by Willa Okati
Collin scowled. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to adjust the fit of the too-tight silk shirt he wore, a tacky-ass autumn-orange button-down. Liam’s choice. Liam’s insistence. He’d brought it with him and all but stood over Collin with a whip in hand until he’d given in and changed.
“This doesn’t fit. Neither do the ...” His lip curled. “... jeans. Give me a break, Liam. Worn-out blue jeans? They look like you found them in a dumpster. And besides, they’re much too tight.”
“Exactly. Why hide the results of your daily workout in your company’s oh-so-luxurious private gymnasium?” Liam fussed with one of Collin’s lapels. He tapped his chin in thought, then dived for and popped opened two buttons below the collar. “Much better. Now you show a bit of chest.”
“What, you want me to flash cleavage?”
“Of course not. If you had actual breasts, we would cover them up. But you ...” Liam’s eyes drooped to half-mast as he brushed his fingers over Collin’s skin. “Wonderful muscles. Glorious skin. Smooth. Tight. Sexy as hell.”
Collin jerked back. “Yeah. Sure. Hands off. Ground rules, Liam. I’m not letting anyone paw me. Not you. Not any clubbie. No dancers. Understand? I’m here long enough for one drink. Then I’m gone.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Look, you professional playboy, I have to get up and work in the morning. You have to put in years upon years and prove you’re worth it before Marrakesh Investments gives you paid overtime, especially Saturday nights. Paid. Do you hear my emphasis on the money words? I should be there right now. Do you know how far back this ‘adventure’ is going to set me?”
“Oh, Lilith forbid you should work less than twenty hours a day, seven days a week.” Liam rolled his eyes. His smile slid into cunning slyness. “However, as you point out, the corporate powers that be at your company have been made aware of your ulcers, your blood pressure, your migraines, and your malnutrition. I find it bad enough you do not fuck, dance, laugh, or make merry. But Collin -- forgetting to eat? No man can work so hard without fuel to stoke the inner flames.”
Liam raised an eyebrow. “But you have no inner fire, do you? I sometimes wonder if there is a Popsicle instead of a cock tucked inside those so-distasteful jeans. Frozen through and through, you are. I wonder what happened to you once upon a time to transmute you into frost. Surely you were not born this way.”
“What do you know about who I am? Who I was?” Collin glared. “Keep your nose out of my life, Liam. How many times do I have to warn you?”
“A pointless exercise. I go where I like and do as I please.” As if to prove it, Liam ducked forward to sniff at a patch of bare skin below Collin’s collarbone. He shook his head. “You smell of coals long banked,” he mused. “Snuffed-out candles and cooling wax. Most peculiar.”
“I’m the peculiar one?” Collin took a deep breath. Easy. Liam’s just a nut bar. Let him have his play, and he’ll leave you alone. Sooner or later.
He looked away. “So? What does it matter? I am what I am. Who I am. All I want is to be left alone.”
“Ah, but there is the Brotherhood, throwing a greasy monkey wrench into your monkish existence, yes?” Liam chuckled. “I shall never cease to be amazed at how little you trust us. We are your brothers in spirit, Collin. Gay, Charlestonian, single. Why hold yourself so far apart? Join us. Come inside with the group when they arrive. Drink. Dance. Fuck. Let go. Just once, let go.”
Liam’s voice had dropped to a seductive, teasing whisper. Wheedling with the wispiness of a high-priced sex kitten. Collin felt his cock stir in response to the sound of pure sex in each liquid syllable.
He shut his eyes as Liam’s voice tickled at the long-dormant nerve endings in his groin. Held back a groan that would have shamed him half to death. He couldn’t stand the pity and mockery others would dish out if they knew he hadn’t ... hadn’t gotten a hard-on outside of wet dreams in ... years. Felt good, too good; it made him dizzy. Blood flowed downward, swelling his cock; a pulse-beat began a tom-tom thump in his balls ...
He seriously needed to get laid.
But -- no. No! Get a grip. He didn’t need this kind of complication in his life. Didn’t want it, traitorous genitalia notwithstanding. He’d carved out his niche in life, and if he wasn’t all too happy, he made up for it by being rich. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could surely rent enough luxury to take your mind off being alone. He liked things the way they were. Wore his public face with pride. Collin the Corporate Leviathan. Successful. Uncomplicated.
Blast Liam for his insistence on making things confusing!
Collin shook his head. “Back off,” he said flatly. “Nice try, but put the rent-boy act away. No cigars in my box.”
“So I see.” Liam glanced at Collin’s groin, shook his head, and sighed. “Be it on your head, then. Oh!” He perked up. “Others are arriving. I must go and greet them. But Collin -- if you dare try to sneak away, rest assured I will know. More, I will report directly to your superiors in the morning. I doubt they will be pleased to hear such news.”
“You little --” Collin’s blood flared to a sudden boil. Not only had Liam caught him out, but he had the nerve to threaten him again? Biting back angry words that would only cause a scene, he shot Liam a death glare.
Liam smiled back, absolutely angelic. Innocent as a baby lamb.
Maddening.
Collin ran a hand over his face. “One day,” he muttered. “One day I’m going to get my hands around your neck and make you tell me just how you got in good with the brass at my company. What kind of power you have to make them ask ‘how high?’ when you say ‘jump.’” He gave a bitter laugh. “Or is it just natural talent? Same trick you pull with everyone?”
Liam grinned and winked. “Wouldn’t you love to know?” Without warning, the smaller man raised himself on tiptoe and pressed a hard kiss to Collin’s lips. He tasted of exotic spices. Sweet. Intoxicating. Possibly addictive.
Collin startled away, wiping his mouth. Liam’s kiss burned like raw cinnamon rubbed into the skin. “What are you -- How did you -- What’s the idea?”
“Only warming up your engines. I believe such is the vernacular? Oh, do not fret. You will not turn into a toad. But ... you might find your Prince Charming, now. Yes, I think you will.” Liam laughed. “Stay there. Right there. No moving. Are we in agreement?”
Collin struggled with the urge to turn and stalk away, corporate orders be damned. It wasn’t a question of nerve or will. It was just knowledge. Hard, cold corporate intelligencia. The big boys of Marrakesh loved a hard worker and especially adored Collin, their golden child, but they also took protecting their investments seriously. If you worked hard, you had to play hard.
They frowned on Collin’s total obsession with work. If he cracked up, he’d be no good to them. Something they’d made clear time and time again. If he pushed them once more, maybe this time of all times, it’d be the inch too far.
He wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- lose his job. His power. His salary. His life.
Liam knew all of the above was at stake, and he didn’t hesitate one second when it came to using the laws of Collin’s world against him.
Scowling again, Collin leaned back against the outer wall of Amour Magique. He rolled his eyes. What a name. In his considered opinion, their sign should be rainbow neon, decorated in pink sequins and picked out with lavender feathers. Probably a dash of glitter just to get the point across, as if anyone could miss it. And they called this place Homo Heaven? Damned if he knew why, or even really wanted to find out.
More than anything, he wanted to go. Not home. Back to work. The place where he could be a king, not just another lonely, po-faced commoner.
He gave in and rubbed his face, pinching his nose to stave off an impending migraine. Flashing lights and blaring techno would do wonders for his head, oh, yeah. Some of the Brotherhood, the younger guys, might go for a warehouse of pumped-up steroid princesses. They’d have no problem with Liam’s orders to get happy, get drunk, and get laid
if they were lucky.
Collin ... no. He shook his head. He was at least ten years too old for this crap. Since he’d been forced into an evening out, he wished he could have chosen a different venue. A quiet restaurant. Savory food cooked to order. Things he hadn’t been able to eat for years -- garlic beef, Cajun shrimp, nan bread, flaming curry ...
Maybe, just maybe, his waiter would have smiled at him. A smile just for Collin alone. A tilt of the head, a silent question. Collin would have assessed him, from neat hair to gleaming shoes. Nodded his head, regal as a prince. Followed him, after a discreet interval, through the “staff only” swinging doors to the restaurant’s walk-in freezer, where he’d be waiting, not minding the cold one bit, and ...
Smooth white chest. Small, nubbly nipples. Slender waist. Bubble butt. Long, musky-salty cock, ready for action. The waiter, waiting, eager to take his cue from the important executive who’d lowered himself to notice his charms ...
Collin twitched back to reality. Of all the --! Hard again. Once a novelty, twice an annoyance.
He scowled down at the embarrassing camel toe in his skin-tight jeans. “Fine time you picked,” he muttered. The Brotherhood would tease seven kinds of hell out of him. Worse, Liam might think Collin was getting into the spirit of things.
Speaking of whom, the little man was standing with a group of the Brotherhood. He all but bounced up and down with excitement. “Collin is here, too,” he babbled. “Collin, Collin, come join us!”
Collin gave in to his urge and pinched the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted was to walk out in front of the Brotherhood, cock at the ready like a perverse divining rod. If they only made Hard-on-B-Gone. But what choice did he have? None, but to walk over sporting an embarrassingly eager erection. No time to think of algebra. Algebra teachers. The stock market. Profit projections. Spreadsheets. Anything to quiet his libido.
Yes, he decided. Well and truly screwed without so much as an orgasm for my pains.
Better just to get the humiliation over with. Collin drew in a deep breath, which didn’t help at all, and ambled forward, drawing his face blank and cold.
Pretending he couldn’t care less at all. Because that? That was what he did best.
Chapter Two
Great. More waiting. I hate waiting.
Liam had a hornet in his bonnet about not setting foot inside Amour Magique until they could make a “grand entrance.” All twelve of the Brotherhood stepping in and stepping high en masse. Penii on parade.
Penii? Penises? A gaggle of geese, a bone of cocks? What was the proper plural, anyway?
And why exactly was he pondering the question?
Boredom. Has to be boredom. I’m not exactly accustomed to standing around twiddling my thumbs, and the walking works of pretty-boy art aren’t catching my eye -- or anything else, for that matter.
Collin rolled his eyes in disgust at the whole drama he’d been dragged into. That would be Liam for you, always having to put on a show. As if it mattered. As if anyone would notice the Brotherhood’s public debut at all. If anything, they’d think, jeez, who are those morons? In his opinion, if they walked in crowded together, they’d look exactly like a cluster of teenaged girls, giggling nervously with excitement over going to their first big sock-hop.
Ooh, boys!
Collin doubted himself to be the only Brother who wanted to get this farce over with as quickly and quietly as possible. Liam, though? A bulldozer wouldn’t back him down. All for one, one for all, blah, blah, blah. He said wait, so they waited. And waited. Bree, true to form, was running later than manners or fashion dictated.
More than likely, Bree had blown them off for greener pastures. All the same, Liam insisted he’d be there soon.
Hence, more waiting.
My brain’s going to melt, I know it. What do they say? It’s not the heat -- it’s the stupidity. In this case, lucky me, it’s both.
Collin leaned back and let the walls of Amour Magique bear his weight. They might as well be of some use. The solid coolness of old brickwork felt good. Soothing. He closed his eyes and tuned out the incessant chatter, escaping bursts of sugary, inane techno, and Liam’s excited babble. He wondered -- if he pretended to nod off, would they leave him alone?
Doubtful.
Collin shifted, grumbled under his breath, and worked himself around until his cheek rested comfortably against Amour Magique’s rough, soothingly chilly wall. He let out a small sigh.
Standing there in his own pool of silence and shadows felt ... nice. Good, even. Peaceful.
It surprised Collin to find himself growing sleepy. He yawned. “Can’t doze off here, big guy,” he muttered to himself. “Can’t ... not outside ...”
They were the last words he remembered before he dropped into a sudden, heavy doze.
Slept, and dreamed.
* * * * *
Collin hated dreams.
Usually fate was kind enough to keep him unaware he was dreaming. Not this time. He knew damn well he’d nodded off and what he saw wasn’t real in any way.
Although if there were any justice in the world, he should at least have enjoyed the sheer amount of acid it would have taken to cause a hallucination quite as intense as this.
Collin stood in the middle of a bonfire. Naked. For some reason, though, the flames were only pleasantly warm. He didn’t ignite. Toasted a little, turning darkly tanned, like bread on a stick, but no more.
No ... more.
Blood began to heat in his veins. His pulse throbbed at every juncture, neck to knees to groin. Light sweat broke out over his very naked body, covering him in a salty sheen. He could smell it. Smelled good. Musky. Sexy.
Sexy?
Yeah ... Oh,, but it was sexy. He smelled like an erotic banquet waiting to be devoured. Salt, musk, semen, each odor sharp in his nose. A bouquet he hadn’t smelled in years.
Staring down the length of his body, Collin saw his cock had risen to full hardness. Almost flush against his belly, it burned with the need for attention. A suck, a roll between sheets, or up against a wall. Even a hand job. His erection felt too urgent to be overly choosy, but it did demand seeing to. Immediately.
Yes, a foreign voice hissed. The unexpected sound made Collin jump in his dream. Yes ... almost ripe.
Such a beautiful fire, another voice said, soft and low. Whispery, raspy, not quite ... human. Look how he burns. Deep inside, where no human eyes can spy it out.
Does he know he has a heart of flame?
In a way, and not at all, just yet, said the second voice. He ripens. Fire berries on the vine. Taste and see -- he is good.
You offer me first suckle?
A gift.
Ahhhhh ...
Collin twisted to the left and right, searching for the source of the voices. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
Laughter.
You don’t know us yet.
But you’ve always sensed us there.
Turned us aside.
No more.
Haven’t met us.
Known us forever.
All and nothing at once.
Paradox.
Yes, paradox.
“No. No, no, no! This stops, and it stops now.” Collin squared off, hands on his hips. “I don’t have time for riddles, rhymes, or games. Who are you? Show yourselves.”
More laughter.
Not yet.
Not yet, yet, yet.
Soon.
Yes. Soon.
A glimpse, now?
Yes? Yes. A peek. A taste.
Look how he wants it.
Wants us.
Does he know?
Yes, and no.
Soon he’ll see it all.
And feel it.
For now, let him feel this. Join me.
Join us three. A braided cord.
And the circle shall be unbroken.
So mote it be.
Collin felt his heart thumping alarmingly fast. He’d been warned about s
tress-related heart attacks time and time again. Was this dream the bullet with his name carved in the casing?
“Who are you?” he yelled once more into the heart of the dream void. “Do this face to face, if you have the nerve!”
We cannot, said the first voice. Not yet.
You aren’t ready.
But here. Have a taste.
Let us have a taste.
Collin began to speak -- then stopped, sucking in a gasp of fire-heated air. Thick, it choked his lungs. Filled his nose with the scent of cinnamon, cloves, and myrrh. He struggled for air and found none.
Out of nowhere, two flickering forms, insubstantial as billows of smoke, had shaped themselves into being. One second men, the next second clouds of flame, they surrounded Collin. Wound themselves around him, lizard-like.
Not cold-blooded beings, though, for all their shape. Hot. Hot enough to scorch. Burn. Leave blisters and scars.
Yet Collin felt no pain. None.
Ecstasy, on the other hand, yes.
Pleasure soaring out of his iron fist before he could get a solid grip on it. Soaring past his walls of control.
Dangerous.
Collin struggled, desperate for air to breathe, to make a noise as the men made of fire writhed around him. They were everywhere. Sucking his cock. Swallowing it down. Licking flame trails up his chest and down his legs. Tracing the seam of his ass. Cupping his balls, heavy and full. Dancing across his parted lips, twining with his tongue.
The creatures laughed. Do you want to know a secret? one asked.
Secret, secret, secret?
Yes. He does. Look. Look here, look.
Pain stabbed into Collin’s arms. He screamed, insofar as he could with only gasps of air in his lungs. He stared down, unable to believe what he saw, even in this strangest of dreamscapes.
Tongues of flame danced over his forearms, etching characters into his flesh. Sizzling burns, like brands. Chinese characters. Gorgeous. Elegant masterwork. But he didn’t read Chinese. What were they ...?
The symbols blurred. For a split-second, they became scrolling English calligraphy.
Chosen One.
Ours.
You belong to us.
