"I'm not telling." Sey wagged a finger at Declan, his grin as contagious as it was boyish. "It's a secret."

"Secret as in your last shipment of books came in mismarked and you're selling them at an outrageous discount? Or secret as in you've found a bloody wonderful lover who's too amazing to share with the rest of the world?"

Sey's smile broadened. "Everyone should have such a choice."

Declan sighed and buried his head under the covers. "I refuse to get up on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

Sey knelt on the bed and reached for a long red strand of Declan's hair that protruded provocatively from beneath the sheets. Declan jumped out and grabbed hold of him, fastening his lips to Sey's neck to suckle there.

"Hey, stop! You'll leave a mark!"

"So? You're mine, aren't you?"

"Ummm." At Sey's apparently overlong pause for thought, Declan pounced again, this time bathing the area with his tongue. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking," said Sey.

"Mmm, I'm just doing my part to help you think, baby."

Sey opened his mouth and groaned loudly. "That's not what it's doing to me, Declan."

"Tell me what it's doing to you," Declan whispered hotly.

Sey arched an eyebrow at his lover before his face dissolved into the dreamiest smile. He lay back, as if offering Declan whatever part of him he most desired to take. "It's making me hard," he whispered back, his hand drifting casually over the spot where his erection strained the material of his jeans.

Declan's hand joined Sey's, moving slowly and almost hypnotically in a circular manner. "Tell me more," he urged.

"Umm." Sey resisted the impulse to grind his groin mindlessly into the hand that teased him. Restlessly spreading his legs apart, he said, "It's making me hot."

"More, baby. Please."

Declan bent his head and mouthed the already damp material that imprisoned his partner's rigid length. "Jesus, Dec," Sey gasped.

"Does it make you want to come?"

"Oh, yeahhh." Sey breathed.

Declan pushed up Sey's shirt and latched on to one of Sey's flat male nipples with a fervent kiss. "What else does it make you think of?"

Sey moaned as his rampant erection was freed and clasped gently in his mate' s hand. "It makes me wish that I didn't have to go to work."

Declan made a strangled noise in his throat. "You have to go in to the bookstore?"

"Yeah." Sey frowned as he felt Declan's hand release him. "What's wrong?"

"I hate to eat and run."

Sey hopped off the bed unexpectedly, wincing a bit as his runaway hard-on protested the incautious movement. "Down, boy," he told himself.

Declan reached out and caught his hand, pulling him back for one more kiss, this time opening his mouth to capture Sey's tongue. "Mmm," Declan hummed even as their mouths remained joined.

Sey laughed as he broke away. "You're not helping, Dec."

Declan fell back onto the bed with a soft thud, his long red hair fanning out across the pillows. "Fine, be that way," he pouted charmingly. He looked for all the world like a debauched angel fallen from the skies above.

"Why don't you come with me?"

"That's what I was trying to do when you so rudely interrupted me."

Sey grinned. "Swing by the bookstore around lunchtime. I'll see if I can.fit you in."

Declan threw his pillow at Sey, narrowly missing him. "You're getting entirely too wicked for your own good, acushla."

Sey turned to face him, blocking him from being seen by anyone outside the now open door. "I learned at the feet of the master, y'know. Mmm." Sey licked his lips slowly, making sure that Declan could see his tongue sliding across taut skin. ".and I *love* your feet."

Declan's silver-grey eyes slid shut as his hand crept down to fondle the erection that suddenly blazed back into life. "Fuck my feet."

Sey chuckled. "I'm not *that* kinky."

"Yet."

"Do you always have to have the last word, Declan?"

"Uh huh."

By the time lunchtime came and went, however, Sey was totally embroiled in a discrepancy in his inventory. He was so preoccupied that he never heard the door chime out front.

Squatting down on his haunches, he started searching for a particular book. The floor was dusty despite frequent cleaning and he wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving two grey handprints on his thighs.

"Boo!"

Sey gasped, so hard that it felt like he swallowed his tongue. "Jesus! You scared me to death!"

Declan shrugged. "You didn't hear the door?"

"Obviously."

"So just anyone could sneak up on you and have their evil way with you?"

Sey laughed. "They could sneak up on me, but I highly doubt they could have their evil way with me."

"Oh? Why's that?" Declan looked far from amused. If anything, he looked a bit pissed off. Or maybe it was.

"They'd never get past you."

"Well, far be it for me to stand in your way, Mr. Boys Just Wanna Have Fun."

"Dec, you're taking this seriously," Sey said, clearly incredulous.

"I came by to have you for lunch."

"You mean *take* me to lunch."

"No, I mean *have* you. I'm hungry." Declan tapped his fingers restlessly against his jean-clad thigh. The movement drew Sey's eye to Declan's muscular legs.

"You wore my favorite jeans."

"I thought you'd never notice," Declan said sulkily.

Sey beckoned with one finger and Declan reluctantly stopped leaning on the door and took two steps inside the musty stockroom. Sey reached behind Declan and locked the door.

"What are you up to?" Declan asked, eyeing his lover suspiciously.

"We have some unfinished business."

"I know."

Sey began unbuttoning Declan's shirt. He spread his hands inside the two sides of the shirt and slid the material off Declan's shoulders. Leaning forward, Sey pressed his mouth to Declan's left shoulder. Declan hissed as though the touch of his partner's lips burned.

"You want me to stop?"

"Hell, no."

Moving down to Declan's chest, Sey found the flat little nub he wanted with his tongue. He licked and sucked the nipple, feeling it grow under his ardent ministrations. Meanwhile, Declan thrust both hands into Sey's hair, holding him fast.

Sey's tongue left a wet trail all the way down to Declan's navel. From there, it was a short distance to where a sparse sprinkling of dark red hair arrowed down to his groin.

But Declan pulled Sey up to his full height and kissed him soundly. "No, baby. I want to pleasure *you*."

"You do," Sey answered breathlessly, kissing him back.

"The sacrifices I make for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Sey replied, but his voice was soft and filled with affection.

Eventually they both ended up on the dusty floor, kissing tenderly again and again as their fingers tangled in each other's hair. Declan leaned against a shelf filled with romance novels and Sey crawled into his lap, his arms winding around Declan's neck.

"I love you."

"I need to be inside you," Declan whispered.

"Oh, yeahhhh." Sey exhaled such a long breath that for a moment, Declan thought he came, just from the sound of the words.

Together they managed to disrobe.

With surprisingly little preparation but a judicious amount of lube, Sey lowered himself onto Declan's rigid erection. For a moment, they stayed that way, simply joined together, giving Sey's body time to adjust to the intrusion.

But in the end, Sey had to move, slowly at first, then more and more urgently. With Declan's hands on his hips, Sey rocked back and forth like a wild thing. When Declan couldn't hold back any longer, he came, spilling his seed inside his lover. At the feel of all that wet heat exploding within, Sey arched his back and came, pouring his essence all over Declan's chest and abdomen.

Burying his face against Declan's neck, Sey tried to catch his breath. "So.how did lunch measure up?"

Declan burst out laughing, his abdomen moving up and down, carrying Sey with it. "Would you believe I'm still hungry?"

"Are you trying to say I'm the sexual equivalent of Chinese food?"

"Mmm, maybe. Let's try this again and see if I'm.satisfied."

"No way. I'm wet and sticky and about to be glued to you forever."

Declan caressed Sey's face, looking intently into those dark brown eyes he loved so much. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

Sey just had to kiss him. He knew when he was thoroughly loved.

"Jamie?"

The lean French-Canadian studied his partner in profile. James was not given to fits of pique or moodiness. He was a remarkably even-tempered man. But his often stoic façade hid a surprisingly sensitive nature.

James turned slowly, revealing that he held an airmail letter between visibly shaking fingers. "Pete," he managed to say before words failed him.

Smoke lost what little color he normally had in his face, his blue-gray eyes deepening to slate gray. "Jamie, what is it?"

"It's from my-my father."

The thought of what that could mean immediately ran through both their minds. "How did he find you?"

James shook his head as tears welled up in his eyes. "I dunno, Pete. I had no idea he was even looking for me. After I left-"

Smoke pulled James into his arms without a word. "Ssh, ssh.." For Smoke, it was no hardship to comfort James. They had committed themselves to loving one another several years before, and they occasionally exchanged roles as the need arose. But Smoke was a born nurturer. For him, there could be few greater pleasures than taking care of the man he loved.

"What if he comes here?" James sputtered, as though the emotional load he was being asked to bear was too much.

"What if he does?"

"What could he want?"

Smoke pressed James' face against his chest, his long, elegant fingers restlessly stroking his light brown hair. "Reconciliation?" he offered, his voice unusually accented.

"Never."

"Are you saying that because *he* wouldn't want it or because *you* don't?"

"I can never ever forgive him, Pete."

"So don't. You don't have to see him if you don't want to, Jamie. I'll take care of everything."

James drew back with a suddenness that startled Smoke. "No! If he hurt you, Pete-I-I dunno what I'd do, I swear."

"I can defend myself, Jamie."

"No, no, promise me you won't do that," James pleaded.

"Okay, okay, I promise," Smoke vowed. "Ssh, ssh.."

James settled against Smoke's chest again and closed his eyes, only to open them moments later. "What if he comes here? What if he tries to take Jazz away?"

"He won't do that, Jamie. You said he was afraid of scandal. That's why he paid you off to leave Australia. A man like that will be careful not to raise the same suspicions here."

"Suppose I lose my job?"

"You won't lose your job."

"But what if I do? How will we live?"

"On *my* salary."

"But you don't have a job, Pete."

"I'll get one."

"I don't want you to go back to dancing in that club."

"Oh, Jamie, thank you for thinking I could." Smoke kissed his partner tenderly. "But I won't have to. I'll have a college degree soon. I can find something better than that."

"What if-"

Smoke caressed his lover's cheek before kissing him again, this time more passionately. "I can see there's no other way to stop you from thinking so hard."

James kissed him back hesitantly, then a bit more insistently. "I love you, Pete. Nothing is ever going to change that."

"I know, Jamie." Smoke tugged gently on the silver choker he never took off. "We're together for life."

"And then some."

James wound his arms around Smoke's neck, his grip so strong, he risked choking him. Their mouths met and merged as they became one entity. But in the midst of all this breathless abandon came an intruder.

"Jeez, Pete! And to think you have the nerve to complain about me and Adam getting too hot and heavy!" Jazz folded his arms over his chest and tapped his foot significantly.

Smoke broke away from his lover's mouth, but continued to hold onto James, his right arm crooked around his neck to pull him close. "Sorry, but we're having a bit of a crisis."

"Uh huh, is that what you guys call it these days? And in the afternoon, too?"

Smoke's eyes darkened even further. "For your information, Jamie just got some bad news."

Jazz was instantly contrite. "Hey, sorry, man. I wasn't trying to-"

"I know, Jazz. But right now, my main concern is Jamie. Help me get him into bed, please."

"Sure, no problem." With that, Jazz peeled off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

Suddenly Smoke gave Jazz a curious look. "Whose jacket is that? It's not yours."

"Oh, that." To Smoke's amazement, Jazz blushed. "It belongs to Adam."

"You don't have a jacket of your own to wear?"

If it were possible, Jazz' color deepened. "Sure, it's just-"

"Just what?"

"Adam likes me to wear it, okay?"

"And this is because?"

Jazz looked as though he were suffering the tortures of the damned. "Look, I wear it all week long, then Adam takes it back on the weekend."

"Why?"

"He says it smells like me, okay?" Jazz was completely embarrassed and refused to so much as glance in Smoke's direction.

"What does he do with it then?"

"Nothing. What would he-ohhhh, no way, Pete! It's not like that!"

Jazz shook his head vehemently, his long golden brown hair flying back and forth before settling into a disheveled mass. "He just-oh, shit, I hate you for making me say this out loud, but-it's *romantic*, okay?"

"Are you guys too old to understand romantic?"

Smoke smiled and tightened his grip on the nape of James' neck. "Oh, no, we still understand romantic. We understand that *real* well."

Jazz permitted himself a tiny smile in return. "Thought you did, man. Where do you think I got it from?"

Jazz helped Smoke put James to bed. It felt odd. On the one hand, it was something he was only too willing to do. Yet on the other, it left him feeling curiously at a loss, as if he had just discovered that Superman was vulnerable to kryptonite.

James was his hero and his mentor. So was Smoke. If something happened to lay one of them low, well, it was just…unthinkable.

As he was leaving, Jazz grasped Smoke by the arm, unaware that his fingers were pressing hard enough to leave bruises on Smoke's fair skin. "Is he going to be…okay?" he mumbled under his breath, the startling intensity of his green-eyed gaze the only thing betraying emotions held under tight control.

Smoke met his eyes evenly, his blue-gray eyes already deeply shadowed. He would bear his partner's pain as if it were his own, but he would do it in silence. James needed his strength, not his tears, and he would give him what he needed.

"Yes," Smoke whispered.

Jazz' fingers dug into Smoke's arm once more, and Smoke drew a long measured breath. Jazz was understandably scared, though he would never admit it openly. He needed support, too, but Smoke couldn't divert his attention away from James. So he did the next best thing. "Go…find Adam," he urged. "He'll take care of you."

He brushed Jazz' long straight hair away from his face, revealing the too-bright green eyes that were filled with unshed tears. "Stay with him, if you need to."

"Are you saying—" Jazz' eyes widened and a tear trickled slowly down his cheek, unnoticed.

Smoke's hand shook slightly as he stroked Jazz' hair. "Be…careful," he said, his voice breaking.

Suddenly Jazz released Smoke's arm with a cry. Smoke caught Jazz in a ferocious grip as he threw himself against the older man's body. Jazz buried his face in Smoke's neck, trying to stem the flood of emotion that battered his defenses. "Please…don't let anything happen to him," he choked out.

"I won't. I love him," Smoke whispered.

"So do I," Jazz whispered back.

Jazz pulled up the collar of Adam's leather jacket. It wasn't terribly cold yet, but he felt the chill in his bones just the same. He blinked away tears as he walked towards Adam's house. How could he convince Adam that he needed him more than ever? He swiped both hands across his reddened cheeks, smearing the wetness into his hairline. If he could have seen the pitiful picture that he made, he wouldn't have asked himself that question.

He stopped under Adam's window. After searching the grass for something suitable, he finally found a couple of small pebbles. He aimed for the window and hit his target right away, drawing the older teenager's attention.

Adam opened the window and peered out into the night. It was cool, though not unseasonably so, and a full moon brightened the nighttime sky. All at once, he spotted his lover. "Jazz," he called softly.

"Come out, Adam," he called back, his voice carrying on the clear night air.

"I can't. It's late."

"Please…"

"Jazz, I—"

Jazz bent his head and sat down in the grass, his hair more than long enough to cover the tears that streamed down his face now.

"Jazz?"

Adam had no idea why he was going to defy his father's wishes, but he sensed that something was wrong, something so wrong that Jazz couldn't handle it alone. That was all he needed to know.

Grabbing an older jacket, he crept down the stairs, letting himself out the door as quietly as possible. Once he was on the grass, he began to run. When he reached Jazz, Adam knelt down and took him into his arms, pushing his hair aside with fingers made clumsy by emotions not easily expressed. "Nicky? Oh, Nicky, are you okay?"

He pressed kiss after kiss to Jazz' jawline, seeking some kind of acknowledgement of the deepening feelings between them. "What happened? Are you okay? Just tell me, you're okay," Adam said, growing agitated when he received no response beyond the clenched fists in his hair.

Slowly, painfully, Jazz started to speak, his sentences broken and interrupted by sobs and sighs of emotion that he rarely let himself feel. When he finished, he lay his head down on Adam's shoulder and closed his eyes, still more tears sliding out from under his eyelids.

"Come home with me tonight," he begged.

Adam drew back with a start. "Nicky, I love you more than my life, but—"

"I need you so much," Jazz murmured against Adam's neck, his tears soaking through Adam's cloth jacket. "I need you with me tonight."

Adam found himself dangerously close to tears. His throat ached with the desire to cry and he fought for control. Jazz was right. He needed him. How could he deny him?

"Please…"

They slipped into the darkened house noiselessly. Jazz found the door to his room and opened it just enough for them to slide inside without making a sound. For the first time since he'd lived there, he locked the door.

Jazz couldn't see Adam's eyes, but he knew they were on him. He could feel his heated gaze slowly perusing his body. He shrugged out of Adam's jacket and Adam caught it, bringing it to his nose briefly as if to smell his lover's scent.

Adam slung the jacket over a chair and took Jazz in his arms. He nudged his hair away from his face with his mouth, uncovering lips that were already swollen from earlier kisses and claiming them possessively, jealously, as though he feared Jazz might be taken away from him at any moment.

His restless fingers played with the silver chain that Jazz wore around his neck. The same chain that Adam gave him for his birthday. The chain that held a ring with a faux emerald just because it reminded Adam of the color of Jazz' eyes.

"You are so beautiful."

"You can't see me," Jazz chided him.

"I don't need to see you with my eyes. I see you with my heart," he whispered.

"Oh, fuck. You're going to make me cry again," Jazz muttered.

"No, baby, no more tears."

Jazz tugged on Adam's hands, pulling him towards his bed. "Please…make love to me," he exhorted, finally settling on the edge of the bed. Adam sank to his knees and knelt between Jazz' jeans-clad legs, his hands smoothing their way over the material.

Adam pulled Jazz' head down for another kiss. "Take these off."

"Undress me."

Adam groaned low in his throat before he kissed him again. Together they helped each other disrobe until they were naked, their bodies shining in the pool of moonlight that now illuminated the end of the bed.

His mouth sought his lover's fevered flesh and worked its magic there, licking and lapping and stroking until Jazz shivered in anticipation of what was to come. His throat working, he tried to warn Adam, but Adam pushed his hands away, first tasting him tentatively, then drinking him as though he were born to the task.

"Adam," he sighed as he came, his fingers clutching at Adam's dark brown hair.

A few moments later, Jazz pushed himself back on the bed, throwing the covers open wide to invite his lover to join him. Adam settled against him and moaned, his hardened length throbbing as it contacted the inside of Jazz' thighs. "Touch me, Nicky."

Jazz reached down and took Adam's manhood into his hands, the silken tip of his erection already leaking. With a soft cry, Adam thrust into Jazz' lightly clasped hands, the friction making him ache and burn all at the same time. He was so close to the edge, it didn't take long for him to climax. With another groan, he came, spilling himself across Jazz' flat abdomen.

Jazz dipped a fingertip into the warm puddle, his tongue flicking out to taste his lover's unique essence. Adam gasped and kissed him, his own tongue seeking its mate. "Oh, God, I love you."

He collapsed atop Jazz' body, uncaring that they were hot and wet and sticky and likely to stay that way till morning. Jazz welcomed his weight, feeling safe and secure even as his smaller frame was dwarfed by his lover's. "Hold me…"

Adam wrapped his arms around Jazz and buried his face in his long fragrant hair. Jazz sighed contentedly even as he found Adam's unaccustomed weight grow heavy.

They slept in each other's arms, too needy to loosen their grip on one another, even for a moment.

Adam woke near dawn. He didn't want to leave Jazz, but he didn't want his absence from home to be discovered. He dressed quickly and silently, trying to ignore the telltale stains that clung to his sated body. He stopped only for one thing: to pen a note for Jazz, something that he could always remember when they looked back on this night.

More than ever, Adam lamented the lack of time and his own lack of skill with words. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he didn't have any way to express them. In the end, he settled for something that could not be mistaken for anything else.

Nicky-

If I had a choice, I would never leave you.

I love you.

-Adam

He propped the note up on Jazz' nighttable, then leaned over to kiss him. His lips gently caressed the side of Jazz' face before covering his mouth almost reverently. Jazz stirred in his sleep, instinctively reaching for Adam, but Adam reluctantly slipped away.

When he arrived home, Adam managed to get into the house without alerting anyone. Or so he thought. As he drew abreast of his bedroom door, he saw his father lounging casually in the hallway. Only his disheveled hair and his halfway-open robe betrayed that he had recently risen from bed.

"Hello, Adam."

Adam almost flinched. Michael sounded perfectly normal. As if he hadn't just discovered his oldest son coming in at the crack of dawn.

"Hi, Dad."

"I won't ask you where you were. How *is* Jazz?"

"Not doing very well, Dad."

If Michael expected his son to lie to him about where he had been and why, he didn't show it. Adam told his father, in words so stark as to be painful, of James' sudden affliction and of how badly Jazz had been torn apart.

"He needed me, Dad. To hold him. To reassure him. To make him feel safe."

Michael's eyes moved appraisingly over his son's body. "Did you take advantage of him?"

"No, Dad. We made love," Adam said, his eyes suddenly wet as he realized that he *couldn't* call it anything else. Because that's what it was. And always would be between them.

Michael's face softened, its hard lines blurring until Adam couldn't remember what his original expression had been. "What else could you do? He needed you."

"I love him, Dad. That's never going to change," Adam vowed.

Michael reached out with one fingertip and stroked Adam's face. "I'm glad you could be there for him, and I'm glad my son is capable of caring that much about what *someone else* needs."

Adam's vision blurred as his eyes filled with tears again. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, Adam."

"I don't want to face him, Pete."

The despair in James' voice made Smoke's heart ache. "You don't have to, Jamie." He could hear the unspoken words as though he'd shouted them. I'll protect you.

James wiped at his eyes and smiled weakly. "God, you must hate this."

Smoke shook his head. No, he couldn't say he hated this. In fact, it scared him how much a part of him liked this. *This* being James acting like he depended on Smoke to breathe.

"I'd say 'No worries', but…I've got plenty." James blinked and another tear rolled down his cheek. Smoke reached out a finger to trace its path all the way down the side of James' face to his jawline.

"Do you want me to go see him? Find out what he wants?" The rest of Smoke's fingers joined together to cradle James' chin.

"Yes…no…I can't ask you to do that, Pete."

"Then don't. Just consider it done."

James pulled away from Smoke's grasp and stared at the bowl of cereal in front of him. Everything *seemed* so normal. Breakfast was on the kitchen table, ready and waiting to be eaten, just like any other day. The mail was there, a colorful combination of advertisements and bills, just like any other day. But one thing stood out.

The letter.

From James' father.

It was brief and to the point. It stated that James' father wanted, no, *expected* to meet with him. The date and time appeared, followed by his room number and the name of a five-star hotel in Paris.

"*I* should go," James whispered.

"Not if it's going to tear you up this way, Jamie. I won't let you."

"We'll *both* go, then," James said bravely.

"I just—"

"What? What is it, Pete?"

"I don't want anything to change what we've got, Jamie."

"It won't, I swear."

"Yes, it will. No matter what your father has to say, it'll change things," Smoke said sadly, unshed tears sparkling like diamonds on the fringes of his eyelashes.

"I won't let it. I love you." James slid his fingers into Smoke's long black hair and kissed him. "That's forever."

James almost turned around and went home. If Smoke hadn't been right there beside him, maybe he would have given in to that impulse. But Smoke *was* there. At considerable cost to his own peace of mind.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, where Jack Elliott's suite was located, James felt a chill come over him. Muttering under his breath, he said, "He's only a man, not a monster."

"Jamie—"

"Pete?"

Smoke took his hand and pressed his lips to the palm. "I won't let him hurt you."

James' eyes were bleak. "You can't stop him."

"Don't say that. It's like you're giving up."

The door opened suddenly, revealing a larger than life figure looming there. "Come in, come in, boy," boomed Jack. For a man in his sixties, and in ill health at that, Jack Elliott looked surprisingly fit.

"I'm not a *boy*," James corrected sullenly.

"That's right," Jack drawled. "You're a bloody man now, you are. And who's this, then? Your *boyfriend*?"

A stricken look slashed its way across James' face. "Look, I thought I could do this, but I can't—"

Smoke tightened his grip on James' hand. "No, I'm the man who can take him so far away from you that you'll never see him again."

Taking heart at the defiant note in Smoke's voice, James added, "And I'm the man who would let him."

Smoke cocked his head at the older man. "Works for me. That work for you, *Jack*?"

"How do you know my name?" Jack frowned his displeasure at being one-upped by a stranger he had obviously underestimated.

"You'd be surprised what I know about you."

"Let's take this inside," Jack said quickly, casting an anxious eye up and down the long corridor.

That reassured James. Some things never changed. His father's obsession with appearances and what other people thought was a fundamental part of his personality. This time maybe it could be turned to his son's advantage.

Jack waved the two younger men to a plush leather sofa before making his way to the bar that dominated one side of the room. He poured himself a generous portion of Scotch and forced more than half of it down his throat before he faced his son again.

His eyes tearing from the massive amount of alcohol he'd just downed, Jack said hoarsely, "How long has it been, Jimmy?"

"Long enough, and don't call me that."

"You look good. Of course, you're not tall enough to be a true Elliott—"

"What the hell *is* a true Elliott, anyway, Dad?" James snapped, suddenly finding his anger within his grasp again. That was good. He much preferred it to the tears of utter despair and frustration that rendered him useless in his own defense.

Ignoring his son's angry retort, Jack decided to cut right to the heart of things. "I'm dying."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me. I'm dying. You probably find a certain poetic justic in it, but there it is."

James shook his head slowly. Smoke could feel minute tremors beneath where his fingertips gripped James' arm. He glanced at his lover anxiously, but he seemed more dazed than anything else.

A faint smile transformed James' face. As much as Smoke already disliked James' father, he didn't understand James' reaction.

"You're going to die?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Why? Do you want to be there?"

"I don't believe you."

"It's true."

"No, no, this is just another one of your manipulations. You've ignored me all these years and *now* you want what? Reconciliation?"

"A man thinks a lot about his life when he realizes he's going to die, Jimmy."

"So I'm supposed to forgive you? Just like that?"

"I didn't ask for your bloody forgiveness, boy! But I want to *try* to fix what's gone wrong in my life."

James nodded. "I see. Sure you're going to have that much time?"

Jack sighed. "I have a lot to answer for, I know, but it's not *you* I have to answer to. It's God."

"You see yourself going that way, then? You're as sure of yourself as you ever were. Your way's the right way, the *only* way."

"Can you at least forget the past and listen to what I have to say?"

James shrugged, but he maintained a grip that was almost painful on Smoke's hand. "Sure."

"There's a lot of money at stake here. There's the estate back home in Australia as well as a couple here in Europe. I need you."

"To do what? Mum's still alive."

"Your mother never understood business *or* money. She'd be destitute in a year."

"Hire a bloody accountant. You don't need *me*. Remember me? The gay heir? The one you disinherited?"

"My new will revokes all that."

"That's nice."

Smoke stared incredulously at James. He acted as though he didn't care that his father wanted to make him his heir again. "Jamie, I know it's hard to forget what happened, but maybe your father is right. You both need to move on. You can't hold on to the past. It's not healthy."

"You're right, Pete. But there's something he's not telling us. Isn't there, Jack?"

"How dare you call me that, boy? I'm your father!"

"Good of you to remember," James said bitterly.

James jumped up and began pacing. "Where were you when I first came here? Didn't know a soul. No money to speak of. Hiding. Living on the bloody streets till I could find someone, somewhere, who would hire me. Hoping all the while that you and your money couldn't reach this far." James raked a hand through his hair and tore off his glasses. "But there wasn't any place you couldn't reach, was there? You just forgot about me till it was fucking convenient to find me."

"I made mistakes! We both did!"

"You gave me up!" James shouted.

"You were a liability!" Jack shouted back.

"So you cut your losses. How on Earth did I suddenly become a fucking asset?"

"I'm dying!"

"So what?"

There was a hideously long pause, silent save for the harsh breathing of both men. "I want you to take what's rightfully yours, boy," Jack said quietly.

"But?"

"But what?"

"But there's got to be a condition! There's always a condition with you! Some way to yank me back under your control!"

"Come on, Jimmy. It can't be easy getting by on a teacher's salary. And then there's your *friend* to think of. Look at what you could do for him with all that money. You could both be rich beyond your wildest dreams."

James laughed, but the sound was that of a man driven too close to the edge. Smoke pulled James into his arms, but James fought him, as though he were so overstimulated, he couldn't bear to be touched. But Smoke loved James. To the point where his own needs paled into insignificance.

James laughed hysterically, but Smoke pulled his head down to his shoulder, instinctively feeling the moment when laughter became tears. "Ssh," he murmured, "I love you, Jamie. I'm not going to leave you."

Deliberately listening in on a private moment, Jack sighed. "Now that's admirable, but totally unnecessary."

James raised pain-filled eyes to his father's face, clearly waiting expectantly for the next blow. "What are you talking about?"

"Your inheritance, boy. Haven't you been listening? You can have it all. You only have to do one thing."

This time it was Smoke who spoke. "What?"

"Give him up."

"Give who up?" James asked, though he was fairly certain that his mind was finally functioning properly.

"Him. The poofter."

"You're sick."

"No, you are, Jimmy. I want to right what went wrong. You don't have to be gay."

"I'm not listening to any more of this."

"Okay, maybe I can't stop you from being gay. But I can stop you from acting like it. You don't have to sleep with men, Jimmy. It's not natural."

James untangled himself from Smoke's arms and swiped angrily at the tears that streaked his face. "So all I have to do to become King of the Universe is to renounce Smoke?"

Jack nodded eagerly. "Yes. Simple. Easy. If you feel guilty about cutting the lad loose, you can even give him a settlement, if you want to. Would that make you feel better?"

"No."

"Then don't give him anything. He doesn't deserve it anyway. I'm glad you see it my way."

"No."

"Jimmy, you keep saying that, but I'm not sure what you mean, boy."

James advanced on the older man until they were nearly nose to nose. "No, I don't want your money. No, I don't want your estate. In Australia *or* Europe. No, I don't want your companies or your kingdom or your fucking blood money."

The fact that James never raised his voice above a harsh whisper gave him even more power. "There is only one thing that I have ever wanted or needed. Love." He turned and stared into Smoke's wonder-filled eyes. "And I've got that right here with me. Forever," he said huskily.

"But—"

"Let's find Jazz and treat the kid to some ice cream," he whispered to Smoke.

Smoke nodded wordlessly.

"Then I'm going to take you to bed and keep you there," he added softly, seeing his own love for Smoke reflected back tenfold in those intense blue-gray eyes.

"James Ian Elliott—" Jack sputtered uselessly.

"Let's go home, baby." And the moment Smoke's lips touched his, James knew. He didn't have to go home. He already was.