Pain

Pain by Adrienne Wilder

Atlantic Bridge www.atlanticbridge.net

Copyright ©2011 by Adrienne Wilder First published in 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Pain by Adrienne Wilder

CONTENTS Blurb Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter

One Two Three Four Five ****

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Pain by Adrienne Wilder

Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2011, Adrienne Wilder. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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Blurb My name is Darwin De Groi, and I'm in love with Peter Forbes. But Pete has this dream of becoming a metaphysical scientist and that means all his time—his attention—is taken up by college and studying. So in order to deal with the pain of watching Peter and never having him I spend most of my time in the Gray Zone, the no-man's-land between the city of Atlanta and the Dens. There I'm free to drown myself; with drugs, with booze... With the inhuman. Lesser-Breds. Kin hybrids. The offspring of Humans and Dragons. But then an act of revenge led to a stupid college prank, which put Peter right into my arms. A better man would make the right decision and tell Pete no. I am so not that man. Dedication This series is dedicated to my beta readers and very good friends Linda, Racheal, and Larry. And my Special Agent beta readers: Karen Mullian and Ann Olson Who are not afraid to kick my ass and stab me between the eyes with a red pen. In no particular order. 5

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Last but not least, the author who gave me the courage to write Darwin as he was meant to be written. Jordan Castillo Price, you may not know me, but your bravery and creativity as a writer gave me the brass cojones to create without restraint. Thank you. Last but not least, my mother. I love you. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter One I think I was stoned or drunk. Hell, maybe I was both. Inebriation, either legal or illegal, is simply a way of life for me. Well that and spending every waking hour that I didn't have to be in class in the Gray Zone with Lesser-Breds: the metaphysical bastard descendants of Kin and Humans. They aren't quiet as dangerous as full-blooded dragons. Not like I'd care if they were. 'Cause in my book, getting laid was getting laid. See, the drugs, the booze, the sex, it kills the pain. A deep empty ache that set up in my chest somewhere around the age of fourteen. I'm pretty sure by the time I hit twenty I'd tried just about every chemical combination possible to ease it. Even with my expertise in self-medication, self-indulgence, self-pleasure, I've yet to figure out how to fill it up or snuff it out. And believe me, I tried. Every. Fucking. Day. Never worked. And yet, my perpetual failures hadn't slowed me down. What is it they say about insanity? It's doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Or maybe that's scientific theory. Whatever. Who cares? I was fucked up, and as far as I was concerned the goddamned planet could catch fire and burn away. Might even be an improvement, come to think of it. With my face smashed against the cafeteria table, it was hard to tell if the person talking was talking to me or someone else. 7

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"Darwin..." Oops, my name, so that meant me. Which sucked, because that meant I had to pay attention. Normally, I ignored people who bothered me while I was recovering from an all-nighter. But going by the voice it was Shelly, Peter's friend, and that meant I had to at least act remotely human. "What?" Against the table my voice was muffled. "Aren't you gonna eat something?" A smooth flat surface prodded my arm; I smelled eggs, and toast, and bacon. It smelled good, no doubt, but it wasn't what I wanted. "No thanks." "Jesus, Darwin, you need to eat." I picked up my head and gave Shelly my best go-to-hellglare. It's way more effective when I'm not drunk, or stoned, or ... fuck it. "Chocolate." "What?" Shelly propped a fist on her hip which promptly shot out a ninety degree angle. I think she liked me. Scratch that, she liked me enough to sleep with me if I were to ever put the moves on her, just not enough to put me out if I was on fire. But she was Peter's friend and that meant she was off limits. "I said I want chocolate." I pushed the tray away. It contained the standard Georgia Tech breakfast cuisine decked out on an ugly yellow plastic square in an equally tacky Styrofoam plate complete with a Christmas tree motif. 8

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Hey, it was September. I guess Tech was getting a head start. "You don't need chocolate. You need to eat some real food. Peter worries about you. He says you don't get enough protein." She huffed and tossed back her hair. Cut in a bob, there wasn't a whole lot to shoulder, but she'd only started wearing it like that this year so I guess old habits died hard. "Trust me, the only reason I bought you this was for him." Shelly shoved the tray under my nose, which put the cuff of my duster smack in the middle of the eggs. I made an angry sound and sat the rest of the way up. Before I could squeeze off a fuck-you, Shelly stuck a spoon in my hand, and Terry Sherman and her boyfriend Danny Bowman walked up. They had trays, too. Terry's contained two plastic bowls of Fruit Loops, and Danny had a small mountain of Hostess goodness. "Trade you." I tried not to eyeball the cupcake on the edge of Danny's tray too hard. He didn't like me either, and unlike Terry and Shelly, Danny was rude enough to be blunt about it. "Buzz off, asshole ... you've got food." Yeah, but it was nutritious. I didn't want nutritious. I wanted fattening with lots of sugar and cholesterol, so I could be sure my miserable existence on this good-for-nothing ball of dirt was as short and deliciously tasty as possible. And since Danny already hated me... I snagged the cupcake and ripped it open. Danny barked out a protest and made a grab for the thing. Much to his disappointment, I slobbered my tongue across the top, 9

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turning the dusty brown icing cap into a glistening, melty mess. Mmmm, it was good. "I'm sorry ... did you want this?" I held it out and Danny recoiled. Which of course made me shove it all that much closer. "That's gross, D. Keep it." Yeah, gross. Something told me that Danny-boy had no idea what gross really was. I ate the cupcake while Shelly and Terry glared at me. Fuck 'em, I didn't owe them anything. Hell, I didn't even like them. Nope, only two people were on my friend list, and that was Peter and myself. And I trusted Peter way more than I could ever trust good ole' me. While they stirred up a conversation, I worked at licking the icing off my chocolate goody. I didn't listen to what they were talking about, not really. It didn't concern me. I only sat here because Peter sat here. Peter Forbes, my best friend, the love of my life, my soul mate... Speaking of... I glanced at the clock. Pete was late. He had a ten o'clock metaphysics class with me, then we had American lit, after that I think it was calculus. Might have been trig. Honestly, I usually slept during that time so it could have been advanced knitting techniques for all I knew. Hell, the only reason I was enrolled in this shithole university was because Peter was here. See, Peter has a dream. He wants to be a metaphysicist. Why? I don't have a clue. But the idea of science that breaks all the rules of physics intrigues him. Unfortunately, unlike things that belong to the physical world, metaphysics isn't 10

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very predictable. Which makes understanding how it works almost impossible. That means a person not only has to have brains, but they have to have that uncanny ability to know. And my Peter? Well he has that and so much more. Peter, smart and sexy. If he only knew. Behind me chairs scraped against the floors, and tables were moved around as the fulltime frat boys filled up their usual spot, laughing loud and sounding a lot like the jackasses they usually were. All we needed now were a few chickens and a cow and we'd have a regular Old MacDonald's farm. Although, I had to admit, today they seemed to be unusually loud. Unusually annoying. I guess everyone has to have a goal in life. I glanced over my shoulder while swirling my tongue against the remnants of chocolate icing. When I hit the spongy cake I drilled it, collecting white creme filling and bits of chocolate cake on the tip of my barbell. A couple of them glanced my way with fuck-you stares, and I made a show of flipping the end of my creme-covered tongue. No doubt, there isn't a grain of love lost between me and the majority of the guys who tossed the pigskin. Not because I was jealous or anything like that, but because of Peter. See, Peter has morals. Big ones. As high as the goddamned Empire State building. Maybe even bigger. Yeah, definitely bigger. Last month, when a bunch of those assholes tried to buy their term papers from him, he turned them in. Personally? I would have just taken the money, printed off some overused internet version, made sure they got caught, 11

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then bought something nice and fancy to wave in their faces. But not Peter. Oh no, he just had to do the right thing. And the frat boys, being who they are, of course, had to make a few threats, push Peter into a locker or two, corner him in an alley, rough him up and threaten to break various limbs on his perfect body. As if that wasn't enough, they put a dead cat in his locker. A three-day-dead cat in his locker. Yeah, after that sick little stunt, it was all-out war. Being the friend that I am to Peter, gentle Peter, kind Peter, not-a-mean-bone-in-his-body Peter, I evened the playing field by setting their fancy cars on fire. Who would have ever known basic Chemistry 101 would actually have some real-life applications to it? Mark Tolbert took the loss of his shiny new Camaro especially hard. Of course, his insurance refused to make the payoff so that was probably why. Oops. I actually felt a little guilty for that one—for about two seconds—then I remembered how Peter looked after that asshole gave him a black eye and a busted lip because he wouldn't recant his story to the Dean. A wave of laughter rolled up from the circle jerks while they gathered around a cell phone Tolbert had in one of his gorilla-like hands. With the way the screen flashed and how they kept yucking it up, I assumed they were playing a video of their latest and greatest conquest. Or maybe comparing the technique of dropping cherries into an empty beer bottle with their ass cheeks. I sucked a wad of chocolate off my thumb. 12

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"D..." I looked at Shelly. "Yeah?" "Your cell is ringing." Oh. Yeah. I guess it was. And here I thought someone was just playing Manson really loud and it was leaking out of their ear buds. I crammed a hand into the pocket of my duster, shoved my way past a pen, a piece of paper, a few joints, and last but not least, a collection of empty condom wrappers Found it. I pulled it out and actually managed not to litter the floor with Trojans. I peered at the thing. It wasn't a phone call but a data message. I squinted at the screen trying to place the number and couldn't. Then three more phones went off. Terry's, Danny's, and Shelly's. The girls had cute little ring tones. Danny, however, hadn't integrated into the world of personalized sound and his was an electronic version of a landline. Knowing him, it was probably the only sound he felt wasn't a direct threat to his manliness. "I take it everyone here is looking at a six-seven-eight area code?" I glanced up, and they were all doing some sort of nod while flipping open their phones. I followed suit. I was expecting to see a party advertisement, you know, one of those flash notices about a rave being held at an empty house or an abandoned building, but instead of a text message it was a video. And damn it, I couldn't see it. Unlike everyone around me, my phone was old, cheap, and technologically challenged. Not to mention I'd dropped it in the toilet two nights ago, and the screen hasn't worked right since. 13

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Piece of shit. I looked over Shelly's shoulder. Danny joined me. Apparently he couldn't see it on his phone either. The idea that Danny and I had something in common was kind of scary. Him in his nice Polo shirts and ironed khaki pants, me in my bondage skaters and band tees. Or maybe his phone was just older than mine. "The file must be pretty big, it's taking forever." Shelly looked at me when she said it. I don't know why. Not like I knew anything about cell phones. Hell, half the time I was lucky if I could figure out how to work a microwave. My expertise stops at putting on a condom with my hands tied behind my back. "Mine's up." That from Terry. She gave us a quick look up from her phone. A second later it was on Shelly's, too. The screen came on. I saw a leg, a hip, one smooth, round ass cheek. It didn't take very long for me to figure out that this was a video of some guy giving another guy head. Thanks to Shelly's sparkly new iPhone, we even had sound effects. "Oh gross..." Danny yanked his head back and made some very realistic gagging noises. "Jesus, do people really think folks want to see that shit?" Well, considering three out of the four people sitting at our table still had their eyes glued to the screen. Uh... Yeah! Too bad the screen was blurry, and it was hard to see much more than a hip, an ass cheek, some chin and a dusting of pubes. I titled my head. Maybe at this angle I'd be able to 14

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see more detail. The camera jiggled, and a set of lips slid into the scene. Fuck, whoever it was, they sure could choke down dick like a pro. And the guy getting worked over apparently knew how to appreciate being deep throated like that. At least that's the impression I got going by the sounds he was making: grunts, groans, gasps. I think I even heard an "oh, God" or two. The camera jerked back, and the screen shimmied in a way that suggested whoever held it might be trying to hide the fact he was getting the act on video. But the new angle caught a terrific side view. I caught a glimpse of brown curly hair, a tan hand. Then my brain tripped and broke an ankle. The picture was still blurry as hell but... Fuck me sideways, I knew that face. No way. No. Fucking. Way. I was pretty sure I knew why my virginal Peter was able to deep throat a cock that big. Eyes half-lidded, face slack, he was more out cold than he was into it. He wasn't completely out though. No, just drunk enough or stoned enough to really put a damper on his gag reflex. Behind me, the table of jocks burst out in another round of hee-haw. And I made the mistake of turning around. Tolbert's beady little eyes were looking right at me. Yeah, I was feeling some serious regret for setting his car on fire right now. Regret that I hadn't made sure the motherfucker was inside when I did it. "D..." 15

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Shelly's hand landed on my arm. She said my name three more times before I looked at her. "Don't..." I raised an eyebrow. "Don't?" Beside her Terry shook her head and said, "Is that who I think it is?" And her tone clearly conveyed the impossibility it was Peter. Impossible, not improbable. Because we all knew Peter was high on his virtues. Out and proud, but he wasn't into casual sex. Fuck, he wasn't even into casual kissing. Trust me, I'd tried. And begged. And offered to pay him money. The fact we were still friends sometimes amazes me. I looked at the bright side and refused to complain about only being his best bud and roommate. At least he was in my life, someway, somehow. 'Cause as far as I was concerned, Peter was the only bright side of my life, my only reason to get up in the morning, to breathe, too... Terry gasped and pointed at the screen. "Oh my god, it is ... it's..." "Shut up..." I didn't even want to hear her say it. Saying made it real, and I did not want it to be real. Her eyes went big, and she tossed a look at me, then Shelly. "I wasn't..." "Then shut up." The threat rolled out of my throat on the back of a growl. She did. Thank God. I stared at the screen of Shelly's phone. The video clip was over leaving the moment of climax frozen in place. Even blurry, I could see the porn star's worth 16

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of jizz on Peter's chin. For whatever reason, I caught details like how his bangs flopped in his eyes, how his cheeks were flushed, and the color of his shirt. It was dark blue, with yellow stripes. I should have gone back to the apartment last night. Instead I'd been out on the town, specifically the Pit, getting screwed over because it made dealing with this shithole existence easier. And Peter? He'd been getting mouth fucked. Obviously against his will and maybe even his knowledge. The backdrop looked like the locker room. It probably was the locker room. After all, that's just the kind of place Mark Tolbert hung out. I don't know how it happened or why Peter would have been in there. And at the moment I really didn't care. No, I only wanted one thing, and that was to see Tolbert screaming in agony, preferably while he was bleeding profusely, maybe even begging for his life. I yanked my arm out of Shelly's grip and stood up. She got in my way again. Her vice-grip landed on my elbow, and her thin little fingers buried themselves up in the sleeve of my duster. I glared at her, and she pleaded with her big blue eyes. "Jesus, D, don't. It's obvious they did it against his will. Just take it to the cops." "The cops?" "Yes, they'll arrest Tolbert. And he'll get more than a suspension. He'll get kicked out and go to jail." Poor, Shelly, she hadn't figured it out yet. The "it" being that wheels of justice didn't work on a one-hour time limit with Hollywood precision. The bad guys don't always get 17

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caught and when they did, they rarely got what they deserved. And the innocent people, people like Peter, were the only ones who wound up suffering. "And tell them what?" "Tell them that he raped Peter." She said "rape" in a whisper, and at the same time flicked a look around. Her eyes locked on the frat boys behind me. A blush flared in her cheeks at the same time her mouth thinned out into an unhappy line. I was willing to bet Tolbert was giving her eyes now. "Face it, Shelly. They won't be able to do anything." Won't be able to. Won't want to. Hell, the worst anyone had done about the threats and abuse was suspend the bastard from playing his oh-so-precious football game. "They're the cops." "Yeah, they're cops. And when you go to the cops you have to have evidence." She wiggled the phone at me, and I snatched it out of her hand and shoved it in her face. "Real evidence, Shelly. Disposable number, only Pete's face in the shot. Do you really think the campus po-po are gonna give a rat's ass? Even if they did, like they could do anything about it. And trust me, they don't give a rat's ass." Shelly made a face. "Not all cops are bad, D." Yeah, sure. Just the majority of them. But Shelly would never be willing to believe that. Then again, she'd never seen a group of boys-in-blue kick a Lesser-Bred to death. I had. Twice. Atlanta might be nicknamed the City of Dragons, but there's no love lost for Kin, especially their less-thanpurebred offspring. 18

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I think people are just afraid of them. Afraid of what they might represent. That Humans and Dragons aren't all that different after all. That maybe we have a lot more in common than the ability to procreate together. But then what did I know? I hung out with them because they were safe sex and always willing. At least for the right price. I pushed Shelly's phone back in her general direction and turned. She was suddenly too busy trying to keep from dropping it to hang on to me. Mark stood up as I approached his table. A few more goons in his six pack of dumbasses followed his example. As if one extra large moron wasn't enough to cream my ass. Even in my elevated shitkickers the majority of the guys sitting at that table had almost a foot on me. And I have an inch on Peter. Even without the boots. I stopped short of the black dude with the buzz cut. I didn't want to get too close in case he decided he wanted in on the fun. And that fun would be snatching up my pasty ass and breaking me over his knee. Mark was big, Tom Dukes was ginormous. Mark planted his beefy fists against the tabletop. As he leaned forward the table groaned in protest and his massive shape cleared the space between us. "I hear your friend Peter is going into the porn business." Tolbert's gray eyes gave me some up and down, and his thin pink mouth curled up. "Still think setting my car on fire was a good idea?" "Fuck, yeah!" One of these day's I'd learn to shut up. My mouth, it gets me into all sorts of trouble. It's almost as 19

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dangerous as my stupidity. Although I had to admit, my tongue had yet to blow anything up. The smile on Mark's face turned ugly, and he cut a glance in the general direction of his Samsung being held by one of his fuck buddies. "You know, I'm thinking maybe the Dean needs to see this? Maybe the head of the metaphysics department? That's who writes pretty boy's meal ticket, right? The one where the fine print reads, recipients must maintain an image of ethical behavior? I'm pretty sure sucking dick would fall under their ethics clause. Don't you?" I leaned closer too now. It was stupid. It was dumb. It gave Tolbert a total Mike Tyson opportunity. But hell, I'd been slowly trying to kill myself for the past six years. Maybe it was time to just get it over with. "What's wrong, Tolbert, can't get a date so now you have to pick on someone half your size and drug him up to get a piece?" Tolbert didn't smile, he didn't gloat, his mouth stayed in a firm snarl while he told me how I was too mentally impaired to know my ass from a hole in the ground—which was probably true most days. And while his face held an expression of disgust, his hands balled up in fists, and he gave me a look of complete revulsion at the suggestion it was his dick getting sucked, his eyes said something else completely. You know, until then, I hadn't really entertained the idea it might actually be Mark Tolbert's cock getting stuffed down Peter's throat, but in that moment, I knew it was. It was the look he gave me that gave him away. His cheeks pinked up, and his dark eyes went all hot and glittery 20

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like he'd done something he knew would be the envy of the world and now he was all too proud of himself. Okay, the envy of my world. As if it was any big secret I had the hots for Peter. I made it my life's goal to have all my classes with him. I even pulled punches to do it. Like calling my parents and asking them to bend the rules for me. They donated a lot of money to Tech, and the Dean came over every Christmas to eat dinner with them. Their buddy-buddy relationship was the only reason I'd yet to be thrown out. That and as long as my extracurricular activities took place off campus, in the Gray Zone or all the way in the Dens, then technically who I fucked, or what I snorted or smoked wasn't against school policy. The fact I rarely waited for the effects to wear off before coming to class was beside the point. Thing is, I don't know what was worse, the fact Tolbert had actually done such a sick, shitty thing to my best friend or the fact I really wished it had been my dick instead. Rufies or not, at least I would have kept it a secret. I sure as shit wouldn't have Facebooked the goddamned event. "You know what, Darwin..." By the way, I just loved the way Tolbert says my name. Like it's made of taffy and tastes like shit. "If I were you, I think I'd find a good lawyer and fess up to your crime. That way you'd go to jail and the insurance would replace my car." Yeah, like I mentioned earlier. Evidence. See, I made sure any evidence I left behind went up in a big ball of smoke and beautiful eye-watering, pyrotechnic effects. Ever seen a car 21

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blow up? Ever seen one blow up with a full tank of gas? Ever seen one blow up on a full tank of gas backed up by some basic chemistry? It's almost as glorious as the big O. Unlike the Neanderthal standing in front of me, I didn't need to YouTube the event. Nope. Not with his car parked out in front of the Varsity. A fire that big and that close to I-85? Son-of-a-bitch lit up the highway like a goddamned sunset. As if that wasn't enough to make my day, the parking lot was small, and five of his fuckbuddies happened to be parked nearby. Talk about hitting the jackpot. Marky Mark's shiny new Camaro burned so hot that they had to replace the big V on the front of the restaurant along with most of the glass in the windows. Unfortunately, Mark's insurance company didn't cover destruction via fire, unless, of course, it fell under their vandalism clause. And since I'd done such a good job at burning up the evidence, I guess they'd stuck to the police report of "unknown cause." And that meant they didn't have to pay up, and Tolbert did. With a forty thousand dollar ride including interest, tax, tag, and title? That had to be a good honking six hundred bucks out of his allowance every month. And to top it off, now he had to take the bus. And they say revenge isn't sweet. Thing is, bringing Peter into our battle was dirty. Apparently I'd wallowed in my pig trail of memory lane too long because Marky Mark said, "Well?" I grinned. He obviously didn't like my grin. A couple of his buddies threw looks back and forth. They didn't like my grin 22

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either. Course, the last time I grinned at him just like this was after he stuck that dead cat in Peter's gym locker and right before I torched his fucking car. I could only imagine the inventory of flammable items he owned going through his head at the moment. "You better pray, Tolbert, get down on your hands and knees and fucking pray." For a split second he was afraid of me, and then he remembered he had half of Tech's biggest, baddest, and dumbest on his side of the cafeteria. And me? I was a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet and wearing the duster. Not to mention I was probably the size of his kid brother. His ten-year-old kid brother. Hence the reason I wore shoes with the two-inch soles. The dramatic silence hung like a bad smell until my ring tone broke it. Mark laughed, one bark that made him sound every bit the dog he was. "You gonna get that?" Actually, no I wasn't. That's why they invented voicemail. The fact I never answered my voicemail was a whole different matter. But then Marky Mark looked at his watch, and his nasty little smile went wolfish. "Peter boy's late, don'tcha think?" The cupcake I'd stolen took a turn for the worse. I backed up, fished out my phone. Peter's name showed on the screen. I answered. "Yeah?" "You saw it." Not a question. But then Peter always could read me like the Atlanta Journal and Constitution. "Yeah." "You're not going to do something stupid are you?" 23

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Of course. Did I ever do anything but stupid? I cut a look over at the circle jerks. "Nah, just having a talk is all." Silence. Then he sighed. Peter has the greatest sigh. Tragic and seductive, and he doesn't even try. "I don't think I can show my face in class today. Will you come back to the apartment after physics? I don't want to be alone." "I'll be there in five." I shut the phone before Peter could chastise me on skipping class. And he would chastise me. For him, nothing short of being dead was an excuse to skip class. I turned to stomp off, and Tolbert said my name. It sounded particularly vicious this time. Particularly nasty. Looking at the asshole was a mistake. So, of course, that's exactly what I did. "Just so you know, that was only a thirty-second clip. You don't turn yourself in, and I'll air the whole big gay moment on every porn site I can post it to. After I send it to everyone who's listed in the campus directory, including his parents." Tolbert leaned back, stroked his chin and went all dreamy eyed. "Yeah, yeah, I wonder what Peter's mommy and daddy would say when they opened up their email to that?" The frat boys laughed. Thing is, I didn't have to think about what Peter's parents would say. I already knew. They'd blame me. But then again, they blamed me for everything bad in Peter's life. Wish I could argue and say they were wrong. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two The apartment my parents own was only a five-minute walk from campus, so I always drove. My car, which was mine, bought with my own money—not the money my parents doled on me—was a piece of shit black Dodge Neon with a red door, held together with duct tape and baling wire. And parts still occasionally fell off. It backfired a lot. Loud enough that when I drove in the wrong part of town and it let loose with a gas fart, people actually ducked for cover. No one did that in the Zone, which is where I usually partied. Considering the kind of condition the Gray Zone was in, old buildings, falling down buildings, streets neglected to the point they made the surface of the moon look smooth, my little rattletrap fit right in. People didn't pop shots off there. No, the only time anyone pulled a trigger was if they meant to kill what they were aiming at. Which was usually scaly, moving faster than the human eye could follow, sporting teeth and long, wicked claws. Nope, in the Zone no one gave my car a second look. However, this close to the yuppies, the high-dollar condos, with all their shiny new BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis, I got a whole shitload of disgusted glares. Which was totally sick. I found a parking spot between two gleaming SUVs and took it. When I got out, my door smacked against the burgundy one hard enough that it left a scuff mark. I was 25

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genuinely surprised it didn't set the car alarm off. I didn't bother locking the doors, not that I could have locked them even if I'd wanted to. I'd long ago lost the keys to the ignition and had to resort to using a screwdriver to start it. Besides, the radio was crap and not worth taking. As for the rest of the car? Looking at the dents, the big rust marks showing through the black primer, and the cracked front and rear windshields, if someone actually took the shitty little Neon they'd be doing me a favor. Then I'd have an excuse to go out and get another even more disgusting tin can on wheels, just to see the look on people's faces. At the door I punched in the security code to let myself in. The apartment was on the second floor, one bedroom and one bath: your typical, overpriced downtown walk-in closet. Like all the other units in the area, the luxury hole-in-the-wall was the end result of some rich real estate tycoon's attempt to better the neighborhood by buying up all the old factories and turning them into weekend hangouts for the millionaires who think they're getting down and dirty with the homeless by hanging out here. There are no homeless around here, by the way. No, they'd been humanely relocated to a more suitable section of town. Most students stayed in the dorm. But unfortunately, the dorms just weren't an option for me. Okay, technically the dorm was an option for me until two weeks into the first semester. See, I got myself banned from campus housing for attempting to do one of those "do not do 26

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this at home" Myth Busters experiments. Apparently, even my parents couldn't woo the Dean into overlooking that one. But seriously? How the hell was I to know those Black Cats would pack such a punch? If I hadn't of been so high, I might not have put so many in the steel pipe or at least lit the steel pipe outside. The fact I set my half of the room on fire and took out most of the exterior wall was an honest-to-God accident. I have to admit, I don't know what my parents pulled to keep me enrolled, especially since the Tech bigwigs were throwing around words like "terroristic threat" and "menace to society." I was allowed to stay only after I agreed my illustrious presence would not be left on campus before nine a.m. and after five p.m. Which is fine with me, seeing I hate mornings. After that happened, you'd have thought asking about the apartment would have spurned some instinct for selfpreservation on their part. But it didn't. Maybe they really hated the neighbors? To top it off, my parents didn't even blanch when I told them I painted the walls black, which I didn't. Only because Peter asked me not to. He said when I did it to our dorm room, it made him feel claustrophobic, not to mention it played hell with the lighting. Pete didn't have to stay with me in the apartment. The bigwigs at Tech knew the fire wasn't his fault. Nah. Unlike me, Peter was born a good kid. The most risque thing he'd ever done was eat Pop Rocks and drink a diet soda. Which of course, made him throw up. 27

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See, Peter stayed with me because he's my friend and he loves me. That's what he said. And while that's true, I'm pretty sure he also knew he's the only one who had the remotest chance of keeping me out of trouble, or at least prison. Another reason I spent most of my time in the Gray Zone. There, as long as you don't take what isn't yours, most people ignore your existence. And in the Dens, in the Pit, Atlanta's hottest all-you-can-fuck nightclub, they wouldn't give a shit if I set myself on fire and offered up bits and pieces for barbeque. Considering the place is crawling with Kin, they'd probably enjoy it. I never brought my extracurricular activities back here either because Peter likes his quiet and he had to study. So aside from the band posters I tacked up on my side of the bedroom, the place was pretty much his abode. You know, it really shouldn't have surprised me that my parental units said yes about letting me use the apartment. I mean, it's not like they've ever told me no before. No, my parents are all into that new age, hippy, be-one-with-yourinner-child shit. Encouragement, not discouragement. Personally, I really wished they'd taken the time to beat my ass as a kid. If it had just been me, I would have never asked about utilizing their luxury hole in the wall. But Peter would have never let me sleep under a bridge alone. And since I wouldn't let him sleep under a bridge at all... 28

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I have to admit, sometimes I wondered why my parents even had me. It sure as hell wasn't to complete the family unit. Maybe they thought they had something to add to the gene pool? That together they could create some super genius offspring who would go on to become President, solve world hunger, and bring peace to the nations. Too bad they got me instead. Probably why they never tried again. I let myself in the door, and the living room furniture was there to greet me. Big screen TV, overstuffed leather couch, shiny heartwood pine furniture that was almost as glossy as the shiny heartwood pine floor. The furniture came with the place. If I'd decorated, everything would have been black. Or red. And made of material that could be washed off by taking a hose to it. I walked over to the bedroom door, which was closed, so I knocked. "Peter?" "Yeah..." I took Peter's response as an okay to come in, so I did. Unlike the living room, the bedroom isn't small. Nope, it's nothing short of huge with wide glass windows framing the cityscape and a bathroom to die for. There was more room in this part of the apartment than the living room and kitchen combined. It's why we shared it. Peter was on his bed, dressed in a nice T-shirt, some carpenter jeans and a pair of argyle socks. It's his thing I guess, to wear socks like that. Like my thing is piercing everything I had and putting red and black streaks in my platinum hair. 29

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His eyes stayed on the ceiling and I stayed near the door. "You okay?" He shrugged. Then he blinked. And I noticed there was a high gloss shine to the skin under his eyes. One hand was tucked behind his head, the other fumbled with the hem of his shirt. I walked over even though he didn't invite me to do that either and plopped down in the space next to him. Even in a twin size bed, we both fit. I reached over and took his hand, and his fingers slipped between mine. We said nothing for a really long time. Just me and him. Like old times. When his parents were fighting and my parents were making love not war. Finally, Peter asked, "How many people did he send it to?" I didn't know an exact number, which was probably a good thing. Seeing how pissed off I already was. "Terry, Shelly, and Danny for sure." And the jocks at the table, but they'd been sharing a phone. Probably Mark's phone. So I didn't mention it. No need to pour gas on an already raging inferno. "Yeah, Shelly sent me a text right before I called you. I knew about her. She didn't say anything about Terry or Danny." Peter took a breath. It sounded enough like a sob that it made my heart ache for him. "Do you think Danny and Terry will ever talk to me again?" "Who the fuck cares?" Oops. "Sorry ... I mean..." Yeah, I meant exactly what I said. Who the fuck cares what Danny or Terry or anyone thought? It was a shitty thing to do to Peter. A really shitty thing to do. "I'm probably going to lose my scholarship over this." 30

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Yeah, well, over my dead, maggot-ridden body maybe. I'd pay his tuition if it came down to that. My parents didn't have to know what I did with my money. They gave it to me with no strings attached, after all. Going back on my declaration to never touch that bank account might sting a bit, but I'd get over it. For Peter I'd get over anything. "Don't worry about the stupid scholarship. Anyone with two brain cells can see you were under the influence." This time he snorted. A classic Peter snort. One that emphasized he'd figured out the riddle five minutes ago. But then Peter is smart, genuinely smart. Me? I do good to remember my own name. Unlike me, Peter was born with brains and the common sense to use them. Once upon a time I might have been born with brains, but I'd been doing such a good job of killing off my gray matter, I was often surprised I knew the days of the week. As for the common sense part? Yeah. Right. Just look at the kind of stupid shit I did. Peter closed his eyes for a moment, and his mouth thinned out. He has the best mouth with full lips. Just enough to give it a pout. It matches the rest of his face—round, sweet, kind. Perfect. "Would you believe me if I told you that wasn't me in the video?" I thought about that for a minute. Yeah, if he wanted me to, I'd believe him. I'd force my brain to shift gears, swallow down the lie. Fucking choke on it if I had to. Of course, if Peter wanted me to believe he was the President of the United States, I'd be just as willing. 31

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Hell, it might have even been easier. But then, I'd do anything for Peter. See, he commands me by the invisible strings tied around my heart ... and my dick. He just didn't know it. Or maybe he did, and he was just too good to use it to manipulate me with. It dawned on me then what he was saying or trying to say. "Look Pete, if you were rufied, it's normal to not remember anything." Yeah, normal. Because I had personal experience with its amnesia aftertaste. Not because I ever rufied anyone, but because there were times I'd dropped a few of my own free will. Sometimes even I did things I didn't want to have nightmares about. "You were rufied right? I mean, you didn't just get drunk and..." Damn myself to hell, but if he had just gotten drunk or stoned of his own free will, I was going to be totally jealous. And to make matters worse, my phone wouldn't even display the wank fodder for future reference. I deserved to burn in hell for that thought alone. But I'd get off first. At least a dozen times if not more. Maybe the Nokia store down on the corner could switch my Sim card into a new cell. Would I lose the video? I had to try. Hell. Me. Definitely. Peter's eyes came back open. "It wasn't me, D." I propped up on an elbow so I could look at him, stare into those beautiful brown eyes of his, and see if he really believed what he was saying. Which he did. Shit. I pulled up Pete's hand and pressed it to my cheek. His grip tightened, and I could feel him trembling. No tears 32

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though. Not my Peter. He was stronger than a lot of people gave him credit for. In a small voice he added, "I'd hoped you'd be able to tell it wasn't me." I blinked. Thing is, I did believe it was him. Fuck, and I still believed it was him. And Peter obviously thought it wasn't. He saw the look on my face and shook his head. "I swear, Darwin, it wasn't me. I was here last night. All night. I didn't go out, I studied, I worked on my exam paper. Hell, I even looked at some Internet porn." He laughed, but it trickled off way too fast. Peter took another breath, a deep one, and I laid there thinking about everything he said. "You're serious?" "Yeah..." His long lashes fluttered against his cheek again as he closed his eyes. Just like his mouth, they're perfect, too. I flopped back over and stared at the stucco ceiling. Peter said it wasn't him. He'd been here, studying. Okay, that made me feel slightly better about the wank fodder thoughts. I pulled out my cell phone, then remembered I couldn't view the video. "Where's your phone?" He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to me. I sat up so I could work the damn thing. Peter likes texting, and his phone had lots and lots and lots of buttons. I found the clip. Played it. Watched it. Studied the fucking thing. The fact I didn't spring wood was a plus. 33

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Just like before, the camera angle was off, grainy, and close and far away at varying intervals like the person working the thing didn't want the subject to know it was there. Or maybe they'd done it to make it look that way. When it ended, I played it again. The guy in the video had blue eyes. Blue? How the fuck did I miss that before? "It's not you." God, I sounded relieved, really relieved. "Holy shit, Peter, that guy, could be your twin except..." Wank fodder thoughts side railed me again. For a split second I wondered if old Marky Mark had gotten the dude's name and number. Better yet, would he give it to me? If I couldn't have Peter, I could at least live the fantasy right? Apparently, Tolbert had. Lucky bastard. Peter jabbed me in the hip with his finger. "I told you..." Yeah, he did. I felt like a total asshole. I watched it again. This time I noticed a mole on the guy's chin, and Peter didn't have a mole. He had freckles. Small dark ones smattered across his nose and cheeks. His naturally tanned skin almost erased them. "What am I gonna do, D?" "It's not you." What did he need to do? "Plain as day, it's not you, Peter." "But you thought it was." "So?" "If you thought it was me, so will everyone else." I opened my mouth to deny that statement, but the words never made it out. He was right. Goddamned me, he was so right. To make matters worse, I even knew Peter, and I'd 34

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been ready to believe he'd gone to some party, gotten drunk, stoned, or rufied and given a blowjob. Or forced to give one ... whatever. Yeah, now I really felt like a complete dick. Worse than that, it would be a lot easier for others to believe it was him. Hell, the way Human nature was, they'd want to believe it. The really sad part? I think a little part of me wanted to believe it, too. That way he wouldn't be so perfect. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three Like he'd read my mind, Peter turned those big brown eyes on me. Even though he didn't say a word, I saw the hurt in their chocolate depths. My chest tightened, but I refused to cry. Not only would crying smear my eyeliner, but I would've totally ruined my badass, emotionally detached image. Instead, I laid back down beside him and picked at a curl threatening to slide into his eyes. I pushed it back, taking my time to align it with a few others. Like everything else, Peter also has perfect hair, thick, brown curls with a tinge of gold and red. In the summer it gets some really nice highlights, giving him a total beach bum look. And that totally gets me off. But then everything about him does. "I'll fix it." Just like always, I spoke without thinking first. I wasn't sure how to fix this other than to keep it from going any further. And according to Tolbert there was more, and he was willing to play as dirty as he had to. Which meant he'd send it to every cell phone number he could get a hold of. Not to mention posting it on the Internet. Even though the guy in the video wasn't Peter, and even if I could convince the world it wasn't Peter, the idea of it being him would hurt him. And I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let Peter get hurt. "How are you gonna fix this, D?" 36

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"Don't worry about the details. I just will. I promise." This time my tone was different. It not only sounded different in my head, it felt different in my heart. Not just because I meant it—because I always mean what I say to Peter—but because I knew the repercussions of my actions. Arson was a big thing. As in Felony big. And that meant jail time in more than the drunk tank. "D, please don't ... don't do anything..." Stupid. That's what he wanted to say. Stupid like burning up Tolbert's car, the stupid thing I'd already done that dragged Peter into this mess. The fact that this was all my fault hit me in the chest like a ton of bricks. God, sometimes I really hated myself. Really, really hated myself. If I wasn't such a coward, I would have tossed my ass off the top of the Westin years ago. So much for not crying. It was only one tear, though. But unfortunately Peter saw it. He caught it on his thumb and frowned. "D..." "I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't mean for this to happen. Or for you to get hurt. I'll make it right. Just trust me. I'll make it right." "What are you talking about?" Peter touched my cheek. I would've rather had him touch me somewhere else, but that was fantasyland and I knew it. Besides, he was too good for me. I'd ruin him. Totally ruin him. Hell, I'd already put his education, his scholarship, his public image, in dire jeopardy ... and I hadn't even so much as kissed him yet. 37

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See, this is exactly why I could never figure out why we were still friends. Because of me his life was way more difficult than it had to be. I sighed. "Mark wants me to confess to setting his car on fire." Peter made a face. "You set his car on fire?" Oh, shit. I'd forgotten about how I'd neglected to inform Peter about that small detail. Like everyone else on campus, he didn't know. No, the only ones who knew for sure were me and Marky Mark. Because I made sure he knew. That way I'd be able to gloat and leer and be a general pain in the ass about it. I stared at Peter's shirt collar so I didn't have to look him in the eye. "Yeah, uh, about that..." "You set his car on fire?" The tone he used made me wince. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was sad. "Jesus, D. Why the hell..." Peter flopped over on his back and covered his eyes. "Because of the cat. You did it because he put the dead cat in my locker." "And ruined your shoes." That cat had been three days dead at least, probably scraped out of the road, and its insides had melted all over Peter's favorite shoes. It'd been bad enough he had to toss out two pairs of socks, his jeans, and the shirt I'd given him for his birthday, but the shoes had been a gift from his older brother. And James was dead. Pete tried to pull off losing the shoes as being no big deal. But it was a big deal. See, James and him hadn't been particularly close. Mostly that was James's fault. He had a problem with the idea of having a gay brother. James, being 38

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ten years older, thought that it was all a phase Peter would outgrow. Yeah, a phase. One he started when he was nine and at twenty-three was still going strong. Most of their fights were because James kept trying to set Pete up on blind dates. With girls. Which of course would tick Peter off. Not only did he not go for anyone with two X chromosomes, he didn't go for anyone but me. Telling James that was impossible, and it always led to a fight. Then their mother would get involved and she would cry, and Peter would have to listen while his father read him the riot act. When James got engaged, everything calmed down. Over the last two years Pete and him had been trying to patch things up. As a peace offering, James gave Pete a nice pair of Birkenstock loafers for his birthday. And then a week later he'd died in a car crash. I knew Peter really wanted to save those shoes no matter what, but there was just no getting the smell or bloodstains out of the leather. Trust me, I tried. Peter didn't know, but I dumpster dived them out of the back alley and took them to a shoe shop. But the damage was done. No matter how much I'd been willing to pay, they said getting them clean was impossible because the suede was so porous. Although going by the look on Peter's face at the moment, no matter how much he loved those shoes, it was obvious the idea of me setting fire to a car over them was so not worth it. But it was more than just the shoes. That's what I wanted to tell him. Only I lost my nerve. 39

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Instead I said, "Don't look at me like that." He sighed, and I was close enough to feel his breath on my lips and taste the Altoids he'd eaten on my tongue. "Please, don't Pete..." "D..." "It was stupid, I know that ... I'm sorry, I didn't think..." I swallowed. Twice. "I didn't think he'd up the ante." "We're talking about Mark Tolbert." Yeah. We were. I should have known damn well he'd up the ante. Triple it. I scrubbed my bangs out of my eyes and said, "I should have just killed the fucker." "D!" Peter gaped at me. Damn. I didn't mean to say that out loud either. Really I didn't. "I mean..." "I heard what you meant." "He hurt you." "It was a dead cat in my locker and a pair of shoes for Christ's sake." "And a black eye. And a busted lip." "A bruise. And the busted lip was nothing more than a scratch." Lucky for Marky Mark that's all it was. "Just let it go. He's still suspended from playing." "For another semester, then he's back on the team." A punishment that wasn't even worth the paperwork it had been written on. I could have thought of far more fitting punishments. They involved matches and lots of flammable liquids. 40

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"Please, D. Let it go." Peter took the cell phone that was still clutched in my hand and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he held my wrist, played with my fingers, kissed the back of my knuckles. His lips on my skin—God—my nuts suddenly felt spring loaded. "I need a cigarette." But I was fresh out. Unless... I felt around my inside pocket and found a half-crushed pack of Camel filter frees. They were the most dangerous ones I could buy at the little store on the corner. Aside from rolling up an arsenic dooby, they were the quickest ride to lung cancer I could find. "Don't smoke..." "I'll go outside." I never smoked inside anyhow. I didn't want him to inhale it. Peter snatched the pack out my hand and threw it off the edge of the bed before I could stop him. "I mean, don't smoke at all." Okay. Sure. Now what did I do? Peter had my hand again. Maybe with any luck he wouldn't kiss it again. Or maybe he would and the power surge would go straight to my heart instead of my nuts and kill me dead on the spot. To tell the truth, I couldn't think of a better way to die. Peter's grip tightened. "Why'd you do it, D?" He was asking about the car. The goddamned car. I knew why, so I shrugged. He didn't need to hear how I'd done it for him. How I'd done it because he was too good and kind to do it himself. How Tolbert deserved to hurt and hurt bad. See, I knew Pete would never agree with my dark train of thoughts. 41

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Peter brushed my knuckles against his lips, and I went back to staring at his shirt collar. "You'll go to jail if you admit to it." I nodded. Yeah. Yeah, I would. "But if I don't, he'll post that shit everywhere." And people would believe it was Peter. Chaste-as-fresh-snow Peter. Always-tells-the-truth Peter. Trustworthy, noble, and good Peter. And then he'd lose his scholarship, and his parents would be angry, and his dead brother would probably roll over in his grave. They'd blame it on the fact he was gay. And they blamed that on me. Like it was my fault he'd been born wired that way. Worst of all, he'd hurt. And I would've rather died first. Pete sighed again, it was less dramatic. This time it sounded more like ... relief? "You know, maybe I don't care." I blinked, and then I looked up. There were tears in Peter's eyes, real tears. "Oh, shit, don't do that. Jesus, Peter..." I tried to brush them off his face and he laughed and held my other hand with the first. He shrugged, then he shook his head. "I don't care, D." "You don't care about what?" "The scholarship. My parents. What people think." He should. He needed to. There were only three metaphysical science scholarships awarded each year, and so far, Peter had gone to Tech for two years fully funded. Metaphysical science was expensive. The lab fees alone put most people in the poor house. I was able to afford the class because my parents practically shit Benjamins. 42

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Unlike normal people, they owned property coast to coast and business interests worldwide. To be honest, I'm not even sure what they did. They had degrees—doctorates in something—but I'd never really given those fancy pieces of paper hanging on the walls at home much of a look. But then, I never gave them much of a look either. Not to mention I hadn't been home since I was fourteen. Nope, Peter's parents weren't made of greenbacks like mine. They worked blue collar jobs, his dad a welder, his mom a nurse. Peter's only chance of getting into the metaphysics program had been his upstanding behavior and his grades. The grades weren't a problem, but the upstanding citizen part, well now, thanks to me that'd been thoroughly trashed. But the metaphysics department had to be picky. The students they chose as recipients were allowed into sensitive government facilities for research purposes. On top of that, they made trips to the White House to represent those pushing for funding. And seeing that good old Bill wasn't in office any more, I seriously doubted anyone would appreciate the artistic expression in that video. Peter kissed both my knuckles this time and rubbed his chin back and forth over my hands. "Promise me you won't turn yourself in?" He kissed my fingers next. "No matter what. No matter what people say, no matter what they believe, even if they drop me from the program." "Why?" My voice cracked, and I tried to swallow but couldn't. I heard what Peter was asking me, but I still didn't believe it. "Why would you ask me to do that, Peter?" 43

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He laid his head back on the pillow. His brown eyes seemed darker now, like chips of obsidian. I wanted to fall in there and drown. "I've been thinking a lot lately." His thumb moved over the back of my hand. "How life is short, how sometimes in pursuit of things you think are important, you overlook what makes life worthwhile." His thumb pressed against the palms of my hands and made circles. "I've been so caught in trying to get this stupid degree, meet all the requirements for this stupid scholarship, that I haven't really thought about the important things. Like you." "But this is important. The scholarship, the classes, they're all important to you, too." And boy, were they. I'd spent hours helping him study when we were in high school. The qualifying exams were a nightmare and while Peter is smart, there's only so much the Human brain can take. Still, he did it. Not only did he do it, but he scored in the top ninetyseventh percentile. But there had been a lot of sleepless nights for him, a lot of frustrations and a shitload of selfdoubt. But Peter had done it. And he'd been so proud of himself. I'd been so proud of him. And best of all, his parents had to let up on the tight leash they had on him so he could move to Atlanta and cash in on the scholarship. Getting into Tech and away from them was one of the best things that could have happened to Peter. He was healthy here, happy, and not ashamed of who he was. Peter's thumb stopped moving and he stared at me. Really stared. All the way to my soul, I think. I wondered if there 44

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was anything left or if it was as dried and shriveled as it felt. Pete must have seen something he liked because he smiled. "Have I told you how much I love you?" My heart stopped for a second, then resumed off kilter and all fluttery. "You tell me every day." And he did. And I told him. And because we weren't having sex, it wasn't one of those climactic declarations either. It was sincere. Fucking hurt too much to not be sincere. "How much do you love me, D?" Now there was a new twist. I wondered for a split second or two if it was some kind of trick. Then I remembered this was Peter, and he didn't do tricks. At least not the dirty, cruel kind. "More than anything." God, I said that out loud, too. But I didn't regret it. Not at all. More than that, I meant it. And seeing how it made Peter blush, made it oh-so-worth-it. "D?" "Yeah." "What if I told you I don't want to wait anymore?" For the second time today, my brain tripped and fell. This time, it broke both ankles and at least a leg. It didn't get up either. It just laid there, twitching. "Wha..." Like I said ... brain ... not ... working. "What if I told you I didn't want to wait anymore?" Peter there was repeating himself and I was blinking. I think the blinking was my attempt to jump start my frontal lobe, but it was DOA. At least for the moment. "D?" 45

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I was still there. Just inches away. Physically, at least. Mentally, I was on a serious hiatus. Replaying, again and again, what I thought Peter was telling me. What I thought, because with the way my brain was wired, there was no way in hell I could've heard him right. He didn't want to wait. He wanted to know how much I loved him. He was holding my hands and kissing my knuckles. Oh-my-fucking-God. No way. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four I'd just decided the entire conversation I'd had with Peter was a figment of my imagination when he said, "I wish I'd let you, then." "Then?" I made a face. "You know, that one time, when..." Oh, THEN ... that time when I was, what? Fourteen? And I'd discovered my dick was capable of far more interesting things than just aiming a stream of piss. Of course, I thought Peter's dick was twice as interesting which is why I'd tried to feel him up while we were sharing a sleeping bag on a camping trip. Peter should have punched me, kicked me in the ass or better yet, the teeth. But instead he'd just taken my hand and held it and told me no, because he was saving himself. Actually his words were "waiting for the right time." Of course, my comeback to that had been, "what better time than now?" But then he had put my hand back where it belonged, rolled over, and went back to sleep. I didn't. As soon as I knew he was out, I'd gone to find some privacy. Three below and the risk of bears was far less scary than letting him down. So I'd gotten off and gotten myself under control. Two weeks later I lost my virginity to the neighbor's pool boy after smoking my first joint. And today, I couldn't even remember his name. Course I'd been thinking about Pete the whole 47

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time, wishing it was him plowing my ass and not some blond haired, blue-eyed, Speedo-wearing cabana boy. Peter knew when it happened because I'd told him. And I didn't do it to brag, I did it because I felt guilty. See, he has strength where I don't. I think the fact he didn't get mad at me made it all that much worse. I lied to myself and said I wouldn't do it again. But of course, I did. Over and over again. Now I wish I hadn't. God, I wished I hadn't. I wished I'd been strong like Peter and saved myself for the right time. This being the right time. Peter moved so close that my fists were crushed between us. I felt his thighs brushing mine and his sock-covered toes touched the tops of my shitkickers. "Make love to me, Darwin." God, I was right. And I didn't want to be right. Okay, yeah, I did want to be right, but why couldn't this have happened six, almost seven years ago, when I was fourteen and he was sixteen and I hadn't yet tried my damndest to fuck my life over? An earthquake started up in my lip but I still refused to cry. "This is just some aftereffect, you know, like shock. You don't really mean that, you don't..." Fuck me but he did. I'd have to be blind not to of seen it in his face. Maybe seeing a video of himself, not himself, had caused him a mental break? Nah. Maybe it had caused me to have a mental break, and this was nothing but a big, fat gay hallucination. Or would that be bi because I swing both ways? 48

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The palm of Peter's hand pressed against my chest. My heart slammed into my ribs and promptly did a happy dance. I stared at him because not staring wasn't an option, that and I'm pretty sure my eyelids had fused in the open position. Looking at him made blinking overrated anyhow. In that moment, I saw something in his gaze. There was love, devotion; there was his innocence, but there was something else, too. And that something was solemn and dark and agonizing. I'd never seen that look in his gaze before. Or maybe I'd been too stoned, drunk, or selfabsorbed to notice. 'Cause I was pretty sure whatever it was had been there long enough for him to learn how to tuck it back down inside. "What's wrong, Pete?" His smile stayed the same but his eyes didn't. "I'm sorry." "About what?" "About..." Peter swallowed and now he was staring at my shirt collar. "What are you not telling me, Peter?" Okay, if he changed his story and told me the video was of him, with contacts, I was totally gonna lose it. After I creamed my shorts of course. "It's nothing." Bullshit. It was a big enough something that even riding the buzz of an all-nighter I saw it. I opened my mouth to tell him as much, and he pressed his lips to mine. Oh, fuck me. Peter was kissing me. Not just kissing me but KISSING me. Capital letters, glitter, trumpet sounds. When he pulled away, I made a sad little noise. If my dick had been capable of noise, it would have made sad sounds, too. 49

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Thank God it wasn't, or that motherfucker would have never shut up. "D?" "Nnnggg." I think that was my attempt at yes, yeah, sure... "Make love to me ... please." Please. Polite Peter. Always polite. I told myself this was my one big chance to step up to the plate. My one big chance to do the right thing. To be a man. To be unselfish. To think about someone else besides what was going on in my trousers. And it was. God, this was my one big chance to be the kind of person Peter was. Yeah, right, who was I kidding? Peter wanted to have sex with me. If it was the aftereffects of shock, a bump on the head, or a fucking brain tumor I didn't give a shit because this was the one thing I'd dreamed about since I discovered I liked him. No. Not liked him. Loved him. I'd been what? Twelve? I touched his cheek, swept my hand along his jaw, and slid my fingers deep into his thick curls. He sighed, and it sounded like it came from somewhere around his ankles. I drew him closer and pressed my mouth to his, pushed my tongue between his lips, and swept the inside of his mouth. God, he tasted wonderful. Altoids, Cornflakes, and Peter. My other hand got a little ambitious and started for his fly, but I managed to redirect it to his shirt. It wasn't tucked in so it was easy to move up and out of the way. His skin was hot under my fingertips, soft, with a hint of a happy trail that ran 50

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from the hem of his jeans, across his navel, and turned so thin and delicate between his pecs. A pleased sound came out of his throat, and his tongue pushed mine out of the way and invaded my mouth. I opened for him, let him explore me, touch the barbell in my tongue, the hoops on my lips. I think he liked those or maybe it was just the way they felt because he pulled back enough to nip at my lips where they were pierced. Peter's hands moved, hesitant, as they made their way under my shirt. Fingertips trailed up my stomach to my chest. He tried to push my shirt higher to take it off, but I still had the duster on. "Take off your coat." Somehow I shrugged out of the thing, one arm at a time. Peter pushed my shirt up and over my head. His wandering hands found my nipple rings and he gave them a little twist. Which of course went straight to my dick. I made that sound again, wordless and helpless. Peter laughed. "You like that." Not a question. "Fuck, yeah." He gave the right one a tug. I grunted, and my hips rolled forward, close enough that I could feel his erection through his jeans, against mine in my skaters. Peter seemed to really like the idea that a little pain made me hard as steel. He tugged at the left one next. Which instead of just a hip roll, made me grab his ass and roll over him. My mouth went to his neck and his hands buried in my hair. Not just buried but twisted up in my heavy locks. Since I wear it long and shaggy, there was more than enough for him 51

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to grab hold of. His legs opened up, but we were still dressed. I didn't want to be dressed any more, I wanted him naked and screaming my name while I fucked him. The collar of his shirt ripped because instead of pulling up I yanked down. The sound of that fabric tearing was like being backhanded by reality. And I needed to be slapped. Hell, I needed a punch to the head. "Shit..." "It's okay." "I didn't mean to." I tried to push the pieces of material back together but of course it was useless. "Damn ... Pete..." He laughed and wiggled under me. His hands moved off of me and between us. My dirty mind was thinking something raunchy, but he was only stripping off his shirt. Suddenly, we were chest to chest, which was incredible. Then his hands went to my pants and he undid my button, my zipper. The reality of the situation dawned on me. I blinked. "You sure about this?" Pete didn't stop. He shoved my pants down to my hips, leaving only my black boxers behind to cover my ass. Then he slid his hands on the inside, first across my cheeks, then a clumsy attempt to get between us, but we were crushed together thanks to my weight. "I've never been so sure about something in my life." "You don't have to." I could not believe I was saying this. Neither could my dick. That whole talking thing? Yeah, I was really glad that at the moment, the only part of my body capable of conversation was my mouth. Peter squeezed my ass cheeks. "I know. I know I don't." 52

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"I'd still love you." Forever. No matter what. Until I drew my last breath. I couldn't say it out loud, but I did my damndest to say it with my eyes. "I know you would, D." He kissed my chin, and I wished I'd shaved. I didn't want him to get stubble burn on his lips. Pete's skin was smooth, but then he shaved twice a day, even when he didn't need it. His lips moved to my neck, my collarbone, he sucked at the skin there until it ached. "Harder." I wanted the biggest, baddest hickey he could give me. Peter obliged, and I groaned. "Take off your shoes." Peter pushed at my pants some more along with my boxers. "D, take your shoes off, I can't get your pants off with them on." Actually, he could, these were skaters, the legs were wide, and I'd fucked people in my Demonias before. The crassbastard part of me was all for it. Nothing like a sweet ride while wearing knee-high buckle ups. But since Pete wanted them gone... I pulled a leg up and fumbled with the buckles. To get the other one I had to roll over onto my back. Peter undid his jeans, pulled them down. I froze, eyes glued on the pup tent in his boxers. He slid off his socks. "Your other boot, D." Right, the shoes. My boots hit the floor with a heavy thud. I was still on my back when Peter rolled on his side and threw a leg over mine. I wrapped an arm around his back, urged him closer, or maybe just urged him to hump my hip. God, so beautiful. I 53

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thumbed his bottom lip, stroked his cheek. He caught my hand and kissed my palm. "You want to do it now?" Want to what? Oh, yeah, the grand finale. "Not yet." His right eyebrow cocked and I stared at him some more. "What are you thinking about?" Him, how perfect he was. How he was my best friend. How much I loved him. "D?" I leaned forward and caught his mouth. This way I didn't have to explain myself, how bad I'd wanted this, for oh-solong. And now that I had him, nothing else would ever be good enough: Human, Kin, Lesser-Bred. Even if we only had this moment, this one time, I was okay with that. Even if after we were done, he never wanted to talk to me again, see me again, I could die a happy man. With some pushing I got his boxers down around his hips. He had to shove them the rest of the way off so he could straddle me. I really liked Pete on top. And I mean, really, really liked it. I ran my hands down his ribs, his hips, his thighs. Perfect, so damn perfect. "I want to suck you off." His eyes went big, and I wondered if maybe I should have worded that differently, but to be honest I didn't have a clue as to how I could say it any better. Peter moved to get off me, and I grabbed his hips. "I want you on top. I want you to fuck my mouth." The blush in his cheeks went bright, but his cock also jumped. Precum leaked against my navel. "I'm not sure... I mean..." Yeah, he had no clue as to how to position himself. I'm sure that's what he was trying to say. That was okay. I knew. 54

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"Put your hands on the headboard." Peter still looked unsure, but he did as I said. "Spread your thighs." He did, and I moved down until his knees were planted on either side of my head. Peter made this incredible surprised yelp when I sucked his cockhead into my mouth. A yelp that mellowed out into a moan, then some deep gasps. I slid my hands up his ass and encouraged him to thrust. It didn't take much to convince him I wouldn't break. Since Pete didn't have any piercings, there was nothing to feel but smooth skin, the flare of his cock, the thick vein that ran underneath. He felt perfect in my mouth, filling me up until I couldn't breathe when he went deep. I could have gone forever swallowing him down, sucking him deep, feathering my fingers up his ass crack, but I think we'd only been going at it for five minutes when Peter said, "D..." His voice was breathy, broken and when I looked up his eyes were closed. "D ... I'm gonna..." I made a sound, a hum, and sucked him harder, pushed him into my mouth faster. "D, I don't want you to have to ... swallow ... D..." Yeah, well, I wanted to swallow. His butt pushed against my hands, and he almost went back far enough to pull out. I locked my elbows under his thighs, forced him forward, deeper, and latched my mouth on to him like my life depended on it. Peter barked a cry, threw back his head, losing all his control to the moment. He moaned, and his entire body shuddered as he crescendoed with a string of "oh Gods" and 55

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my name. And I thought I'd loved the way he said my name before. Fuck, yeah... One more deep thrust and the heat of his cum coated the back of my throat. I swallowed and I could taste him. His thrusting went shallow and jerky as I milked him for everything he had. And goddamn it, I still wanted more. Above me Peter sagged, his head fell between his shoulders, and his hands on the headboard were the only thing keeping him up. A drop of sweat ran down his nose and dripped off to land on my forehead. I still had him in my mouth when he opened his eyes. "God ... Darwin..." I mumphed in agreement. This time when he pulled away, I let him. But not having him in my mouth felt like I was missing a critical part of my body. Like an arm or both legs or maybe even my heart. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five Peter moved down beside me and his hands went straight for my cock. It was jutting proudly out of the top of my boxers. I guess it was trying to give me a hint. He brushed the underside of the head with his thumb and petted me through the fabric. The sweat beading on his skin had turned his bangs a deep black bronze and plastered them to his forehead. I pushed the hair out of his eyes. "What about you?" I shook my head. I couldn't talk. Hell, I didn't need to talk. I just needed him. His taste on the back of my tongue, the feel his body next to mine. I pulled Pete closer and inhaled his scent. Old spice, Human sweat, male... Against my ear, Peter whispered. "D, I want you." His breath tickled my cheek and his teeth nipped my earlobe. "Inside me, D, I want to feel you..." I squeezed harder, inhaled deeper. Peter moved and his mouth found mine again, he showered my lips in small kisses, tongued my piercings. "Please don't tell me no. Not now. Please, D." A stronger, less selfish man would have told him no. I am so not that man. I threw a hand back looking for my duster, when I couldn't find it I had to turn around. It was on the floor next to the bed. Behind me Peter said, "I've got ... stuff..." 57

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While I struggled to find the side pocket in my coat, I heard him open the drawer to his bedside table. Peter actually had a bedside table where I had a milk crate. That way I could just shove stuff in it and not have to actually put forth the effort to open a drawer. I found a pocket, then a condom, under lots of trash, and the joints. When I sat back up he was holding out a small clear bottle. I made a face and Peter said, "It's ... you know ... lubricant." Then I blinked. "You have lubricant?" After all, what the hell did he need it for? "Jesus, D. I'm not that much of a prude. I've been known to indulge in a few hand jobs on occasion." Christ, I had to open my mouth to breathe. Common sense told me I should have known that. Hell, he was only Human. Not to mention, by his own confession he looked at Internet porn. I think it was the visual that popped into my head. The idea of his hand on his cock, pumping for all it was worth, with his head thrown back, his lips parted. My hand shook as I used my teeth to tear open the condom. "No condom." I paused. Then I shook my head. "I can't do that, Peter." "Seriously, D." "No... Seriously. I've been..." With a lot of people. Not always safe. "When was the last time you were tested?" 58

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"Two weeks ago, but that..." I went to roll it on, and he stopped me. "Darwin..." My name was like some magical command. I froze. Pete's fingers pulled at my hand, and I surrendered to him. He pushed the condom off the edge of the bed along with my coat. "I know you hang out in the Zone and the Pit. And I know you ... you usually go with the Lesser-Breds. And they're safe." But sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I did Humans, too. Peter was right. Lesser-Breds couldn't catch Human diseases, aside from colds, and nothing a Human had could hurt them. But what if I did have something, what if I gave it to Peter? I didn't give a shit about me, but him? God, him? I would rather die than give him so much as a heat rash. "Please ... D." Peter deserved better. Someone who had saved themselves. Been patient. Not me. A guy who fucked anything that moved. And sometimes didn't. That's what I wanted to tell him, but "Okay" fell out of my mouth instead. When Peter lay back down, I went with him. He pushed at my boxers again, and I lifted a hip so he could slide them off. My cock landed against his thigh, and he ran a hesitant hand up the length of it. Then he looked down. "You're pierced." Yeah, the tip and two rings in my sack near the base. Like I said, he had his argyle socks and I had my thing about sticking myself with metal. His forefinger and thumb tugged at the barbell at my tip. The grunt was totally on accident, I swear. 59

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"You really like that." And he said "really" with a capital R. "Yeah." "Didn't it hurt? Getting them?" "Oh, yeah." "But you did it anyhow. Why doesn't that surprise me? You do lots of things that hurt you." Also not a question. A statement. And what a statement. I'd always wondered if Peter knew. I guess he did. Before I could reply, before I could tell him it was worth it, Peter kissed me, and his thumb pressed against that barbell and my world went white around the edges. "I never meant to hurt you, D." No, he hadn't. And I'd never complained. Honestly, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Until now, now that I had this chance. And looking back, all the agony to get to this moment was just a small, insignificant price to pay. There was the hollow pop of a lid being flicked off, then cold, wet, and slick drizzled over my dick. Peter's hand wrapped around it at the same time, and he gave me a few experimental strokes. He pushed the lubricant into my free hand. "Do it, Darwin. Please." Yeah, yeah. Okay. I nodded. Peter watched me squeeze a blob into my palm. I capped the bottle and slid it under his pillow. His hand still moved on my cock, not enough to bring me, but it was enough to make me ache, and it was obviously getting him off. He rolled his hips forward and lined himself up. He made an attempt to 60

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wrap his fingers around both of us. A move he'd no doubt seen online but one that was harder to pull off in real life and without practice. I pulled his leg up over my hip and slid my lube slick fingers around to his ass crack. His eyes widened as I made a wet trail down to his entrance. Again I hesitated. The little bit of my conscience still alive ranted and raved its disapproval. But then my selfishness made a quick meal of it. I pushed my thumb in and Peter gasped. "You okay?" He nodded, but there was tension around his eyes. "It's gonna hurt. At first." "I know." I twisted my hand, and his breath hissed. "Relax." Another nod. I pulled out my thumb, pushed in a finger. This time he groaned and pushed back against me. I encouraged him to ride my finger before attempting another. Which he did. Eyes half-lidded, his cheeks flushed, his lips wet and open while he exhaled small gasps of pleasure. I could have watched Pete all day doing this. "We still don't have go all the way..." I said it, but I didn't mean it. I mean, I would stop if he wanted me to, but... Peter gritted his teeth and said, "Shut up..." So I did. I pushed in the second finger, and he moaned. The sound was followed up by a strange animal-like noise ticking out of his throat. "Oh, hell, D ... that's..." His head fell back and I attacked his throat. Kisses, bites, and sucking his flesh. He 61

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forgot about getting us off and went to bouncing on my fingers. Yeah, he was totally made for this. I twisted my grip again, hit his sweet spot, and he barked out my name. "You ready?" I didn't wait for Peter to answer me. I pushed him over, jacked up his leg. My fingers were still in him, angled this way I could push them even deeper. "D ... God ... D!" Peter's hands scrabbled over my back, finally settling on my shoulders. I pulled out my fingers, and it was his turn to make a sad sound. But I had my cockhead breaching his opening before his body had a chance to dwell on the loss. Peter's legs came up higher, wrapped around my waist, his heels dug into my ass. I think the kicks and nudges were to spur me on. Thing is, I did not need to be spurred. Trust me. It was taking everything I had to hold back. "More..." Peter let go of my shoulders and grabbed my hips. "More, D ... please..." "Shhh..." I needed to concentrate. I did not want to just start pounding him. Granted I didn't have the biggest dick in the world, but it was more than two fingers and Peter wasn't exactly an old pro. Slow but sure, I made my way in, until suddenly I was sheathed in him and he was sucking in air like a dying man. I curled over Peter, pulled back, rode forward and he bit off a cry. Again, slow, he was still clenching too tight. He was into this, but he was also new. I got a hand between us, tweaked his nipple. That made him forget about his ass for a split 62

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second. Unfortunately, he decided that what was good for the goose was good for the gander. Peter twisted my nipple ring hard enough that my hips popped forward. I grunted and so did he. "Like that, D. Just like that." He did it again. Holy, shit it was like he had a remote control to my hips. When I tried to slow, he'd give me a twist. "Fuck ... Peter ... please ... I don't want to..." Hurt you. But that last part was lost in a long agonizing groan as he really let me have it. This time a combo titty twister and yanking on my bottom lip. Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I rode back and thrust forward hard enough that Peter's eyes rolled up and his mouth fell open. And once I got started, there was no turning back. I fucked him, hard, fast, until he was doing it ... the it being screaming my name. Over the years I'd dreamed about this moment. Not that I really ever expected it to happen. But in that dream, I was total porn star material; bringing Peter over and over, bringing myself over and over. Complete with cheesy lines, like "you're so tight, you're so hot, suck me, baby." From both of us. But in the end, there were no words of encouragement, no compliment on size or tightness, just me sobbing into his ear, chanting over and over. "I love you, Peter. I love you." To be continued... The End 63

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About the Author: I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia and I've been writing and drawing since I could hold a crayon. My first dragon crush was Pete's Dragon. I was three, and he was, well, a cartoon. But I was hooked—a dragonholic. Then I moved on to bigger, badder, scarier beasties. Dahlonega, Georgia is my home and I'm hard at work on new novels featuring the Kin, the Lesser Breds, the Humans and the rest of the residents of Atlanta, Georgia. Enjoy your time in the City of Dragons, and remember: don't wander into the Gray Zone after dark.

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