Mission Touchdown

Mission: Touchdown Mary Winter All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2008 Mary Winter

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ISBN: 978-1-59596-950-7

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Changeling Press LLC

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www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Katriena Knights

Cover Artist: Karen Fox

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Mission: Touchdown Mary Winter Van’s torn between going back to law school to finish his degree or staying on as a partner in The Fantastic Five. He loves restoring old action figures, and the one he’s working on is special. He finishes the work, wishing the decision before him was as easy as the football games he used to play. When he’s awakened in the middle of the night, instead of the intruder he expected, he finds his action figure has come to life and brought with him a whole new set of complications. Brice knows the key to Van’s decision lies inside him. All he has to do is follow his heart. But getting a lawyer to trust his emotions is about as easy as making first down on fourth and twenty. It’s a mission Brice will gladly accept. Because once the pass is completed, it’s an easy touchdown.

Prologue The tug of a distant memory kept the revving of the Jeep’s engine and the gunfire from sounding too sharp. Holding his weapon at the ready, Brice watched his buddy Sawyer hang out the window, shooting at the insurgents. The man’s yells and cries mingled with the screams from wounded soldiers and the rat-a-tat of machine guns. Justifiable homicide was what they were committing, and his mind couldn’t stop trying to wrap itself around the fact that anywhere but the battlefield their actions would be illegal. Next to him, Talon fired out the window. Most of the insurgents came from the right side of the road, and unless he wanted to sit his ass on the edge of the window and fire over the top there was no way he was getting off a clean shot. The building before them rumbled. A flash burst from the windows and doors, sending chunks of debris into the air. “Hang on!” Mack yelled. He cranked the wheel to the left, sending the Jeep skittering across the road. “Damn it.” Brice twisted in his seat. Pointing his rifle out the window, he got several quick shots off at the insurgents racing toward them. Mack gunned the engine, backing up just enough to swerve around a pile of rubble. “Shoot ’em, brainiac!” he yelled to Brice. “Bastard!” Brice muttered good-naturedly under his breath. Just because he vaguely remembered studying at Yale in a former life. Twisting, he fired several shots, dropping at least two of the insurgents and wounding two more. He swiveled, his thoughts only on the men popping up like demented whack-a-moles in some sadistic game and dropping them before they could do any more damage.

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“Oh hell --” An explosion ripped off the end of Mack’s sentence. The Jeep swerved, careening up on two wheels before dropping back down to all four. Somewhere, glass shattered, a shard catching Brice in the cheek. “Fuck,” he muttered at the hot drip of blood over his skin. A second explosion, this one stronger than the first, rattled the Jeep. It flew into the air, almost like someone throwing a ball, then hovered top-down for a moment. This is it. The final battle. Other memories of exploding grenades and guerilla fighters superimposed onto the upside-down view of the world. The Jeep began to fall. Slow at first, completely unlike the way gravity usually worked, then faster, until they seemed to tumble end-over-end. At last they hit. The world spun so hard Brice had no clue if they were up or down. His stomach lurched. He fired out the window, just in case, and waited for the world to right itself. Smoke surrounded the Jeep. He heard nothing but the roaring of the blood in his ears. Muttered curses broke through. He thought he heard Mack shouting to report. Brice opened his mouth. And spat out blood. No, he wouldn’t be reporting anytime soon. His foot ached and damn if his guts didn’t feel as if he’d been torn in half. He tried to croak out some response and failed. He glanced around. Talon sat stunned in the back, looking at him, reaching for him. He didn’t move, couldn’t really. Sawyer sat twisted like he’d been pulled apart. And Mack, their damn leader, just kept barking orders like they were invincible or something. He lifted his leg, the pain in his abs keeping him from moving it more than a few inches. “My foot,” he groaned. “Brice?” Talon asked again. He rested his head against the back of the seat, the scent of burning rubber and dust slowly clearing the air. Whatever the damn mission had been, they’d failed. He knew it. The men in the Jeep knew it. They’d failed. He was a soldier in need of repair

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and a new mission. Darkness threatened to tug him under. Mack had blessedly gone silent. Sawyer groaned. Talon looked like he’d lost his battle with consciousness. “Brice out,” he groaned and gave into the lure of nothing.

*** If his stomach hadn’t felt like someone had used his intestines for clotheslines, Brice might have stood. Instead, he leaned against the wall and stifled a groan. Low smoke, or maybe fog, hovered over the ground, just high enough so he couldn’t see his legs below the knees. From the way his ankle had hurt like a sonofabitch, that was probably a good thing. He shifted position and a new stab of pain shot through his leg. Yeah, better to sit here and wait than try to stand, salute or something. From the empty room he surmised the battle was over. He didn’t think they’d won. That would piss Mack off royally, but at least he wasn’t here to curse a blue streak. Sawyer would ask when they’d go out again. Talon would look all heroic and thoughtful, and then do whatever Mack ordered. And he, well, he’d do what he was ordered too, even though he always thought he could be somewhere else. Like on a football field. Another flash of memory, as elusive as all the ones that had come before, skittered through his mind. “You’ll remember soon enough.” The deep, baritone voice sounded like it came from everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. From the mists materialized an old man, gray hair and beard like a biblical character, wearing a white robe. “The Toymaker?” Brice arched an eyebrow. “That’s me. You’re the last of your squad, the toughest one to find an assignment for.” “So the others have been here?” Brice struggled not to squirm under the Toymaker’s direct gaze. Brice knew he hadn’t believed in the divine, not when he’d been human -- he’d been human? -- or as a toy. He held out his hand, clenched and released his fingers, and resisted the urge to check behind the fly of his fatigues. If he were human, his dick sure wouldn’t feel like molded plastic.

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Logic. It had sent him from law school and a football scholarship to the military. Supposedly just to play, but when fighting had broken out in the former Yugoslavia and he’d seen people suffering at the hands of a war criminal he’d had to do something. So he’d gone… and paid the ultimate price. More memories surfaced, quickly batted away. “See, I told you that you’d start to remember.” The Toymaker laughed. It didn’t sound cheery. Neither were the memories flooding Brice’s mind. He closed his eyes, rubbing the palms of his hands against his head as if to drown out his human history. His knee ached, a reminder of an old football injury. His body told him he wasn’t as young as he used to be -- except he was a toy. Brice’s eyes snapped open. He was a toy. That was his reality as he knew it. “So the other guys have been here?” There, force his attention back to what was happening right now. That was the only thing that mattered, not what might have happened years ago. “Yeah, they’ve been here, and they were as stubborn as you.” The Toymaker crossed his arms over his chest. “But that’s okay. If you’re lucky, you’ll be seeing them soon. Of course, your injuries are worse than the others’. They were in one piece.” Brice grabbed his abdomen, doubling over with the memory of searing pain. Not in one piece? He started to lift his fatigues, his hands stilling halfway up. No, if he were broken in half, he didn’t want to see it. Let him live with the illusion he was whole -- he already carried the illusion he was alive. “So I’m a broken toy?” Brice laughed self-mockingly. Hadn’t his father told him if he played football he’d end up with bad knees and a bad back? When he’d enlisted in the military, his father had told him that he’d come home shot up -- or worse. And he had. “So.” He shrugged. Somehow he’d gone from being dead to this. Surely this Toymaker could put him back together again. “You’re different from your friends. I think you’ll be an interesting challenge.” “Tell me something I don’t already know.” Brice shoved a lock of hair off his forehead and grinned. Mack lived for the military, the structure, the discipline. Sawyer

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loved the adrenaline. Talon wanted to be a hero. And he, well, he’d gone for the glory and stayed for the guts. So he would be able to prove his father wrong. Yeah, that turned out damned well. He shifted position, careful to keep his torso aligned in case he was going to fall apart in a heap on the floor or something. “You said you had a mission for me. What is it?” “If I told you, that’d take all the fun out of it. Suffice to say you may get to see your friends again, and you’ll meet someone as peculiar as you are.” That didn’t sound like a good thing, but considering his position, Brice wasn’t about to argue. “So you’ll just dump me in and let me figure it out on my own. Nice.” He nodded. “I think you’re smart enough to do all right. Just remember, it isn’t about how many passes you make or how many yards you gain. In the end it’s about how many touchdowns you make.” The Toymaker echoed his father’s words, and a chill shot down Brice’s spine. “According to you I’m broken. Why would you send me to play football?” Brice arched an eyebrow. Didn’t sound like he was getting a level playing field. “Oh, you’ll be playing with balls all right.” The Toymaker cackled and with an arched eyebrow disappeared into nothingness. “But I have a plastic --” Darkness cut off Brice’s words. As he drifted into oblivion, he hoped that when he woke, he wouldn’t have to finish that sentence.

Chapter One Perched on a stool, a law book open on the table beside him, Van rummaged through the plastic container holding the civilian action figure clothes. Frankly, he had no idea why the hell he was back here, except he’d helped his buddies get legal papers for their lovers and he wanted in on the action too. Van snorted. He had other things to think about, like whether he could return to college and continue working for The Fantastic Five. Whether his friends would think he’d deserted them, if he couldn’t do both things and chose college over them. He found and discarded at least four pairs of khaki pants. Didn’t anyone make jeans that fit the larger twelve-inch action figures? He might have to scour the online auction sites again to rebuild their stock. Apparently, his friends’ lovers were repairing action figures at a record pace. Probably hoping to bring more of their friends back to life. A flash of yellow spandex at the bottom of the box caught his attention. Pulling out the pants, he realized they were part of a football uniform. Hey, now that might have possibilities. Looking at the broken brown-haired figure on the bench beside him, he could easily see the toy in a sports uniform. Van dug a bit deeper in the box and came up with a set of shoulder pads and a uniform shirt. “Guess you’re going to be a football player,” Van said, laughing at the fact that he spoke to the plastic man. Even if he came alive -- and from where Van sat that was a huge if -- he had too many things going on to add a lover to the mix. Though it sure would be nice to feel a man’s touch, if he wanted that, he could go to any number of college bars in town. Surely some young law student would want a bit of tutoring and could come up with payment. Van grinned as he grabbed a second bin full of accessories. If he went back to college, maybe he’d have a love life.

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He lifted a football and helmet from the bin, finding a pair of hip pads shortly thereafter. A pair of cleats from the plastic box holding shoes, and the guy’s uniform would be complete. It’d be nice to wear a uniform again. Van shook his head. That voice wasn’t his. It sounded different, like opposing counsel standing across the room talking to him during a trial. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples. Too much thinking, not enough action. Maybe he should just get out of here and go do something. He stared at the football outfit sitting on the bench next to him. Even though the figure was obviously broken, he dressed it, careful to keep the body from falling into its two pieces. He slid the helmet over the toy’s brown hair. There, nearly perfect. This figure needed this uniform. Van had no idea how he knew that, or where the thought had come from. Looking at the toy, dressed in the white and gold football uniform, Van knew that this figure had been built for this role. Too bad they didn’t have any use for it in their campaign, but they were a comic shop, not a sports collectible one. And besides, Hugh had Talon, who seemed destined to become The Fantastic Five’s exclusive model. “Now if you were real, I could totally handle that.” Van grinned, already imagining the figure brought to life, shirtless, his hip pads poking up from beneath his spandex pants. Van would kneel between the man’s spread thighs, tracing the contours of his abs and obliques. The drawstring tantalized him, inviting Van to tug it and open the pants. Rising onto his knees, he’d trace the man’s jaw, then draw his head down to his. Van’s cock hardened with the thought. He bit back a groan thinking about the tangle of tongues and the stroke of fingers against flesh. A tug at the drawstring, unhooking the pads, and an adjustment of sports equipment, and he could cup the man’s cock in his hands. He’d palm it, stroking him from base to tip, then back again, pausing only to capture the bead of moisture emerging from the tip.

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Somehow they’d manage to stand, and stumble, kissing and groping, to the shower. There, they’d take turns soaping each other, paying attention to the bruises and sore muscles a full-contact game like football could leave behind. Then, in the empty locker room, he’d drop to his knees and take the man’s cock into his mouth. Van’s breath shuddered. The salty taste of the man’s pre-come would fill his mouth, just like his balls would provide a nice handful. Reaching behind them, Van would tease the sensitive skin until the man moaned, the sound echoing with the running water in the empty shower room. Yeah, that’d be nice. The voice startled Van out of his reverie. Damn, he must really be losing it if he was hearing things. He looked down at the figure, barely aware that he still held it, his thumb working across the seam where he’d taped the torso onto the hips. Poor guy. Whatever had happened to him, it must have been bad to rip him in half like that. Van had no idea if he could fix him, but he sure was going to try. Yeah, he’d try. Out of all the turmoil these last few months, trying to decide if going back to college to finish his degree was really worth it, something about putting this broken toy back together was like a metaphor for his own life. A knock on the doorframe interrupted Van’s musings. He put the action figure down on the table, then swiveled to face the door. Adrian stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets. He took in the toy, looking from it to Van, then back again. “Everything okay? You’ve been hiding back here all day. It’s not like you not to come out and mingle with the customers.” Adrian strolled into the room. “A football player, huh?” Trust Adrian’s keen eyes not to miss a thing. “Yeah. Found the uniform in our stash, though it looks like we’ll have to scour the auction sites to see what we can find.” Van pushed the stool away from the table, though he knew that the physical distance couldn’t separate him from his thoughts.

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“You missed a good movie last night. I thought it was one you’d said you wanted to see.” Adrian grabbed a rolling stool and pulled it out from beneath a table. He sat down. “This isn’t getting to you, is it?” “What?” Van asked, though he knew good and well to what Adrian referred. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind. I’m very happy for you guys, and I’m glad that I could help. Besides, I’d hate to try to explain why we have undocumented workers at the shop. That would be something that not even my legal wiles could get us out of.” He grinned and hoped Adrian couldn’t see through the façade. Adrian narrowed his gaze. “Okay. I just don’t want you to turn into a hermit or something. You never did work with the figures much.” Don’t say it. Don’t tell me that someone will come along eventually. He’d always thrown himself into his work. Law school had taken up nearly twenty-three hours of every day. When he’d decided to focus on the shop, he’d delved into the legalities of starting and running a business, and then there was all the work that came with running the shop. Just because he hadn’t had a steady lover since his football days didn’t mean he didn’t want one. And Van sure as hell didn’t believe in fate. Adrian gave him a quizzical look. “The guys are worried about you and so am I.” “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just fine.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue. “I hope so,” Adrian said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he stood and kicked the stool back beneath the table. “I hope so.” With those words, he turned and headed out of the workroom. The bell above the door rang. A cheer went up from the front of the store and Van smiled. Apparently the latest delivery had arrived. Thankful to have something not related to action figures or law school on which to focus, he followed Adrian out front. Perhaps there’d be a new comic he could drown himself in for a few hours. If nothing else, the guys’ enthusiasm was infectious and watching them go through the box was like watching kids on Christmas morning. Except around here, that came every week.

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Several large boxes sat in various stages of unpacking, brown kraft paper crumpled on the floor beside them. He kicked a large wad aside to peer into the closest box. Heavy, hardback role-playing game books filled the box. Van grabbed the preorder binder from beneath the counter and flipped it open. “We can do that later. Look what just came in.” Talon pulled a large package out of a box. Plastic crinkled as he set the remote control robot on the table. “It’s the latest virtual pet.” He spun the box in his arms, showing a bulldog type figure dressed in armor. “Let’s open it.” Van glanced at Adrian, not remembering how many they’d ordered. “What’s the book say?” Adrian jerked his head toward Van. “Can’t open it if we have orders waiting.” “Didn’t you order extra?” Talon pouted and put the toy back down on the counter. Hugh wrapped his arms around Talon’s waist, pulling the man against him. “Don’t worry. We can play with other remote controls later.” He leaned forward and sucked on Talon’s earlobe. Van flipped through the pages, so not wanting to hear about any remote controls when it came to his friends’ sex lives. He ran his finger down the page, noting that business seemed to have picked up since Talon became the shop’s official spokesperson. He glanced over at Talon and Hugh, still nuzzling behind the counter. A pang of sadness stabbed through him. He knew as his friends received lovers that something special was happening. Mack claimed there was one more coming. Except he hadn’t arrived yet, and frankly Van doubted if he ever would. “How many are in the box?” Van asked in a futile attempt to distract himself. Adrian ruffled the packing slip, smoothing it out on the counter. “Looks like we ordered five.” “Then you’re in luck, Talon. We only have orders for three. I think having a shop version will spur more orders.”

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“Me, too,” Hugh said. He released his lover to grab the box and a mock tussle erupted over who got to be the first to play with the toy. Adrian went over to peer at the order book. “You sure everything’s okay?” he whispered. “You were looking forward to these things arriving. I’m surprised you weren’t out here tearing open boxes.” He touched Van’s back. “Whatever decisions you have to make, just know that the guys and I won’t have a problem.” “Thanks,” Van mumbled. “I think I’m going to head home if you don’t need my help reconciling these preorders.” “Go. Drink a beer, watch a good porn movie, whatever it takes to lift your spirits. Everything will look better in the morning.” Van doubted Adrian’s words, but, not wanting to hurt his friend’s feelings, agreed. Leaving the guys still opening boxes and playing with new inventory, he returned to the back room long enough to grab the action figure, then headed home. Perhaps, if Adrian was right, everything would look better in the morning.

*** “About time you came to me.” The enticing male voice came from in front of him, though the thick steam from the shower made it hard to see. Van blinked and fastened the towel around his waist. “You don’t have to do that. I liked seeing you naked.” The steam cleared enough for Van to see the man sitting on the bench, a towel loosely draped around his hips. Better than anything Van might have imagined, the dream man sat obviously aroused. Van stared. He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, vaguely remembered pizza, beer, and his favorite football movie once he had returned from the shop. Then he’d fallen into bed hoping that Adrian was right about tomorrow being a better day. It seemed his night might be getting better. He reached for the knot in the towel at his waist. If he couldn’t have something like this happen in real life, then he figured it might as well occur in his dreams. And, from the way the man let his towel open, revealing muscled thighs and a thick, hard cock, it was going to be quite the dream.

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The man sat with one foot braced on the bench, his other foot on the floor. Reaching between his legs, he cupped his balls, then stroked his hard shaft. Dark curls surrounded the base, leading to a tapered arrow that led to his navel. A dusting of brown hair covered his chest, creating enticing topography between the man’s pecs. The man’s face, with full, sensuous lips and thick brown hair that begged Van to run his fingers through it, was as gorgeous as his body. Van took an involuntary step forward. His towel fell, sliding to the ground with nary a sound. “Who are you?” He’s a dream man. Don’t ask his name, just fuck him! Van fought against laughing at his mental chastisement. His dick throbbed. Full and hard, it rose so high it nearly touched his navel. He cupped it, tugging on his balls to postpone the release roaring in his blood. “Brice,” the dream man answered. The name suited him. “And I think, Counsel, that you need to suck my dick.” Van stared slack-jawed at him. How did this dream man… that’s right, he was dreaming. Nothing like this could ever happen in real life. He stared at the cock in question, noting the drop of fluid on the tip, the crisp smell of clean man. He strode forward. “You do? What makes you think I want to give you a blow job?” He dropped to one knee, bringing himself nearly eye-level with the magnificent specimen of male flesh. Reaching for it, he stroked his fingers along the underside. The man groaned. “Because you’re hard and your mouth is watering.” Brice cupped his balls, lifting himself toward Van. “You want it. You know you do.” Brice’s confident words shot through Van like a bolt of lightning. With all the indecision in his life, nothing felt so right, so necessary, as sucking Brice’s cock. He continued his slow tracing, fingers working over Brice’s shaft. He palmed it, the weight heavy in his hand. It would be even heavier on his lips. Slowly, never breaking eye contact with Brice, he lowered his mouth to the tip of Brice’s cock. The first taste of salt and man rippled over Van’s lips and tongue. He closed his eyes, a moan rumbling from his throat. Above him, Brice tangled his fingers in Van’s hair to hold him there. He didn’t push, didn’t demand Van take all of him, and Van

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used the opportunity to toy with the end of Brice’s shaft. He tongued the slit, drawing forth more drops of pre-come, then laved the underside of the head. The tiny knot of nerves begged for attention, and as he caressed it with his tongue, he reached between Brice’s legs. Van forgot all about his own hard-on. Instead, he focused on the man sitting on the bench in front of him, the cock he shifted ever deeper into his mouth and the feel of the sac he held in his hands. He palmed it, reaching behind with his fingers to stroke sensitive flesh. Brice’s hips began to move. The man bit back his sounds, as if he were afraid of getting caught. Perhaps that’s what this fantasy was all about, reliving those harried college days where he’d taken his pleasure where, and when, he could get it. Van wanted to tell him that it was his dream, he’d make sure no one interrupted them. To do that would mean taking the cock out of his mouth, and now that he had his lips wrapped around the base, Van wasn’t completely sure he wanted to do that. He relaxed his throat and took Brice’s cock deeper. The fingers buried in Van’s hair tightened. Van worked his way down to the tip of Brice’s shaft, spending long moments licking and sucking it before sliding his lips back down to the root. He sucked hard enough to hollow out his cheeks, before using his tongue to play. If he had all the time in the world, this was exactly how he wanted to give his blow jobs. Perhaps, once Brice was satisfied, Van would receive the same treatment. Funny how the world faded away like this. Though his sleeping mind whirled with the decisions he had to make and what seemed like an unnatural fascination for the football-uniform-clad action figure, it was like those things were just a minor buzz, something he could ignore for a while. Brice added a second hand to the first, this time cupping the back of Van’s neck. Gently, he glided Van’s mouth over his shaft, the motion growing ever faster. Van relaxed his muscles, taking Brice deeper into his throat. Low groans echoed from the

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tile. The patter of water from a nearby shower provided a counterpoint to the husky moans. Brice shuddered. Van squeezed his balls, the gentle tugs designed to stave off Brice’s release. “So long. So fucking long,” Brice groaned. Surely not as long as the several months Van had gone without sex, but then there was no time to contemplate because Brice released a long, low groan. Inside Van’s mouth his shaft hardened, lengthened, and then the warm rush of Brice’s seed bathed Van’s throat. He swallowed, making sure he had every last drop before pulling his lips away from Brice’s shaft. At last, he released it, using his thumb to stroke the sensitive flesh just behind the crown. He sat back on his heels, reluctant to stop touching Brice. The man sat there on the bench, legs splayed apart, his cock still half-hard, eyes closed. He breathed through his parted lips. Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes and looked down at Van who sat back on his heels. “That was incredible.” Van grinned. “Not too bad from where I’m at, either.” He reached out, drawn by some irresistible urge to stroke Brice’s cock. Brice captured his wrist, using a short yank to pull Van to his knees, then to his feet. “Stand for me. I want to return the favor.” He scooted down on the bench and grabbed Van’s hips. Gentle tugs brought Van closer until Brice’s warm breath danced across the head of his cock. Van braced his hands on the wall. He leaned forward, dangling his shaft like a prize before Brice’s lips. Thrusting his hips, he brushed Brice’s mouth with the head. He moaned at the briefest of touches. Looking down at Brice’s brown hair, Van wondered why he couldn’t find a man like this in real life. Forget the action figure come to life thing. That was odd -unsettling even -- and the men suited his friends perfectly. Nothing wrong with that. Van just wasn’t sure he wanted to go that route. But someone like Brice -- now if they

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were to meet at the gym or even at a club, that would be something that Van would like. “You think too much,” Brice mumbled. Van jerked. He hadn’t spoken aloud, hadn’t said anything to indicate that his mind was on anything but the blowjob he was about to receive. And yet, somehow, Brice had read his thoughts. It’s a dream, dumbass. “Yeah, keep believing that.” Brice cradled Van’s balls in his palm, testing their weight. Opening his mouth, he took the head of Van’s cock between his heavy lips, gently mouthing it. It is a dream. But he didn’t care. An all too familiar tingling began behind his balls, his hips having to move of their own volition. The warm wetness of Brice’s mouth encircled his cock and drove all coherent thoughts from his mind. Van curled his fingers against the wall, his hips starting a back and forth movement that had his balls tightening. So hot. So good. The things Brice did with his tongue were amazing. Somehow it swiped beneath the crown only to snake over the top, all at the same time. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sucking of his cock. He pumped his hips, one hand dropping down to cup the back of Brice’s hair. The wet, silken strands slid through his fingers. Van wondered what they’d feel like brushing across his chest. Brice fondled the skin behind his balls, one finger walking up to circle his puckered hole. The gentle persuasion of that finger had Van widening his stance. His throat worked, body tense with trying to keep his orgasm at bay. Except it’d been so long. Brice slipped the tip of his finger inside Van. He cried out. His hoarse shout echoed off the walls. His eyelids flew open -And he stared at the red-lit numbers on his clock radio. His panting breaths sounded horribly loud. Kicking at the sheet tangled around his legs, he tried to free

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himself. Sweat dripped between his pectorals and ran in rivulets across his shoulders. He dragged his fingers through his hair, not surprised that it was damp. Shit! He’d awakened before coming. He let loose a string of curses, finally freeing himself from the sheet. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he gripped the base of his erection. Apparently neither his dream self, nor his real one, had gotten off. Grumbling, he stroked his fingers along his length. Something had pulled him from the dream. He didn’t know what. Now that his breathing had slowed he listened for any sounds and heard none. Great. Just great. Not only did he not get an action figure come to life, but he couldn’t even get any release in his dreams. Van flopped back down on his bed and flung his arm over his eyes, his heart not in it anymore. Some guys had all the luck, and some didn’t. He closed his eyes and wondered if his dream man would be waiting.

Chapter Two Someone, or something, rustled down the hall. It sounded like it came from his office, except he’d only been in there long enough to put the action figure on his desk. His home alarm hadn’t sounded. Still, the noise bothered him. Too loud to be a mouse ­ - and frankly, if he had mice he’d better talk to his pest control service -- yet not normal home noises. Something wasn’t right. Reaching beneath the edge of the bed, Van curled his fingers around the rubber grip on his aluminum baseball bat. He set it on his bed long enough to grab a pair of sweats. Tugging them on, he grabbed the bat. He glanced at his cell phone on the nightstand. Maybe he should call the cops. No, if it were something innocent he’d feel pretty stupid. Hefting the bat over his shoulder, he crept toward the door. He paused and listened in the hallway. Normal household noises filtered through the air. The refrigerator whirred, and he heard the air conditioner kick off. Crickets chirped outside. Van frowned. Maybe he’d been hearing things. Papers shuffled inside his office. “Adrian?” Once Van had given his friend a key, told him to come over if he needed anything. Van didn’t mind, but the early hours of the morning seemed a little extreme. If Adrian needed something for the shop, surely he’d call or wait until morning. “Hello?” The sounds stopped. He waited, his heart pounding. The bat sat heavily on his shoulder. He pressed his hand to the wall and, when he didn’t hear anything, turned to go back to his bedroom. Just the consequences of waking up from a crazy-ass dream. Whoever this Brice was, he looked just like the action figure he’d been working with at the shop. Van shook his head. Yeah, and if he opened the door to his den, he’d find Brice there, naked and waiting. He bit back laughter.

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Mission: Touchdown

- 22 -

The thump of something falling to the floor vibrated through the walls. “Shit.” The muttered voice, clearly male, propelled Van forward. He stopped just outside the door, hand on the knob. “Whoever you are, I’m armed,” he called. The creak of his chair -- was the perp sitting down? -- was the only answer. “How did you get in here without tripping the alarms?” No reply. Damn it, this was fucking stupid, standing here waiting to get whacked upside the head by some intruder. Spinning on his heel, he started back toward his cell phone and safety. “Your alarm wasn’t armed.” That voice! Van sagged, and the bat thumped against the drywall. He cursed, afraid he’d punched a hole in the wall. The voice sounded exactly like the man in his dream. He straightened, marching back to his office door. “I always set the alarm.” This was stupid, conversing with an intruder. Turning the doorknob, he flung the door open. “And who the hell are you?” Spinning, he leveled the bat at the man who was sitting behind Van’s desk as if he owned it. A quick glance showed his computer hadn’t been turned on. Nothing appeared out of place or disturbed. A few papers sat on his printer. Those were probably the ones the man had shuffled through. Van focused on the man. “Who are you?” he demanded again. “And how the hell did you get in here?” The man wore a football uniform, odd for a burglar. Even odder that it matched the uniform the action figure wore… Oh, no. Oh, hell, fucking hell, no. Van needed his life simplified, not complicated, and the fact that this guy, from his brown, slightly wavy hair, his deep brown eyes, square jaw, and hard, athletic body looked exactly like the action figure most definitely created complications. “You,” Van growled. “Brice?”

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- 23 -

The man grinned and stretched out his long legs. He wore regular athletic shoes, not cleats, and Van wondered where the heck he’d hidden a wardrobe. The last time he’d seen the action figure it had been wearing cleats and lying on his desk. Van glanced at his blotter. His desk was empty. He shook his head and backed toward the door. “Get out. I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but get out of my house.” He pointed the bat toward the door, then realized what kind of goofy picture he made and leaned it against the wall. “I don’t think you want me to leave.” The intruder leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “And I’m flattered that you remembered my name.” “You showed up uninvited in my home. I have too many things to worry about without some stranger appearing unannounced. I’m going to call my alarm company in the morning and have them send out someone to take a look at my system. Now will you leave or do I have to call the cops?” Hurt flashed across the man’s face. Van steeled himself against it. Between trying to figure out if he could return to college and pursue a law degree or stay and make something with his friends’ shop, he didn’t need the complications a lover offered. Even if he had been hating the fact that he was the last one. At one time he’d been the first person picked for anything -- sex, a game of basketball, mock trail. The fact that he was the only one of his friends without a lover underscored his fears of losing his edge. Which made this decision so difficult for him. Go back to college or stay with his friends at the shop. Either way, a lover had no place in his plans.

*** Brice stared at the man standing across from him. Somehow he’d managed to insert himself into the guy’s dreams, and what a dream it had been. Sitting here in human form made him think about how much he’d like to make that dream a reality. “Van, right?” Brice clasped his hands between his knees, trying to project a casual, friendly appearance.

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Mission: Touchdown

- 24 -

Van’s eyes widened. Wariness filtered back into his gaze, and his hand crept down toward the baseball bat. “How do you know my name?” His voice rasped, and Van rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Damn it, what time is it?” He averted his gaze, searching for the clock hanging on the far wall. “Too early to be awake, probably.” Having been a toy these last several years, or at least he guessed it was several years, his sense of time was out of whack. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” “At least get out of my chair.” If Van wasn’t warming to his presence, he wasn’t kicking him out, either. Wanting to stay in his -- hopefully -- lover’s graces, Brice stood. “All yours.” He crossed the room, switching places with Van. He sat down against the wall, not too far from the baseball bat. Van stared at him, and Brice knew exactly how he felt. One minute fighting for his country, the next he was dead and imprisoned in a plastic body. Sure he lived on, had more adventures, and even formed friendships with the other guys. That wasn’t like being human. Touching. Loving. Brice took the opportunity to study Van. Short, golden hair covered his head. Blond eyebrows formed slashes over eyes a shade of deep blue he’d only seen diving in southeast Asia. Broad shoulders, a muscled chest with a dusting of light hair that arrowed down to disappear behind the waistband of his navy blue sweats. From his bare, masculine feet to the capable hands Brice wanted to feel on his body, Van had the complete package. “It’s happened, hasn’t it?” Van pierced Brice with his stare. “You’re him.” He shook his head and rested his face in his palms. “It’s way too early to be dealing with this, and yet, I’m not going back to bed to leave a stranger in my house.” “I’m not quite a stranger,” Brice countered, getting past the sting of hurt Van’s words evoked. In reality he supposed they were strangers, but in his dream Van had given him one hell of a blowjob. That didn’t seem like a thing strangers did for each other. Of course, in his dream, something had pulled Van away, and Brice suspected it

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was his materializing or whatever really happened here. Brice plucked at the football jersey he wore. He hadn’t worn a football uniform since… well, since college. “No, but I don’t know you, either. Your name is Brice. The man in my dreams is Brice, and I suspect from the way you just showed up out of nowhere that you’re the action figure I was working on, come to life. Which, frankly, kind of freaks me out, even though I watched my friends go through it.” He leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Friends? There’ve been others?” His heart leapt, thinking about Mack, Talon, and Sawyer. “Yeah.” Van raked his fingers through his hair. “If you were the man in my dream, then I’m glad you’re here. The problem is, I have things I’m trying to figure out. No matter how sexy you are, you complicate things.” “Sexy? You think I’m sexy?” “Yeah, I do. But that doesn’t answer my questions or tell me what I’m supposed to do with you.” “I can think of a few things.” Behind Van sat a bookshelf full of thick law books. He didn’t see any degrees hanging on the wall, though those would probably be in his office. Large, old-fashioned comic posters hung between tall shelves. A few figures, still in boxes, sat on shelves. Brice tugged his shirt over his head. “I don’t think that’s wise.” Brice stood and crossed the space between them. Kneeling by Van’s feet, he rested his hand on the man’s thigh. “Why not? Look, it’s early in the morning. I show up out of nowhere. Why don’t we finish the dream? If I remember right, I didn’t get to suck your cock.” He reached for the drawstring at Van’s waist. Beneath the knit fabric, Van’s cock hardened. Van grabbed Brice’s wrist. “This isn’t a dream.” “No, it isn’t. It’s better.” With his free hand, he tugged at the waistband. Beneath his touch, Van’s abs contracted. Deep in his gut, he knew Van needed a distraction from whatever was bothering him. He wouldn’t guess what. He knew he could provide that much-needed relief.

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Mission: Touchdown

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Gently, he slipped the waistband of Van’s sweats down, freeing his cock. Thick and long, it looked even better than it had in his dream. Brice curled his fingers along it, sliding them gently up and down the shaft. Releasing Van’s balls from his sweats, he fondled them. “See, better already.” He leaned forward and licked the tip. Van shuddered. “We shouldn’t.” Even as he spoke, he lifted his hand to tangle his fingers in Brice’s hair. The gentle tugs made it easy for Brice to lean forward and wrap his lips around the head of Van’s cock. He licked and sucked, each husky moan or lift of the man’s hips urging him to take a bit more in his mouth. Oh, yeah, Van needed this more than he probably knew. Brice pulled back, resting the tip of Van’s cock on his lower lip, then slid his mouth forward again. Licking along the underside, he tongued the ridge of the crown. Van’s fingers tightened. “Brice.” Brice flattened his palm on Van’s abdomen. His other hand gently held the man’s balls, and he worked his mouth up and down his shaft. Van curled his fingers into Brice’s shoulder. “No. Wait.” Brice stilled his mouth. “As much as I want you to suck me off, we can’t. Not yet.” Gently, he pushed Brice away. Brice released Van’s cock. It hung before him, hard and wet with saliva, and it took all Brice’s willpower not to lean forward and take the shaft into his mouth again. He wouldn’t. He sensed Van’s need for control, to call the shots. “How much more do you need to know?” Instead of answering, Van stared over his shoulder at a vintage football poster hanging on the wall. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths. He tensed his jaw, fingers curling and relaxing on the arms of the chair. Whatever thoughts ran through Van’s mind, Brice guessed they were heavy ones. He stood, hoping he could give Van some space. He wished he had other clothes. The football uniform, while exactly what Van had dressed him in, seemed too obvious, too over the top. He wished for jeans and a tshirt, something casual and comfortable.

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Mission: Touchdown

- 27 -

“You don’t know what you’ve walked into,” Van said. “Look, I know this is what you’re supposed to do. Some strange destiny for the four of you guys. I heard Mack and Sawyer talking about missions and the Toymaker.” His brow furrowed. “It makes no sense at all to me. You see, I’m probably going to be leaving the gang and heading back to law school. I’m sorry I can’t be the lover it seems you think I was meant to be.” Brice blinked. “Mack? Sawyer? You know the other guys?” He stumbled back, leaning against the wall to keep his bearings. Hell, finding himself in human form once again, he’d thought only of his dream, of the man who had supposedly brought him back. He didn’t think he’d find his friends. And now he had. That kind of changed things, especially if Van were thinking about leaving. “I know them. Mack, Sawyer, and Talon, right? You guys were on some kind of action figure mission?” Van said. “Yeah.” His memory fogged over, leaving him with only bits and pieces. “Well, I hadn’t planned on going into the shop today, and I’m not sure what plans the other guys have, but once it’s a decent hour I’ll call them and see if we can’t all get together. I’m sure you’d like to see them again.” Van shifted in his chair, pulling his sweats back up and tucking in his cock. “I would.” To his surprise, Brice found his voice thick with emotion. A vivid flash of him sitting on the floor at the Toymaker’s thinking about the guys filled his mind. To know that they had become human once more and found partners… well, it was more than he ever dared hope for. “Did they tell you their stories?” “Just enough so I could help them with the paperwork so Adrian wouldn’t get in trouble for hiring illegal aliens.” Van grinned. “I can do the same for you when it comes time for you to work at the shop or wherever you want to.” “Well, yes, I’d want to earn my keep. It’s been years --” Brice glanced at the calendar on Van’s blotter. “Over a decade since I was human. I don’t want to rely on anyone’s charity. So what is the shop?”

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“My friends and I own The Fantastic Five, a comic book shop. On the side, we repair action figures, which is how we encountered you guys.” Brice sensed hesitation in Van’s voice, like he was reciting facts out of a tour book. “Well, I can tell you that I remember studying law at Yale. Money was running short. My dad lost his job and then died a year later. Most of his estate went to pay his bills. I enlisted in the Army, thinking I could come back and finish my degree. That didn’t quite happen.” “We’re both in the same boat, then.” Van shrugged. He lifted his attention from the carpet to Brice’s face. “So would you do it? If you had a chance to go back to college and finish your degree, would you?” “In a heartbeat.” “Even if it meant leaving behind your friends, something that you’ve worked hard to build? Sure, you could come back, but with a degree you could go anywhere, do anything. And being a lawyer pays a lot more than being a partner in a comic shop.” So that was what was going on. Van was struggling with going back to college and feeling like he would be backing out on his friends. Brice knew a little bit about that situation and also knew that he probably shouldn’t give his opinion. Not yet. After all, they hadn’t even known each other for twenty-four hours. He could, however, state the truth. “If they’re really your friends, they’ll want what makes you happy.” “I hope so,” Van muttered. “I hope so.” He looked morose for a moment, then brightened. “You played football for Yale?” “Tight end. Only lasted a year though before my dad passed away. You?” “Wide receiver, but a knee injury took me out.” Van stood. “Let’s go to the living room. I see enough of these four walls during the day, and I can show you some of my stuff.” Oh, Brice wanted to see his stuff, and not just the sports mementos Van was probably talking about. Thankful for the lighter turn in the conversation, though it sounded like Van’s experience had come pretty close to his own, Brice followed Van out of the den.

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Mission: Touchdown

- 29 -

Van’s place was well put together, certainly not the mish-mash of second hand furniture and odd patterns that his apartment had been. The small, two-bedroom home looked perfectly big enough for two. The living room boasted a fireplace with large bookshelves on either side. A dark leather couch and overstuffed chair flanked it, an end table cluttered with college brochures, the latest issues of Sports Illustrated, and a heavy law book. The light on his answering machine blinked, indicating a message. Van ignored it. He went to the shelf, his fingers resting on a large photo album, then stopped. Slowly, he turned to Brice. “You probably didn’t come back to look at my photos. Tell you what, you show me your football scars and I’ll show you mine.” Brice grinned. “Game on.”

Chapter Three Van flexed his biceps and tried to locate the gash he’d gotten in a freak accident when he’d been clipped by another guy’s helmet. Although the scar had faded, it remained as one of the ones he could show off in public. There, along the back of his arm, he found it, though the puckered angry line had softened and faded to nearly white. He went to the couch were Brice lounged and twisted his torso to show him the scars. Brice reached for him. He trailed his fingers over the wound, sliding them back over the oblique muscle. “Not bad. I have one better.” He tugged at his jersey top, pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor. Right along his collarbone ran a faded scar. “Shrapnel.” Van stared at it, the reality of what Brice and the other guys had done for their country. They’d fought and paid the ultimate sacrifice. Thinking about it that way put his situation in perspective. He might have decisions to make, but it wasn’t a big deal after all. “Would it be bad if I said that’s all I got?” Van asked. He could find more scars. There was a mark on his thigh were an ice skate had gotten him during a hockey game he’d played back in high school. A couple of mean-looking scars along his shin from a mountain biking accident. A guy didn’t stay as active as he’d been without getting a few marks. “Chicken?” Brice tugged at the drawstring to his pants. Van stared at Brice’s broad, nearly hairless chest. Van wondered if it came from being an action figure or whether he was naturally smooth. Either way, it provided the perfect canvas for showcasing his muscles and the treasure trail leading to the waistband of his pants. Van licked his lips. He remembered how good Brice had looked

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naked, and blood rushed to his cock. His powerful thighs, full balls, and long shaft had begged for a kiss. Van wanted to make good on the unfulfilled promises from his dream. “Never.” Van shoved his sweats and underwear the floor, kicking them out of the way. “Who’s chicken now?” He put a swagger into his hips. Brice chuckled. He stood, and in a single motion, shoved his pants down. He made a show of rolling them over his calves, then stepping out of each pants leg. Then he straightened and folded the pants before setting them on the floor beside him. “So where are your scars?” Unabashedly, he studied every inch of Van’s body from his shoulders, down to his waist, lingering on his hardening cock, then down to his feet. “Because you look pretty good from where I stand.” Van made a show of thinking. He lifted his foot onto the couch, aware that Brice couldn’t stop looking at his cock. He bent over and ran his fingers over his knee. “I have some nice ones here from surgery.” He turned his leg. Brice stroked his knee. “Very nice.” His hand paused, before caressing the top of Van’s thigh. “But you know I’m not interested in your scars.” With each word, his fingers crept closer to Van’s cock. “I owe you a blowjob.” Brice enunciated every word, making a show of rounding his lips. Van groaned. His cock twitched. He straddled Brice on the couch. “Yeah, you do.” With an arm on either side of Brice’s head, he curled his fingers into the back of the couch. Brice cupped Van’s shaft in his fingers. Just that touch caused a tiny drop of fluid to form at the end of his cock. His balls tightened. Closing his eyes, he drew a ragged breath into his lungs. He tensed his jaw, willing his body to behave. Being touched in a dream was nothing like having Brice in front of him with his lips parted and his fingers stroking the underside of his cock. “Chicken?” Van taunted. He leaned back, angling his shaft even closer to Brice’s mouth. “You know you want to taste it.”

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Mission: Touchdown

- 32 -

“Mmmm,” Brice murmured. He grabbed Van’s ass with his free hand, the fingers of his other curling around the length of Van’s shaft. Then, he leaned forward and took the head of Van’s cock into his mouth. Van groaned. His eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head as wet, warm lips wrapped around his cock. Brice flicked his tongue, tasting the salty bead emerging from the end. He pulled away. “You taste good. Let me have another lick.” He swiped his tongue over the end of Van’s cock. A burst of sensation roared through Van. His entire body jerked, muscles locked rigid, eyes closed at the sheer pleasure of having another man’s mouth on his shaft. He struggled to draw breath, his toes curling into the carpet. His balls tightened. “Oh, God,” he groaned. Van watched Brice lower his mouth once more. Unable to keep from touching him, Van cupped his left hand against Brice’s dark hair. His right hand fell to Brice’s shoulder, fingers curling against the hard muscle there. The sight of Brice taking him into his mouth, working slowly, savoring every inch, made Van lock his knees to keep from toppling over. The exquisite, tender care reminded Van of the way he’d touched the action figure, repairing it, carefully checking to be sure each joint worked correctly. Now, Brice offered him the same treatment. Talk about coming full circle. Brice nestled his lips at the base of Van’s shaft. He sucked, hollowing out his cheeks. Strands of his hair brushed against Van’s stomach, the soft caresses at odds with the hot mouth wrapped around him. Van pumped his hips, unable to resist. The quest for scars became forgotten. His chin slumped forward, so he looked directly at Brice’s head. If Brice’s arrival complicated things, then let them get complicated. Right now, he couldn’t think about school, his decisions, or the shop. His mind centered on how good it felt to have this man sucking him, fingers dancing over his balls and the sensitive skin behind. “I’m going to come.” Van’s voice rasped from his throat. Brice stilled. For a moment, Van thought he might pull away, might let him finish inside his body. Instead, his finger found that place between his balls that always

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set him on edge. His cheeks hollowed out even more, and his tongue stroked Van from base to tip. Van’s hips jerked. He tugged at Brice’s hair, the contrast of Brice’s warm, wet mouth with the cool breeze when Brice pulled away, tightening Van’s balls. His dream had nothing on the real flesh-and-blood man and his marvelous, talented mouth. Damn, if he’d known it was going to be this good, he would have brought an action figure to life sooner. Giddy laughter, quickly stopped, bubbled up in his throat. Now was so not the time. Brice might not understand. “Suck me,” he groaned. “Let me fuck your mouth.” Brice didn’t answer. He couldn’t with Van’s shaft filling his mouth. Instead he tongued Van’s slit, coaxing more drops of pre-cum from the opening. He pulled back long enough to moisten a finger with his mouth, then he resumed sucking him, that slick finger rimming Van’s back entrance. Van’s breathing grew harsh. He struggled to draw air, his cock pistoning into Brice’s mouth. Then Brice relaxed his throat and took him deeper. Too much. His eyes closed. Stiffening, Van tried to stave off the tingling just behind his balls, the one that told him the mind-numbing rush of orgasm was inevitable. Not yet, just let it last another moment… He groaned as he flooded Brice’s mouth with his seed. Wave after wave coursed through him, every muscle in his body going rigid. He struggled to maintain some semblance of reality, to believe that this wasn’t a dream. At last his orgasm started to fade, the pounding waves of release ebbing enough to allow him to open his eyes and see Brice. The man pressed his cheek against Van’s thigh, fingers soft on Van’s buttocks and legs. A tender wave of emotion washed through Van. Reaching down, he cupped Brice’s cheek, holding him. He drew deep breaths. “How long has it been since you’ve topped?”

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Van released Brice to slide to the floor, kneeling before the couch. He rested his hands on Brice’s thighs, loving the way the man’s muscles tensed beneath his touch. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Brice nodded. Van grinned. Here was his chance to give something back to Brice. It wasn’t just payback for the blowjob, though Brice was damn talented in that area. It was something else, a longing he’d seen in Brice’s eyes, an answering need in his own. Funny how his life was in so much chaos, but here, in this moment, his path couldn’t be clearer. He cupped Brice’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across Brice’s lower lip, slick with come and saliva. “You want to?” Brice’s answer was a soft moan. He leaned forward to kiss Van, and together, they tumbled to the carpet.

*** For Brice, giving head was just something he did. A way to get someone off and get his own kicks in return. He hadn’t had actual sex since before the military. Once there, he’d kept his sexuality firmly in the closet, getting enough ribbing for having attended an Ivy League school. They’d joked about his football experience, especially those from other, larger conferences. A knot of emotion choked him, so he did the only thing he could do. Kiss Van. The man opened beneath him, wrapping his arms around Brice as if he never wanted to let go. Their legs tangled. They rolled on the carpet, ending up with Van straddling him, their cocks rubbing together. It felt so good. He plunged his tongue into Van’s mouth, imagining that he would do the same thing with his cock. He pulled away long enough to drag a ragged breath into his lungs, then he kissed Van again. His hands roamed over Van’s chest, fingers flicking over his nipples, then tracing the ridges of his abdominal muscles. His cock tightened, his balls full and heavy. He hoped he’d last long enough to make this good for both of them. Van grabbed Brice’s thighs and pulled him forward. “Let me taste you.”

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Willingly Brice walked forward, dangling his shaft toward Van’s lips. Van made a show of cupping Brice’s balls, then tracing his fingers along the length of Brice’s shaft. He circled the head, smoothing out the tiny drop of liquid that had emerged, before wrapping his lips around the plum crown. A low moan vibrated in Van’s throat and along the length of Brice’s rod. Slowly, so slowly Brice thought he was going to die, Van nibbled on him until he had Brice’s entire cock in his mouth. He licked and sucked, paying special attention to the knot of nerves beneath the head. When Brice’s cock was good and wet, he pulled back and grinned. “Now for the fun part.” Releasing Brice, Van shimmied out from underneath him. He got onto all fours, presenting his hard, muscled ass to Brice. “You want this?” Oh, did he want it. Brice moved forward, flattening his palms on Van’s back. He stroked the muscled skin, dipping beneath to stroke his abs and then circle Van’s cock. He waited, fingers toying with the super-sensitive flesh until he pressed against Van’s opening. The first exquisite relaxing of Van’s muscles nearly did Brice in. He groaned as Van accepted the invasion and relaxed enough to allow the head of Brice’s cock to slide inside. Heat surrounded him. It was too much. And yet, he pressed onward, sheathing himself inside Van’s body. The instant Van’s heat surrounded him, Brice realized what he’d been missing. He sensed it, that piece clicking into place deep inside him. For long moments, he simply savored being deep inside Van’s body. That connection, flesh against flesh, had been missing for so long. And now, he held onto Van’s hips, pinning them together so Van could take his punishing thrusts. He knew nothing about what his friends had experienced. After the explosion and being sent to the Toymaker, Brice remembered nothing else. How long he’d been a toy, he could only guess. Just as he could make assumptions about what might have happened to the others. If they’d experienced a homecoming like this… Brice groaned and sank balls-deep into Van. He could only hope.

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His balls swung forward, brushing against Van’s with every stroke. Brice dipped his head, pressing kisses along the length of Van’s spine. He tasted salty skin, felt the flexing of muscles beneath his fingers. Reaching around Van’s hip, Brice circled his cock, stroking it from base to tip, then back again. He pumped his fist, curling his fingers tightly around Van’s cock. He savored the moments, the skin tightening beneath his touch. He struggled to make it last, but each plunge into Van’s body ratcheted his arousal even higher. He stroked once, twice, tried to stave off his impending orgasm, but it had been too long, and Van was too good. With a groan, Brice came. He shouted, his voice echoing off the walls as he buried his cock deep inside Van. The rush of his orgasm had him panting, eyes closed, battling the urge to fall forward onto Van. He had the presence of mind to keep stroking and curl his fingers to toy with the sensitive place he’d discovered on Van’s cock. Van shuddered. He groaned, coming with hard bucks of his hips. He locked his arms, keeping himself from tumbling to the carpet. He spilled onto Brice’s hand, the liquid making his last few strokes slippery. Van hung his head between his arms. “Damn,” he panted. Reluctantly, Brice released him. He slipped away, his half-hard cock sliding from Van. “Yeah,” Brice agreed. He patted Van on the back as the other man lowered himself to the floor, with Brice right behind. He wanted to say thanks. The gift Van had given him choked him with emotion. A ball-tingling orgasm, the opportunity to top for the first time in a long time -- the gift couldn’t have been greater. Instead, he remained silent, resting next to Van and waiting for the man to make the next move. Van turned to him. Reaching out, he ruffled Brice’s hair. “Something tells me that you know a bit about being pulled in two directions,” he said. Brice nodded. He did. And he suspected Van needed his help.

Chapter Four Looking over at Brice, still naked from their sex, the sweat cooling on his skin, Van swallowed hard, trying to figure out how much to reveal to Brice. He supposed it didn’t matter. Like his friends, Brice had come into Van’s world, and he most likely wouldn’t be leaving. Van had to admit that he didn’t mind. Van grabbed his sweats and pulled them on. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.” He stood, grinning at his still-wobbly knees, and hurried down the hall. They’d have to work on clothing for Brice and an identity most likely. Yet more work for Van the lawyer. He paused in the doorway and raked his fingers through his hair. When he thought about everything he needed to do on the law front, he wondered if he really had a choice. He grabbed a pair of sweats that he hadn’t bothered to fold yet from a basket of clean laundry and hurried back to the living room. He tossed them at Brice. “Thanks.” Brice tugged them on. For a moment, Van regretted giving his lover clothing. There was something to be said for keeping Brice naked and at his bidding. He grinned and sat back down on the couch. Brice joined him, sadly half-clothed, a few moments later. “You still don’t know what to do, huh?” Brice asked. Van’s head snapped around. He hadn’t anticipated being that transparent, or having Brice read his mind so clearly. When Van didn’t answer, Brice spoke again. “You know, I’d like to go back to school. Finish my degree. Probably not Yale. I can’t afford it now, but it’d be nice to finish what I started.” “Yeah.” Van tried to wrap his mind around finding a way to graft Brice’s records onto any new identity he might obtain. Surely the military had reported his death, his

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social security number rendered unusable. “You might have to start all over,” he commented. “I know. I don’t mind. In the end, the degree would still be mine.” Van admitted Brice’s point and admired his persistence. “Yeah, it would.” “You don’t have to start over.” Brice insisted. “But the shop?” Van rubbed the bridge of his nose. The good sex had fried his synapses, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to have this conversation now. Then again, he’d been putting off this conversation for a while. Without Brice, it might never have happened. “What do you do that the guys can’t take care of themselves?” Van glared at Brice. He did a lot. He worked in the shop, sometimes helped out in the back working on action figures. Sometimes he ran game demos or errands. Up until Brice’s question, he honestly thought he helped out greatly, so much so that the guys couldn’t spare him to go back to school. But now, he didn’t know. “No, not that way. I’m sure you do a lot. But think about it -- there’re four guys running a shop, right? What’s your expertise? Do you just work the counter or manage inventory? If you weren’t there would the shop go down?” Van thought for a moment, not liking the conclusions Brice had drawn. With Hugh handling the marketing, and Adrian the financials, he and Dean had pretty much taken over the daily running of the shop. Even then, he’d been pretty lax about working. Maybe he wasn’t as involved in the day-to-day operations of the store as he’d thought. “No,” he mumbled. Brice leaned forward and rested his hand on Van’s knee. “Hey, it’s okay.” Van shrugged him off and bolted to his feet. He wasn’t angry with Brice, just with himself, and the man’s understanding only grated against his sense of selfannoyance. He took deep breaths. He didn’t need to take things out on Brice. Even if the man hadn’t come along when he had, Van figured he would have reached these conclusions on his own. It just would have happened a lot later and with a lot more struggling.

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“I wish it were.” Spinning on his heels, Van turned to face Brice. “I really do. The problem is this just means I could have done things a lot sooner. I could be a real lawyer getting information for your friends.” “And facing real consequences from the Bar Association too.” Brice chuckled. “Look, I could say the same thing. Shit, I was killed in action. Do you know how many years I lost being a damn plastic toy? I could curse God, the Toymaker, whoever the hell runs this universe, for making that happen. It wouldn’t do any good. And besides, the Toymaker has brought me here to you. And now, I can go forward again. Do whatever I want to do. You have that same choice. Don’t bitch about what might have been. Seize what you can today.” He leaned back on the couch and shook his head. “Man, I sound like some philosopher or something. You can tell me to go to hell, you know. I probably deserve it.” Van sank to the couch beside him. “No, you don’t. Tomorrow, I’ll call the guys and have them over. I guess it’s time I talked to them about this.” “Sounds like a plan. If there’s anything I can do…” His words trailed off. Van shook his head. “You’re already doing it, buddy.” He stood. “I have to follow up on some things in my den. You’ll be okay?” Brice grinned. “Of course. You got a weight set?” Van nodded. “Point the way. I’ll entertain myself for a while.” He stood and followed Van to the basement door, disappearing down it. Van stood and watched, not quite sure what he did to deserve someone like Brice. He wasn’t sure. Fighting it had been a mistake. Both in and out of bed, they were damn good together. They weren’t the problem -- the demons in his own mind were. He wished they could be exorcised as easily. His transcripts and college research awaited, so he hurried down the hall.

*** Van tried to see his buddies through Brice’s eyes. Adrian looked a little less buttoned-up today in a worn comic book t-shirt and equally worn jeans. Since they were eating at Adrian and Mack’s place, Adrian went barefoot on the patio. Sitting in a

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lawn chair not far from the grill, Mack propped a cold beer bottle on his leg, his clothes equally grungy, and watched his lover heat the grill. A hint of fall hung in the air, and the smell of another grill a few doors down scented the air with the aroma of cooking meat. Dean and Sawyer stood nearby, both wearing outrageous Bermuda shorts and no shirts. Their flip-flops looked like beach wear, and Van had to chuckle. His friend Dean always looked as if he were about to catch a wave that never would materialize. At least not here in the Midwest. Hugh and Talon looked like cover models, both wearing designer shirts and pants, every crease in place, everything tucked and buttoned. Even their sunglasses had to be designer and expensive. Which left him and Brice. Van supposed they fell somewhere in the middle, not quite ratty casual, but definitely not designer, either. Which made sense even as it frustrated him. Adrian put the platter of burgers on the grill, the hissing of cooking meat filling the air. The conversation had lingered on the preliminaries, though Van sensed the guys wanted to ask more about Brice. For being new to the group, Brice fit in extremely well. He’d chatted with Adrian about the grill, his knowledge fairly recent, and they discussed newer options and fancier extras. He’d helped Mack with the beers, the guys getting along like the old friends they were. Which left Van once again the odd man out. Adrian brought him a plate filled with two thick, juicy burgers and a heap of potato chips, giving him a quizzical look to go along with his meal. “Thanks.” Van forced a smile his churning thoughts didn’t echo. Damn it, he really did think too much. Brice brought his plate to the picnic table where he chatted with Talon and Sawyer. With his work for the comic shop leading to more lucrative modeling opportunities, most of which Talon turned down, it was an interesting juxtaposition for Van’s own situation. “Hey, grumpy. Come join us,” Dean called. He tossed a bottle of ketchup over to the picnic table, narrowly missing Sawyer’s bottle of beer. The ex-action figure yelped in indignation. “Be careful!”

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Dean winked at Sawyer. Van watched them, checking to be sure there weren’t any more flying condiments, and joined his friends, and their lovers, at the huge picnic table. Luckily, Mack and Adrian had bought a second one so now there was room for everybody, if they got really close. “I’m not grumpy,” he said, snatching the bottle of mustard from Adrian’s hand. Brice watched, and Van wanted to tell him that they always ate like this. Except acclimating someone new was always so much fun. “Just more serious than you guys. I’d say you know what I’m talking about, but you’ve never been serious and since Sawyer came along you’re even more laid back. If that’s even possible.” He tossed a teasing grin in the short-clad couple’s direction. “Just because I don’t know how to frown.” Dean deliberately pulled the corners of his lips down into an exaggerated pout. “Uses more muscles than smiling.” Van tossed back the oft-quoted quip. Mack laughed. “Some of us prefer to work out our muscles in the gym.” He sat down next to Adrian. “I’ll let you play macho man later,” Adrian said, in an exaggerated whisper. Brice arched an eyebrow. “Are you guys always like this?” “Usually we’re worse,” Talon said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. No different from the pranks we used to pull. Poor Mack had no idea who kept hiding his rifle, did he?” Mack’s gaze swung around to land on Brice. “It was you? I thought it was Sawyer, and he just wasn’t fessing up.” He leaned back far enough to reach around Adrian and gently smack Brice on the back of the head. “Damn it, that used to piss me off.” The four former action figures laughed, their lovers just sitting there looking bemused. Thinking about the guys as plastic toys… it still boggled Van’s mind, and he’d watched the transformation happen for three of his newfound friends. The boisterousness settled down as eating began in earnest. Van bit into his hamburger,

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finding it perfect as usual. If Adrian didn’t have a way with numbers, he’d have a heck of a career as a cook. Careers. The very reason why he’d suggested this afternoon cookout -- his hope to discuss his own career with Adrian and the guys. Suddenly the hamburger didn’t taste as good. Brice touched his arm. A brief moment of contact that could have been interpreted as an accidental brush, even so it comforted Van. Yeah, he could do this. “Hey, what would you guys think of my going back to college? I’d like to get my law degree. For real this time.” There, he’d said it. The words fell into the middle of the group, stilling hands, and silencing chatter. Van watched Adrian. Their shop had been his idea -- the rest of the guys had been pulled into what turned out to be one heck of an idea. Of course, his law assistance, half-trained as it was, had helped immensely. Van knew Adrian recognized that, and of the three, Van had expected Adrian to understand. “When you thinking about starting?” Dean asked. “We have a big fall push to coincide with the new game system from DiceraTek. It’ll be a huge event.” Adrian remained silent. “I was thinking winter semester. It’s almost too late for fall.” Giving voice to his dream made it feel real and right. “It would be beneficial to have a lawyer on staff. I know what we’ve asked you to do hasn’t been exactly corporate law stuff.” Hugh grinned and lifted his beer bottle. “Whatever makes you happy, buddy. Here’s to it.” Except he wasn’t looking at Van, but at Talon. “International law,” Adrian said, his voice hollow. “Van majored in International law. Corporate law was too boring for him.” Adrian took a long swallow of his beer and slammed it down on the table. Just like that, Van knew how his friends would react, and he didn’t like it. Frankly, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Beneath the table, Brice patted his knee. “Go do what makes you happy,” Brice said.

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“The shop doesn’t make you happy?” The pain in Adrian’s eyes cut Van to the core. In his wildest dreams, he never imagined that his decision would hurt Adrian so badly. Van knew Adrian worried about the shop. He probably wondered how Van’s announcement would affect their business. But the look in his eyes was something akin to betrayal. Van knew Brice had only been trying to help, but for a moment, he wished his lover had never spoken. Now, he weighed his response in his mind. How much to say, or not say, and what would the reactions be this time. He took a bite of his burger, and wished he could blame the bland taste on the fact that it had cooled. No, the discussion had stolen his appetite away. “I didn’t say that,” Van said, aware with each word he probably dug himself a deeper hole. “I’ve been thinking about this a long time. It doesn’t have anything to do with the shop.” “The hell it doesn’t.” Adrian exploded to his feet. He stepped away from the table, away from the startled gazes of those left sitting, and went back to the patio. He spun to face them. “Part of me says that I should be happy for you. That Brice is right, you should do whatever makes you happy. But if you’ve been involved with the shop from the beginning. If you weren’t happy there, then why didn’t you say something?” He shook his head, not giving Van a chance to answer. “Maybe we pushed you too far with this.” He waved his hand at everyone still seated at the tables. “Maybe it was too much.” He sank into a deck chair. Mack started to rise, but Dean and Hugh waved him back into his seat. Adrian’s normally calm exterior didn’t get ruffled very often. When it did, the guys knew to look out and stay low. “What about the rest of you? What do you think?” Van asked. If they all were going to turn on him, better he know now. “Brice is right. You got to do what you got to do,” Mack said. Sawyer, Talon and Hugh nodded.

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“Lots of guys went into the service with half-finished degrees. Most of us would give anything to be able to finish them.” Brice nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry about Adrian. He’ll come around,” Dean said. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Adrian snarled. “What’s this going to do to the shop? You put up most of the capital for it.” And therein lay the reason for Adrian’s anger. Van let the last piece of the puzzle snap back into place. “I’m not going to ask for a buyout. I won’t deny that I’ve thought about it as a way to finance my education, but I wouldn’t do that to you guys. I haven’t really been active at the shop, so if I’m not there, it shouldn’t change much. If you want, you can draw up papers to even make me a silent partner. I trust you not to do anything that would hurt the shop.” Back on legal ground, Van felt much better. Surely with this information in the open, his friends would see that he wouldn’t do anything to the shop. Or so he hoped. Adrian grunted, not exactly encouraging. Of the three of them, he’d poured the most into The Fantastic Five. If it went under, he’d also lose the most. Hugh and Talon had their marketing work. Dean and Sawyer joked that they could always go out on the X-Games circuit or something, maybe try competitive surfing for a while. And, it appeared, he and Brice could go into practice together. Now that was an attractive thought. “What kind of law did you study, Brice?” Van hoped to deflect the conversation from his issues. The rest of the guys started eating again. Brice grinned. “Corporate law. If there’s anything you guys need help with at the shop, I could certainly take a look. Though Van probably knows more than I do. I only got through a few semesters before I enlisted.” “We’ll see what we can do about that.” This time it was Van’s turn to comfort Brice. Heck, if he could get identities for these four guys, probably getting Brice’s transcripts wouldn’t be any big deal. Of course, the credits wouldn’t transfer, but at least Brice would have them.

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Adrian hadn’t returned to the table yet. Van wished his friend would and had a feeling he wouldn’t. And that, Adrian’s stark look of betrayal before he had gone inside, would probably be what stopped him from pursuing his dream. He finished his meal, noticing Brice was also done. “Hey, I think we’re going to head back home. My mind isn’t made up yet, guys. I won’t abandon the store.” There was a chorus of “We know” and a “Hey, don’t worry about Adrian,” from Mack, then Van and Brice headed back home. He’d expected things to be easier once he’d told his friends. Except now, he figured that they were going to get a lot more difficult. And he hoped that, when he finally made his decision, he wouldn’t hurt a whole lot of people in the process, including himself.

Chapter Five Deciding between going back to college or staying at the store was an all or nothing proposition for Van. He’d given the situation a lot of thought, more than just his conversation with his friends over lunch. Once they’d gotten home Brice had gone silent, no doubt thinking about his own college days and the fact that he couldn’t get those classes and credits back. In all of this, that’s what stunk. That Brice, and quite possibly the other guys, had lives that they couldn’t get back now that they were human again. He bent forward, resting his head in his hands. Sweat dripped down his back, the sauna trying to do its job of steaming Van’s cares away. Van licked a salty bead of sweat from his upper lip. One more favor, one more action figure come to life. Somehow, it seemed fitting that the last one would be his. He could tie up the loose ends of his life and then, maybe, actually get on with it. Decision made, best foot forward, and all of that. He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. Yeah, that sounded good. The wooden sauna door opened. Brice stepped inside, wearing just a navy blue towel around his hips. He sat down opposite Van, almost as if he weren’t sure how he would be received. “Feels good in here.” “Yeah, it does. I should head out soon though. Already been in here ten minutes.” Van wiped his forehead with another towel. Installing his pool and sauna was probably one of the more lavish things he’d done to his small bungalow. Heck, it was just him, or it had been. It wasn’t like he needed space, and the small pool and this building set in the back of his property didn’t take up much room. On days like today, when his mind ran a million miles an hour, sitting out here and steaming his thoughts had always worked well. He wished the magic would kick in today, because if he ever needed a mental escape, it was right now.

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“You did the right thing.” Van closed his eyes, not sure he wanted to talk about this right now with Brice. He drew deep, warm breaths into his lungs, waiting several beats before looking at his lover. Brice remained sitting on the bench, hands on his thighs, looking as if he had all the time in the world. Maybe to him, he did. Van expelled his breath with a whoosh. “Maybe I did, but somehow I wonder if the guys see that. I can’t do a fifty-fifty proposition. I’ll stay on as a silent partner if they want me to, but if I go back to school, I’ve got to devote all my time to it.” “Not ‘if.’ When.” Brice’s soft words startled Van. “Huh?” “You said if you go back to school. I think that decision’s already been made, so it’s when you go back to school. Which will probably be this upcoming semester, won’t it?”

Van didn’t reply. Brice feared the silence, because of what lurked beneath it. Doubt. Uncertainty. Gritting his teeth, Brice resisted the urge to push Van on the issue. After the reactions of his friends, right now Van needed understanding and an ear to talk to, not judgment and orders. Brice wished he knew more about this time. Sure, he had been human fairly recently, unlike Mack who’d been an action figure for decades. Still, the passage of time had its effects, and the fact that he had no idea about local colleges or even law school admission requirements irked him. “Yeah. I’d already applied. Right before you showed up I received the acceptance letter. If I turn it down, I’ll blow my shot.” “Then don’t.” “But what about --” Brice stood and crossed the few steps separating them. Kneeling at Van’s feet, he ignored the tempting bulge beneath the towel to focus on something more important --

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Van’s future. There’d be time for the other later. “The guys support you. Sure, Adrian’s pissed right now. Probably because he didn’t see this coming. I haven’t known him that long. He seems like a guy who needs to have everything neat and ordered. I suspect Mack royally messed that up.” Brice grinned, thinking of his commanding officer’s arrival on the scene, the first in a line of new arrivals. “In fact, I bet all of us have kept him, and the others, on edge. It has to be freaky having a plastic toy suddenly become a living flesh and blood man who seems perfectly made for you.” Unable to resist touching Van, Brice stroked the towel draped over Van’s thigh. Van nodded. Although he listened, he looked wary. “Give Adrian some time. He’ll come around. In the meantime, go after your dream. If they’re truly your friends, then they just want to see you happy. Like I do.” Rising, Brice brushed his lips across Van’s. “Is that what you are? A friend?” Brice’s mouth hovered a few scant inches in front of Van’s face. “I’d like to be more. A lot more.” “Good.” And this time, Van closed the distance between them. He cupped Brice’s cheeks, holding the man’s face still for his kiss. The gentle pressure of Van’s lips against his had Brice hard as a rock. Brice moved closer between Van’s thighs. The knot on his towel slipped, the terrycloth fabric dropping to his feet. A quick tug removed Van’s towel, and naked, the two men tumbled to the floor of the sauna. Skin slid across skin, the gentle friction of Van’s abs against Brice’s cock delightfully tormenting. The kiss deepened as Van plunged his tongue into Brice’s mouth. Willingly, Brice accepted it. Now this was the Van he cared for, the man he loved. And whatever it took to make sure Van fulfilled his dream, if it were within Brice’s power, he knew he’d do it.

*** Van tapped his pencil against the desk, listening to his friend rustle papers on the other end of the line. Coming up with this crazy idea would probably be the thing that got his friend disbarred. Sure, creating identities for four people ranked high on the

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list. Except his friend had started in law school and now worked with the feds. If anything, it’s what his buddy did for a living -- creating identities for those who needed to start fresh. And certainly everyone needed to start fresh. “You know if I did this for a client it would be considered sloppy work.” His friend’s gravelly voice was filled with laughter. Even over the phone, he refused to have Van call him by name. “At least your friend took standard courses. It wouldn’t be unbelievable that these two same exact transcripts exist. I bet a lot of people probably dropped from law school at this point.” “Uh huh.” Van kept quiet. He knew his buddy didn’t mean anything by it. Brice had dropped early, certainly not an unusual place to do so. He battened down his natural inclination to defend Brice. Heck, he hadn’t dropped out much later than his lover had. More papers shuffled. “You really want this, huh?” Van laughed. “Yeah.” “So this one is yours?” Van had briefed his friend on the situation and why he needed the IDs. Frankly, after the first one, he was surprised to get the next ID, and the next. Of course, he suspected his friend found this to be a challenge. “Okay, send to the same place?” “Yep.” “Done.” Just like that the conversation ended. Van leaned back in his chair. Just like that, he hoped to help Brice rebuild his life, just like Brice had helped him get his life back together. He grinned like crazy. Hopefully, things were looking up. For both of them.

*** Adrian’s phone call hadn’t bothered Van as much as the way his friend sounded -- worried, hesitant, not unlike his usual straightforward self. Pursing his lips, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. After talking to his friend and getting Brice’s information straightened out, he’d stayed in his den, working on his computer, fiddling

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with schedules. He could have gone out and spent some time with Brice. He’d left his lover looking over the college brochures and information Adrian had amassed. Instead, Van had stayed in his den and waited for Adrian to arrive. The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Van called from his den. He hurried out to the living room where Brice still looked over the brochures. “Any ideas yet?” Brice shrugged. “Still debating. Kind of hurts that none of them are Yale.” Van tossed a smile in his direction. “I know. Trust me, I know.” He opened the door to see Adrian standing there. “Hey, come in. Want something to drink?” “I’m good, thanks.” Adrian stepped inside, greeting Brice. “Mind if we talk in your den?” “No, not at all.” Though he kept his tone light, Van’s stomach fell. If Adrian didn’t want to speak in the open, then this wasn’t going to go well, or so he feared. Van closed the door and led Adrian back to his office, once more taking a seat behind the desk. As soon as they were inside, he closed the door. “I got crazy at the barbeque the other day. Mack kind of talked some sense into me.” Adrian pulled out the chair and sat. He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back. Obviously he was going to be there for a while. “Hey, I don’t blame you. It was probably quite a shock. I haven’t talked about going back to school for a while.” Van battled his rising hope. On one hand, Adrian wouldn’t be here, saying things like this, if he didn’t mean it. On the other, he really had no idea what to expect. “Well, I know things were tough for you when we started the shop. You weren’t happy with your decision to leave school, though it made sense.” “Still does,” Van agreed. “Are you serious about wanting to remain a silent partner? We don’t have the money to buy out your share.” Adrian leaned forward. Clasping his hands, he let them rest between his knees, his brown eyes full of concern. He swallowed hard and sighed. “You may not think you’re a valuable member of the shop, but you are.”

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Van sighed. “Thank you.” He thought for a moment, wondering how to word things. “I’m serious about remaining a silent partner. I helped build the shop. I completely trust you guys to do the right things. My inner lawyer won’t quite let me walk away though.” He grabbed a printout off his printer. He’d been playing with a schedule and timing. Handing the paper to Adrian, he said, “Take a look at this.” Adrian did. He frowned. “Looks like a hefty schedule.” “It is. I’m not doing this halfway. I know I tried that when we started the shop, and it didn’t work. I’m not holding that against you guys. It was my decision to make. This time though, I’m doing it my way. And I want to go back to college full-time to finish my degree.” Adrian set the paper on the edge of Van’s desk. “Well, you have my support. We’re friends. We were before we started the shop, and we’ll still be when this is all over with. And if we don’t see you, well, maybe the guys will have to start up our kidnap parties again.” Van laughed. “I’d almost forgotten about those.” Thinking about Dean and Adrian breaking into his dorm room, taking him out for drinks, made him smile. They’d burst into the library once, making the old, stern librarian nearly have a hissy fit, using noisemakers and beer cans to pry him away from his books. “You’ll have to kidnap Brice, too.” “Really? That’s great.” “Yeah. I was able to get his transcripts to follow his new identity so he won’t have to start over completely.” Adrian stood. “That’s good to hear. Look, I promised Mack I wouldn’t stay out too long. Apparently he has something planned for tonight, so I have to get back. I won’t let you be a stranger. Don’t worry.” “I wasn’t.” Van stood and stepped out from behind the desk. He went to Adrian and wrapped him in a hug. “I’m glad you stopped by.” He clapped his friend on the back before stepping back. “Really glad.” “Me, too.” Adrian stepped away and opened the door.

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Van scooped the papers off his desk before following Adrian to the living room. He found Brice still sitting on the couch, leafing through brochures. It only took a few moments longer before Adrian left, and then Van seated himself on the couch. Taking a moment to compose himself, he contemplated the papers in his hands. His lover had no idea this was coming, no idea that his future was about to change for the better. “So, you have any thoughts about what college you’d like to apply to?” Van bent over and pulled out a brochure for one of the better four-year schools in the area. “I thought it’d be nice if we both went here.” “I -- but I --” Brice tripped over his words. Van smiled and passed one piece of paper to him. “Here, that’s your identity. You’re still Brice, though we modified the last name a bit. You have a social security number, a life, even a history.” “I wasn’t worried about that,” Brice mumbled. “College is expensive.” Van knew. Though money wasn’t a factor in his decision, he imagined for someone like Brice, forced to leave school because of it the first time, now coming back without even a bank account, the thought of enrolling had to be daunting. “What about if you had the option of a personal student loan? I’d call it a gift, if you want. If I were in your shoes, I know a loan would make me feel better.” “You’d loan me the money for school? That’s thousands of dollars.” Van shrugged. “It’s only money. And if you pass law school, especially dealing in corporate law, you’d be good for it.” “I can’t take your money.” Brice stared at the paper he held in his hands. “This is too much. I… hell, I didn’t think about any of this. I just knew I was human again. I have to think about it.” Turning, Van cupped Brice’s cheek, savoring the feel of his stubble-roughened cheek beneath his palm. He caressed the rough skin with his thumb. “I love you, Brice. I know it’s only been a few days, but it’s like you were made for me. I want to see you happy. I know how much your degree meant to you. If I’m going back to school, then I

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Mission: Touchdown

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want you to go back, too.” He passed a second, thicker stack of papers over to his lover. “Take a look at these. It’s your transcripts.” “My transcripts? But I --” Van pressed his fingers against Brice’s lips, not wanting to hear his lover say he was dead. Just thinking about Brice being gone and out of his life left him with an empty hole. “Shhh. You’re here now, and the new Brice has completed three semesters.” “You love me?” Brice’s incredulous question caught Van off guard. He blinked. “You don’t think I care for you?” “We haven’t known each other that long.” Still, Brice hadn’t said he returned Van’s feelings. Trying not to panic, Van employed his logical lawyerly mind. They hadn’t known each other long. Sure, he hadn’t actually been enthused about Brice’s arrival. Yeah, he could see why his lover had the opinion he did. “I can’t imagine if we knew each other for a hundred years I’d feel any differently. You understand me. You pushed me to go after what I want. I may have no idea what your favorite food is or what your favorite football team is, but I don’t have to know that information. I know the man. And you’re a good man. One I admire. I care for you deeply, and yeah, to me that’s love. You don’t need to call a jury on this one. The verdict is clear.” He grinned at his use of legal terms. “Well, football season is coming up. It’d be nice to cheer for a college team that’s where I’m actually attending.” He held up the brochure. “Think these guys will let me on the team?” Van held back his grin. “They’d be fools if they didn’t.” “You know, for saying that alone I could love you, but the truth is, I came back for you. The Toymaker sent me here, just like he sent my three friends. How could I not love you when this match was literally made in toy heaven?”

Mary Winter

Mission: Touchdown

- 54 -

Van snorted, trying to stop his laughter. Toy heaven. Who would have thought of such a thing? Unable to hide his mirth, he started laughing, great guffaws that made Brice punch him on the shoulder. “Hey. What was that for?” “You were laughing at me.” Brice lunged across the space between them, shoving Van down to the couch. Papers flew everywhere, and Van had a glimpse that this was how their relationship was going to be. “That’s okay, I can even the score.” “Touchdown,” Van breathed a moment before Brice kissed him. And yes, it was a very good score indeed.

Mary Winter Mary commutes between her dream home near the Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri, and her current residence in Iowa. She lives with a menagerie of animals including an opinionated horse and a cat who was a dog in a past life. When not writing spicy tales of erotic romance, she enjoys writing science fiction and fantasy, spending time with her horse, and enjoying the outdoors. Lucky for her, her partner (hero) shares these same passions, and usually both of them can be found in their respective dens writing. You can contact Mary at [email protected] or visit her site at www.marywinter.com.