by A. F. Henley
"Of course. Of course." Anton pushed the covers off the couch gingerly and sat down. "But please, coffee first. I think you two need it."
Once again Anton's underlying meaning made Doren bristle, but a sharp look from August shut down Doren's rebuke. "Doren," it warned silently, "he who protests the loudest is usually guilty …"
"So, August," Anton turned his attention to where August stood, unwrapping cups and laying out sugar packs and coffee whitener with his head lowered and his back to Anton. He's embarrassed, Doren realized, as if their little secret was going to somehow be written all over his face. The realization was somewhat wounding. "Where did you find such a fantastic tux?"
"A friend," August mumbled.
"Hmm?" Anton's gaze wandered between the both of them. "Sorry, I can barely hear you. Did you say a friend?"
"Diana sent it," Doren snapped. "On my request. And is that what you came for? Can we officially state that our meeting is now done since you know the originating details of my assistant's clothing?"
"Ah." Anton nodded, ignoring the outburst. "Of course. The lovely Diana."
August set two cups of coffee in front of Doren and Anton and caught Doren's eyes with a desperate expression. "I'm just going to go shower—"
"No, no!"
Doren narrowed his eyes when August flinched at Anton's voice.
"Please, do stay, August. Sit down and grab a pen. We have some work to do."
A rush of extreme thrill twitched the corners of Doren's face at the way that Anton tensed with irritation while August waited for Doren's nod of approval. "Get yourself a coffee?" Doren offered.
The couch suddenly seemed way too small for comfort when August sat down between the two of them, but Doren was grateful for the barrier. August reached for his coffee, Anton did the same, and as their paths crossed, August flinched away from Anton's hand as if it was on fire. "Oh," Anton gave August a wounded expression, "you hurt my feelings, August. Do I frighten you?"
Doren steamed at the obvious enjoyment behind Anton's apology. He stood, pulled the desk chair over to the couch, and butted it up to the end he left vacant. "Auggie, give yourself some room there. I can sit here." When he sat, he let his knees fall open, brushing August's leg with his as August shuffled farther down the couch.
Never mind him, Doren thought, pushing the sound of the words from his mind to August's, searching through the room for August's fear. Their eyes locked and a startled expression crossed August's face. Doren's stomach flipped in response to it. Had August heard him? Like … really, really heard him? Had August felt it? He lowered his eyes before it became obvious to Anton that they were up to something, though Doren wasn't quite sure he'd done it quickly enough.
Anton was sizing him up in silence, scanning Doren with desperate, angry tension. And as if the quick connection between his and August's minds had opened him up to the rest of it, he began to feel the prickle of emotion that buzzed in the sounds of everything in the room. He could hear the impatience in the tap, tap, tap of Anton's foot, an angry growl emitting from the back of Anton's mind. He could hear the bored hum of a distant janitor and the impending demise of the vacuum in his hand, its belt tenuously close to snapping in two. He could hear the vibrations simmering along the steel beams in the walls beside him, the ever-present throb from the earth below; he could even hear the sweeping of the clouds above his head. He'd never felt the collection of it before, never experienced the power of it all coursing through him in one orchestral gathering—had never, in fact, had the sound come to him without him calling for it first. He took a shaky breath and looked at August, falling into the concern that illuminated in August's eyes. The sound in his head intensified and a surge of power shot through him. He felt infused with energy and jumped when Anton reached for August's shoulder. On instinct Doren raised his arm to stop the contact, but what should have been nothing more than a simple wave instead radiated as forceful fury from Doren's palm. He knocked Anton back against the couch as if he'd hit Anton with a bat.
The sound in Doren's mind disappeared as if a switch had been flicked. He sat back in his chair, stunned, watching the grin grow on Anton's face.
"Easy there, fella!" Anton scolded gently. "You two are a bundle of nerves this morning, aren't you?"
"I-I'm sorry," Doren sputtered. "I don't know ... I'm just ... I guess I need a little more sleep or something."
Anton, still smiling, reached over and patted Doren's knee. "No worries. You're right. It's far too early for this. I'll come back later on. No! Wait. I know what to do. I'm going to send a car tonight and I'll take you both for dinner. After all, I'm sure you're getting sick of room service, and it will give us a nice, peaceful, unassuming location to discuss business." He turned to August. "I think the boutique has reopened today so if you need something to wear then by all means," Anton pulled his wallet out of his jacket and dug out a credit card, "on us."
August didn't reach for it, both hands fisted tightly in his lap.
"Take it, Aug." August looked up quickly at Doren's words and Doren nodded. "Take it. So we can do this later, okay?"
Please, Auggie, Doren tried to make his eyes ask. Please let's do this later.
August reached for the card and as Anton handed it over, Anton caught August's hand inside his, gripping firmly. "Maybe something similar to last night, hmm?" He leaned in and the horror on August's face made it clear to the three of them that he was sure Anton was going to kiss his cheek or do something ridiculous like pull him into a hug. Instead Anton murmured in August's ear, loud enough for Doren to hear, "You were absolutely breathtaking."
The shiver that passed through Doren ignited his blood. Visions of him grabbing the perfectly coiffed head of his CEO, smashing it into a wall until the vessel was nothing but colored porridge, assaulted even his lack of etiquette. But it felt damn good.
"All right then!" Anton stood. "I'll see both of you in the lobby at, oh, shall we say seven?" He didn't wait for confirmation. He let himself out. His coffee sat on the table, untouched.
The door hadn't been closed a second when August got up and rushed for it, locking it tight. "Jesus, Doren." He stared at Doren with both fear and worry. "Are you all right?"
Doren shook his head. He just didn't know.
Morana
"Morana? Morana?" Anton screamed while his footsteps echoed through the foyer and up the stairs. "God damn it, woman, where are you?" She waited patiently in the bedroom for him to find her—only a foolish woman rushed after a man—lifting her arms in a casual stretch, her fingers drifting lazily through her hair. She was so relaxed, so spent. It was a wonderful, lazy feeling. He appeared at the door in a heated, angry rush; first passing it and then spinning on his heel when he saw her sitting there. "Damn you, Morana, could you not hear me calling you?"
She raised her eyebrow. "Do I look like a puppy?"
He stalked into the room and then froze when he saw the broken young man on her sheets. He grimaced. "Dead?"
She shrugged. "If not now, then soon. But there are other things on your mind than my bedmate. What is it?"
Anton's face lit up. "You should have seen it!" He put both hands on his face, his eyes wide. "The power in him … I saw it! And you were right, I don't think he had any clue what he was capable of."
"Details," she hissed. "Give them to me."
Anton recounted the story while she listened, playing with the beads she had snapped off the dying man's neck, rolling them between her fingers and over her lips, lifting them to her nose and smelling them.
"But why," she said when Anton finished. "What brought it on?"
"The assistant, of course," Anton snorted. "He believed himself to be defending the boy."
"I don't understand," Morana mused. "August enticed him to bring out the power? Or did he use Doren's for himself? Was I mistaken? Is he receptor? Amplifier? How does he fit in to this picture?" Anton opened his mouth to speak and Morana cut him off with a growl. "I'm not asking you, moron! I'm tal
king to myself!"
Anger flooded Anton's face and she caught herself. She'd almost forgotten whom she was dealing with. Anton was a rash, foolish man. But she needed his power over the corporate world. More so she needed his skills. It was hard to find such an excellent reader of both mind and body, especially one so well developed. Damn her old body! It made her careless! She was still humming from her encounter with the bead-wearing man—the aggression and frivolity still raced through her veins. There was nothing quite as stimulating as breaking someone apart while you used their body to fill you at the same time. But it had made her impulsive as well.
She crossed the room quickly and laid her hand over Anton's furrowed brow. "Forgive me, love. You know how I get when I worry about you. I just want everything to work out as planned. To make you happy. To make us both happy. But I should not take my stress out on you, darling."
His face softened but his pout did not. "You know, Morana, sometimes I don't think you love me nearly as much as you pretend to." His gaze traveled towards the bed.
Morana tutted, turning his face towards her with both hands. "But you see, Anton, I love you too much. I could never harm you. Now stop your worrying. Tell me instead, tell me more."
"There is no more. But this will please you immensely, I'm sure. I've made arrangements to take them both to dinner tonight. I think perhaps a special table at Guarida Diablos? Just for the four of us?"
She put her head back and laughed. "Wonderful!"
"And Morana?" he said softly, pulling her towards him. She lowered her head, stiffening in his arms when she saw his expression: dark and dangerous. "You will find a way to control this pest for me, yes? You'll find a way tonight when you meet him? I don't even care if he's the next one on that bed, my dear. As long as he's out of my way."
Moran raised her chin and held his gaze. "Don't you worry about me, Anton. I know my job."
"Good. And that?" He thumbed at the bed. "You'll take care of that too?"
She waved him off smoothly. "That one is easy. They're still pulling bodies from the water under that bridge. They will be for weeks. He'll be just another unfortunate victim of a terrible accident."
Anton frowned. "And how do you know someone hasn't seen him between the time of the collapse and now?"
She smiled, dropping back into her chair and picking up the beads again. "Oh, no worries of that, my love. I've had him for some time."
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August
"Please, Doren, please come down with me." He was begging, and he damn well knew it. But that was just too bad. Doren had been too quiet all day. He needed to get Doren out and about, get a smile back on that face. Besides, he really did have the worst taste in clothes. "I promise that I'll call down first so they can clear everyone out if you want."
Doren walked out of the bathroom, sashayed past him in jeans and a bright red t-shirt that made his chest look sinfully sweet, and flung himself on the bed. "I can think of a better way to pass the time if you need suggestions."
August slumped into a chair. "I don't need suggestions, I need a suit."
Doren sat up on his knees, a sexy grin growing on his face, and slowly drew his shirt up over his abs. "Are you sure?"
"No, when you put it like that, I'm not sure," August said in deadpan. "But I am sure of one thing, if that's what we decide to do instead, I'm going to dinner in my slacks."
With a glare Doren yanked his shirt back down. "That's total blackmail!"
August stood and walked towards the bed. "You don't like blackmail, then how about incentive?"
Doren cocked an eyebrow. "You have my attention."
"It's three now. Anton's coming at seven. We'll need an hour to get ready so that's six, which leaves us three hours in between. The faster we get down there, the faster we pick something out, the faster we can get back up here. The rest of the time is ours."
Doren narrowed his eyes and growled playfully. "Fine. I'll race you then." He jumped out of bed and was out of the door before August even had a chance to react. Shaking his head, August followed him, laughing.
Doren
He held up the nine-hundred-dollar crushed velvet jacket and said, "Do you think Anton would notice if we bought this too?"
August laughed. "Do you care if he does?"
"August!" Doren feigned shock. "Is that anyway to talk about the boss?"
August shook a finger at him, the other hand still buried in the rack, sliding hanger after hanger aside. "Uh, uh. Your boss, not mine."
Doren slid in behind August and wrapped himself around August's waist. "Oh yeah?" he said, voice slippery and smoky at the same time. "So who is your boss then?"
August laughed and tried to ignore him. "Forget it, no way are you getting me to say that."
He held August tighter, with one arm, reaching playfully up the back of August's top with the other. "Come on, Auggie … say it." The sensation of August wiggling against him was thrilling. He drew his fingers around August's ribcage, down over the front of his pants, and palmed August's through them. "Tell me who your boss is or I won't let you go."
"So are you two having any luck?" The saleswoman gave them a cold smile and Doren let August go, raising his eyebrows and grimacing at August like a child behind the teacher's back. August snorted, turning his head to hide the spit that came flying out of his mouth, which resulted in Doren reaching up to "wipe something out of his eye" in order to hide the laughter threatening to spill out of his mouth.
"Mm hmm," the saleslady responded. "I guess if you're done we can open the store back up then?"
That simple rebuke changed everything. "No, please," Doren begged, giving the woman an expression guaranteed to melt her soul. "Just five more minutes?" He held up the jacket beseechingly. "We have to have something for tonight and ... look! See? I already found this. It's not much but it's a start, right?" She looked at the jacket and Doren could see her making the quick commission calculation in her head. He sighed dramatically, laying on the charm. "It's just so hard to find something suitable for my assistant. Suits …" He sniffed and pouted. "I don't know why they've got to be so … corporate."
She caved like pavement over a sinkhole. "You know," she touched her pen to her lip and Doren coaxed her with an interested raise of his eyebrows, "I do have something that I set aside for a young man last week. He hasn't been back yet and we do only promise to hold items for two days."
Doren gasped a smile and took her hand. "Oh? Can we see it?"
She waved him away. "Oh, all right. But if I get in trouble ..."
"Whoa." Doren's eyes widened at the light gray suit she brought back. "That has to be the second-most sexy thing in this store." He winked at the saleswoman who chuckled, falling into the assumption that Doren meant her, and waved them to the dressing room.
"It's Gucci," she explained. "Fashioned after a sixties day suit. A little out of the league for most budgets but I'm sure—"
She waited for Doren to finish for her, smiling when he added the requisite, "Price is not an issue."
"Doren," August grumbled. "I'm not buying this. It's over twelve hundred dollars."
"And worth every penny," Doren argued. "Let me help you."
"I can dress myself just fine, thank you—" Doren was already undoing the buttons on August's shirt as August insisted he didn't need assistance.
"Silk," Doren told him, handing him the shirt.
"I am aware."
"And uhh," Doren squinted at the tag in the jacket. "A silk and cotton blend Poplin-Dylan, apparently."
"Mm hmm." August grabbed the jacket and wrestled it on. "For the low, low price of—"
"Who the fuck cares?" Doren said, pretending to read the price tag. He looked up and pulled in a breath, whistling softly. "You look hot."
August rolled his eyes in the mirror, straightening the jacket. "You're just trying to suck up."
"That too," Doren agreed, stepping closer, reaching his arms around August from the back
and unfastening August's pants. "Is it working?" The button gave way easily; he nudged August's pants over his hips but made no move to reach for the new ones. Instead he dragged his fingers over the outline of August's dick.
"I said when we got back to the room …" August frowned, but the hitch in his voice gave away his interest.
"The deal was we had to find something to wear," Doren argued. "We did."
"Jesus, Doren," August huffed. "We can't—"
"We can do whatever we want, baby," Doren chuckled into his ear. "Welcome to rock and roll."
Anton
He sat back in the car, watching the two men on the monitor. Did they have no sense of class? Did they not realize that every dressing room from there to Alaska had cameras in them? What if the press got hold of this? What if someone else had tapped into the feed of that system and, as Anton watched with his fists clenched and his teeth gritted, his beautiful star and that simple, cursed nobody was being streamed all over the country?
He watched Doren toss the jacket aside, the two of them laughing like kids as August redressed in street clothes. As they left the room the camera caught a perfect shot of August's face when he turned to Doren and smiled. Anton snapped the keyboard and froze the image, zooming on it until August's face filled the screen.
Then he pulled back his fist and punched it as hard as he could, again and again, until the monitor lay in shattered pieces over the back of the limo and the image was no more.
Doren
The food was mediocre but the service was awesome. They doted on Doren like he was a god. August seemed uncomfortable but that didn't surprise him. Doren was sure to send him a riveting smile anytime he looked over, the thought of August's smooth, hard body under the new clothes making him hungry for more. Maybe even more than just lips and hands.
