Love is Always Write

Goodreads' Group M/M Romance is having an awesome event: Love is Always Write, and yours truly has two stories for the event.  The first, DARKEST BEFORE DAWN (THE MASKED MAN SERENADE) would be available soon. The second, HOW I LOST IT ON PLANET X is still in the proofreading process and has a deadline of June 1st, so it will be available sometime in July by the grace of the gods. 


Here two images of DARKEST BEFORE DAWN: the protagonists, Alaric and Sule; and Alaric's balcony. 

BIG PEPPERONI’S PIZZA & SUBS

I wrote about four chapters of this story almost a year ago. It's all lined up in my head but I've been busy with other things and never gotten back to it. Since first person is not my usual MO, I highly encourage you to not believe this is autobiographical. 

CHAPTER ONE

People will always need two things: food and drink. When those two are fulfilled the next stage is mating, so why not combine all those elements in a single interesting melting pot?

I cater to a very specific clientele, gay men, and in doing so I am also in the quest for love. That doesn’t mean it’s not gonna be a bumpy ride, but the bumpier the better, and a lot of whooping stops would make the trip a hundredfold more pleasing.

I came to Spain from a country in Latin America that I would not name, and believe me I shall keep you guessing until the end of the story, and maybe then, if I feel like it: I’ll let you know where my mother brought me to the world. Suffice is to say, that I have some American background, and that is why my business is Big Pepperoni’s and not ‘El Gran Pepperoni’. Nevertheless, here in Europe, unless you are from England, anything French is utterly chic. L’Grand Pepperoni was not glamorous enough for Chueca, the gayest neighborhood in Spain, if not on the whole wide queer world; thus I decided to keep it simple --graphic but simple--, because you guessed it right, my pepperoni is correspondently big. Total pun intended.

Some might think that the phallic metaphor for a gay-oriented locale would be too cliché, I totally disagree. Ninety-five percent of the boys might come in intrigued to find if the pepperoni is really big, some might get lucky and actually taste the aforementioned appendage. However, one hundred percent of my customers leave with enthusiastically satisfied stomachs. My product is good, and it's not a coincidence I’ve been named “Best Pizza Place in Madrid” five years in a row by not necessarily gay magazines.

When I set foot in Spain, it was in the middle of the transsexual migration of the end of the century --not that I’m a transsexual. I wasn’t aware of the flock moving to Spain until I arrived and was shocked by the huge amount of extremely beautiful women --who were born male-- cruising the gloomy parks for clients with sultry lips, humongous boobs and deadly schlongs. Being a prowling predator long before coming to Europe, I knew the difference very well. Real women never look that pretty when they sell their bodies on the street, and perhaps many guys in Latin America are not what you call extremely tall and could pass for cute girls perfectly --not my case, I’m six foot two-- , but the transgender gene usually explodes in the tall ones. Life ain’t fair, not every lady boy could be Roberta Close.

And the great Latin American trannies migration coincided with the bombshells migration from Eastern Europe, which was more to my likey. Dark and mysterious men with gypsy eyes, just toxically yummy. Simply keep in mind that there is more than two cups of American Jock blood in this cake; thus I don’t have a problem with blonds and much less with some Asian dish now and then. Kung Pao bubble butts to go! Yeah me likey too.

After winning the lottery, the day after Fat Tuesday, Fortune and her band of muscled beach boys told me to look for something bigger, since I always knew my country was not big enough for me, and my pepperoni. Luckily for me, I had been having cybernetic intercourse with a hot Spaniard and he gave me the idea to come here and embrace the motherland. That way, several millions --tax free, because I used to live in a fiscal paradise-- became less millions Euros, but millions nonetheless, and my Spanish adventure began.

My parents died in a burro accident, and I was raised by my esoteric grandmother. I just mentioned the burro accident to see how many gory images you could conjure up. What is a gay man without a big tragedy in his life? We queens must have a sense of drama, don’t we? But no, mom and pops went to the Big Siesta in Heaven in your regular garden variety car crash, but my grandmother indeed was esoteric in many levels, and she joined my parents after I graduated from high school and landed my first job. She was a great woman and she taught me well: to be a strong, independent gay man. The upmost gay lesson she gave me was, “Just because you like it up the butt, doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole. So be a gentleman until otherwise is proven necessary.” There’s nothing esoteric about that, just a good old life lesson.

My first taste of Spanish hunk was during my arrival, at the Barajas Airport, monster of chaos for a little Hispanic boy, who had never left his home before. Yeah right! Queerness has a defense mode that can only be outmoded by great predators in African plains. Did I mention that I look a lot like Lorenzo Lamas on The Renegade minus the motorcycle, long hair included? Coming from a tropical place, long hair could be a bitch, but I had a year to let it grow before my Spanish landing.

Where was I? Yes, the restrooms of the damned airport. I needed badly to empty my transatlantic restrained bladder. After a healthy piss, I saw him, hip leaned against a pedestal sink lighting a cigarette, sleek jet-black hair combed back, mean bulge in his designer jeans and enough attitude to melt anyone else. When you are six two and eat weights the way I do is not easy to be intimidated, and this gigolo wannabe didn't  make me flinch, just gave me a raging desire to have him on his knees worshiping daddy. He puffed making sexy circles with the smoke, and you know what movement of the lips is needed to make those. He winked and said. “Wanna play, Tío?”

I grabbed my crotch, where my not so little friend was --wagging tail and tongue out-- ready to play, and spat at him. “I want you to play with this.” I unbuttoned my jeans and lashed my thing out. The greedy glint in his eyes washed away all the previous cockiness, and he followed me --like a stray puppy-- to an empty stall.

“Damn, Macho, where have you been all my life?” He said, on his knees, between gluttonous licks as he stroked my cock with both hands and the purple head was still available to devour.

“I’m here right now, and I’m loving those thin lips around my mushroom.” I said full of national pride.

But the size queen in him won the battle, and he voiced with a hiss. “I've got condoms and lubricant.”

I’m a man who knows when to take a hint, but I don’t eat without taste first. “Are you clean?”

He intensely scowled at me and blurted almost offended. “I don’t have any diseases.”

I chuckled. “I’m talking about your ass. I want to rim you before fuck you within an inch of your life.”

“Oh.” He seemed embarrassed, but responded brightly. “Yes, I took a shower less than two hours ago.”

“Perfect.” I pulled him by the shoulders to stand up. “Now turn around and spread those cheeks for me.”

My gigolo wannabe had a sexy, strong ass covered in delicate fur, so light it was too close to an angelic hare to be natural, but then again how could you fake that, there? The place where the sun don’t shine wasn’t pale at all; it had the prettiness of the sun-kissed olive skin I appreciate so much. I dived nose first and strangely enough there was the faint aroma of potato chips in the pretty crevice. I’m talking all-natural-only-sea-salt-added expensive potato chips where only virginal potatoes are sacrificed on the altar of mass-consumption, which was a total turn on. Hey, just because I’m a gym bunny, doesn’t imply I don’t like my junk food healthy.

The hot man whimpered when my tongue touched his slightly wrinkled inner lips and murmured. “I don’t do this often.”

OK, you were cruising in a restroom of a busy airport. Was he suggesting that he woke up that morning with the sudden urge to do this for the first, maybe second time in his life? Yeah, now tell me that Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother was actually a drag queen named Shantel. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and think he’s talking about being rimmed.

I munched on that hole with teeth, tongue and lips until he begged for cock. I armed myself with rubber and lube and rammed the falling fortress. I hope you smelled the sarcasm here because that cavity opened so easily for pillage that it was not even funny. Accommodating and delicious, yes. Funny --nay.

I’m not the fuck-a-stranger-in-a-restroom type of guy, but this was hot, and if this was the prologue to all the things that were in queue for me in Spain, I was more than happy to take the motherland by the hair and have fun with her --well, with her attractive, silver-haired brother. While I gripped the slim waist to guide the battery, my restroom gigolo muttered, among breathless moans, a litany worthy of Saint Priapus in a language that I could not understand, most probably one of the other languages of Spain, but who cared. The deep, bothered voice was arousing even if he were reciting an old Cantonese poem.

The well-trained muscles of his ass squeezed my cock with such craft that I came within minutes, and always the caring lover, I stroked him to fruition with my cock still buried deep and hushing filthy words into his ear. He came with a growl that must have alerted Airport Security if they were not --perhaps-- doing the same in some other restroom of the chaotic complex.

Drained and content, I left the restroom to discover my sidekick, Martina, in amicable conversation with my cybernetic fuck-buddy Adrian, who had come to pick us up. Martina was my fag hag long before we learned what the term fag hag was. She had the biggest crush on me during college, while I had the hots for her older brother, who didn’t pay the least attention to me at the time and left the country several years later with a German sugar daddy.

I wonder how many times he had been under a glass coffee table by now.

When I slammed my big pepperoni against the fat lotto, I asked Martina if she wanted to come with me to Spain. Both orphans with no close relatives, we didn’t have a single thing to tie us to our homeland. Martina freed all her caged canaries and became my left hand. You got it right, I’m a lefty, and there was nothing sinister about her becoming my left side muse, because the woman was gorgeous in an utterly dark-queen-of-the-jungle way, but she always fell for the wrong guy and the only constant in her life was truly yours.

That way, The African Queen and The Renegade, finally met in person Cybernetic Porn Connoisseur Adrian St. Giorno. That wasn’t his real last name, yet truthful to triple x chatroom etiquette ‘St. Giorno’ was fine with me unless we were signing business documentation. I could give you several options to guess my cyber alter ego but, it would surface at some point on its own.  Adrian had inherited a Pizza parlor in a Madrid neighborhood more interested in other lines of food; thus during the year of preparations we investigated several venues around Chueca since we already had the restaurant equipment.

I knew Adrian for about three years before I ganbanged the lotto. I loved him as a friend and cyber-fuck partner, but there was no I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you love, it was just lots of comradeship and screen splashing sex. We both were smart guys, and Martina would be the real feminine touch in our lives. I was the money --and the pepperoni--, Adrian was the field guide (for some indeterminate reason he knew tons of Spain’s business laws and its tricky shortcuts) and Martina was Martina, my sister, my step-mother and also mistress of my manor.

So 19th century.

CHEMISTRY

Liam Jekyll heard the ringtone of his text messages. He grunted, running the towel through his face. Malcolm Hyde had been sending silly messages since Liam arrived to the suite, namely the last two hours.

The good thing was Malcolm wasn’t driving, his chauffer was doing the deed. The bad thing was Malcolm had too much time in his hands and when bored he could be an extremely annoying pain in the ass. If Liam didn’t love him so freaking much, Malcolm would become a very beautiful, very strangled corpse.

Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance kept making the phone vibrate while Liam decided he needed a haircut. Yeah, Malcolm loved to pull his hair when they made love but it was an unnecessary commitment in a more than wonderfully committed relationship. As much as Malcolm tried to convince Liam how Hollywood stud he looked with this mat of hair, Liam didn’t have the ten assistants to take care of it.

Someone told him once, the younger the longer, but when you reach 40 you need to pay attention to things other than what kind of hair conditioner you should use to keep the locks bouncy.

Liam finally shut Gaga up, bracing himself for another chemistry joke; the screen winked at him.

The Official Unabashed Scientific Dictionary defines cation as a positively charged kitten.

Seriously? Liam debated what would be worse, to ask James, their chauffer, to run as many red lights as possible to bring Malcolm’s ass quickly or turn the phone off. Instead, he decided to counterattack, his fingers flying over the tiny keyboard.

What’s the dif between a shark and a lawyer?

Liam hit send and laughed inwardly, Malcolm hated lawyer jokes. Primordially, because Malcolm Hyde was the equivalent of the sharkiest great white --in the judicial ecosystem-- that prowled the human waters.

What Liam wasn’t expecting was an immediate call from his partner of ten years.

“I love you,” Liam chuckled as he answered before Malcolm could say a word.

“That’s not gonna save you.” Malcolm growled, but Liam recognized that sweet hint of amusement in his lover’s tone.

“I’m naked,” Liam teased.

“Fuck.” Malcolm hissed, somewhat out of words, which was very unusual. He recuperated fast anyway. “Well, suit up. I’m bringing you something, and you need to accept it while we have dinner.”

“But I’m so comfy,” Liam whispered in a husky tone. “What about room service?”

“I’m bringing a weapon, and if you accept it, I’m gonna do so many atrocities to you, that you gonna wish your fortieth birthday was every other day to keep receiving this kind of present.”

“Whoa, now I’m intrigued.” Liam whistled. “How long before you’re here?”

“The reservation is for nine o’clock sharp, I’ll be there in time.” Malcolm beamed, apparently forgetting about sharks and their land siblings, “We gonna have so much fun, baby.”

“All right, see you there then.” But it was important to pitch another pun, after how many? Yeah, a dozen silly chemistry jokes. “I just hope Homeland Security has not bugged this line. You know, weapon and atrocities during the same conversation might trigger some red flags.”

“I don’t think they have all chemistry professors’ mobiles under observation.” Malcolm hissed but chuckled at the end. “Love you, doll.” The little person dancing on his screen disappeared as the call disconnected.

Liam stood up from the bed he hadn’t realized he sat on. Towel around his waist, he opened the curtains of the suite and looked outside; it was dark already. The good thing about working on a campus less than an hour from the waterfalls of the Big Sioux River was the access to all kinds of outdoor activities while keeping housing in a little town environment. Aside from that, his campus offered a unique combination of his two passions, Chemistry and Physics, and with the kind of investigation they were currently doing, a tampered line wasn’t that much of a farfetched idea.   

Spring Break had welcomed Liam’s birthday, and now Malcolm was planning something explosive. What a sec, did Malcolm say if he accepted the present? What could he possible offer that Liam would not accept and above all in public?

A weekend forecast of sunny days in the high sixties promised a nice outdoor time. Perhaps, they would finally visit Mount Rushmore, but if everything went as Malcolm had foreseen --in his twisted imagination-- the most probable outcome of this night was a convalescence, bedridden two-day blackout. But Liam wasn’t 

complaining.

****

“Hello. There’s a reservation for Hyde at nine.” Liam smiled at the beautiful girl handling the guests of the exclusive restaurant.

“Of course, the other two gentlemen wait for you at the bar. Someone will be there as soon as your table is ready.” She smiled back, her blinding teeth distracting him for a second.

It dawned on him, she had said “the other two.” This was supposed to be an intimate dinner to start his birthday weekend. What was Malcolm plotting?

Liam spotted his lover by the bar, facing the entrance and most probably wanting to know when Liam arrived to not be surprised. Lawyers. A medium height man spoke with Malcolm animatedly, but Liam could only behold part of his profile. And for some reason it seemed uncannily familiar.

“Hey, birthday boy,” Malcolm effusively greeted him after almost a month of not seeing each other. That was the bad thing about living in separated cities.  Malcolm moved his attention back to the young man who was their third wheel for the night. “Let me introduce you to…”

“John V. Gabriel,” Liam pronounced, unnervingly shocked, staring at the handsome young man.

“Professor Jekyll!” The brown-eyed hunk uttered, offering a hesitant hand.

“It’s actually doctor,” Malcolm hissed, miffed. “Do you two know each other?”

“Darling, you know how pompous the doctor thing sounds.” Liam smiled, shaking the long-fingered hand. “This young man is only my best student.” He winked, and John changed colors.

“Well that’s an interesting twist. He came highly recommended and not precisely by his intellect.” Malcolm stood there looking from one to the other like in a tennis match.

“How so?” Liam let go of John’s hand, his eyes narrowed sizing both men.

“I’m an escort, professor.” John confirmed unabashedly. “I was a stripper for a while, but this is more profitable and less handsy.” He chortled, shrugging.

“Why?” Liam couldn’t grasp why his best student had resorted to the oldest profession when with his grades he could have mayor grants.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life enslaved to student loans.”

“Smart boy,” Malcolm cheered. “This is your second hit and I decided that I like you very much, even if you end up being a lousy lay.”

John laughed darkly, defiantly, “I’m anything but a lousy lay, Mr. Hyde. My credentials herald me, don’t they?”

The tension between these two was certainly sexy, but curiosity was Liam’s worst enemy. “And what was the first hit?”

John arched an eyebrow, but Malcolm produced the answer, “I swabbed Pretty Boy here, in the limo, with a HIV kit, since we don’t use condoms.” He pointed with his thumb mockingly, “And he demanded that we both went through the same procedure.”

“Seems only fair,” John commented casually, business-like actually. “Since I don’t bareback with my clients, or anyone for the matter, but your partner has all this transcendental expectations for the evening that apart from the enlargement of my compensation, well, I truly want to participate.” He finished with his big brown eyes sparkling, frankly devouring Liam.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the whole experience still rang wrong; this was one of his students after all. “But I’m your teacher. It calls for caution.” Then Liam noticed John had a bottle of water in front of him instead of a drink. Smart boy indeed.

Malcolm interjected, “This is a completely legal transaction. We’re legally engaging his services and as you just said, he’s one of your best students, thus it could not be construed as some kind of bribe for better grades. It’s not that he’s soliciting either, he’s a legally employed companion.”

Liam rolled his eyes; he knew Malcolm was getting a hard-on right there, just using the word legal so many times. He caved in, “All right, it’s a threesome then. There, our table is ready.” He announced as a sultry middle-aged woman called their party.

“Yes,” Malcolm hissed, pulling his forearm down as if he just closed a billion dollar deal. “We have him for 24 hours so we can go dancing after we eat. T-bar is gonna be superb tonight.”

This was going to be their first threesome in many moons. Liam was still a little hesitant inside. However, John apart from being an excellent student was a stunning piece of youth. Liam couldn’t say he had not eyed the strawberry blond before, and now he understood why, seeing both men side-by-side, John was a younger, beardless version of Malcolm.

Seeing Malcolm’s excitement just enhanced the whole lust formula. Liam joked, “Pray tell, my love, how many energy drinks you drank on your way here?”

Malcolm just smiled, meticulously undressing John mentally. Like a kid who has just ripped the guts of a piñata and it’s going to keep all the candy for himself.

John was the one to give the answer, shaking his head and smiling with even, perfect white teeth. He showed four fingers.

****

After an excellent dinner, they had an even better time dancing at T-bar. They had joked about the stupidly insane coincidence not just that Liam was Jekyll and Malcolm was Hyde, but that their third party for the night name was John Gabriel.

John wickedly said that at least he had them both in front of him at the same time to be sure nobody was transforming into something else. Of course, he’d said this while sucking Liam and Malcolm’s cocks within the dark confines of their limo on their way back to the hotel, both solid pieces of meat secured in his young, playful hands.

Now Liam sat comfortably on a short, ornate settee, stroking his raging cock and enjoying the show unfolding on the immense bed of the suite.

Malcolm and John were on their knees and kissed, devouring and manhandling each other with more fury than a flaming cephalopod.

Both men together were a thing of beauty, the supreme visual aphrodisiac.

Liam had tasted both sets of lips thoroughly while at the club, when in many occasions a three-way kiss became more than an order, a suffocating need. He was away from them at the moment, just to brand his memory with their entwined sinewy forms.

John broke their demanding kissing and said something --Liam couldn’t grasp-- in Malcolm’s ear, chuckling. Malcolm chuckled in return and slid his hands down the broad expanse of John’s back, ending on round, muscled cheeks and spreading them with perverse slowness. John’s mouthwatering starfish teasingly stretched thanks to the ministrations of his blond lover, and a husky moan escaped from their escort.

A finger found its way into Malcolm’s mouth, and --eagerly lubricated-- John used the finger to probe himself, using Malcolm’s mouth again, but this time to muffle his appreciative moans.

It was time for Liam to join them. In less than the four seconds Liam took to reach the bed, three of John’s digits already worked like a well-oiled piston to prepare the sweet starfish for Liam’s assault.

Of all the wrong things you could have tattooed on your left ass cheek, John had the worst. Tweety Bird shushed Liam with a finger over his orange little beak, while winking as if to keep a secret the naughty things that were about happen to those pretty, creamy buns.

Those big paws of Malcolm moved John’s meaty cheeks farther apart, and when John vacated the sweet orifice to support his bent body onto Malcolm’s shoulders and greedy mouth, the gaping hole was not just an invitation but also a whispered plea for invasion. And Liam licked the pouted entrance, yanking an encouraging grunt from John.

“Make him fuck me,” John begged into Malcolm’s ear, his lovely tenor an octave huskier, clinging for dear life on the square shoulders.

“Baby, be a good birthday boy and take him.” A mischievous tone colored Malcolm’s words.

Liam’s tongue glided over the conquered entrance. John pushed back, wanting more, and pulled Liam by the back of his head farther in, trying desperately to impale himself on Liam’s face and repeating like a mantra, “Oh fuck, Oh prof.”

“Slow down, sweetie, I need to breathe. I’ll get there.” Liam chuckled, “I like to savor my morsels.” And he went to slurp more on the needy starfish.

Presenting his leaking head to the tight gape, Liam teasingly rubbed it, enjoying how goose bumps covered the porcelain cheeks.  He spanked it playfully, the pink echo of his palm brightened until it became a scarlet print. He bent to kiss his mark, and Tweety seemed to give him applauses for his kindness.

“Malcolm, if he doesn’t fuck me this second, I’m going to rape him,” John hissed in a tone that was at once plea, chuckle and threat.

His lover of ten years gave Liam a nod; a sweet smile adorned his face, making his honey-colored eyes tinkle with mischief. It was time to be inside his birthday present. Liam inched his way into the sweet channel, and he felt the tremor of John’s body thanks to his grip on the narrow hips.

John was engulfed in the demanding kiss and the relentless pounding, and their young escort appeared to be in ecstasy undulating to and fro between the two massive walls. Now and then John turned his head so he was able to kiss Liam, while Malcolm ravished his nipples taking advantage of the quick recess in their endless tongue-fencing match.

Liam nipples were hard against John’s back, as he gave to his B-day gift shallow stabs, and Malcolm possessively kneaded Liam’s ass cheeks almost crushing the young man between them in his enthusiasm. Malcolm whispered into Liam’s ear. “It’s my turn.”

“Yes,” John hissed, calculating it was time for Malcolm to fuck him. What he didn’t know was that the big white shark was a supreme bottom. His perplexity was evident when he saw Malcolm rest on his back and spread his legs to take Liam, “I thought...”

“Put your cock in his mouth, John.” Liam ordered softly, nodding toward Malcolm’s smug face.

The beautiful cock, long and thick, disappeared from sight in a nicely calculated gulp. It’s been years since the last time they’d had a threesome, but Liam knew how turned on Malcolm must be at the moment. It was natural for Liam to work a dildo up his lover hole while the other man devoured his cock eagerly.

Their love was beyond questioning. Together through seriously rough times, his faith in his lover --his husband in his heart-- was unshakable. Although, there was something unfathomably perfect in the way John Gabriel fitted between their bodies. As if adding this new third element would make even more resistant the most inspired alloy.

Liam had noticed it in the way John melted in their touch, in the way Liam's hands fitted on both the other's waists in unison, as if they had been meant to be there since the beginning of time. In the way their mouths had matched flawlessly in their three-way kissing. How could he deny their solid two was rapidly becoming a gorgeous three?

In synchrony, Liam and John thrust into Malcolm’s welcoming extremes. John also stroked Malcolm’s raging cock, furtively licking his palm and fingers and rolling his eyes as he enjoyed that spicy flavor Liam knew so well.

Malcolm oozed like the proverbial broken faucet, and   John started to use the tasty fluids to lubricate his own needing hole. With one look, Liam understood what he was planning and chuckled, not skipping a beat of his pounding.

There was a slight disturbance in the force as John took his cock out of Malcolm’s mouth and shifted his body to straddle him. The look on Malcolm’s face was one of puzzlement, shock and sudden interest thrown haphazardly in a merry mix.

Yeah, their handsome escort was the final piece to elevate their flawless composition.

Liam angled Malcolm’s legs to allow John an easier self-impalement, which he did with a huffed moan. Liam locked eyes with Malcolm, and the smile and the bliss and the gratefulness in those honeyed eyes undid him. Liam interlaced his fingers with Malcolm, and he saw Malcolm do the same with John.

And so it began, as the wheels of an unrestrained train on a blind march to powerful orgasm, moans and grunts the ancient whistle, the steam condensing into sweat the proof of their determination to arrive to that delightful destination.

The explosion came with Liam thrusting into both, his cock inside Malcolm and his middle finger along with Malcolm’s cock inside John. His finger witnessed the flood inside their escort and the excruciating clenching of John’s completion. If he wasn’t in paradise, he didn’t know where he was.

When their breathing gracefully decided to return, and they were able to untangle their sweaty bodies, John padded to the bathroom, bringing wet towels. He devotedly cleaned them, and they returned the ministrations giving butterfly pecks on each cleaned area. John squirmed, delighted, and --more than once-- moaned unabashedly.

Later on, Liam and Malcolm rested on their backs closely together. John had somehow wormed his way --stomach down-- between them, his face resting on his clasped hands and looking at both men with undisguised adoration.

Malcolm caressing John’s shoulder spoke first after a prolonged but pleasant silence. “Liam said at the restaurant John V. Gabriel. What’s the V for?”

“Valentino,” John uttered, shifting to kiss Malcolm’s nipple. “Thank you.”

“And why would that be?” Malcolm had that furrowed brow that meant he was somewhat confused. Maybe he was going to comment something about the name Valentino but the “Thank you” had stopped him.

“I always though Professor Jekyll was dreamy --John chuckled-- and imagined all these wild scenarios, but you two together was absolutely insane. I should be the one paying you two.”

“We don’t do refunds,” Malcolm looked at Liam, and Liam nodded silently in return. They didn’t need words to understand each other. “But if you feel obliged, we will be happy to have you around --consistently.”

“Really?” John upended his torso, moving his head like an excited puppy to look at Liam and Malcolm with undisguised enthusiasm.

“It’d be even better if we’re your only clients.” Liam stressed, nodding solemnly.

“We will figure out a way to finish your contract with the escort firm,” Malcolm murmured, the shark swimming predatorily. “So you can be exclusively ours.”

“You mean that?” John was shaking, apparently out of pure delight.

“Yeah, but not as a toy but an equal. You cool with that?” Liam chuckled; he had been around his students for too long indeed.

“Of course,” John beamed. “If I didn’t believe in Chemistry, I’d say this was sweet Alchemy.”

Liam laughed openly this time, “We’re scientists, baby. This is pure, unadulterated and Splenda-based Chemistry.”

“The perfect cation,” Malcolm chuckled.

Liam rolled his eyes --remembering one of the silly texts from that afternoon-- and pulled both men closer for an explosive three-way kiss.

Best birthday ever.

SEPTIMA LUNA

Septima Luna was the hottest club in the hottest side of the city. The club by the standards of any metropolis was small, 500 people comfortably any given day and a thousand in a Vienna sausages mini can attempt on holidays. However, that was all Chico, the six-foot-four owner, wanted to be happy. Expansion was unnecessary.

But Chico took very good care of his patrons. Three bars strategically located and ten bartenders per bar to handle the thirsty men looking for more than a Slurpee. Angel was one of the 30 bartenders of the club. Well, actually Angel was a bartender slash go-go boy slash escort.

Bartender during regular days. Go-go boy on holidays and (if taking a tinkle wasn’t an emergency) in his fifteen-minute breaks. Escort if the man was of his like, not because Angel needed the money but because after the debacle that brought him to the big city, he charged to keep his heart at bay and to avoid people thinking he was easy. He didn’t care if people thought he was a whore, the idea of profit would distract them enough to avoid too many questions.

“Why he has to do that?” Jack, a fellow bartender asked to no one in particular as Angel gyrated over the bar, while patrons cheered his progressions.

“Don’t be a sourpuss, girl. He likes the attention, besides that brings more customers and tips to our side of the club. Be grateful.”

Angel squatted a little for a patron to plant a tip in his short-shorts and to see who had vouched for him. Of course, it was Hugo.

Hugo rescued him from the metaphorical ditch where he was, after so many days in the big city without knowing anyone or a place to go. Angel had been assaulted, and with a black eye and torn clothes, people were scooting around him like he had the plague.

As tall and dark that Hugo was, Angel would have gladly paid with his body, since he didn’t have anything else to offer, after the second night he spent in Hugo’s flat. It was a spacious accommodation in a remodeled warehouse, and Hugo had opened it to Angel with open arms and a fridge full of delicious food.

Hugo just uttered several tsk and shook his head when he found Angel spread in his bed, saying, “I don’t have something else to repay your kindness.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m flattered, though.” Hugo smiled, eyeing Angel in the way any normal red-blooded man would look at a hot guy spread on his bed, then turn to leave the room, saying like an afterthought over his shoulder. “I spoke with my boss, and you can start at the club tomorrow night, if you feel better.”

Two years later, they were still roommates, and Angel went to school during the day and shimmed his ass at the club during the nights. They had seen each other naked in the way brothers would see each other in an embarrassing moment, and nothing had happened between them.

Angel winked at Hugo, mouthing a “Thank you” and looking at his watch. The break was over and he jumped behind the bar and donned his red tank top again, after wiping the sweat covering his well-defined muscles with it.

He saw Jack quirk his mouth in a silent “Gross” and with all the mischievousness of the world Angel blow a kiss in Jack’s direction as soon as the man looked his way. A raspberry was the response from the blond bartender. Jack was a cute boy; if he weren’t a bitch Angel would totally hit that. Without charge, just to shut his mouth.

A couple of times, Angel had been tempted to investigate the origin of Jack’s animosity toward him but the right time had never truly come about.

When the time for the second break of the night arrived, his bladder made a number on him and he missed the opportunity to dance over the bar. Sometimes, as he danced between the glassware and beer bottles, Chico encouraged him to bring patrons up to dance with him. Close to his third break --around 3:00 a.m.--, his boss told him. “Pick the craziest looking guy by the bar and pull him up to dance with you, I need some pictures for the website.”

Septima Luna had go-go boys only on holidays, and one night bored to death, Angel climbed the bar and began dancing. The other bartenders were shocked for five seconds and when their bar started to fill up, they urged him to take his tank top off. But no one else followed the initiative; thus Angel was the only one allowed to do it now.

So, by the time Angel was dancing on the bar with the Tim Burton version of an emo-vampire, something that hadn’t happened in a long, long time came about. You know that story about Moses parting the Red Sea? Well, in the exact moment Angel gyrated his hips toward the entrance of the club and the fortunate crazy-of-the-night grinded behind him, he saw it.

The bodies contorting on the dance floor opened a gap that expanded by the silent command of the man moving the mass of dancers with the sheer force of his striking aura. The man looked at Angel, above the writhing bodies, and smiled.

His consciousness faltered and his boots slipped on the wet bar, the emo-vampire behind him caught him by the arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah, stepped on water, that’s all, thank you.” Angel gave the guy a sexy smirk. The guy winked an eye covered in black eye-shadow.

Angel zoomed in on the tall man again.

I mean, what the fuck? The man is wearing a fedora for crying out loud.

The waters kept receding as the man approached his bar, his break was about to finish and for some insane reason that he couldn’t begin to analyze in that second, he didn’t want to go back to serve drinks. He wanted to jump into the man’s arms.

I’ve heard of insta-lust before, but this is ridiculous.

Angel gave a resounding peck to this dance partner, helping the guy off the bar and wondering if the fangs in the wicked smile were real. As he composed himself and put back his tank top, one of the other bartenders approached the man with the silliest smile and adoring eyes Angel had never seen before.

Bitch, I saw him first.

Whoa, what was that?

To his utter enjoyment, the man politely refused (shaking his head slowly) and pointed in Angel’s direction, mouthing “I want him.”

If you, for some bizarre reason, had the opportunity to watch a puppy drown, you would understand the expression of the bartender as he walked toward Angel and smacked him on the ass and growled, “Lucky whore.”

Instead of do a couple of somersaults, Angel steeled his body. This wasn’t right, he was oblivious to attraction and worked the needs of his body through paying customers to keep his feelings in the proverbial black box. A man paying wasn’t likely to take him seriously enough to think of something else than a quick fuck.

No, Angel was going to fight the tingling and all the fuzzy bullshit warring inside him.

He planted himself in front of the man and nodded as much business-like as his betraying body allowed him in that moment. Dammit, he was getting a fucking hard-on right there. Not easy to hide that in short-shorts.

“Are you an angel?”

Oh shit, that sounded too much like some galactic soap opera he knew of, and the quote on quote angel ended really fucked up.

“My name is Angel, but I’m the farthest thing from a cherub.”

“Cool, my name is Malachi. I’m an astronomer.”

The man’s voice was a caress and it surprised him how easily he heard the man with the booming music as background, “A teacher?”

That explained the fedora.

“No, a scientist,” the man said with a stunning smile.

“Huh. Ok. What can I get you?”

“What’s your favorite drink?’

Yeah, Angel knew that drill too.

“I don’t drink.”

The man, Malachi (Angel didn’t know why he felt compelled to use the man’s name) arched an eyebrow, “Problems with it in the past?”

“Nope, I just have better things to do with my liver. You like it stiff?”

Wrong choice of words.

“Is that an invitation?”

“A. Stiff. Drink,” Angel shook his head embarrassed without reason.

“Surprise me.” Malachi offered, using that disarming smile again.

Angel made the strongest cocktail of the house, The Sodomized Zombie, to get rid of the guy and save himself before he did something stupid. “Here we go.”

Malachi, the astronomer (in a fucking fedora), drank the toxic concoction as if it were tap water. He licked his lips as he finished.

The motion stirred something Angel wasn’t aware he had inside, lurking, waiting. Now, the fuzzy feelings were butterflies or praying mantis or swarming African bees. Who the Heck knew?

“Another,” Malachi beamed.

“You sure, you want another? That’s a very strong one.”

Malachi made a puzzled face, “Really? It didn’t seem strong to me.”

If Malachi hadn’t mentioned he was an astronomer, Angel would have thought he was an archeologist instead and could totally see him drinking scorching firewater with some lost tribe; not many people could handle The Sodomized Zombie like that and ask for another right away.

He made another and presented it to Malachi, but before he could draw his hand away from the glass, the astronomer featherly caressed his fingers, shocking Angel. It wasn’t the intimate gesture but all the reactions of his body to that slight touch. Even his nipples stood in alert after that.

“Tonight is the seventh moon.” Malachi commented after finishing the cocktail in two gulps.

“What’s that, some kind of newspaper horoscope mumbo-jumbo?”

“Nah, it’s just a good day to fall in love.”

“I thought you said astronomer not astrologer.”

“I’m a scientist, but I believe in love,” Malachi winked.

It undid Angel, but he recuperated quickly, “Really? Well, I charge, darling.”

“Fine with me, how much? Wait a second, what time do you finish here?”

“My shift ends at five, but I help with the cleaning afterwards.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“I haven’t given you my price.”

“I’m sure you won’t find the need to charge me.”

“I charge upfront, darling.”

“Well, by the end of our date, you will give me the money back.”

“See the sign behind me? No. Refunds.”

“You’re funny; we’re going to have a great time.”

Angel quirked his mouth, “We’ll see.”

Malachi asked for another of the same. After that, he just turned around to watch the people mingling and flirting. Now and then, though, he would check on Angel as he moved about the bar.

Hugo watched Angel with the same face a friend would have when he saw you spending all your money in a slot machine hoping for the jackpot. For whatever the reason, customers kept them at opposite sides of the bar, so Angel didn’t have another option but to mouth, “I’m charging him.” Hugo’s arched eyebrow was Morse code for “Yeah, right.”

Closing time came.  “Go, the hot man is waiting for you.”  Hugo playfully patted Angel on the ass, then chanted in a very out-of-character singsong, “He’s waiting in a limo.”

How the Heck Hugo knew that? The sneaky bastard had been snooping. And that reinforced all the alarms already ringing amok inside Angel. Hugo rarely paid attention to the men around Angel.

The only solution here was to go outside and tell the man to fuck off. Nah, Angel couldn’t do that, Malachi had been a complete gentleman. Besides, he was stupidly easy on the eye. Angel changed to his street clothes and (with all the bugs in his stomach mimicking the Cirque du Soleil) went to confront the mysterious, fedora-wearing astronomer.

There was something about a white Hummer limousine that screamed anything but scientist, and when Angel was about to do a one eighty and run for his life, Malachi lifted the door and stepped out of the square monster, “Please, Angel.”

The tug to his cock was stronger than if Malachi had actually had his fist around it, more like an octopus tugging at cock, legs, arms and neck. Angel was so fucked up, he felt like going to his knees and sob. What was this man doing to him?

“Please, Angel,” Malachi repeated, taking Angel’s hand. “It’s not even about sex, just let me buy you breakfast.”

“It’s too early for breakfast.” He knew he sounded more childish than a kid with a freshly scrapped knee did.

Malachi chuckled softly, “Well, It’s Sunday, you rather go to church?”

Snorting, as his defenses wore thin, Angel murmured, “You aren’t seriously inviting me to church.”

“I’ll take you wherever you wish to go.” Malachi interlaced their fingers, and it felt so right, so perfect.

“Breakfast it’s alright,” Angel drew his hand off Malachi’s.

“Excellent, we can buy it on the way and eat at the beach. What do you think?” Malachi beamed with that disarming smile, making the invaders in Angel’s stomach do somersaults and cartwheels.

“I like that idea very much.” As Angel entered the limo he blurted, “You aren’t tricking me into an orgy, are you?” The space was so large it was ridiculous.

“No it’s just you and me.”

Drive-thru magic was bestowed upon them, and they were on their way to Una Beach. Malachi was simply holding Angel’s hand and humming to himself, and (strangely enough) Angel was content with the unobtrusive atmosphere.

However, Angel wanted to know more about the astronomer, who now sans fedora sported an incredibly appealing shaved head. The perfect shape was turning on all kinds of fantasies in Angel’s head and he needed to talk before he did something stupid. “Where do you do your astronomy thing?”

Yeah, like that question didn’t sound stupid. Astronomy thing? What?

“I work at the observatory of Mount Pumpernickel.” Malachi offered without patronizing him. “Oh, here we are.”

The limousine stopped, and Malachi lifted the door facing the ocean. If they lifted both doors, it would look like the simple bird of a child’s painting.

The sun was already up, but the beach was blessedly deserted. The saline breeze tickled Angel’s nose, making him scrunch it.

Malachi chuckled softly beside him, stealing a peck, even with his hands fully busy. “You’re adorable.”

Well, that was definitively new territory. Angel had been called sexy, hot, smoking and every other frisky endearment in the book but never adorable. The silent fact that it touched him deeply than previous words didn’t go unnoticed. Being all awry as he was, he was only able to come with the sappiest response in the history of first encounters, “I like your shaved head.”

This in turn, brought color to Malachi’s pale, pale cheeks, even his nicely shaped ears turned slightly red. Then Angel realized that a head was a head after all, and maybe Malachi understood it as innuendo. One way or another, all that redness told him that he wasn’t alone in his confusion.

“You know, I’m not really hungry.” Malachi commented leaving most of his breakfast untouched. “But having all the beach for us makes me want to swim, would you like to swim with me?”

Angel wasn’t hungry either and maybe the cold water of the morning ocean would deflate the hard-on and the little monsters having a bacchanal in his stomach. He said “Yeah” with more enthusiasm that the situation deserved but he decided to stop overthinking and let himself go. What was wrong with enjoying a nice moment with a nice man? “Oh, but we don’t have towels.”

“We do,” Malachi moved deeper into the limo and retrieved pristine white towels from a compartment.

Knowing that those towels weren’t meant for swimmers, images of he and Malachi doing whoopee flashed in front of him.

Cold water, pronto.

Malachi undressed swiftly, ending in silk black boxers. The muscles and the roughed contours of the astronomer’s body were mouthwatering and left Angel with a throbbing ache. Once again, everything in the man spoke of anything but a scientist. One with such a built definition couldn’t really spend that many hours researching the stars.

Snapping out of his awe when he felt the taste of salt on his tongue, Angel stripped hastily. Now the flaming pink brief didn’t seem the good idea it was when he exited the club. They weren’t at a nude beach so he had to make do with the skimpy underwear.

As they stepped out of the limo, Angel noticed for the first time their chauffeur, a little old man that in another life must have been a prestidigitator by the way he was manipulating his croissant and cigarette.

Then Angel paid attention to the necklace Malachi wore.

I’ve never seen a Star of David within a circle before, hold on. One, two, three… that’s not a Star of David it's a pentagram.

“Are you a devil worshiper, mister?” Angel tried to joke but sounded solemn instead.

“No,” Malachi rubbed the pendant between two fingers and continued, “Oh, this confuses people sometimes. See, it’s pointing up, just a sign of the goddess. When you find a pentagram pointing down is a calling for dark things.”

“You said the goddess? The longer I stay around you the less I believe you’re a scientist. Science and Religion are supposed to be at odds.”

“And yet there are scientists in the Vatican. Anyway, I’m not Catholic but Pagan, and we don’t have a problem with enlightenment. The God and the Goddess encourage knowledge and wisdom.”

“I don’t know if be scared or fascinated.”

“I encourage you to be fascinated.” Malachi murmured huskily, kissed Angel softly on the cheek and offered his hand. “Come on, the ocean calls.”

They ran together to the welcoming waves like raucous children.

Angel couldn’t wait to discover all the secrets of Malachi.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY