was too accommodating. You may live to regret those words.”

“From you?” he asked, giving me a kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes. “Never.”

*******

All sleep for me a distant memory, I stepped into the shower after Ryan had left, and let the water soothe away the last of my tension. In some very big ways, I was actually glad that what had happened between us earlier had happened. It gave me a sense of direction, a goal to shoot for, and a way to attain that goal.

Feeling better than I had in some time, I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and rang up Greg.

“Hey, man! I was just about to call! Jeff and I are stepping out to get some brunch, or whatever the fuck they call it here. Care to join us?”

“That would be very nice, Greg. Thank you.”

“Fantastic, man! Meet you down in the lobby in five?”

“I’ll be there.”

As we ambled along the Strip some minutes later, I filled them both in on a very edited version of what had transpired between Ryan and myself earlier. Basically, it came down to “I told Ryan we’re going out tomorrow night, and you guys will be going with us.”

“Righteous,” Greg replied, grinning.

“Totally up for it,” Jeff agreed.

We discussed the evening in a bit more detail, and Greg agreed to make the arrangements. I found myself beginning to get excited over the prospect. And not only because it would hopefully help Ryan move past his problems. We make love all too seldom, seeing each other as little as we do, and while we both tend to be rather inventive in bed, it had been quite awhile since we had had sex within the carefully constructed confines of a scene. I do remember that we both enjoyed it immensely, however, and that was a motivating factor.

“This is going to be totally fucking awesome!” Greg enthused, his eyes sparkling as he rubbed his hands together.

“You’re sure he’ll go for it,” Jeff added, a bit hesitantly.

I looked at him, letting the smallest glint of hardness enter into my eyes. “I’m not giving him any choice in the matter.”

Cocking his head, he looked at me, then his eyes darted away quickly, before returning. I could tell he was seeing me in a slightly different light than before, and for some unknown reason, that pleased me. Greg had told me that Jeff was a lot like Ryan in that he was a pushy, sarcastic bottom who needed a tight leash or he’d run roughshod over everyone in sight. I smiled slightly. I always liked challenges.

We wound up in a little pub with great food, outstanding service, and a beer tasting event that had us halfway to pissed before two hours had passed. By the time we left, all of us were walking slightly fuzzy lines.

As we neared our hotel, I heard a booming voice sound directly behind me. “Well, if it isn’t Hair No Evil, Geek No Evil, and Just Plain Evil!”

Even if I hadn’t recognized the voice, there was only one man I knew with the nerve to pop off with even more horrid puns than me. Grinning widely—and a touch drunkenly, I’ll freely admit—I turned. “Brad!” I yelled, grabbing him in a tight hug, which he returned enthusiastically.

Since we’d only been apart slightly more than two weeks, the exuberance of our greeting raised both of Greg’s eyebrows, though he, more than probably anyone else, knew how things stood between us. I absolutely adore Brad. Simply knowing him has made my life immeasurably richer, and I couldn’t ask for a better touring partner.

But that’s as far as things go. Sure, we’ve shared a grope and a stage kiss or fifty, and on occasion have even shared a bed, but only for sleeping purposes. Sometimes the anonymity of my twentieth different hotel room in a row gets to me so much that any body, even a large, hairy one, is more than welcome, bringing with it a comfort all its own.

Releasing me, he grabbed Greg, then Jeff, in his patented bear hug, smiling that goofy, sweet-natured grin that never quite seems to leave his face, even when he’s trying his best to be serious. It’s part of what makes him so endearing.

Finally stepping back, he flapped a hand in front of his face. “Whoo! Somebody’s been hitting the keg a little early!” He mimed tossing back a pint, and we all laughed.

“The sun’s over the yardarm somewhere, dude!” Jeff shot back, slugging down his own imaginary pint.

“So, how long have you been here?” I asked, clapping Brad on the shoulder.

“Couple hours,” he replied. “I tried your room, but you weren’t there. Obviously.” He mimed another drink, then staggered a few steps. “Then I ran into Drew. Did you know he does a really good impression of Oscar the Grouch with a stick up his ass?”

Greg shot me a look. I shot the sidewalk a look. “I…um…probably have something to do with that.”

“Do tell.” Greg, again. As if that wasn’t already patently obvious.

“Hey! He called when Ryan and I were in the middle of a chat.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

I rolled my eyes. “We were talking.”

“Su-ure you were.”

“We were talking,” I tried again, shaking my head, “about why he didn’t have any say in tomorrow night’s plans.”

“Oh.” A lightbulb lit over his head. “Ohhhhhhh! Damn, man, that must have been fucking intense.”

“Let’s just say that the interruption came at a very bad time, and I let Drew know it in no uncertain terms.”

“Someone clue in Monkey-boy, here,” Brad interrupted. “Cause I’m totally lost.”

Greg and I exchanged glances. He nodded once, encouragingly, and I put an arm around Brad’s shoulders. “We will, but not here. Come up to my room?” I looked at both Greg and Jeff, extending the invitation to them as well. “Jacuzzi?”

“Sounds good to me, man!” Greg said.

Jeff nodded.

“But no goodies, this time,” I told Greg. “Ryan’s allergies are really acting up.”

“Not a problem, Col. Besides, this beer has got me flying high enough as it is.”

*******

Ten minutes later, we were in my freshly cleaned room, naked, and in the hot tub. Brad listened intently as Greg and I, but mostly me, talked, all traces of humor gone from his expression. He and Ryan shared an undeniable chemistry, though it was the chemistry of two alpha males trying to get at the herd rather than the more gentle give and take that Ryan and I share. I knew that he respected Ryan, liked him a great deal, and Ryan felt the same in return. I wouldn’t have been letting him in on our plans otherwise, deep abiding friendship or no.

“What can I do to help?” he asked immediately, dark, kind eyes deadly serious.

“Would you like to come with us tomorrow night? You don’t have to participate,” I hastened to add. “Or even watch, if you don’t want to. Just…to be there for moral support?”

A tiny smile quirked at the corner of his mouth and if I didn’t know him better, I’d have sworn that the faintest touch of rose dusted his cheeks, if only for a second. “Sure. I’d like to come. There, I mean,” he added, clearing his throat. “Come. There.”

“Chill, dude,” Greg jibed, reaching across me to grab Brad’s wrist. “Your rampant heterosexuality is safe with us. Really.”

Brad shot him a look and yanked his arm away, pouting adorably. Smiling, I reached over and patted the arm nestled against mine. “Thanks, my friend. We’ll need all the support we can get if we want to pull this off.”

“Any time, Colin. You know that.”

Suddenly, a series of soft beeps sounded at the door, and everybody but me froze in place. “Don’t worry,” I reassured them. “It’s only Ryan.”

Before I could even blink, Greg grabbed my wrist, which was resting on the lip of the tub, and pulled it beneath the churning water, holding it tight against his thigh. As soon as the door opened, he threw his head back, and, in a voice that had me blushing, moaned, “Oh yes, Colin! Oh yes, that’s it! Oh god yes! Mmm. Oh, harder! Faster! Oh, fuck! Yes!!”

On my other side, Brad decided to join in the fun, contorting himself so that his face was at the level of my chest, where he happily latched on to my left nipple, making a series of slurping noises that went well beyond obscene.

I knew that trying to extricate myself would only make me look guilty, so I relaxed and decided to let my eyes do the talking for me. When Ryan walked into the room, his face was set in stone, but his eyes automatically searched out my own, and what he saw there must have reassured him, because he immediately relaxed and began to smirk.

Striding toward us, he became Carol Channing. “Well, isn’t this nice!” he cooed. “You boys look so sweet playing in the tub like that. Here, let me help!” So saying, his gigantic paw came down on the back of Brad’s dark head and he pushed hard, detaching Brad from my nipple, completely submerging his head beneath the water and holding it there. At the same time, he grabbed the back of Greg’s neck and pushed forward and down so that Greg, like Brad, was thoroughly dunked.

After a sufficient, to him, time, he released them both, and they came up, sputtering and choking and shouting obscenities, Greg’s glasses dangling from one ear.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he continued in his Channing voice. “Forgive me. I’m just so clumsy sometimes. Let me make it up to you.” Reaching out, he dunked Brad again, but Greg had taken the smarter route, plastering himself against me, knowing that Ryan wouldn’t risk hurting me to get to him. “Don’t worry,” Ryan continued as he let Brad up, “I’ll take care of you later.”

“Promise?” Greg cracked back, after he’d finally coughed up the last of the water in his lungs.

Ryan shot him a look. “I never make promises I can’t keep,” he said in his own voice, deep and foreboding.

Still plastered against me, I felt Greg shudder. Looking up at Ryan, I told him with my eyes to let it go. He nodded slightly, but his glare at Greg would have scorched flowing lava.

“Save me,” Greg peeped in a high falsetto, grabbing me even more tightly than before.

Jeff just stared at us, not knowing what to think.

“It’s alright,” I assured him. “Ryan just doesn’t like it when people play with his rubber ducky.”

That got the laugh I was looking for, and everything became okay again.

“Would you like to join us?” I asked Ryan.

“I was actually coming here to see if you wanted to go up to the pool.”

“Is Drew there?”

“Yeah.”

“With a gun? Knife? Lethal implement of any kind?”

He chuckled. “He’s over it now.”

I gave him a doubting look.

“We…sat down and had a little talk. I gave him a list of my priorities. He finally accepted that he’s not at the top.”

“Awwwwww.” Said in unison.

I was surprised the water in the Jacuzzi didn’t steam away from the heat of my face alone, especially given the look Ryan was giving me.

“So,” he continued, “pool?”

I shrugged. “Sounds okay to me. Just no trying to get me to play naked volleyball.”

Brad’s eyes opened wide. “Ooh! Naked volleyball? With Drew’s strippers?”

“Yeah. Their nipples you can suck all you want.”

“Good deal,” he replied, fingers going to his mouth. “Nothing worse than hair in your teeth.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Greg quipped, finally pulling away from me and letting me have my first full breath in minutes. “Unless the phrase ‘going down’ isn’t in your vocabulary at all, man.”

This time, I was sure I caught a blush steal over Brad’s face, and I turned to give Greg an admiring grin. It was rare to get Brad to crack, and when it happened, as with Ryan, it was a joy to see.

“Greg? Jeff?”

“Sure,” Jeff replied. “I could use a little sun.”

“Fine with me, man,” Greg added. “Let’s do it!”

*******

That night, exhausted from too little sleep, too much sun, and too many of Drew’s inconvenient interruptions, I retired early and alone. I couldn’t endure another round of casino hopping, and by this time, I’d seen more bare breasts than a lactation nurse, so it was no hardship to return to the luxurious—and blessedly silent—confines of my hotel room and fall into a much-needed slumber.

When I woke up the next day, I was also alone, but by the warmth of the sheets next to me, I knew that Ryan had joined me in the night. That thought pleased me, and as I moved slightly to lay in the residual heat left behind by his body, I smiled up at the ceiling, not thinking of much of anything at all.

I’d planned to spend the day alone, knowing that Ryan had some last minute show preparations with Drew, and the others would be just fine without me. I didn’t let myself dwell on the upcoming evening’s events too much or I’d break out into a sweat, and then likely collapse from dehydration at the…er…climax of the experience.

Instead, I showered, ordered up some room service, and picked up the book I’d dropped when Greg had first arrived. That, and several dozen laps in the little-used pool in the hotel’s gym helped pass the time, and before I knew it, the sun was low in the sky, and it was time to get ready for the night.

After taking yet another shower, I donned an outfit outwardly very much like that which I usually wore when on stage with Brad—all black, though the jeans and t-shirt were a bit tighter. I also donned a short sleeved overshirt that zipped in the front, rather like a dentist’s jacket, only in black. The fear of dentistry seems almost instinctual—probably why dentists as a profession are near the top of the suicide list—and Ryan was no different. It was all part of my plan, you see.

Then I slid on a pair of black motorcycle boots with a squared-off toe and a heel that would bring me close to Brad’s height, if not quite Ryan’s. There was a thick silver chain around the cuff of the left boot, and it jingled pleasantly when I walked. I took a final look in the mirror and nodded. I was no Brad Pitt, but hey!, it could have been worse, I suppose.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and when I checked through the peephole, I was surprised, and a bit pleased, to see Ryan standing there, hands behind his back, swaying slightly from foot to foot, betraying just a hint of nervousness. I’ll freely admit to spending the day with half an ear peeled for the phone, waiting for it to ring and for Ryan to give me an excuse about why he had to cancel tonight’s plans. That he hadn’t was a very definite step in the right direction.

I let him wait a moment, then opened the door slowly, feeling his gaze rake over me as if it had weight. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You…look….”

“Monochromatic?”

That got a tiny laugh from him, as it often did when I used polysyllabic words. “I was gonna say a little intimidating.”

I nodded. “That works.”

“It sure does.”

He looked good himself, in a form fitting, ribbed black T and faded jeans that hugged him in all the right places. On his feet were his favorite pair of scuffed white sneakers. All in all, he looked positively edible.

“Are you alright?”

“I…think so.”

Reaching out, I took his hand in mine. His palms weren’t sweaty, but then again, they rarely were. I could, however, feel his pulse thrumming right along, a touch faster than normal. His throat bobbed again as he swallowed convulsively. “You can stop this at any time, you know.”

After a long moment, he nodded. “I know. And that’s why I’m going through with it. I trust you, Col, and…well…I’m kind of looking forward to it.”

I smiled. “I am, too. Shall we?”

As arranged, we met Greg and Jeff in the lobby. Brad, apparently, was running slightly late. “Look,” I said to Ryan, “it’s the leather twins.”

Greg looked dashing in black jeans, a blindingly white shirt, red leather tie, and a tailored black leather blazer. A Daddy cap, much like the one he’d worn on the Village People skit, dangled from one finger. I’d always thought he looked good in that cap. Not many people could get away with wearing one. He most definitely could.

Jeff, on the other hand, was wearing a tight, black, sleeveless mesh top and even tighter leather slacks, leaving virtually nothing about him to the imagination. Like me, he wore motorcycle boots, but without the janglies. He looked like every gay boy’s fantasy, and was attracting more than his fair share of attention from the passers by.

“Who are you?” Greg snapped back, grinning as he took my outfit, such as it was, in. “Satan’s dentist?”

I gave him an evil smile. “I hope you remembered to pack the drill and that pick thing.”

Beside me, Ryan shuddered.

“Brad has ‘em.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?”

“He be here,” came the low voice right behind me. Coming abreast of us, I saw he was clad in rather standard fare: jeans, a simple striped button down, and sneakers. “Wow. I feel a little underdressed.” Then he looked at Jeff. “Or, in your case, overdressed.”

“That won’t last long,” Greg snickered, then ducked away from a pretend punch to the arm. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

“We could take my car,” Ryan offered.

“Let’s take mine,” Greg countered. “It’s a rental, and it’s big enough to fit you three skyscrapers in the back with room to spare.”

“Let’s get going, then,” I replied, and we all headed to the special lot where they let the celebrities park.

The club was somewhat outside the city proper, but none of us minded, enjoying the cool of the air conditioner and the comfortable silence that can only descend among friends who have known one another as long as we have. Even Ryan seemed to have relaxed a little, for which I was grateful. It was good to have him a little nervous, but too much of it would ruin the scene.

And then, we were there. The entrance was a plain, unannounced door, just one among many in a rather upscale strip-mall, looking more like the employee entrance to one of the stores than anything else, really.

Our knock was answered quickly, and when Greg and I stepped forward to show our laminated membership cards, we were ushered through with a minimum amount of fuss. Our guests were required to sign waivers, which each did without complaint, and then we were led down a short, dark hallway, through another door, and into a relatively small anteroom that wasn’t quite half filled. It was still early, and a weekday besides, though in Las Vegas, neither of those seem to have the same meaning as they would in most other places in the world.

The light was dim, and soothing music issued from the tastefully hidden speakers. There was a curved mahogany bar, polished to a brilliant shine, lining one wall of the small space. Water, sport drinks and various juices were the only things served. The only alcohol served in this particular club came at the other end of the establishment, to be consumed only by those who had finished their business there, or who had no business to conduct in the first place. Alcohol and rough sex never mix.

We all grabbed bottled waters, and Brad took a deep swig of his. Of us all, he was easily the most nervous, though he didn’t show it easily. You can’t in improv, or the audience will eat you alive. It carries over into our personal lives as well. Well, for the most part, anyway.

Taking Ryan’s hand back into my own, I led the group to the far door, where a man clad in leather briefs, heavy rings hanging from both nipples, and a thick collar stood. He checked our membership cards once again, then, nodding, opened the door and let us through.

The steady, throbbing beat of house techno assaulted our ears immediately, and I resisted clamping my hands over them, knowing I’d get used to it in time.

This room was much, much larger, most of it covered by a wooden dance floor waxed to high gloss. Three of the four walls were covered, top to bottom, with large monitors which, like pieces to a puzzle, each displayed a part of a picture that could be seen as a whole by taking them all in at once. Male on male porn was being shown on each of the walls in living color, though none of us had to look even that far to get an eyeful, as couples, triples, and all sorts of interesting combinations were doing everything but openly copulating on the dance floor. The scent of male musk and sweat was heavy in the air, but despite how that must seem, it wasn’t at all unpleasant.

Ryan shifted beside me, and even in the dim lighting, I could tell he was beginning to enjoy what he was seeing. Greg and Jeff had immediately joined the dancers, rubbing up against one another as if they intended to start a fire which, between them, they most probably were. Greg had donned his cap and a pair of sunglasses which made him look intimidating, and sexy as hell.

Brad, while still giving off a bit of an uncomfortable vibe, was nonetheless watching the dancers, and the porn, with what appeared to be avid interest, hands stuffed tight in his pockets. Despite that, I could tell that there was more of his body interested in the goings on than just his eyes, trying to hide it though he was.

Releasing Ryan’s hand, I walked up to stand behind Brad, pleased that we were now on a level. “It’s ok,” I rumbled into his ear, pitching my voice so it would cut through the heavy bass beat, but not be audible to anyone else. “In a place like this, nobody knows, nobody sees, and nobody cares. And even if they do, it goes no further than these doors.” I placed a hand square in the small of his back. “Relax. Tonight is tonight. No one will say anything about it tomorrow.”

Turning, he looked at me like I was nuts. “Yeah, like Greg won’t….”

“Greg won’t,” I assured him. “He can be a smartass, sure, but he’s a damn good man. He knows you’re here to support Ryan, and he respects that. No matter what happens, this won’t be mentioned. Not by me. Not by Greg. Not by anyone. That’s why places like this exist.” Reaching up, I gently grabbed his arms and turned him to fully face me, aligning our pelvises together. He was already half hard, and I wasn’t far behind. “Don’t think, Brad. Just feel. If only for tonight. No expectations, alright? No strings. No jokes.”

“I….” He blinked rapidly, then swallowed thickly. “Can I…?”

 I knew I wasn’t particularly attractive to him, but I also knew I was safe for him. With a nervous lick of his lips, he cocked his head, and I cocked mine, and our lips met, softly at first, then with more fervor. I rubbed my growing erection against his until he gasped, then pulled away, smiling gently at him. “See? The world didn’t end. You’re still you, and life goes on.”

“Pretty damn profound.”

I shrugged. “What can I say?” I smiled again. “Better now?”

He nodded.

“Good.” Releasing one arm, I kept hold of the other and led him to where Greg and Jeff were attempting osmosis. I cleared my throat, and they gradually pulled away. “Greg, Jeff, this is Brad, the newest member of Club Smut. Would you please take him under your wings for me? And be gentle with him.”

Both of their eyes lit up, particularly Jeff’s, which earned a small scowl from Greg, but soon Greg was enthusiastically accepting the newcomer into the ranks, and I had myself one less worry for the night.

Before I could turn back, two large hands anchored themselves over my hips and hot steel pressed into me from behind. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Ryan’s voice rumbled in my ear.

“Not nearly as much as I’d enjoy this,” I replied, plucking one of the hands from my waist and cupping it over my package, grinding into it. Ryan moaned at my obvious response, and I smiled. “Look,” I said, pointing to the stage which ran the entire length of the huge space. The music had died down, and most of the people on the dance floor were turning in the same direction. “Seems like some fun is about to start.”

Another song started up, instrumental, with a heavy bass beat and synths that played an undeniably sensual counterpoint.

The stage lights came on, highlighting a long wooden table and, at the far end, closest to backstage, a chair set up to look like a throne. Sitting upon that throne was a skeletally thin young man with a shock of spiked white-blonde hair, tight leather pants, and a studded chest harness. In each of his hands, he held a leash, and at the end of those leashes were naked, kneeling men, their wrists and ankles shackled.

The man lifted one languid arm, and another man, hairy and burly and dressed in leather briefs and a collar dragged out a struggling, completely naked third man with long, lank blonde hair, a bit in his mouth and his arms cuffed behind his back. Walking to the audience end of the table, the hairy man pushed his captive so that his chest and head were pressed flat against the wooden table. He struggled and moaned, but his strength was no match for his captor. Chains snaked out from the legs of the table, and the hairy man quickly spread-eagled his captive, hooking the chains to his ankle restraints, then stepping back, smirking at his handiwork.

The audience cheered.

Another languid flip of the arm caused the hairy man to unfurl a single-tail whip from his waist, which he shook out with a resounding whistle-crack.

“Do it!” someone in the audience shouted, and the command was echoed through the cavernous room.

Smiling, the hairy man took a step back, raised the whip, and brought it down on the back of his captive. The man screamed. The audience roared. The man on the throne laughed and yanked one of his collared slaves in between his legs, placing his slave’s head on his thigh, his nose pressed against the bulge growing there.

Another crack, another scream, another cheer.

Then a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.

By this time, the ‘ruler’ had his hand fisted in his slave’s hair, pressing him over his leather clad erection as he took in the scene before him.

“Again,” he ordered, and the whipmaster took up the command, raining blows on the captive’s back, flanks and buttocks, a loud scream accompanying every one.

“Again!”

And so it was repeated until the man’s back was striped and bleeding in thin lines.

“Do you confess?”

The captive, unable to speak for the bit in his mouth, lifted his head and shook it defiantly.

“Pity. Again, please.”

Five more lashes came down, each stronger than the last.

”Enough!” the leader cried out, pushing his attentive slave away and coming to his feet. “Your last chance. Do you confess?”

The captive didn’t have the strength to lift his head.

“Very well. Prepare him.”

Smirking nastily, the whipmaster turned the whip and placed the handle, which was relatively thin, if long, against the captive’s entrance.

“Now.”

The captive’s entire body came up from the table as the whip handle filled him to the hilt. The whipmaster laughed. The audience roared, and continued roaring as the man simulated intercourse with the whip handle until the leader held up his hand.

“Is he sufficiently prepared?”

“He is, my Lord.”

“Very well.” He looked down at his slaves. “Attend me.”

The two men moved quickly, using their cuffed hands to unbutton the leather pants of the leader and pull them down, revealing a thick, studded, leather cock and ball sheath.

Letting go the leashes, he strode slowly down to the whipped captive, a look of feigned compassion in his glittering eyes. “I would have treated you well,” he said, running a gloved hand over the raised, bleeding marks on the captive’s back. “Remove the whip.”

It was done so quickly, and the leader positioned himself behind his prize for the night. “Say your prayers,” he murmured, grabbing onto the thick hank of hair and bending the man’s neck back at a nearly impossible angle before thrusting himself inside his captive’s body to the very hilt.

It was the scream of a man rent in two, and seemed to go on forever.

Behind me, Ryan was moaning loudly, his breath coming in short pants as he pumped his hips against me, searching for a friction he wouldn’t yet receive.

Taking my eyes briefly from the scene, I noticed Brad looking on with a mixture of interest and disgust. Or at least what I took to be disgust. When he felt my gaze on him, he turned his head, meeting my eyes in a plea. I smiled and gestured him over. He came quickly to my side.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “This is just kinda freaking me out.”

“Do you need to leave?” My offer was completely genuine.

“No,” he answered after some hesitation. “I’ll stay…if I can stand next to you. Is that alright?” He kept his eyes prudently to my face and went no lower.

I nodded. “That’s fine. Whatever you need.”

“T-that’s consensual, right?” he asked.

I nodded. “Everything here is.”

“But his screams….”

“All part of the act. Think of it like us on stage, only with less clothes.”

“And a lot more pain,” he said, shuddering.

“Sometimes, pain can be a good thing.”

Ryan answered by pushing himself harder against me, clearly desperate.

“I don’t think it’s for me.”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be. At a place like this, anything goes, as long as there’s consent and adults involved.” Grabbing Ryan’s hand, I made him slow down. I wanted a long, slow buildup and he was threatening to shatter that. His grip loosened immediately and became lightly teasing, and I shuddered at the sensations. He always seemed to know exactly what I wanted and when I wanted it. I only hoped I could return the favor before the night was out.

It wasn’t long before both men had had their turn at the captive and had flipped him to his back to give him his reward for a job well done.

It was decent, as shows of this type went, not great, not terribly bad, just a warmup, really, and judged by the sounds the packed crowd was making, it had done its job well. The men involved stood, bowed, and left the stage to healthy applause.

The strobes came back on and the house music started up once again, thrumming my eardrums.

I looked over at Greg and Jeff, who were looking back at me, expectant smiles on their faces. Reaching behind me, I pulled Ryan’s head down so I could speak into his ear. “Are you ready?”

“God, yes,” he gasped.

“Alright, then. C’mon, Brad. We have our own show to do.”

Swallowing hard, he finally nodded and followed where I led.

******

The entrance to the stairs leading to the private rooms was guarded by two men large enough to play on the offensive line of the Chicago Bears, and hairy enough to be actual bears themselves. One of them knew Greg, and the other looked at Jeff with a leer so hot, I was surprised his mesh top didn’t simply vaporize. We were let through with a minimum of fuss, and Greg led the way as we came to the bottom of the stairs and began the trek down the long, narrow, and dimly lit hallway.

Several of the doors were open as we passed by, and by the time we arrived at the room that Greg had reserved, I feared the Brad was ready to either faint dead away or jump clear out of his skin. Some of the scenes were pretty intense, I will admit, but he really didn’t look at all well. After the others had entered, I remained behind, taking him by the arm.

“If you continue down this way, you’ll come to a door which will let you back upstairs to a real bar. You can have a drink and wait up there, or catch a cab back home if you want. I’m not sure how long we’ll be.”

“No!” he said, paling further. “No. I…I want to stay. I just….” He sighed. “Colin, I don’t exactly consider myself a virgin when it comes to sex, but, man….”

I nodded. “I understand. And what you’d see here would be tame compared to any of that, but you have to realize that this is real, Brad. And you need to be able to cope with that. I can’t have you getting…freaked out…at the wrong moment. I’m not going to say it’s a matter of life or death, because it isn’t, but I need to know I can rely on you to keep your cool as best you can.”

Grasping my hand, he gave it a healthy squeeze and looked me square in the eye, his own open and painfully honest. “I won’t let you down, Colin.”

I smiled. “You never do.”

We embraced, and after a moment, I felt the thick muscles of his back relax against my hands. He buried his face in my shoulder for just a moment, then took in a deep breath, released me and stepped back. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

As we entered the room, I took it in in one long, sweeping glance, smiling at Greg in approval. It was one of the larger rooms they had, with very tall ceilings, an absolute necessity when you were dealing with someone with the height of an NBA forward. A long, thickly padded bench ran the length of the wall to the left of the door. The wall opposite the door was mirrored, and the one to the right had a large table with restraining rings implanted in the wood and held several implements that were currently covered with a red silk coverlet. Thick chains ending in metal cuffs hung down from the ceiling and were attached to an electronic pulley system.

Greg and Jeff were lounging on the bench, and Brad went to join them, sitting rather stiffly and looking around with the bright interest of a bird. Ryan stood more or less in the center of the room, arms dangling loosely at his sides, his face calm, his eyes bright.

Walking up to him, I touched the side of his neck and he brought his head down for a kiss; a brief and rather chaste kiss. “You alright?” I murmured.

He simply nodded.

“And with our guests as well?”

He nodded again.

“You know we can stop this at any time. Or slow it down, if you need to.”

“I know,” he whispered.

I smiled warmly. “Good. Just as long as you remember.”

“I will.” He smiled back at me; actually it was a tiny quirk of his lips, but it was, nonetheless, a smile. “Besides, if I forget, you’ll remember for me.”

“That I will.”

We looked at one another goofily for a moment or two, and then I hardened my expression and took one deliberate step back. “Door open or closed?”

He swallowed hard. “Closed.”

“Locked or unlocked?”

He thought about it for a minute. “Unlocked.”

Greg jumped up and shut the door without locking it, then went back to his seat, sliding against Jeff and smirking as the thinner man startled.

Turning slightly, I met the eyes of Greg, then Jeff, then Brad. They all looked back, and tipped their heads. Greg and Jeff sported anticipatory glints in their eyes. Brad just looked unsure, but game.

“Alright, then.” Turning back, I addressed Ryan. “Would you undress, please?”

I thought for sure Greg, at least, would comment on my politeness, but he didn’t make a sound.

Ryan was hesitant at first, betraying his nerves by fumbling with the hem of his shirt, but within seconds, his movements became more natural, sensual—though not the faux sensuality that comes with one getting paid to do the job, but rather from someone who feels comfort with his body and isn’t afraid to show it to others.

His shirt came off first, and Brad, looking pathetically grateful for something to contribute, eased off the bench and took the garment from him, folding it and placing it on a corner of the table. Socks and sneakers came off next, and then his jeans. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, but did have on a beautiful, thick silver cock-ring that I’d never seen before.

“Ni-ice,” Greg purred, and I could only nod in definite agreement. Equipment of that type needed to be placed prior to the festivities, and I hadn’t asked it of him, but it was a very nice surprise nonetheless and I decided not to reprimand him for taking liberties, as it were.

His erection had deflated slightly from our time on the dance floor, but it was still quite impressive, and the other men, including Brad, looked on with interest. Greg licked his lips, eyes rooted to Ryan’s penis.

“Greg?” I asked softly, to break the spell. He turned to me, eyes dancing. “I need your help for this next bit.”

“Your command is my wish, Mr. M.,” he said, jumping back off the bench and coming to stand on the side opposite of Ryan.

“Ryan, lift your arms, please.”

He did so, and Greg and I slipped the thick metal cuffs over each wrist, then checked them for tightness, then locked them securely. I nodded again to Greg, who stepped back over to the button which controlled the pulley system, and pressed it.

With a muted jangle, the chains began to rise, pulling Ryan’s cuffed arms with them until they were fully extended over his head, and just a tad more, pulling him onto the balls of his feet, not quite on his toes. He bore the stance easily. I looked up, and he smiled down at me. His arousal had definitely increased, if the girth I was looking at was any indication.

“Jeff, if you would, please go over to the table and get the first article on the left.”

Nodding, Jeff did as bid, and came back with a leather confinement jock that had a concealed snap release that I could use at will.

“Thank you. Would you mind placing it on him? There’s some powder if you need it, but you shouldn’t.”

“Not at all,” Jeff replied, smiling as he slipped the jock through Ryan’s feet, and up his legs. Very professionally, clinically almost, he tucked Ryan inside the pouch and fitted it neatly around Ryan’s almost non existent waist. Ryan moaned softly, but gave up no other comment.

“I was gonna say,” Greg commented, coming to his feet, “that took the fun out of the night, but now that I see it on, I must compliment you on your taste, Col. It’s totally righteous.”

“Why thank you, Greg.”

“May I?”

“You may.”

Greg traced his fingertips over the cool, smooth rubber, feeling every nuance of the man beneath. Ryan groaned at the contact, and his chains rattled slightly, but he calmed quickly, breathing steadily through his nose.

“Mmm. I’m definitely likin’ this, man. Definitely.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” Jeff asked.

“Yes, please. There’s a second article right next to the first. Retrieve it and bring it to me, please.”

Ryan jerked when he saw what it was, and he looked down at me, the tiniest tendril of fear lancing through his eyes.

“We don’t have to use this, Ryan,” I said softly, taking the material from Jeff. “You control this scene. If you don’t want it, tell me.”

“Show me first.”

So I did. It was a shiny latex rubber hood, all black, with no eye or ear holes. It had decent sized nostril holes so that his breathing would not be impeded. There was a mouth hole, but it was hidden, and would stay that way until I decided I wanted to reveal it.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, fighting an internal battle I could only guess at. Finally they opened and he swallowed convulsively. “Ok, I’ll try it. But if I want it off….”

“It will come off before you finish your request,” I promised him.

He nodded with complete faith. “Then do it.”

The interior was already lightly powdered, and with only a small amount of struggle, the hood was placed securely over his head. He panicked for a moment, the instinctual panic of an animal with its senses suddenly cut off, and Greg and I, best known to him, approached, laying steady, unmoving hands on his chest and belly.

It took some time, but he finally gentled, and nodded his acceptance of these circumstances.

“Can you hear me clearly?” I asked, pitching my voice the slightest bit louder.

He nodded again.

“Good.” Then I lowered my voice. “Greg, would you get the spreader bar, please?”

“With pleasure, Col.”

It actually took the four of us to position Ryan and attach the spreader bar to his ankles, but that was to be expected, tall as he was, blind and deaf as he was. We made sure to keep our touches calm and clinical, holding him easily when he needed support to regain his balance, letting him feel our strength and affection for him.

He calmed remarkably quickly, adjusting his already tenuous stance to this new restriction, and I was very pleased. Ryan is nothing if not completely adaptable. It’s part of what makes him so very good at what he does. The best, really, in my admittedly not so humble opinion of the man.

After we were finished and Ryan was standing relatively comfortably on his own, the four of us took a step back to admire our handiwork.

“Damn, Col,” Greg breathed, “I’ve seen a lot of sights in my life, but this…this has got to be one of the damn most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

“I won’t disagree with that,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. “He looks quite fetching, doesn’t he?”

He looked down at the prominent bulge in his own pants, directing my gaze down there, too. “What do you think?”

I chuckled softly.

Then we all went silent, taking care not to move, not to even breathe loudly, to let Ryan truly feel what the situation was. As we watched, his arousal grew, pressing hard against the rubber of the jock. His chest and abdominal muscles quivered so often, and he would occasionally toss his head, like a thoroughbred anxious to storm out of the gate.

Even Brad seem transfixed.

After over five minutes of absolute silence and stillness had passed, I stepped forward, taking great care to keep my body far enough away so that he couldn’t feel my heat. Reaching out with only my arms, I touched him, lightly, with just the tips of my fingers. Chest, belly, thigh, buttocks, anywhere I desired. There was no pattern to these touches; they served to keep him off balance, and by the way his breathing began to deepen, I knew they were having their intended effect.

Coming around to his front, I leaned in and touched the very tip of my tongue to each of his nipples in turn, and he jerked as I blew cool breath over them, tighten them to hard pebbles and perfect for my next trick.

Going over to the table myself, I pulled out a beautiful hand-made set of nipple clamps attached by a chain. Stylized dragon heads adorned the clips, with chips of real emerald for the eyes. Though not rubber coated, their edges weren’t sharp and wouldn’t bite into his tender skin. They were quite heavy and meant to compress and pleasure, not provide undue pain.

Smiling to myself, I applied the first clip, then quickly the second, and jumped fast out of the way as he arched his body and threw back his head, a loud, long moan coming from beneath the heavy latex of the hood he was wearing. He shuddered all the way down to his toes, and his breathing rate, already fast, doubled. His arousal grew to truly awe-inspiring proportions, and it did inspire awe among our friends.

“Jesus…Fucking…Christ…”Greg gasped out, watching as Ryan continued to move to the effects of the clamps on his nipples. “I’m halfway to coming right now just from watching!”

I smirked at him. “The night’s young.”

“Yeah, but I’m not!”

I chuckled. “None of us are, but I think that the Junior Mr. Proops could rise to the occasion more than once tonight, don’t you?”

“Not if my fucking head blows off, man!”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I replied drolly. “Besides, it’s your turn.”

“My turn?” he asked, dumbly. “For what?”

“To touch him, taste him, tease him, whatever you want, really.”

He just stared at me.

“Jeff, feel free to join in at any time.”

Unlike Greg, Jeff didn’t need a second invitation. Hopping off the bench, he went right for Ryan’s chest, taking the left nipple, clamp and all, into his mouth and laving his tongue across it again and again.

Ryan’s head snapped back again, and I heard something that sounded suspiciously like a wail come from behind the latex. Since the noise was well within Ryan’s vocal repertoire, I was quite content to allow the scene to continue to play out.

After a moment, and looking like a dream had come true, Greg stepped forward and began random licks and touches along Ryan’s long, writhing body. He knew that body very well, and put his knowledge forth with a will, stroking his tongue across the incredibly sensitive backs of Ryan’s knees, fluttering along the insides of his thighs, even going up on tiptoe to taste the musk from his armpits.

Ryan’s voice was one continual moan, and his head continued to whip back and forth as the chains rattled and groaned beneath his weight. I kept in close, observing Greg and Jeff, but Ryan most of all, giving him a steadying, known hand when his balance tipped one way or the other, grounding him in this Twilight Zone he’d suddenly found himself taken into.

I looked, eagle-eyed, for any sign that he needed to stop, or slow down, but so far, none had materialized.

I then looked over at Brad, who was wearing a sort of blessed out look of the terminally stoned. “Would you like to try?” I asked him.

“I…um…” His lips were dry, and he licked them, a quick dart of his tongue. He looked adorable when flustered, and I made a mental note to use that against him when we were again touring. Not in any obvious way, of course.

His prudently untucked shirt was doing nothing to hide his arousal, and, reaching down, I took his hand. “Don’t be afraid.”

I turned quickly when I heard Ryan cry out, and watched as Jeff tweaked the clamps while Greg tugged on the chain connecting them. Both were clearly experts at this type of play, using just enough pressure to entice, but not enough to cause undue pain. And Ryan appeared to be loving every second of it.

“Come on,” I told Brad, tugging him to his feet. “I’ll stand right beside you the whole time.”

Placing his hand under mine, I brought it up to Ryan’s flank, which was now flushed and coated with sweat. “Feel,” I murmured.

Ryan jerked away at the foreign touch, then seemed to recognize it, and gentled.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged Brad. “Just feel. You don’t have to do any more than that.”

“His skin,” Brad said in wonder, “it’s so soft.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Taking the initiative on his own, he began to gently stroke Ryan’s flanks, then moved behind him to run his hands down the long, smooth-muscled and sweat soaked planes of his back, darting down once, mischievously, to cup his buttocks. At that, Ryan surged forward, only to yelp and pull back from the nipple play he was receiving from his forward tormentors. Brad grinned that goofy grin he had, and tried again, to the same effect.

“Oh, man, Col,” Greg husked, eyes bright, face flushed, “promise…promise me we’ll be doing this again. Soon!”

I chuckled. “That’s entirely up to Ryan. We’ll see what he has to say when it’s over.”

As Brad moved his explorations over to Ryan’s other side, I slid in behind Ryan, my hands coming down on his narrow hips and biting in. I pulled him slightly back, taking care not to make him lose his balance, and ground myself into his ass. His gasp was loud and he was soon thrusting his hips back to meet me. As I wasn’t wearing undergarments either, the friction against the inside of my jeans was quite pleasant. After all too short a time, I pulled away, knowing I was nearing the point of no return.

Then, thinking, I smiled, deciding to add a little psychological torture into the mix. Nothing too terrible, mind you, as I’m not that sort of man, but it was something I knew would get to him. How it would get to him was yet to be determined, but it promised to be an interesting experiment.

Normally, I wouldn’t ever even think of what I was going to attempt next, but sometimes with me, bravery takes over during the most strange of situations, and right now, it had me in its grip.

“Greg,” I called out softly, directing his attentions to me. “Do you remember our talk about opportunities the night before last?”

His eyes lit up. “Sure the hell do!”

I gestured to myself. “I think one’s presenting itself right now, if you’re at all interested.”

“Interested? Fuck, Colin, I said anytime, and I meant anytime.”

“No time like the present then, eh?”

“Oh, the present sounds like the most perfect fucking time in the world, man.”

I knew Ryan could hear our conversation. Even Jeff had slowed his fondling, though Brad was still exploring the acres of naked skin displayed to him. Ryan abruptly stilled, tilting his head like a prey animal scenting the air for predators. His body was stiff, and it wasn’t all from his arousal.

Slinking toward me, eyes smoldering, Greg deliberately, elegantly, dropped to his knees, fingers trailing along my engorgement. “This will indeed be my pleasure, Mr. M.”

My jeans unbuttoned silently, of course, but he made sure that the zipper went down slowly, notch by notch. Ryan heard it, somehow. I knew by the fisting of his hands and the absolute stillness of his body. Chained and hooded, he still managed to give off an air of danger, and right now, that danger was being directly aimed at one Greg Proops.

And it meant to that one Greg Proops about as little as an annoying fly you can’t quite get rid of and so decide to ignore.

Finally, blessedly, the last notch was unzipped, and he reached up and eased my jeans down my legs to puddle around my ankles, freeing my erection.

“Oh, my,” he breathed, taking a good long look. “You weren’t kidding about those size comments, were you?”

I shrugged. It’s always been the skill of the operator thing with me.

And then his warm hand closed around my shaft and began pumping in a slow, sensual motion that had me seeing stars.

“Oh, by the way, Ry,” he said, loudly, sweetly, “in case you’re wondering, I’m just about to make your lover come down my throat.”

Roaring, Ryan fought against the chains, but they were well set and the attempt was futile, as I’m sure he’d known it would be.

“Oh, relax, big guy. He’s going to love it, and I’m sure you will, too. Cause I know you, Ryan, and deep down inside, you get off on this kind of thing. Too bad you can’t watch. He looks adorable, his face all flushed, waiting for me to take him.” He chuckled. It had an edge to it. “And as for me, I’m going to enjoy every…single…drop.”

Ryan roared again, and I watched him carefully, even in the extremity of my own desperate need. If this indeed was a limit, I’d stop it and suffer the consequences.

But eventually, he calmed his fruitless struggles and simply stood there, head still cocked, breathing heavily.

“Can you smell him, Ryan? Mmm. I can. He smells sweet. I wonder if he tastes as sweet. Let’s give that a test, shall we?”

Then he took me partway into his mouth, swiping his tongue across the head before pulling away. “Oh yes, he most definitely does. I bet you love doing this every chance you get, huh, Ry? Sucking him off? Tasking that sweet, sweet cock down your throat? Can you even throat him? He’s pretty damn big. But I know I can. And the best part? The best part is, you know I can, too.”

And then he proved it, and the stars I was seeing turned into whole constellations, whirling and twirling behind my closed eyelids. Reacting on instinct, I fisted my hands in his hair; it was soft, a different texture to it than Ryan’s, and that gave me pause, but when he throated me again, all pauses and thoughts of pauses went right out the window, along with the knowledge of my own name. The man was good.

“Oh…sweet…god…” I whimpered as he took me expertly, hitting every single place I adored, and a few I hadn’t even realized I had.

I had enough coherency in me, however, to recognize my name being called out, even muffled, and I eased Greg away from me momentarily. “What is it, Ryan?”

“N-need you. Touch me. L-lean against me wh-while he’s doing that. I need to feel you.”

I nodded. That was easily enough accomplished, and with a few backward shuffles, I was pressed against Ryan’s chest and pelvis. He immediately began to grind into me from behind, and when Greg took me back into his mouth, I left the planet entirely, circling god knows where, and not caring one whit. It was good. It was too good. I knew I couldn’t last. Knew I didn’t want to. His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue doing things that I didn’t think were anatomically possible just seconds before. Ryan’s constant moans hummed against my back, going right through me, and his thick, hard length grinding into me was a pleasure to immense to describe. When Greg reached between my legs and cupped my sac, first stroking it, then squeezing it gently, my game was over, and I exploded into his throat with a strangled, mangled scream.

Greg hummed in pleasure, milking me for all I was worth. Ryan growled in frustration—I felt no pity; he’d chosen to wear the cock ring, after all. Jeff and Brad simply looked on, faces flushed, pupils widely dilated.

Finally, I slipped free, reached down and dragged Greg to his feet by his armpits. We kissed, sharing my taste, and then pulled apart because of my lack of breath. “Thank you,” I said, my voice cracked and hoarse. “That was wonderful.”

He smirked at me. “Wasn’t bad for me either, man. I’ll take seconds any day of the week. Thirds too, if you’re offering.”

I could only chuckle at his audacity, adoring him all the more for it.

“Well, something that outstanding deserves a reward, don’t you think?”

“You won’t hear me say no, man!”

“Come with me, then.”

“Fuck, Colin, I almost did just sucking you the fuck off!”

I chuckled again, shaking my head. Grabbing his wrist, I led him to the covered table, slid off the silk coverlet and pulled out a wide black leather strap. The strap was soft, broken in by several years of fond use. Doubling it over, I handed it to Greg. He grinned at me like a kid receiving the bike of his dreams for Christmas.

It’s no secret that Ryan loves having his ass slapped. It’s a kink of his, and one I’m happy to indulge when the opportunity arises. This time, I was gladly handing that opportunity over to Greg.

“Jeff, are you bored with the clamps yet?” I asked.

“Hell no! I’m just getting started!”

“Inventive little fucker he is,” Greg muttered, though I detected a trace of pride in his voice.

“Good.” I nodded to Greg. “Would you to the honors?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“Whenever you’re ready, then.”

I moved off to stand at Ryan’s side, observing the action on both fronts, but most particularly the reactions of the man himself. My climax had taken a bit of the edge off, and while I was feeling pleasantly lethargic, my mind was also clicking happily on all cylinders.

Smirking, Greg drew back the doubled strap, and with a healthy swing of his arm, laid a nice pink stripe right across both globes of Ryan’s behind. Ryan surged ahead and I caught a distinct ‘oh…Jesus’ from beneath the mask.

“I think he likes it, Mr. M!”

“I have to agree, Mr. P. Do it again, will you?”

“With pleasure!”

With that invitation, Greg’s arm came down again and again, varying the strength and angle of the strikes, taking care not to ‘wrap’ the strap around his hips or thighs or other important bits. In no time at all, Ryan’s cheeks were glowing like ripe berries and even from where I stood, I could feel the heat coming from them.

I held up three fingers, and, nodding, Greg gave three final hits, each harder than the last, with the final one paying for all as Ryan stiffened, then shuddered through his entire body, gasping through the holes in the hood.

“I think we achieved liftoff, Captain!” Greg said, saluting with the strap.

“I’m quite sure we did,” I agreed, knowing Ryan’s body well enough to recognize an orgasm when I saw one.

“We are talking multiples here, right?” Greg asked.

“Definitely.”

“Fuckin’ A, man. This just totally so rocks, I can’t even begin to explain.”

“But wait!” I said in my best TV game-show host voice. “You haven’t yet sampled what’s behind door number two!”

He looked at me, confused, and it was my turn to smirk. “Brad, can I borrow you for a second, please?”

He came over to me eagerly, reminding me of a large, overenthusiastic puppy. “Could you press the chain release button over there for me? Do it slowly. His arms have been up there for awhile.”

“Sure!”

Standing behind Ryan, I supported his arms as they came down from the tension of the chains. When they were fully down, I asked him how he felt. He responded with a nod.

“Did you enjoy your spanking?” I teased.

“Do you have to ask?” he mumbled, still a bit out of breath.

I chuckled, smoothing a hand over his heated flesh. He shivered. “Well,” I continued in a conspiratorial voice, “I think that the polite thing to do would be to thank the spanker.”

“Thank you,” came the muttered response.

“That…wasn’t quite the thanks I had in mind.” Putting a hand to his shoulder, I pressed down, making my intensions clear. He dropped easily to his knees. Reaching over, I thumbed the mouth release, and it opened. He took several startled breaths through the new breathing hole, filling his lungs near to bursting before exhaling in giant gusts.

“Greg?” I called, gesturing him to stand before the now kneeling Ryan.

He stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You’re…not….”

“Oh, but I am. Unless you don’t want to….”

I may have to call Guinness one day just to see if there’s a record for pants unzipping, because I think Greg shattered it that day.

Pulling his erection free, he gave me one more measuring look. “You’re sure….”

“Would I be offering if I wasn’t? And Ryan,” I continued, “if you’re thinking about exacting revenge for Greg’s earlier comments, don’t.”

I could tell he was pondering the notion, but by the sudden slump of his shoulders, I knew he would heed my warning.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said to Greg.

He just looked at me. “Whatever fucking planet you’re from, Col, take me back when you leave, huh? Cause this is too fucking good to be human.”

“Sure,” I replied, smiling. “I’ll take you back with the rest of my adoring minions.”

When Greg slid home, it was with the expression of one who had died and gone to whatever heaven he had envisioned for himself. I watched with my arms crossed, displaying my slight voyeuristic tendencies. Jeff, too, had stopped his play in favor of watching, an unreadable expression on his face. Brad still looked stoned out of his brains, but I forced that out of my mind. Ryan was my priority. Brad would either cope, or he wouldn’t. I had full faith that he would.

Greg muttered a string of obscenities, hands clamping on the latex of Ryan’s hood, thrusting himself in, long and slow. “Suck it,” he demanded. “Suck it, damn you. Oh, fuck, yeah! More, man, more! Harder, damn it! None of this pansy shit, Stiles. I want to feel you on my dick.”

He must have felt it, then, because his head tipped back on his shoulders and a hiss escaped from between his tightly clenched teeth.

Going back behind Ryan, I crouched down and began running my nails up and down the hot, reddened cheeks of his ass. He pushed back into my hands so hard, he nearly threw me off balance, but I managed to keep it, and, after wetting a finger, slid aside the narrow strap at the back of the jock, teasingly circling his entrance. He moaned, deep and low, which caused Greg to gasp. I pressed the pad of my finger flat against him and he opened readily for me, greedily clamping onto me as if trying to draw me in. I played there a little, rimming from the inside, not giving him what he wanted, but bestowing a promise of things to come. So to speak.

Greg’s strangled groan caught my attention, and the way he was driving his hips, I knew it probably wouldn’t last much longer. Despite Greg’s taunts, Ryan is an expert in the area of oral sex—as, of course, Greg would already have known—and he could do things to a body, male or female, that would have a atheist believing in God. Greg’s to move jerkily, and he clamped Ryan’s head harder until, with a loud groan, he spent himself and stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own puddled pants. Might have, actually, if Jeff hadn’t held out an arm to steady him. “Woah,” he gasped out finally. “That was….”

“As good as you remembered?” I asked, still keeping up my languid exploration.

“Better, man. Most definitely better. Fuck almighty.”

“And how are you doing?” I asked Ryan, thrusting in once, hard, then twisting as I drew out.

“Stick your cock in me and find out,” he growled.

I chuckled and removed my finger completely, bringing my arms around his chest and pulling him slightly back against me. “Seriously, how are you?”

After a few deep breaths, he settled under my touch. “Okay,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Water?”

“Sure, hang on. Oh, thank you, Brad. Here you go.” I held the water to his lips, and he guzzled it down, spilling half of it over his chin and chest. “Easy, easy, you’ll choke. Yes, that’s it. Good. More?” He took another swallow, then pulled away. “Do you need to take a breather?”

After a moment, he nodded. I went reached to unlock the cuffs, but he shook his head ‘no’. Same with the hood. Instead, he slid back more fully into my arms. I bore his weight easily, engulfing him in a tender hug and stroked his sweat soaked chest and belly in soothing motions. When I began to move away, he uttered a garbled sound and grabbed for me, but I held him gently. “I’m just going to take off the clamps for right now. We don’t want to keep them on for too long at a time, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Now remember, this is going to sting a little, so be prepared.”

He nodded.

“I’ll do it!” Jeff offered, and I nodded.

Kneeling before Ryan, he removed both at one time. Ryan hissed in pain and rocked back into me. Jeff moved with him, balming the tender tissues with his tongue until Ryan’s face and body relaxed. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he gasped. “Those are new.”

“I had them made with you in mind,” I replied, pressing my smile into his neck.

“You have interesting tastes in gifts.”

“How are you feeling? No macho bullcrap.”

He thought a moment. “I dunno. Almost…lighter. It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird at all. I think you’ve needed this kind of a pressure release for a long time. Well, maybe not exactly this kind, but some kind. You’ve been taking on too much. It had to go somewhere.”

“Yeah, well I also need you to fuck me,” he growled, and I laughed, patting his back.

“Not to worry. Before the night is out, I promise.”

“Not if Greg keeps sucking your dick.”

I laughed again. “That was my own pressure release.” Well, maybe that wasn’t the entire truth, but it was close enough. “You’re incredibly sexy like this, you know. That long body all stretched out for my pleasure, taking whatever I want to give you. Loving it. Wanting more. Needing more. It’s…you’re beautiful, Ryan. You make me breathless.”

He tucked his head against my shoulder, and we stayed like that, huddled close, for a long stretch of minutes.

“Ready to resume?” Reaching between his legs, I stroked him through the leather. “Well, something is, at any rate.”

He snorted. “You always tell me I’m insatiable.”

“And I’m always speaking the truth, aren’t I.”

Greg and Jeff came to stand behind us, and together we managed to get Ryan back to his feet. Greg’s face was still flushed, his hair was appealingly mussed, and he bore very little resemblance to the GQ ad he’d started the evening as. Jeff looked as composed as he always did—the man is the definition of cool, calm and collected—but there were flames in his eyes.

“You’ve been pretty quiet, so far,” I observed. “Anything in particular you might have in mind?”

Faintly blushing, he led me over to the table and handed me a hand-crafted, exquisitely made flogger. “It’s elk-hide,” he explained as I examined the implement. The shaft was intricately braided, a deep, dull black, and the straps were perhaps a quarter inch wide, slightly rough-textured, and extremely supple. It was heavy in my hand, and when I twirled it experimentally, it made a pleasing sound.

I looked to Greg, who nodded. “He’s excellent. And when I say excellent, I do mean excellent.” He spoke as one who’d been under that lash a time or ten.

Handing the flogger back, I unzipped and removed my overshirt, and then my T-shirt. “Try it on me, first.”

Turning my back on Jeff, I stood next to Ryan, pressing my thigh gently against his. He leaned into my touch. I let my hands dangle loose and made myself as relaxed as possible, given the circumstances. Then I nodded.

A soft whoosh was my only warning, and then the straps came down across my upper back in a diagonal stripe across my shoulder blade. The sting was burning, intense, and deep, seeming to burrow through skin, tissue and muscle and explode there, leaving me gasping silently. But it faded quickly, leaving an erotic, warm tingling deep inside. “Again,” I rasped, wanting to recapture the feeling.

The second strike came down on the opposite side, the burning causing me to clench my fists and eyes tight as a fire burned through me. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone, leaving behind that erotic warmth.

When I opened my eyes, I found Greg standing before me, smirking, eyebrow raised.

“Wow,” I said finally. “He’s good.”

“Told ya.”

Stepping away from Ryan, I turned back to Jeff. “No spine hits, and keep away from his neck and lower back.”

“I will,” he assured me. “But first, I’m going to need a little freedom of movement.” Handing me back the flogger, he reached down and stripped off his shirt, boots, socks and pants, leaving him standing in a blindingly white g-string that contrasted in a most pleasant way with the soft dark hair adorning his body.

“Very nice,” I told him admiringly.

He gave me a bright smile. “Thank you.”

“Ryan,” I said, touching his side lightly. “Are you ready?”

“Just get the fuck on with it already!”

“Such a mouth,” Greg tsked. “Maybe you should do up the thingy again.”

“Nah,” I replied. “I have plans for it later.”

“I’ll just bet you do.”

“I have plans for you later, too.”

He just blinked at me.

I turned to face Ryan obliquely so that I could keep an eye on the action and on him as well. I nodded, and Jeff began.

Ryan bore the first two strikes stoically, not that I expected anything less. Since I hadn’t made a sound, he wouldn’t either.

By the fifth, he was swaying like a tree in the wind, and by the tenth, he was actually leaning into the hits, his body unconsciously seeking them out. Jeff was truly a wonder to behold, just as I’d imagined he would be; his thin wiry body moving like a dancer’s as he worked, sweat gleaming on his pale skin, making it sparkle under the mellow lighting.

I called a halt to the session when I sensed Ryan was nearing his breaking point, not from pain, but from pleasure. A mixture of the two, really. He hadn’t made a sound above a soft grunt, but the way his muscles were trembling, I knew he was almost ready to either break down or come, and I didn’t want either of those just yet.

“Just one more thing,” Jeff gasped, dropping the flogger and pulling himself free from his undergarment. His cock was long and slender and his hand engulfed it as he tugged and pulled in a motion too fast for the human eye to follow. It wasn’t very long before he cried out softly and spent himself against the striped skin of Ryan’s back.

“Jesus,” Greg moaned, watching intently. “Now that’s what I call signing your fucking work, man.”

“Alright,” Brad cried, jumping up from the bench, “that’s it.” Instead of bolting, as I half expected, he unbuttoned his jeans and began unzipping them. “I give. I just can’t take this anymore.”

“Wait,” I ordered softly.

He looked at me, blinking owlishly.

“Let’s give you something to look at. Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you up for another oral examination?”

“Am I!”

Smirking, I gestured to the space directly in front of Ryan.

“Oh, man,” he breathed. “If I’m sleeping, nobody better damn well pinch me. This just fucking keeps getting better and better.” Stepping forward, he dropped gracefully to his knees. By now, Ryan was so hard, I’m sure he was in a good deal of pain, and it was a situation I intended rectifying.

“If you’ll do the honors?” I asked, miming removing Ryan’s jock.

He did so with alacrity, and a surprising gentleness, and Ryan’s erection sprang free, larger and harder than I’d ever seen it. The cock ring was obviously doing its job. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Greg licked his lips like a starving man eyeing a gourmet feast. I felt a brief pang of longing to be in Greg’s position, then remembered what I was going to be doing while Greg was feasting, and the pang quickly passed.

“Hold on just a second,” I said, walking to the table and picking up the bottle of lube I’d had Greg get for me. I unscrewed the cap, and a pleasant, spicy scent wafted up to me. “Nice.”

He grinned. “Only the best for you, Mr. M.”

Drizzling some onto my fingers, I returned to Ryan and nodded to Greg. “Whenever you’re ready. Just don’t make him come yet.”

“Oh, I can keep him on the edge forever,” he assured me.

I smirked at the deliberate challenge in his voice. Ryan always loved a challenge. I had the feeling that, as with most others, he’d win in the end.

Ryan moaned softly as Greg wrapped a hand around his shaft and took him into his mouth. I moaned a bit, myself. The sight was pretty damned erotic.

Then I turned my attention back to my own task and lightly teased my fingers down the crack of his ass, swirling the lube around his entrance. He was keeping stone still, not wanting to give Greg the satisfaction of thrusting into his mouth, but I knew that wouldn’t last. His moans were becoming louder and more constant, and when I peered off to the side, I saw that Brad was taking matters into his own hands. I watched him for a moment as my fingers continued their idle circling.

He really did look quite beautiful, stroking him self with slow, almost languid movements, his face flushed, his already dark eyes nearly black. Next to him, Jeff lounged on the bench, a Mona-Lisa smile on his lips, looking like nothing so much as a sated jungle cat basking in the sun.

Ryan’s hips began to move, just slightly, and I moved with them, slipping two fingers inside. With my free hand, I took down my jeans, then removed my fingers to drizzle out more lube, which I applied to myself in a light coating.

Then, grasping one hip, I positioned myself at his entrance, pressing just enough that he could feel me there. “Was this what you wanted?” I murmured in a tone just loud enough for him to hear.

“Fuck, yeah!”

“Then come and get it.”

I’ll never know what effort of will it took for him to deliberately pull himself out of the warm, wet cavern of Greg’s extremely talented mouth, but he did it, and with one savage backward thrust, I found myself buried to the hilt within him. My own gasp was drowned out by his keening wail. God, but he was hot. And tight. And pulsing against my erection with every beat of his heart.

After some semblance of reality returned, I brought my other hand up to his hip, gripping him tightly, my fingers biting in and holding.

“Fuck me!” he bellowed. “God, please fuck me!!”

I pulled out, almost to the tip, then thrust back in, driving him into Greg’s waiting mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered. “Oh, fuck. Oh fuck. Oh FUCK!”

I started a rhythm, long and slow, alternately pushing him into Greg’s mouth and pulling him from it. Greg caught on immediately, and wrapped his hand tighter around Ryan’s shaft, sliding up and down forcefully in time to my movements while he put his tongue to good use.

The chains jingled and jangled, playing a counterpoint to the grunts and groans of the three of us—four if you counted Brad. Wrapping his hands around those chains, Ryan grabbed tight and bent his knees a bit, changing the angle of my penetration. He screamed himself hoarse as I began hitting his prostate with regularity. The feel of him around me, gripping me, was sublime, and I instinctively picked up the pace just as Greg decided to go for broke and took him fully inside, grabbing Ryan’s thighs and moving with us as we swayed to the music of skin slapping against skin.

Moving my head forward, I began to lick and bite at the reddened stripes on his back, causing him to hiss and his head to toss freely, whipping back and forth in a gesture that could have been negation, but wasn’t. Sweat was pouring from him in buckets, coating my chest.

Displaying great strength, Ryan grasped the chains harder, lifted his legs and flipped them, spreader bar and all, over Greg’s neck. I prayed they would hold as I found myself contorting a bit to continue my thrusting into the hot, willing body before me, but it was an interesting, and very pleasurable angle, and I bent to my task with a will, feeling myself moving inexorably toward the edge of oblivion.

I felt him begin to tremble, and I knew it wasn’t entirely from exertion. Curses flowed like water from his lips. Releasing his hips, I moved my hands down and spread his cheeks wide as I took him as hard as I could.

That was all he needed as, with a strangled gasp, he came, going entirely still as he emptied himself into Greg’s mouth. I pulled out completely, then slammed back in, repeating the motion three more times before I, too, toppled over the precipice, biting down on his tender flesh as I exploded into him. It was, in all honestly, one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had in my life, and I’m not ashamed to admit that.

Greg immediately went to all-fours, letting the spreader bar rest across his back. I knew that had to hurt. Thankfully, Brad and Jeff were right there, quickly getting rid of the bar before letting the chains down and undoing the cuffs.

Though he was conscious, Ryan was completely, utterly limp, and it was deadweight that Greg and I maneuvered around until he was on his side facing me. I laid down and took him into my arms. Jeff expertly removed the hood, and once he was free, Ryan immediately nestled his head into my neck. Greg stripped off his own shirt and jacket and snugged up behind him, arm loosely around his waist.

Brad looked down at me. “Um…Jeff and I…we’re gonna take a tour of the bar upstairs. You come and get us when you’re ready, okay?”

I nodded, pathetically grateful for their insight. The moment they left, taking care to lock the door behind them, Ryan broke, sobbing into my neck as if his heart had broken in two. His sobs were silent ones; tears bled from his eyes as if from an open wound, and his body shook and trembled against my own. I looked up to see Greg looking down at me, a question in his eyes.

“Stay,” I mouthed. “He loves you, too.”

Nodding, he lay back down, stroking Ryan’s shoulder and back soothingly. The Greg Proops the world saw could not be any further from the one I was seeing at that moment, and my love for him grew even stronger.

Taking a firmer, but still gentle, grip on Ryan, I began to rock him, humming a mindless and, I’m sure, off-key tune, and loving him with my whole heart and soul.

Greg rocked with us, keeping gentle contact with Ryan. I felt his fingers trail along my free hand, and I took them in a warm grip, melding the three of us together as one being. We stayed that way for quite some time, letting Ryan process things as he would. This break had been years in the making, and damned if I was going to cut it off until it had played itself out in full.

Finally, his trembling stopped, and I felt the slow, silent leaking of tears fade away as well. I took my first full breath in what seemed like hours, copied immediately by Greg.

“Is he asleep?” Greg whispered.

“No, he’s not,” Ryan answered, but his voice lacked the sarcasm that normally would have accompanied such a statement. He sounded subdued, but there was a note in his voice that I hadn’t heard in a long time. I could feel a sort of newborn peace emanating from him, and that alone made me more happy than I have words for.

I knew this hadn’t been a cure-all, that he still had a great deal to work through, but it felt like a start, and that was all I had ever wanted from it. The sex was nice, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t the point, and if I could have done it without it, I would have. But Ryan is Ryan, and you have to work with what you have. I’m not a superhero, much as I’d like to be one, sometimes.

“I almost forgot what a moment’s peace feels like,” he pondered, voice burred, but calm, mellow, introspective.

“It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Wonderful.” He sighed deeply, then lifted his head, turned mine, and gave me a soft, warm, and loving kiss. “Thank you,” he said simply, his eyes shining.

I smiled up at him. “You’re welcome.”

After a moment, he turned his head and gave Greg a kiss as well. “And thank you.”

“Anytime, man.” He shook his head. “I hate to see you hurting, Ry. I’m glad I could help. I mean that seriously.”

“I know you do.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry I dragged you guys through hell.”

“We’re your friends, man,” Greg replied. “If you’re in Hell, well, we’re gonna go in after you and bust you out.”

Ryan laughed, and god help me, it was one of the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard. “You know I’ll do the same for you, right?”

“Know it? Fuck, man, I count on it!”

Giving him a serious nod, Ryan turned back and nestled against me again. “You always know what I need,” he murmured sleepily.

“No. No, I don’t. If I did, I would have done this a long time ago and spared you years of pain.”

“Wrong,” he replied forcefully, lifting his head and gripping my jaw so that our eyes met on a level. “I wasn’t ready for this before. I thought I could handle it, that nothing was wrong. I was too damned stubborn and too damned proud to let go, even with you. This…it was perfect.”

The naturally demurring part of me wanted to say something, but I kept it savagely inside. This wasn’t my moment, it was Ryan’s. “I just love you so damned much,” I said instead, meaning it, as always.

“I love you more,” he replied, smirking.

“Not possible.”

Behind us, Greg groaned. “Man, if this is gonna turn into a fucking goop-fest, I’m gonna hang with Jeff and Brad before I start needing insulin or something.”

Laughing, I reached across Ryan to hug Greg tightly with my one free arm. “You are amazing,” I said.

He buffed his nails against his bare chest. “Fifteen years and you’re just finding this out now?”

“Oh, I knew it. I just didn’t feel like inflating that gigantic ego of yours any more than it already is.”

He pretended to grab his heart. “Oh, you’ve slain me, Colin. You’ve truly slain me.”

“Alright, you two,” Ryan finally broke in, laughter in his eyes. “That’s enough. I think we should get dressed and meet the kiddies up at the bar. God knows what trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.”

“I think we’ve converted Brad over to the dark side,” Greg said, rolling to his feet and reaching for his shirt. “He was really getting off on it, man.”

Ryan looked at me in surprise, and I nodded. “Wow. When he said that he gave up, I thought that meant he was leaving.”

“Nope. It meant he was….” And I mimed a really crude gesture known to men (and women) worldwide.

“Ahhhh.”

“Yeah.”

Greg dressed first and left the two of us alone, giving us a tip of the cap before he left. The two of us dressed in silence, then stood in the middle of the room, looking around. “I’ll never forget this night,” Ryan murmured, sliding an arm around my shoulders.

“It’s permanently etched in my brain,” I agreed, clasping his waist.

“I’m…glad Pat called you,” he said softly. “You’re the only one who could have gotten through to me the way you did.”

“Well, I did have some help.”

“I know.”

I touched his chest lightly. “Maybe you should call her and let her know how you’re doing. She was awfully worried.”

He hung his head. “I know that, too. And I will, as soon as we get back.”

“Good.” I gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

He looked around one last time, then gifted me with a smile that made his eyes twinkle. “Let’s.”

*******

The last couple of days before the first show had Ryan subdued, though it was a good kind of subdued, the kind that comes when a person finally sees a light at the end of whatever tunnel he’s trapped in and starts to think about ways to reach it. Though he was quiet, his outward demeanor was pleasant, and he smiled more than I’d seen in years.

His talk with Pat was long and, from what he told me, productive. They had a great many things to work through, but I was confident that they would. They still loved one another deeply, and that’s one of the best building blocks in the world.

He spent most of his time with me, though we didn’t talk much, or do much of anything, really. He put Drew off several times—we both did—but Drew seemed to have finally bought himself a clue and, for the most part, took the rebuffs in stride. We did attend the mandatory pre-show meeting, where the games and their order were discussed, but begged off the traditional after meeting gambling-stripper-booze bash.

Several hours later, though, Greg, Brad and Jeff brought the party to us, minus the gambling and strippers. We spent much of the time in the hot-tub, talking over old times, and laughing a lot. We’d forged another link in the chain that bound us as friends, and it felt damn good to be surrounded by that much affection and support. I doubted we’d ever share another night like the one we did at the club, but that didn’t matter in the least. We were friends, and we loved each other, and that’s all that counted, long run or short.

And then, it was the night of our first show, and there I was in the Green Room, nervous as a new bride, or so I imagine. All the signs were there: the sweat, the rapid heartbeat, the inability to keep myself still. I knew it would disappear once I got under the stage lights, but if there is one thing I hate about being an actor, this would have to be it. It didn’t help matters that Ryan was off somewhere with Drew, talking to the director, sponsors, and other VIPs who just had to make their presence known or risk a lifetime of obscurity—or whatever Important People risk when they’re ignored by other Important People.

“Here ya go, man,” Greg said, handing me a bottle of cold water from the table set up along one wall. “You’re gonna sweat it all out before you reach the stage.”

“Thank you, Greg,” I replied, twisting the cap off and downing half the bottle in one giant swig. “I hate this.”

“I know, Col,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “but it’s almost showtime.”

“Not much longer now,” Brad commented, smiling brightly at me as he drifted to my other side, Jeff slightly behind him. The four of us had been basically congregating in a loose knot for the past hour, and the others, Sean, Chip, and Kathy, had given us strange looks from time to time, but hadn’t made any comments on the matter, for which I was grateful.

Then Ryan filled the doorway, complete with his goofy tie and goofier shoes, and I immediately felt myself begin to calm. Giving us all a smile that shone in his eyes, he briefly hugged the newcomers, then came over to our little group and slid in behind me, both hands falling on my shoulders, where they began a light massage.

“Keep doing that,” I groaned, feeling my muscles beginning to turn to jelly, “and you’re going to be short one improvisor.”

Chuckling, he gave me a kiss atop the head and stilled his hands.

“I get your place in Greatest Hits, man!” Greg quipped, giving me a cheeky smile, which I responded to with an entirely fake one of my own.

“You wish.”

And then Drew made his appearance, giving us all a cheerful grin, and a look that lingered on the five us standing near the back. Unlike the others, he had no compunctions about saying what was on his mind. “Someday, you’re all gonna tell me just what you guys did the other night.”

“Trust me, Drew,” Ryan replied, giving my shoulders a squeeze, “you don’t wanna know.”

Whatever Drew saw in Ryan’s eyes made him shudder, and he shook his head. “You’re right. I probably don’t.”

We all nodded in agreement, which garnered us more strange looks.

He rubbed his hands together. “Alright, you’ve all heard me say this a million times over the years, so I’ll be brief. I love all you guys like you were my own family, and I’m proud, and honored, to be sharing the stage with each and every one of you. I know everyone’s gonna do great out there, so just relax, have fun, and let’s go kick some major ass!”

We cheered raggedly and followed him out of the room and toward the main stage like ducklings trailing after their mother. We stopped at the entrance while Drew went on ahead to start his monologue. We could tell the house was crowded by the amount of applause his introduction had received, and my nerves began to jangle again. I tuned out Drew’s opening words, instead concentrating on the warmth and comfort of Greg in front of me and Ryan behind.

Suddenly, we were moving, and I tuned back in to hear Drew announcing my fellow performers’ names. “….Chip Esten, everybody! Chip Esten! Jeff Davis! Jeff Davis! Welcome Brad Sherwood! Brad! Greg Proops, everybody! Give it up for Greg!” Ryan gave my shoulders a quick squeeze as I heard, “Colin Mochrie, everyone! On your feet for Colin!!”

I jogged out, waving, to the loud cheers of the packed crowd, shaking hands with everyone in turn, and giving Brad and Greg quick hugs before I took my place at the end of the line.

“And RYAN STILES!!!”

The audience roared as Ryan came out in that lanky stride of his, slapping hands with everyone down the line until he came to Jeff, who he hugged, then did the same for Brad. Greg, he hugged and kissed on the cheek. And then it was my turn. He stopped before me, his grin infectious, his gaze full of adoration, and my heart swelled. He embraced me so tightly that I swore I felt a rib crack, and held it for a long moment. When he finally released me, it was only so that he could lay his hands on my face. I knew what was coming and grinned. The wolf whistles erupted as he ducked in slowly and, as per usual, stopped just an inch from my lips.

He paused there for a moment, letting the tension build, but instead of pulling away for the laugh, he whispered, “I love you, Col,” and closed the remaining distance, kissing me, warm and soft and so beautifully I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes.

The applause, whistles and hoots were drowned out by the thrumming of blood in my ears and I lost myself for just a moment in the love and affection of and for this wonderful, wondrous man who fate had seen fit to place in my path so many years ago.

He finally pulled away, giving me a wink and a grin, and took his place at my side. I knew I would never forget this moment, even if I lived to be three times my current age. Its clarity would fade with time, as all such memories do, but I would pull it out from time to time, like a treasured keepsake, and store it in my heart when I was through.

The adventure started with a phone call and ended with a kiss, and as far as modern day fairy tales go, it’s the best that anyone can hope for, I believe.

I sometimes think it’s sad that our lives aren’t filled to the brim with moments like these, but I suppose if they were, the memories wouldn’t be so special, so magical.

But life is what it is, and the only way to get through it is to do what, thankfully, I do best.

Improvise.

*******

Goodnight, everybody.

Thanks for listening to my story.