(Note from the authors: This all actually happened, to the best of our recollection.
There were many more times spent together at the Hotel, but this gives the general feel - so to speak)

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The thunderbolt hit without warning.

Lane Gage had only recently been promoted to Dealer Extraordinaire. At twenty-two, he was the youngest Haven - who wasn’t also a Monolem - to attain that respected position. As further proof of the Emperor’s confidence, he had been assigned to one of the Haven Trading Empire’s most lucrative clients: Ruis Calvario and the Clave. He was, in fact, tending to that very contract when his heart was rendered permanently open.

He was seated in Calvario’s office, double-checking the terms of an increase in the contract’s standing order. It had been a pleasant morning’s work. Calvario was in a good mood, and so being very agreeable to profitable negotiations. When there was a signal at the door, Lane didn’t even look up.

“Cal, we’re out of coffee in there.” The voice was young, but already rich, with a velvet quality that made Lane shiver. He glanced away from his board toward the sound…

…and stopped breathing.

The voice belonged to a young male, no more than fifteen or sixteen in Terran years. He was thin but not skinny or gangling. Black silky hair reached his shoulders, his eyes dark almonds in a high cheek-boned Asian face. He wore a pair of silk drawstring midnight blue pajama pants and nothing else. His chest was smooth, a sun-drenched bronze, the nipples a darker brown. The shoulders were broadening, his torso tapering to a thin waist. His feet were bare, and somehow Lane found that fact arousing. The boy glanced at him and flashed a smile that was night’s promise and guileless sunshine all at once.

Lane didn’t hear what Calvario answered. He simply stared at the vision before him, his heart thundering, the blood roaring in his ears. When the boy turned and left the room, Lane had to swallow hard, his eyes riveted to the curve of back and thigh and buttock.

Need him, need him, need him, Devri, if I don’t have him I’ll die!

His erection throbbing, he turned his attention back to Calvario. He knew all about the man’s various business interests; knew, too, what kind of attractive young people walked around Cal’s penthouse in silk pajamas at nine o’clock in the morning.

“How much, Ruis,” Lane said, “and when can I have him?”

He saw Calvario’s eyes narrow, and realized the whole thing had been staged. He’d never seen the boy before, and Ruis didn’t preview new offerings. There was too much credit to be made at the House on that kind of thing. Not that it mattered. Staged or not, it had worked. “Top wage,” Lane continued. “If there’s an auction, you’ve got your high bid right now.”

“He’s not ready yet, Gage,” Calvario replied.

That fresh? The thought made Lane shudder in anticipatory pleasure. “How much and when?” he repeated.

Calvario stroked his chin. “I’ll have to consider that.”

“I’m not negotiating, Ruis,” Lane pointed out. “Name the price. Done deal.” Something in the Terran’s eyes made him suddenly wary. “He is available, isn’t he?”

Was there a struggle behind Calvario’s urbane gaze? “Of course. Give it a week or two, three at most. I’ll contact you.”

“And the price?” Lane asked, his momentary unease swept away by carnal longing.

Calvario smiled. “We’ll see.” He stood from his desk. “Done deal, Gage.”

“Done,” Lane replied. And I don’t care if it costs me this whole deal’s profit. He gathered up his boards and turned to leave the office. At the door, he stopped. “Ruis,” he called, “what’s his name?”



For three weeks, Lane proved himself an exemplary Dealer. He only wished he could have pointed out that fact to his superiors, but then he would have had to explain why keeping to every trading schedule and every meeting was extraordinary. Not that they wouldn’t have understood the impact of a thunderbolt - it was simply unheard of for it to hit with any other race. And for a fifteen year old male Terran prostitute? Thunderbolts were once-in-a-lifetime events; reserved in song and legend for eternal love of the highest romantic ideal, making for children destined for greatness - which meant the thunderbolt had to be between a male and a female. The idea of it happening between two males, and one of them a sexual professional to boot… His personal stock would have taken a most definite downturn. Even continuing to work diligently and profitably for the Empire wouldn’t have reversed that bear market.

He did drive his secretary to fits of irritability by checking in for messages seven and eight times a day. And he did tax his personal security by starting sudden side-trips to the Clave or Rio de Janeiro, usually aborting them just as suddenly. He didn’t sleep much, and he didn’t eat much, but since every deal was concluded in a timely and supremely satisfactory manner, there wasn’t much for anyone to make a complaint about.

He was actually watching the chronometer of his ship, the HTE Leather, unconsciously counting the minutes until Calvario’s three weeks would be technically past, when the intercom signaled. He started, then got up from the leather couch of his personal cabin with uncharacteristic swiftness. “What the fuck do you want?” he snapped.

Devri, boss, don’t breach the hull,” his secretary’s voice said. “Call on your personal frequency, from Terra.”

Immediately Lane’s heart started pounding. “Eternal runs on your markets, Rani,” he replied. “Put it through - and don’t listen in, you scheming information thief. This isn’t Imperial business.”

“But is it exploitable?” Rani teased smoothly.

“Not if you’re dead, honey. Deal?

“Don’t be so touchy, Lane. Deal, of course.”

“Done. Now put the damn call through!”


The next voice Lane heard made him realize he’d been repeating the silent mantra that had started in him three weeks earlier: need him, need him, need him, Devri, if I don’t have him I’ll die!

“My dear Gage, matters have been arranged,” Ruis Calvario said. “We can now conclude the personal deal we spoke of.”

“I still have only two questions, Ruis,” Lane managed. “When and how much?”

Calvario laughed. “When is four days from now, at my Hotel Grandé here in Rio. I trust I left you suitable travel time?”

“Yes, I can be there. How much?”

“Ah. That’s a slightly more thorny issue.”

“I told you, Ruis. Highest bid.”

“Oh, there’s no bidding, my friend. He is in a somewhat - higher bracket, shall we say - than is common for businessmen.”

“I’ll get the credit. Just tell me how much.”

“He has been given quite detailed and specialized training.”

“Great. How much?”

“The fee reflects that - and his youth, of course."

“Ruis - how much?”

“Five thousand.” Calvario paused. “Per act.”

Lane’s jaw dropped. “Per act?” he rasped.

“With a twenty minute standard, two hour maximum.” Calvario smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “This is not negotiable, remember?”

“Devri…” Lane swallowed. “What’s up front?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you’ll calculate on the honor system.”

“I would not insult your intelligence, my dear Gage. Up front is the standard. If you want an hour, it’s fifteen thousand. If there’s more activity than the standard allowance, Kam will report it to the desk before you leave.”


“My Houses’ usual.”

“Block me the maximum, Ruis.”

On the comscreen, Calvario’s eyebrows rose, and he chuckled. “You are quite smitten, my friend.”

“The maximum.”

“As you say, Gage.” Calvario looked down, obviously entering information into a stat board. “Four days from now, beginning at 9:00 PM local time, a two hour block at thirty thousand credits.” He looked up again. “Kam will be ready for you, Gage.”

“Done, Ruis.”

Calvario smiled, but again, it was wintry. “Done.”


His personal security, a large, deceptively casual man named Tomor Rand, thought he was crazy.

“Liquidating how much personal equity, Gage?” he asked as his leather-clad body reclined against the doorframe to Lane’s cabin.

“Is it Imperial business, Rand?” Lane replied without looking up from his computer.


“Then is it your business?”

“I’m your security. If you start acting crazy, it becomes my business.”

“So I’m obsessed. If I want to waste a fortune on a hooker…”

“If I see signs of addiction, I’m supposed to report it.”

Lane scowled. “That’s assuming I’m stupid enough to start using my own stock.”

Rand shrugged. “Addiction is addiction.”

“Okay, so if I start paying exorbitant amounts on a regular basis, you’ll have something to report.”

“Just so we’re clear on that, Gage.”

“Clear. Now get the hell out of here and let me liquidate my fucking fortune.”

Rand straightened, turning from the door. “Fucking fortune, huh? You’re hilarious.” He paused. “What do you want me to tell Saff?”

“Tell her to get me to Terra in four days, by nightfall, Rio de Janeiro time or it’s her pretty little ass.”


The Haven manager of Hotel Grandé raised an impressed eyebrow as the transfer of credit was completed. He caught Lane’s eyes and murmured, in Haven’s native tongue, “You know his worth.” Lane replied, “I know what I see,” then returned his attention to the reservation desk.

“The White Room, Dealer Gage,” the clerk said, handing him a key code. “Two hours. Standard guarantee. If you have any problems…”

“You won’t,” the manager assured with a smile.

“…don’t hesitate to call the desk,” the clerk rejoined. Then, he, too, smiled. “Enjoy.”

“No doubt,” Lane said, and left the desk and reception area.

There was an old-fashioned feel to the Hotel. The res desk was standard, with several chairs placed before the options stations; screens on which a client could peruse the House’s offerings. But beyond that was a huge, richly appointed parlor, adorned with couches, lounges and over-stuffed chairs. Any number of professionals worked the room, providing refreshment and chemicals and attentive diversion for waiting clients, or a more interactive style of option station. No actual business went on here, beyond an occasional kiss or caress, some exhibitionism, and a lot of teasing and innuendo.

To one side of the parlor was the door to the performance arena. Even when open, the doorway itself was shielded by heavy velvet curtains. The arena was comprised of three large rooms and several smaller ones. In these, clients could watch any manner of performance, but actual physical contact between patron and performer was strictly regulated. There were usually scheduled events posted on the options screens, but a client could also put in a special order for a private or group showing.

On the other side was a wide, curving staircase, another old-fashioned touch. There were turbolifts at the hallway above the stairs, but one was required to ascend the first floor on foot. Lane had to admit that there was something inherently sensual and decadent about the sight of a beautifully attired professional elegantly leading a client up those gilded steps.

His escort met him at the parlor entryway. Gage knew her, a tall, striking woman named Tass, her platinum hair very short and spiked. She wore jewelry of faceted emeralds; earrings, a choker necklace, and a bracelet on her left wrist. Her thin, muscular body was encased in a bright green corset corded with gold, a sheer green g-string beneath it. Sheer green stockings covered her long legs, emerald-colored high heeled shoes on her feet. She smiled, took his hand and they started up the staircase.

“Kam’s a little nervous,” she whispered. “Be good to him.”

“Nervous? Why?” Lane asked.

Her green eyes, widened. “You’re his first. Didn’t you know?”

Lane was suddenly uneasy. “Calvario said he’d been trained…”

“Oh, he has. But clients are always different than trainers.” She grinned. “Pressure to perform, darling.”

Lane nodded, his throat going dry. The heady knowledge that he was to be the first was countered by the annoyance that it was only first client - and he was well aware that the dichotomy conflicted sharply with his unease, seconds ago, at the thought of being the first. But he said nothing more, and accepted Tass’ obligatory kiss as she left him in front of a closed door. A shiver ran through him as he entered the code he’d been given and turned the ornate golden doorknob, stepping silently forward.

The White Room was just that - white. White walls, white rug, white draperies, white fixtures. The white wrought-iron bed had white coverings and white pillows - and in its center was the only spot of color, and Lane had to remember to breathe. Kam, his sun-bronzed skin naked but for a white thong and a sheer white halter jacket that could have been tied in front, but wasn’t.

The young man was on his side in a semi-sprawl. One leg was curled up, the other stretched out straight in front of it. One arm, too, was curled against his chest, the other reaching forward, relaxed and languid. The dark almond eyes were closed, the black hair in a neat braid.

Lane drank in the sight. His heart hammered against his chest, his cock even harder than anticipation had made it. He had been standing in the doorway, keeping it open. Now he took a step inside the room and the latch of the door clicked softly closed.

Kam moved fast. He was up and off the bed, flowing like a ripple of water across the room to drop to his knees at Lane’s feet. Without touching, his arms entwined around Lane’s hips. The barest caress of lips touched Lane’s clothed erection, then Kam looked up at him, arms finishing their graceful non-embrace down and around Lane’s thighs, then moving to rest suggestively behind Kam’s back.

“Welcome to the White Room, sir,” said the rich, silky voice that haunted Lane’s dreams. “I am at your service.”

Lane found himself staring into the black eyes, falling into them. Some rational part of his brain calmly informed him that if he reached for the vision before him, if he touched the warm skin, kissed the full, tempting lips, he would be lost. There would be nothing he could refuse, he would throw away his bank account, his reputation, his livelihood for this beauty. Should the boy find out, he could be controlled, made a fool or a puppet - or worse. But the longer he stared, the more he became aware of an innocence and a sweetness behind the exquisitely trained gaze. There was trust there, and a touch of desperate hope, all hidden in the professional’s eager, sensual expectation.

He’s been hurt came sudden knowledge, and with it the determination to bring only pleasure to his companion. Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around? a cynical voice reminded. He’s not paying you fifteen thousand an hour.

True. But I could stand here and just look at him and get my credit’s worth.

You, Dealer, have got it bad.

Are you just figuring that out?

“Your pleasure this evening, sir?” the boy’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Lane blinked, then smiled. “You, lovely, lovely Kam.” The boy smiled, and Lane reached down, pulling him into an embrace. The feel of his naked skin was electric and Lane let the shudder take him. He heard Kam’s soft, sharp intake of breath, then felt the young man’s body melt against his. The beautiful face tilted up to him, lips parted, eyes wide open. Hands moved up his back, grasping to his shoulders, urging his head down and forward. When their mouths met in the kiss, as he had predicted, Lane was lost.


He spent the first twenty minutes exploring every inch of Kam’s body. He discovered that the young man’s feet were particularly sensitive, and that a touch there, or at the small of his back, or the nape of his neck could make his entire body spasm. He was unlike any pro Lane had ever had - genuinely eager, genuinely aroused. His cock was as hard as neutronium. It had to be uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t’ve known it from his demeanor. It was almost as if he didn’t notice - except for the way his body squirmed and writhed with joyous desire. He seemed embarrassed but delighted by Lane’s heady indulgence. His eyes were shining pools of warm jet, his smile heart-stoppingly welcoming. And his kisses… Lane had never been kissed so tantalizingly, so passionately, so teasingly, so completely - so thoroughly in his life.

The second twenty minutes were spent enjoying Kam’s languid, sensual undressing of his client, and his thorough exploration of Lane. His touch was perfection. He knew exactly where and when and how much pressure to use to elicit the strongest most exquisite response. He played Lane’s body like an expert trader plays the market. His tongue lapped at Lane’s thighs and belly like that of a great cat, the dark eyes watching Lane’s passionate reaction. When he began licking and sucking on Lane’s cock and balls, Lane had to bite his lip to keep from coming, crying out in pure hedonism. He hadn’t thought it possible, but Kam’s mouth-work was even better than his kisses.

It wasn’t until the end of the first hour that Lane finally pressed his body between Kam’s legs, raising his partner’s knees to his chest. For the first time, Kam closed his eyes, breathing quickly in anticipation. His lips were slightly swollen from the fellatio he’d been performing, and he kept them parted. He’d oiled Lane’s cock, had even sensually drizzled lubricant on and into his own anus. Lane was past thinking, beyond anything but the mantra: need him, need him, need him, Devri, if I don’t have him I’ll die! He positioned himself, shuddering with the fire inside him, and thrust.

Kam cried out, a sharp “God yes!” and his young, supple body pushed up, forcing Lane’s cock to complete penetration.

They fucked practically non-stop for nearly the whole hour left to them, in every position Lane knew about - and some he hadn’t known about. Kam was insatiable, his hunger so genuine it left Lane panting, in awe. He knew just how to keep Lane from orgasm. He alternated their mutual pleasure with the perfect combination of fevered lust and lascivious play and deep, abiding joy. And as the minutes ticked away, he finally gave completion with pure, unadulterated abandon. Then he collapsed in Lane’s arms, softly kissing the sweat-streaked flesh, eyes closed, his lips curved in an angelic smile.

“Devri, you’re magnificent,” Lane breathed.

“Thank you,” came the quiet, almost shy response. Lane’s hand trailed down Kam’s torso, making the boy writhe. It filled him with the sudden realization that Kam was still rock-hard. The words blurted out of him without thought.

“You still need.”

Kam shook his head, the silky hair - long since worked out of the braid - tickling across Lane’s chest. “I’m fine, sir,” he replied.

“Lane. Call me Lane.”

Kam smiled up at him. “I’m fine, Lane,” he repeated softly.

“Yes, you are, and you still need.”

It made Kam chuckle. “Thank you again - and you don’t need to concern yourself.”

“And if I want to concern myself?” Lane asked.

There was a hesitation before the boy answered, his head bending down submissively. His voice was even softer. “As you desire, s - Lane.”

Lane turned, pulling Kam with him. He reached down, letting his fingers stroke the hard flesh of Kam’s cock. For the second time, Kam closed his eyes. Lane filed the information for later, not wanting curiosity to distract him. When he closed his fist around the throbbing organ, Kam gasped, his fingers digging into Lane’s shoulder. Lane glanced at his face. For a moment, he thought he saw a grimace of pain, too quickly replaced by lip-biting ecstasy. That curiosity he couldn’t ignore, and was about to ask about it when the bell sounded, signaling the end of his time block.

“I’m sorry, Lane,” Kam whispered. The expression, as had everything about Kam, struck Lane as absolutely genuine.

“So am I,” he returned. He gave an elaborate sigh, then sat up. Kam sat up beside him. He again stared into the beautiful, dark eyes. “Next time,” he promised, then leaned forward, kissing Kam’s soft, skilled mouth. When it broke, Kam smiled.

“Next time,” he repeated.


“Will you take a moment to enter a client satisfaction record?” the res desk clerk asked.

Lane glanced up at the top of the staircase. As was standard, Kam had taken the turbolift with him. His hair was again braided, his bronzed body covered in the white thong and jacket. He’d get a thirty minute break between clients to shower, then receive his next room assignment - he was too new to take a place in the parlor.

“Perfection,” he told the clerk. “The only way it could have been better is if I could’ve blocked the whole damn night.”

“And will you be returning, sir?” the clerk said.

“Bet on it,” Lane replied.

“Do you have a date in mind?”

“When is he next open?”

The clerk was smiling as he consulted the reservation screen.


He had to wait another two months. It wasn’t quite as expensive. Still a two hour maximum, but the cost had dropped to 2000 for a 20 minute block. Lane had managed to find out that Kam only worked weekends. It was part of why he was so expensive, and why Lane had had to wait so long. Kam was also listed as Ruis Calvario’s legal ward. Lane’s thoughts were troubled by that. Maybe, that first morning, the reason behind Calvario’s hesitation wasn’t due to the boy’s lack of training, but because he had never really intended to train him. Maybe, Lane’s own eagerness and his promise of no negotiating had caused Calvario’s greed to override his responsibility to the boy.

And, of course, all those troublesome thoughts ceased the moment Lane saw him again. He was a vision descending the wide staircase. Now that he was no longer new, he was allowed to escort his own clients up the stairs. His hair was pulled back in a loose braid, tied off with blood-red lacing. He wore a short bolero jacket of the same color, edged in gold filigree, and matching long Arabian-style pants. Blood-red suede slippers made no sound on the marble stairs. His hand was gliding elegantly along the banister, dark eyes lowered. Lane caught a glint of gold shadow on his eyelids.

"Two hours," the res attendant said as Kam reached the entrance to the parlor, and he looked up. For a moment, there was nothing behind the professional’s welcoming gaze. Lane smiled and saw light filling the ebony depths. It made his heart leap as he stepped toward him.

"Welcome," Kam murmured, his young voice a silky enticement all by itself. He held out his right hand, palm up, and Lane took hold of it. Immediately Kam brought the Haven's hand to his lips, kissing the palm, letting his eyes stay fixed on Lane's. A smile was playing at the edges of his lips as he gave a small tug, and Lane moved with him, hand in hand, up the curving staircase.

The moment they were in the turbolift off of the stairs, Kam was in his arms. "I'm glad to see you again, Lane," was whispered in his ear, the sweet lips moving erotically over his throat and face.

"Mmm, me too," Lane responded with a hungry sigh. Kam pulled away, a smile lighting his features as he gracefully dropped to his knees. His expert mouth covered Lane's clothed lower torso with wet arousal, the skilled hands kneading Lane's thighs and buttocks in a passionate embrace. The lift came to its stop and Kam straightened, again grasping Lane's hand. They almost ran down the hallway to a room three doors down on the right. Kam touched his hand to the doorplate and it slid open.

Almost before it closed behind them, Kam was pulling him toward the large, red-sheeted bed. The dark, almond eyes were dancing, full lips curved into the most eager smile Lane had ever seen. "God, I can't wait to get you in me!" Kam rasped breathlessly and Lane had to laugh. It was helpless delight, but Kam froze. Just for an instant, and he quickly recovered to again drop to his knees before his client, but Lane noted it. It, of course, ceased to matter as Kam's mouth worked his slacks open, the smooth lips and sensual tongue meeting hard, naked flesh.

The fellatio was again perfection. Kam's skill had, impossibly, increased in the time that had passed. That increase made it impossible for Lane to hold off his orgasm, and after only ten minutes, he filled Kam's hungry mouth with thick, rich fluid. The boy swallowed, licking his lips, licking the head of Lane's cock, sucking gently but relentlessly to draw out every last drop of semen. His hands even squeezed Lane's balls, as though he was desperate to drain his client dry.

Lane collapsed onto the bed, feeling Kam's head dropping to rest on his thigh. He let his fingers move tenderly through the braided hair, almost tousling it. "That wasn't the way to not have to wait to get me in you," he murmured jokingly.

"Your needs, always, Lane," Kam returned, his voice soft. "Not mine."

"I left you needing last time," Lane rejoined. He sat up, pulling the boy onto the bed and into his arms. Kam didn't meet his gaze. He simply pressed his young body close. Lane could feel the hardness beneath the loose-fitting pants. "Let me look at you," he whispered.

Obediently, Kam crawled to the foot of the bed, kneeling up on it. As Lane stared, he silently slipped off the jacket. A tug at a well-hidden cord brought the pants sliding off of his hips to his knees. How Kam avoided having it hang up on his prominent erection, Lane didn't know and didn't take the time to try and guess. "Turn around," rasped out of a dry throat. Kam did so. The lines of his back were as enticing as Lane remembered, the rounded curve of his buttocks tempting and taunting. "Again," Lane said, and Kam was once more facing him, his arms moving to rest behind his back. Lane settled back against the heavy wooden headboard of the bed. He was still fully clothed, his cock only slightly visible under the opening of his pants. He let his right hand slide down his body to it, his left hand resting on his shirt-covered belly above it.

"Masturbate," he said.

Kam's eyes closed and Lane was sure he shuddered. But when the dark almonds opened again, there was nothing in them but sensual need and arousal. He took a slow, deep breath, and began.

His fingers started skimming over his skin, barely touching, beginning with his chest and nipples. He kept his gaze on Lane as his touch inched ever so slowly over the sun-bronzed flesh. Up and down, over and around, across and up and down again his fingers moved. The nipples hardened, the muscles of his belly quivering when a particularly sensitive nerve was caressed. Up over his throat his hands moved, grasping slightly, then onto his jaw and his lips. He ran his fingers over them in exactly the way he ran his tongue over Lane's lips when they kissed. His tongue snaked out, licking his fingertips, and they moved swiftly to moisten the erect nipples, then back again to his sensual mouth. He caressed his cheekbones, outlining them in silent elegance. His eyes closed only when he brushed his fingertips over them. Then his touch again moved down his face and throat, pausing to outline the tendons in his neck, back down his chest and to his belly. Both hands stroked the flesh there, starting together, moving sensually away from each other. Back up they skimmed, along his sides, then back to the middle of his torso and down again to the indentation of navel - and lower. Hipbones were stroked, tickled, his nails lightly scratching the skin. He began a firmer touch, squeezing his flesh, pinching it. Up again his right hand moved, swiftly this time, to pinch and pull at his nipples, as his left started to twist the firm flesh of his thigh. His head slowly fell back, a soft gasp escaping him as he moved his grasping fingers to his swollen scrotum. Quickly his right hand slid down his belly to his cock. He grabbed it, pumping it, then let go, exhaling slowly. Once more his head came forward, his eyes again leveling on Lane's face. His fingers renewed their teasing, taunting dance - this time on his cock and balls. He lightly stroked the shaft, licking fingers with his wicked tongue to moisten the swelling head. He squeezed and pulled at his balls, twisting them as he did so. When he began to slap at the hard shaft, Lane couldn't stand it. He reached for the boy, but Kam didn't stop. His touch became more intense, less teasing. He turned so that Lane had a partial view of his back and began scratching and clawing at his own buttocks, pulling them open, pushing at the recessed orifice. His caress grew harsh, the look in his eyes hardening, distant. His nipples were twisted, his cock grabbed so hard the flesh purpled beneath it. When he slammed a fist into his balls, Lane lunged forward, grabbing his hands.

"Stop it!" he rasped, but Kam's mouth came down on his in hungry insistence.

"Fuck me!" the boy demanded in a harsh, breathless voice, then returned to the devouring kiss.

Lane did. He couldn't have refused even if he'd wanted to. Need screamed into his senses, overpowering in its intensity. A part of his brain, the Dealer Extraordinaire, clinically analyzed and categorized the reaction - need, increasing demand for physical sensation, inability to separate pain stimulus from pleasure… ah, emerald - but he was swept up in Kam's greed and his own obsessive desire.


They had fallen to the floor by the time Lane orgasmed a second time. He had long since discarded his clothing, though he couldn’t recall exactly how. Kam had climbed on top of him, actually sitting on his erect cock. The limber Asian had arched his back, nearly bellowing with the fiery agony, driving, grinding his body down to further the glorious penetration. He screamed with the intensity, and after Lane climaxed, he collapsed on top of him. Lane could feel his heart pounding, could hear the ragged breaths that gasped air into his lungs.

Devri, you’re incredible,” Lane rasped, more than a little out of breath himself.

“It’s what you do to me,” Kam murmured in reply. His voice was nearly inaudible, and Lane wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it. He shook off the sudden discomforting hope and groaned.

“What I need is a hot bath,” he said.

“Coming right up,” Kam returned, but the boy didn’t move off of Lane’s prone body.

After a few minutes, Lane asked, “Kam?”

“Hmmm?” came the wordless response.


A sound that was half chuckle, half moan came from Kam’s throat. “Oh yeah,” he said, and the tone of his voice suggested restrained mirth. With an over-dramatic groan, he pushed himself away from Lane’s body, gasping as the now-flaccid penis slipped from his body. “Don’t think I can walk,” he whispered, then met Lane’s eyes with a grin. “Mind if I crawl?”

“A lovely thing like you? Surely not,” Lane rejoined, then rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow, obviously ready to watch the sensual vision. To his surprise, Kam blushed, but proceeded to move on hands and knees, sinuous, to the door opposite them. Lane couldn’t take his eyes off the smooth skin, the muscles moving beneath it. He let the warm desire flood over him again, and determinedly refused to speculate on Kam’s whispered remark and the possibility that the professional, too, had been hit with a thunderbolt.


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