The Jigsaw

Hello again!
It took some time to upload the newest chapter as I had some treatment in hospital and then I spent 10 days of my free time in Catalunya (Spanish territory). It was awesome! I miss it already, although I have just come back...

Back to the story: I hope you like this chapter - things start getting really hot ;)
Enjoy!

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Casey stood at the door, soaked, cold, and shaken. Water glued his bright hair to his face and neck, and his clothes to his body. He waited.

Sam took off his shirt, then his pants, and he threw them carelessly onto the floor. He wore no underwear. Completely naked, shameless and beautiful, he started to the bathroom, ignoring Casey, who only bit his lower lip, following the fascinating body with hungry eyes.

The door closed behind the agent and the swoosh of water announced that he had started a shower. Not until then did Casey move from his post. He slowly undressed and threw his clothes on the heap together with Sam's. Then he just lay on the bed, his arms scattered to the sides, his eyes staring at the ceiling. He needed some time to process everything. Still full of pain and grief, he also felt a strange hope coming. Maybe not quite reasonable, maybe only imagined, but somehow enlightening his thoughts and speeding up his heart. Maybe he could get through to Sam after all. Maybe he meant something to that mysterious man.

The water stopped and the bathroom door opened. Sam leaned against the doorframe, still naked and wet, this time from the shower.

He whistled and said, "Nice view," adding a shadow of smile.

"Same here." Casey turned his head to admire the tattooed chest, carved belly, long, muscled legs, and the gift of nature hanging between Sam’s thighs.

Although they were still naked, the atmosphere wasn't that tense and awkward any more. The words they had said seemed only natural; they were both attractive and they both knew it.

Sam dug out some dry, faded jeans and pulled them on, not bothering to button them up. "Coffee?" he asked casually.

That startled Casey a bit. Things hardly ever got this casual with Sam and one had to assume deceit. Coffee? What the.... "Uhm, yeah, sure." He watched Sam bustle about the kitchen annexe and got a sudden urge to touch that broad back covered with the great tattoo. The feeling came as an expression of exploratory curiosity rather than erotic desire. He gave in to the somehow childish need and approached Sam to place his hands flat on the man's shoulder blades. Sam flinched and half-turned his head.

"What's your plan?" he asked vigilantly, suspecting some odd motive.

"I don't have any. Honest." Casey promised. "I just don't know you, I guess, however strange it may seem after what we've been through. Normally people become friends or something...and I don't know shit about you."

"And that's why you're groping my back?" Sam snorted but he didn't avoid the other man’s touch. "Freak."

"Yeah, I'm a freak. And guess whose fault it is."

"Fuck off. Blame yourself. I'm not your mommy to feel responsible for your upbringing."

"Why, do you feel guilty?" Casey mocked.

"Absolutely! As always. And I feel sorry for every little bird that falls out of his nest." Sam smirked. Of course, he didn't feel guilty at all. Not for whatever was his share in Casey's fate, at least. "So, what are you looking for?" he asked, referring to the fact that Casey still held his palms on his partner's back.

"Dunno. Whatever I might find."

"You found out quite a bit already, you sneaky bastard." Actually, Sam didn't intend to say that out loud. It just happened on its own, a sign that Casey had managed to domesticate a small part of his wild nature. And he found it quite shocking that it didn't feel unpleasant. He was okay with it and that even scared him a little. But just a little, which was the next odd symptom of something...well, strange.

"That's not a lot, then." Casey's fingers moved down a little and stopped at the long scar running below the right rib to examine it.

"That's a lot. Believe me."

"I want more." He squatted to have an interesting scar at eye level.

"And I want to be the queen of Great Britain."

"No, you don't."

Sam could hear that Casey was smiling. They laughed.

"Where did you get this from?" Casey pressed the scar slightly to let Sam know what he was talking about.

"Panama," answered Sam without hesitation. It surprised him, again, how easy it was to get caught by Casey’s naturalness.

"Panama? What the hell were you doing in Panama?"

"The usual staff." Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Drugs and shit."

"Was it a knife?"

"A machete. I was lucky it only scratched my back."

"I bet you were. You’re fucking lucky in general. To think you made it through so many unbelievable situations...."

"Yeah. Some of us didn't." It sounded bitter. The ghost of Simon hung over them for a moment.

"Yeah." Casey rose and brushed Sam's back along the backbone in a subconscious comforting gesture. "You loved him?"

Sam gritted his teeth. The subject wasn't easy for him. "Told ya," he stammered with an effort.

"Not really. You told me you'd been in love with him. Is that true?"

Silence.

Casey didn't push. The nice, soothing smell of hot coffee caressed his nostrils. "Thanks," he said, taking the cup Sam offered and sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, his knees bent and elbows resting on them.

Sam joined him and for a moment they sat in silence, enjoying the drinks as they warmed up.

"Why are you loitering around with your dick dangling?" asked Sam suddenly. "Trying to tempt me?" he smirked.

"Do I stand any chance?" Casey joked.

"Conceivable...but your chances will increase remarkably after you take a bath." It was hard to tell if it was just a joke or not. Maybe it was something not formulated yet.

Casey nodded his head and took a sip of the hot liquid. "Yeah, after I'm done with the coffee. So, what 'bout your brother?" He didn't let the fascinating subject fly away.

To his surprise Sam sighed and started, "Ah, fuck...all right. Today we’ll make it an exceptional day to forget tomorrow." He smiled wryly. "I loved my brother. Somehow. I think so. And I think he knew it. And yes, some time ago I was in love with him."

"Weird."

"Tell me 'bout it," Sam snorted dismissively.

"What about him?"

"Was he in love? No, I don't think so."

"So how did it work, your...ehm, relationship?"

"He felt guilty, I think."

"About what?"

"About being the lucky one. He got a family, he had everything I didn't. Well, it wasn't his fault, of course, it was mine. I was a little devil."

"That hasn't changed," Casey cut in, smirking slightly.

"Oh, yeah, it has." Sam returned the smile. "Now I'm a big one."

They laughed again.

"So," Sam continued after a second, "I lived on the streets for years, blaming the whole world for my shitty fate, and not realizing it had been my own choice. Stupid, but still mine. I was angry, I despised everyone—well, I still do, but it doesn't matter. I was a hooker and a thief. Then a kept man, when I learned I could live pretty comfortably with my looks, but it still counts as being a whore."

"That's fucking cynical, what you're saying."

"Don't tell me you're surprised."

"No, not in the least." Casey shook his head with hidden sadness.

"You know me quite well, don't you?" Sam said calmly, somehow even gently.

"And that's surprising, isn't it?" Casey turned his head to look Sam in the eyes.

The dark-skinned man returned the gaze and answered slowly, "Yeah, it is."

"Keep talking, please." Casey didn't smile, although Sam expected him to. And to his own surprise he kept talking.

"Back then, I acted on my desires," he said. "I was jealous of...of many things. So I...well, I made a strange deal with Simon. I was...I was what I was and he wanted to join me in my misery, I think, to make me feel better, maybe less lonely or something. He felt as if he owed me something. We even fucked, although I don't think he liked it. He was straight and I didn't care. I still don't. And I never will. Anyway, the truth is, my desire and his sense of guilt weren’t love, after all. It took us years to learn what brotherly love means; for me to learn how to trust and give without payment, and for him to learn how to love me by saying no. And I think we made it. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and there was no game in it. It was as good as it could get, considering our fucked-up lives." Sam snorted. "There. I said it. And I can't fucking believe I did." He shook his head.

"Me neither." Casey smiled and clinked his cup against Sam's. For a while he pondered something and finally he decided to express his thoughts aloud. "You know, Sam, I wonder...you have a good...mind. You're like a clever, heartless machine with no emotions, no remorse, no sensitivity...."

"Actually, I do have emotions: irritation, passion, anger, contempt...they’re all emotions. In fact I'm quite emotional!" Sam laughed briefly. "What I lack is faith, ideals, goals, things I'd treasure. That's all there is to it."

"And you're really, honestly okay with that?" Casey whispered, feeling that the ground he walked on was swampy and very treacherous.

"For me it's too late to question things," answered Sam, and Casey didn't quite understand what that meant. "I don't think about it and I don't care. And I don't want to care."

"But maybe there could be something...." Casey made an attempt to blow a slight wind of change into their conversation and say that there were some things that might turn out to be worth caring about, but Sam stopped him with a warning look.

"Casey, don't. That's the part of you I dislike the most, I think."

Casey ignored the taunt and pressed further. "Why?"

With reluctance, Sam gave in again, which violated his strong resolve to stay indifferent. "'Cause...I don't want to even know how hard that could be. I don't want things to be difficult."

"Fuck, aren't they anyway?"

"It's still nothing compared to...believe me. Don't do that."

There was something so desperate in Sam's voice, his face, in his whole silhouette, something so pregnant with heart-breaking experience, that Casey shut his mouth. He couldn't stop himself from caressing Sam's cheek with the back of his hand. He brushed the black hair aside and ran his fingers down to the chin, neck, and lower, to the collarbone, with increasing surprise that the beautiful man wasn't pushing his hand away.

"Hey, what, you wanna fuck?" Sam smirked, trying, not without an effort that he was afraid would give him away, to turn the whole situation into a mockery, although inside he didn't feel exactly like the master of the situation or his own stability.

"Oh, shut up!" Casey rolled his eyes. "I wanna only touch," he said honestly. "You know, your body is like your history. I'm simply curious."

Sam was still fighting to defend the walls of his stronghold, now shaken almost to the foundations. "Curiosity is the first step on the road to hell," he said, not encouraging Casey's inclinations but not turning him down, either.

"Really? I think I might be deeper in that shit than the first step."

A faint smile stretched Sam's lips, against his intentions. "I think you might be right."

And then he got really, seriously irritated. The fact that he'd acted in a way he hadn't planned to really got on his nerves now. "Oh, by the way, how are you doing lately?" he asked casually, referring to Casey's deceased father. He used cruelty as the last resort of his frighteningly weakened defenses. He felt that too much control had already slipped out of his hands and he decided to change the balance a little.

Casey tensed and his hand dropped onto his bare thigh. "You're a bastard," he said quietly. "Why—do you even care?" he asked, his face suddenly hostile and bitter.

"Not really." Sam dismissed him with a one-shouldered shrug. "Just curious." It wasn't completely true, but Casey didn't need to know that. Hell, he shouldn't know! He mustn't!

"Wow, that was a knock-out riposte. Who knows, I might be really impressed if only it wasn't so fucking low."

"Well, that's me trying hard." Sam grinned theatrically, pretending to be nice and sweet. The effect was creepy. "Maybe you should seriously reconsider your idea of exploring some slippery grounds just out of your fucking curiosity."

And once again Casey didn't react as he was supposed to. "It's not only my fucking curiosity and you know it damn well, you fucking liar. There's also a fucking huge difference in style, if you haven't noticed. But okay, I'll play along with this jerk inside you. If we’re going to talk about curiosity, I was the first one to go with it, so I've got the first move. Satisfy my rotten curiosity, and I'll satisfy yours, which is even more rotten, if you give a damn about whatever I might say at all."

"That seems quite fair." Sam made a philosophical face as if he was considering the deal seriously.

"I'm shocked you even know the word 'fair'."

"Yeah, I've heard it in some sport movies."

"Lucky you. It helps if you pretend to be human, I guess. Some people might be fooled."

"But not you, right?" Sam's voice was mocking and poisonous, and Casey couldn't understand why. The door of this magic-'n'-horror land of Sam's twisted mind that had seemed to be opening for him was suddenly slammed closed right before his nose. What fucking trapdoor button could he have pressed?

"Not me. I'm prepared to fight a monster," he answered, somewhat resigned, only to keep the who-outsmarts-whom conversation alive.

"Oooh, you're not, mister knight in shining armor. You're not." Sam smiled unpleasantly and his real eye sparkled warningly.

"So you've seen movies about knights too. Well, then why not let me be the last hero who dies trying to kill the dragon and free the beautiful princess?"

Sam snorted with a short laughter. "Do I count as the dragon or the princess?"

"What's your choice?"

Sam pondered something for a moment and finally said—without malice, or with his malice very well hidden, Casey had a hard time figuring this out—"You know what? I'm really enjoying this conversation. It makes you seem something more than your average knight."

The answer that came was cautious. It could stand for irony, if needed. "I should be flattered, I suppose."

"I suppose you should." Sam's voice became softer. "And you know what? I don't think anyone has ever tried for real."

That sounded strangely sad. Casey supposed it was probably one of Sam’s very rare moments of truth. "Then let me be the last and the first one to try," he offered, placing his bet on honesty.

"I'm...not quite sure I'm brave enough." The words had slipped out of Sam's lips before he realized that they weren't only silent creations of his mind. His treacherous will was playing tricks on him in front of Casey—a very dangerous symptom of upcoming troubles.

The blond man instinctively caught the new, dawning chance to wade one step forward. "Isn't it the knight who's supposed to be brave?" he asked.

"Huh, that's what they always say in movies about knights. And that's why those movies suck."

"I'm scared sometimes, you know?"

"If you're scared, there’s no point in trying." Sam reached for a cigarette from the packet lying on a coffee table. He needed to relax. Or maybe have some distraction. Ah, whatever. He dragged heavily on the cigarette and let the smoke flood his lungs. Oh, yeah, it helped.

Casey took one too, more for company that out of real need. He lit it slowly and shook his head, shoving the cigarette into the corner of his mouth. "You're wrong," he said indistinctly. "Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared. It means you do what you believe you should do despite being scared."

After a long silence, full of deep breaths and gray smoke, Sam gathered up all his courage, or maybe madness, and threw himself into the unknown. "Well then, go ahead. And don't blame me if things go awful."

Casey nodded his head pitifully and answered, "Probably I will. But It won't matter to you, so...." He shrugged his shoulders. He misunderstood Sam's words, hearing them as an expression of another rejection, and Sam, obviously, didn't put him right.

"Yeah. It doesn't matter already." Sam leaned his head against the bed and closed his eyes. "I need a drink," he decided after a moment and got up to take something strong from the cooler. "Want some?"

"No. I'm gonna take a shower. To be more tempting, of course." Casey ground out his cigarette in an ashtray, stood up, and disappeared into the bathroom, together with his vague disappointment and something he would describe as manhandled false hopes.

"It would be so fucking much better this way, bright knight," whispered Sam, looking at the closed door with sad, longing eyes. "It would be better..." ...for me to not give in to that naive dream of yours, and better for you not to have this dream painfully crushed. With that he threw out the cigarette butt and took a huge gulp straight from the bottle, forty percent alcohol killing his unsettled thoughts and mixed feelings. Or maybe just the awareness of them. He didn't really care.

The swoosh of water stopped, and after a couple of minutes Casey appeared in the doorway, just like Sam had before: naked, warm, and nice-smelling.

Just like before Sam eyed the man up and down and concluded, "Nice view."

And once again Casey answered, "Same here." And after a second he added, "Not as nice as before, though." His smile, ghosting over his lips, said much, yet nothing. The time for serious, life-saving—or life-breaking—conversations was over. They’d both had enough of heavy topics for one evening.

"Wanna get that view back?" Seductive, a somewhat drunk smirk flashed across the pretty, full lips of the dark-skinned man. He had already managed to empty half of the vodka bottle—he'd desperately needed an immediate appeaser for the storm rising inside him—enough to be sloshed.

The impression was painfully exciting, especially since Casey had the proof that Sam was truly shaken by the recent conversation just before his eyes. "Wanna give it back?" He answered with a question, going with the nice flow.

One of Sam's hands, the one not occupied with the bottle, travelled down to his open fly that promised the hidden pleasure, and plunged a few centimeters into it. "If I said I didn't find the idea enticing, I'd be lying."

"Then why should you lie?" Casey's voice was warm and damp, just like his body, leaning against the doorway.

"Oh, old habits die hard."

"And sex habits die harder."

"Oh, fuck, you got me there!" Sam laughed with the laughter of the drunk who finds everything wonderfully funny. Then he pulled down his pants and let them drop to his ankles, revealing all the wonders of nature hidden behind. He was already half-erect, maybe from the view of the naked Casey, or maybe from his drunken imagination. With no clothes, just as God or another higher being had created him, with smooth olive skin, wild designs decorating his muscled chest, a bottle in his hand, completely unashamed and aware of his beauty, he looked like a god of sex. He looked almost like a...unique thing, created for giving ultimate pleasure.

Casey combed his hair with his hands, both dazzled and nervous. He wanted that body. He wanted that...thing. And he wanted that pleasure. But would he be given them? Or would he be kicked in the face once again? He bit his lower lip when Sam stepped out of his pants and, with a lewd smile on his face, approached him, still with bottle in hand and now also with his short gun, swept from the table along the way.

He came close to Casey, very close; skin almost touching skin. He looked Casey in the eyes, a bit incoherently, with a bleary expression, and put the gun’s muzzle to the other man's chin, lifting the blond head slightly.

Casey couldn't stop the reflex of jumping back and a choked "Holy shit!" He wasn't quite sure if Sam was able to safely handle a gun when drunk. Well, his reason told him yes, definitely, but his senses reacted otherwise.

Sam snorted, "Scared of a barrel, virgin boy?" and closed the distance between them again, now running the gun down Casey's chest and belly until it touched the thicket of bright pubic hair. "Want me to teach you?"

"Teach me what?" Casey only raised his brows.

"Sex."

"I don't need you to teach me sex."

"Ooh yes, you do. You just don't know it yet." Sam's face lightened in a wanton, dirty smile. "Although you might already have some suspicions."

"I'm not a very suspicious man. I try to have trust in people." Casey said it half-seriously, more as a joke, but it wasn't completely devoid of truth. "Whatever. Actually...I am willing to take part in a lesson, anyway. On my terms, though," he asserted.

"Riiight. And those are...?" Sam gave Casey a questioning look, adhering to his partner's body with his own.

With the addition of the gun's cold metal brushing his crotch, it all clouded Casey's mind a little. He found it more and more difficult to concentrate on conversation with those fascinating, half-closed eyes almost licking him with their consuming look, those humid lips sending hot, Bols-flavored breath his way. He cleared his throat and made an effort to stay focused. "I'm still on top," he challenged his colleague.

Sam chuckled. "You mean, you want to ride me? Be my guest!"

Casey didn't comment, just shot a meaningful look at the other man.

"Hey, why is it so important to you? You afraid, or what?" Sam delved deeper. Even the barrel of his gun stopped pressing and fondling Casey's private parts.

Casey made a nervous movement, shifting his body weight to his other foot. "Well, it might be my pride getting in the way," he admitted. "I don't find that I’m gay, I haven't done it with a man, I don't feel like surrendering...."

"Oh, really? I'm not completely gay, either. Then what about my pride?" Sam raised one of his black, always-angry brows, but he didn't seem angry now.

Casey leaned forward, slipped his hand into the thick hair on the back of Sam’s head, and pulled down until Sam's throat was in front on his eyes. And the black-haired man let him do it, treating it as an exciting part of foreplay. "You were a hooker," said Casey mercilessly, yet with a full awareness that his words wouldn't hurt Sam. "You have no pride." He brushed the exposed throat with his nose and lips, at which the insulted man closed his eyes and sighed with delight.

"Maybe," he whispered. "But I'm extremely stubborn. Your call." He grabbed Casey's hair, too, and he did it violently, pulling the handsome face as close as possible to his own, which was now released and allowed to get back to its normal level.

"You want me, don't you?" Casey breathed into that face, sprinkling it with the microscopic droplets of saliva his salivary glands were madly producing.

"That sounds fucking scary. Say it one more time and I won't get hard."

"I lived without your dick for a couple of years, I can make it a bit longer. So?"

"So we're done for now, I guess." Sam made a wry face. He was truly disappointed. "And we wait for your pride to get softer. Or your dick to get harder." He shrugged and let go of Casey's hair. "You know you can't win with me on this field, don't you?"

He was just about to pull a gulp of vodka and turn around but a strong grip on the back of his neck held him in place and a mocking voice hissed in his ear, "Don't be so sure. The dog is better than me at devouring sausages, yet it's me who can keep the dog in check with those sausages."

"Ohhhh, that was fucking unbelievably lame." Sam smiled a strangely dark smile and gave Casey a look of appreciation. "And unbelievably fucking hot. So will I get my sausage?"

"Well, that's what we've been talking about from the beginning, right?"

Sam snorted with a short sound of amusement. "Holy shit. You really know how to twist everything around. Does your golden tongue stay golden when it comes to another kind of service?"

"You have to give it a chance if you wanna know. No risk, no fun. Right?"

"Risk?" repeated Sam in a slow, drawling voice. "Are you threatening to bite off my treasure?"

"We’ve just settled that I'm not a dog." The gun pressed painfully against Casey's groin, but he grabbed it with his hand and pushed it away. "I still wanna be on top," he insisted, determined to see his plan to its end.

Sam sighed theatrically and, to Casey's great surprise, said with melancholy and resignation, "So be it, then." He gave Casey a few seconds to get shocked and then he shot him down. "I see you wanna play third time lucky." He meant the scene on the beach, of course. He could see he'd hit the target as the bright-haired agent's face reddened, and Sam half-smiled dismissively. Yet he glided his body over Casey's to reach for a small, elegant bottle from the bathroom shelf. "Lie down on the bed," he ordered dryly, and Casey obeyed.

Slowly, like an upcoming storm, Sam approached the body spread in front of him in all its glory and eyed it up and down. He liked what he saw. He climbed on the bed and knelt astride Casey's stomach, then pushed his hips forward to make a proper impression. It worked, of course. It always did. Casey tensed, a bit overwhelmed and nervous; fucking again. He had to do something to conceal his confusion. Like, for instance, find something to say.

"What's this?" He indicated the bottle with a movement of his head, rising on his elbows.

"A slick, smooth, nice-smelling gel." The agent opened the bottle and spread the fluid over his hand. Then, after a short hesitation, keeping his wet hand palm-up, he put the bottle down, stretched his body above Casey, his chest almost touching the other man's nose, to reach for his next cigarette of that night. He lit it with a strange, exaggerated concentration and slowly exhaled. It helped. It always did.

Casey turned red yet again. Well, being ashamed seemed to be a fate he had to get used to if he wanted to hang around Sam. He thought all his blood vessels would explode when Sam abruptly started his preparations, ruthlessly packing his moisturized fingers into his rear, the cigarette stuck any old how in the corner of his lips. His hips started moving and his wide-spread thighs exposed everything there was to see. Casey felt a flush of hot rolling through his body, waking up excitement and the shaft that rested on his belly.

"Shit...you sure are a man of action," he stammered, his voice husky. "Didn't you ever think about doing it, you know...less formally? Not like in a sex school?"

"Yeeeah, I thought 'bout it." Sam gave him a thoughtful look and chewed on the cigarette. "But honestly, and I hope you appreciate the rarity of this, I doubt I can do that now. It's awfully uncomfortable. Okay? So just let me do this."

The straightforward confession surprised Casey. Admitting his...shame? What else could it be? It wasn't like Sam at all. Did he even have any shame? Did he understand what shame meant? Casey shook his head and decided to go with the unexpected flow anyway and be honest too. "Sure. It...I just want you to know that it's...fucking erotic. I feel—" Casey was stumbling, blushing— "it's really so fucking hot to watch you like this."

"Really—really?" A shadow of amusement flitted across Sam's countenance. "Well, that’s good, I guess." He arched his brows in acknowledgment and went back to his preparations. "You know, you sure are in a whole different universe than I am," he snorted.

"Well, that's probably why this all is happening, right? If I was like you we would have killed each other a long time ago."

"You've probably got a point. So—" Sam suddenly changed the subject— "do you even know how to do it?"

Casey bristled. "Who do you think I am?"

"A fucking loser. So, still: do you know how to do it?"

The blond man didn't answer the question, just jumped up and turned to the left, pushing Sam down with his free hand and covering him with his body. Keeping their faces at a distance of a very weak breath, he muttered, "You sure know how to destroy the mood."

"That’s one of my many talents. Another one, however, is that I can bring it up again," Sam whispered into Casey's ear, pulling his head down to lick the brink of the man's earlobe.

Casey shuddered and pressed his groin against Sam's abdomen, pushing himself between the man's thighs which parted without any resistance, so sweet, so inviting, like the gates of paradise. Casey sank between those open legs with a moan of pleasure. He couldn't comprehend the situation yet, his mind turning into a storm of short circuits. He laid on the submissive body beneath him for a long moment, and finally he rose on his hands to see the least likely phenomenon he ever supposed he would see. Sam teased him with a challenging stare, spread on the crumpled sheets, his thighs parted widely, his body ready and full of desire that speeded up his breath, pumping blood into his vessels and throbbing, more and more evidently, in his member.

Casey devoured the view, feeling it affect him, making his blood boil, and everything in his mind and body impatient and horny as never before. He placed one of his palms on Sam's abdomen, just above the crotch, where the lines of muscles disappeared deep under the skin, and he whispered, "Hell, I don't think it's possible to be any more gay than I am at this moment."

Unexpectedly for himself, for the umpteenth irritating time that night, Sam blushed. Hell, that hadn't happened in years, probably! It was just that...Casey’s confession, so honest, so hot, so...helpless, stirred something very sensitive inside him. Something he hadn’t been aware of. His self-confidence betrayed him and let itself be seduced by the "gentlemanly talk" of the wonderful man trying so desperately to dig a real human out of the mess that was Sam. For the first time in many years he felt nervous, he didn't know why, and...so very aware of his nudity. Not thinking of much except to cover himself, to hide, he laced his legs around Casey's loins and pulled his partner down, closing him in an iron embrace of knees and arms.

"Then make good use of it," he breathed straight into Casey's ear.

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Well, as usual, I wait for your words. They're so important to me - my super engine to carry on writing!