He was cuffed by a wrist to the top railing. Huddled into his leather jacket, trying to conserve heat in the fall cold. Dozing the time away.

He didn't hear the glass door slide open until it was too late. His other hand was grabbed, cuffed and then attached to the top railing so that his arms were outstretched, tight.

His captor slammed his body against the side, immobilizing him. Not that it took much: between the blow to the gut, the cold, the exhaustion he'd been battling for the past few days, he was long past putting up any type of fight. Still he did. It wasn't in his nature to accept his lot without at least trying.

The other man was bigger than he was, in better shape. One blow to the kidneys took care of whatever fight was left in him. He sagged, pulling on his shoulders, immobilizing himself further.

The man put his hands around his waist, unbuttoned his fly, pulled down the zipper.

He panted, trying to control the pain streaking through his body. Realized his pants were down when he felt the cold air on his ass. He tried to get to his feet.

The man pulled him up, pushed his torso as much as it would go over the top of the balcony, seventeen storeys up. For a moment, he feared he was on his way down those seventeen floors. Remembered the cuffs and thanked God for them.

There was no gentleness in the blunt finger, then fingers, that opened him up. No lubrication apart from some spit.

He grabbed the top of the railing with his hands, braced himself for the pain. He'd been forced before in his life. Had a idea of what to expect. Had no intention of adding to the man's pleasure by screaming.

He caught the grunt in his throat. Used it to lock all sound coming from him.

Bit his tongue in the effort.

Heard the man's grunts, also muted, as his body penetrated, withdrew, repeated, repeated, repeated.

He tried hard to blank his mind, to picture himself in another world. But what world would have him, such as he was.

The man grunted. Stilled.

Withdrew.

There was the sound of a zipper being pulled up.

One of his hands was released from the cuff.

He dropped to his knees, aware only on the pain radiating from his ass, from the small of his back.

Stayed that way long after he heard the sound of the glass door sliding shut.

There was room for the barbecue, a small table, two chairs.

He'd put a crystal vase on the table, with a red rose in it. A couple of candles. The dishes and cutlery were, as his mother would say, the Sunday best china and silver. Linen napkins, not paper.

The steaks were thick, ready to go on the grill. There were several silver wrapped packs already on the heat: Yukon gold potatoes ready to be lathered in sour cream and butter. Real butter, not any substitute. The vinaigrette the deli owner had whipped up for him was waiting to be shaken, poured over the various greens, tomatoes, red onions, black olives, feta cheese in a large wooden bowl.

The red wine, a hearty Burgundy, was breathing on the kitchen counter, next to the two crystal wine glasses he bought just that morning along with the steaks. Dessert, a couple of thick pieces of the deli's triple chocolate cheesecake, was on a covered plate in the fridge. He had orders to take it out just before he put the steaks on, so that the refrigerator chill would disperse and the flavours of the cheesecake could rise to the forefront.

He checked the CD player, made sure that there was enough variety of cool jazz to warm the atmosphere to that certain glow. Hit the start button.

All it needed was the person he had done all this for to finish showering, dress and join him out here.

He leaned against the top railing, looked over at the twilight that still coloured the sky. Realized that he was being watched. Turned to the doorway where the man slouched, a shy smile on his face.

He returned the smile. Reached his hand out and brought his lover into this special world he'd created for him tonight.

Have you cooled off yet?

Jesus! Shit! How could you have been so stupid?

Stupid? It wasn't stupid! It was the only thing I could do!

What the hell are you talking about: the only thing you could do? Are you trying to tell me that stepping in front of that kid was the only way you could get him out of the line of fire! What happened to all your damn football experience! You couldn't tackle the kid? Bring him down that way!

There wasn't enough time.

Don't give me that shit! Not enough time! You stupid asshole! You want to be a hero so much that you'd put your life on the line for it!

Hero? Who's the stupid asshole? You think I want to be a hero?

Yes, I do. Get your name and picture in the papers. All that good publicity for your God Almighty FBI. I can see it now. Headline: AD sacrifices his life for drug pusher. Fucking film at eleven.

I. Do. Not. *Care*. About the fucking publicity! And for the last time, the kid was not a drug pusher.

Excuse me. He was caught with a kilo of crack on his person. He was only bringing it to his sick old grandmother who lives on the other side of the forest. But he's not a pusher. He's nothing but a fucking piece of shit and you go and put your life on the line for him!

So what was I to do? Let the guy shoot the kid?

Yes.

Because the kid is worthless.

Yes!

In your opinion.

YES!

Like people think you're worthless. But you're not, are you? And neither is the kid.







I couldn't have stood losing you.

I know that. I know the reason you're so angry is that this afternoon frightened you.

It scared the shit out of me.

Come here.

I can't lose you. Not now that I've found you.

You won't lose me. I took a chance this afternoon. I know it. But, you see, nothing happened. Not a scratch.

This time.

Yes. I can promise you I'll try to be more careful. I can't promise this won't happen again. Or that I'll react differently. But I will try.

That's the best you can give me?

That's it.

I love you. You know that, don't you?

Yes. I know that. I love you too.

They'd arranged the chairs so that they could see the television set up just inside the sliding doors.

Pulled out an ottoman for their feet. There was a cooler filled with ice, pilsner for one, lager for the other. There was a large bowl of popcorn, another of chips, a small one of salsa on top of the cooler.

It was Superbowl Sunday and, even though it was freezing cold here in D.C., they'd decided to get into the spirit of the thing by watching from outside.

They settled, each into his chair, got themselves a beer after carefully passing the bowls around. Pulled blankets over their legs and began watching the game.

As usual, one was less involved than the other, and that one spent as much time watching his lover as the game and enjoyed what he was seeing. He cared enough to be able to argue some of the action, even took the opposing team's defense for the sheer pleasure of watching his lover's eyes light up in argument, ready to battle for his team's good name.

Half time saw most of the popcorn, the chips gone. The salsa bowl was empty. So were about a half dozen bottles of beer.

"You've got salsa on your cheek. Bend over and I'll clean it off you."

"You're licking me."

"Hmm. You taste good. Cold but good. Whoo! The lobe of that ear is like ice. Maybe I should do something about that."

"Maybe you should. Hmmm, yes, definitely better. You know your nose is that cold too."

"Just keep on what you're doing. It'll warm up plenty quick. Jesus! Your hands are freezing! Hey! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Warming them up."

"Not down there you're not. Not if you ever want any action again."

"Oh, I'm not worried. Plenty of action on the tv."

"Not the kind I'm talking about."

"Really? Now just what kind would you be talking about?"

"Shit, you must be getting old. Don't you remember, the kind of action that happened in our bed this morning."

"Nope, can't say that I do. YIPES! Get your hand out of there!"

"Just trying to help you remember. You know, shock treatment. I hear it helps recover memories."

"I think a repeat would be much better at helping me recover memories. Might be a good idea to put your hand under my shirt. Let it warm up before you move it back down. If you want to ensure all important parts are functioning properly."

"Yes, well, I see they are. Nicely too."

"Move closer. Onto me. That's it. Bring the blanket along. The neighbours don't need more of a show than necessary."

"It's okay. They'll all be watching the game."

Hmm. I like that.

Do you?

Hmm. Like that too.

Thought you might.

Can I do that to you?

Sure, go ahead.

Like it?

Oh. Yes. Yes, that's... nice.

Move a bit. No, the other way.

Like this? Oh, I see. Yes.

Yes?

Yesssss. Hmmm. What are you doing?

Tasting you.

That tickles.

I can tell. Nice reaction.

Is it? Glad you like it.

I do.

Now what are you doing?

Smelling you. I love the smell of your skin.

Wouldn't you like it better if you waited until I showered?

No. Then all the nice lovely smells would be gone.

Nice? Lovely?

Oh, yes. The smell of you. I would do anything for the smell of you. You know that?

Yeah. I know. I love the smell of you too. And the taste of you. Turn over.

Like this?

Yes, like this.

Oh! Your nose is cold.

Well, it's not exactly tropical out here. Wouldn't you like to move this inside?

No. Please, give me this. I want you to take me out here. Do you really mind?

No. If it'll make you happy. Besides it's not that cold. And it's getting warmer all the time. Yeah, just keep on doing that and soon I won't need any clothes.

Like this?

Oh, God! Oh, shit! That feels good.

Yeah, it does.

Oh, fuck! Jesus! Don't you dare stop now!

Won't. I swear. How does this feel?

Like nothing else on earth! Harder! Do it harder, damn you!

Like this? Hard and fast! Oh, shit yes!

Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Ohhhhhhhhh, yesssssssss!

Fucking shit! Oh, god! Wait! I'm... Oh!

Oh, yes.

Are you all right?

Hmm.

Not too cold?

No, never with you.

Forgive me for wanting to do it out here?

Nothing to forgive.

Thank you.

Hmmm. Still, do you think we could go in now?

Yes.

He found him on the balcony, looking over the sleeping city.

He was still dressed in his suit pants, his less than crisp white shirt. Tie hanging loose.

The meeting must have gone on past midnight. He'd never heard him come in.

It was hot. One of those heavy humid nights that even the air conditioner didn't seem to help. He hated sleeping in air- conditioned air, but the heat made it impossible to sleep. He'd pulled on his jeans, come to get some ice water to drink when he'd seen the balcony doors open.

Slouching there against the jamb, not saying anything, he looked his lover over. He looked tired: these meetings were going on endlessly, never accomplishing much.

And he had to keep his mouth shut. It wasn't his world. Matters there held no importance for him. But they were important to the other, so he just held his tongue, even if he had to bite it at times.

He set his glass down on the floor by the door, stepped over. His lover didn't move. The meeting must have been a killer.

He put his hand against his lover's neck, gently massaged the rock-hard tendons. There was no reaction at first but then, the head bowed, allowing him more access to the base of the neck.

He stood close behind, smelling the frustration, the restrained anger that permeated the shirt silvered in the faint moonlight. He bent over, placed a comforting kiss on the boney knob at the base of the other's neck. Got a sigh in return.

Gently, he worked his way across the back of those shoulders he so loved to touch, kneading out the stress of dealing with the daily stupidities of bureaucracy. Times like this made him wish he had two hands, but his lover never seemed to mind. As he reached across to work a knot out of the far shoulder, the other leaned into him, making for easier access.

It also made for easier access to his cheek.

They rubbed stubbled skin like two cats staking out territory.

Then it was easy to press a bit closer, to nibble on the edge of a mouth held firm, to convince it to loosen, to allow the tip of a tongue to stroke the corner.

The face turned, taking the tongue into its mouth, sucking it into its wet warmth. An arm came up, and over, bringing him closer.

The exploration of mouths and tongues was a familiar ritual made new each time. Familiar textures: new tastes.

He had never realized how important mouths were until he had found someone willing, ready to teach him how sensitive the cavern of his mouth was to his lover's tongue.

There was no hurry. Just a slow reacquaintance with each other's mouths. Here the point of a tooth was sharp, there worn down. The bumpy smoothness of an inner cheek. The ripples of the palette. The wet slippery muscle of the other's tongue.

He sucked hard, drawing it into his own mouth. Allowed himself to be re-possessed. To be claimed as the other's territory.

He was pulled even closer, his hips, stomach, chest flattened against his lover, arms holding him tight should he want to escape. As if he would.

His own arm snaked around ribs to the back of a shoulder, hand strongly gripping, releasing in an encouraging rhythm. He could feel renewed energy flowing from his lover.

Their mouths roughened. Grew more demanding. More than hunger now, almost a battle. Wanting domination but not submission.

The need to breathe finally parted them. Not that the hot, humid air did anything to cool them down.

They rested, forehead against forehead, listening to each other's pants, feeling the warm breath of exhaled air on chins and throat. Arms loosely wrapped, still touching.

Their breaths calmed.

A soft smile, first on one, then on the other.

He let his hand stroke across and down to his lover's hand. With a teasing tug, he led the way in and up, to the shower.

What's Baby doing, out here all by himself?

Baby would be doing much better if Baby's Daddy were with him.

Daddy can do that. There, is that better, Snuggle Bunny?

Snuggle Bunny really likes to cuddle with Papa Bear.

Well, understandable. Papa Bear likes cuddling with his little Cuddle Bun.

Oh, that is sooo comfy. You are just sooo good to your Baby Boy.

That's because Baby Boy deserves good things. Would Baby like his old Daddy to rub Mr. Snookums?

Yes, please. Papa Bear, could you make Mr. Snookums do his magic trick again?

Which one, my little Cub?

The one where he pops out of his hiding place and comes up for a visit?

Well, first we have to open the door.

Why so slowly, Papa Bear?

Because we don't want to scare him, do we, Cuddle Bun?

Oh, no, because if we do, he just stays there and won't come out to play.

That's right. So we go verrry slowly. Like that. Then we ask him if he would like to come out and play.

How do we do that, Papa Bear?

Well, we show him we mean no harm. See, Daddy's finger will go into the dark place and show him he has nothing to fear.

Ahh! Mr. Snookums trusts you, Daddy. See, he's come out. Oh, but Daddy, he doesn't seem interested in playing.

Well, not right now, Baby Bunny. Maybe after some encouragement? See how Mr. Snookums likes being stroked... .


(Okay, that's enough of that one: I'm about to gag! Cut to the ending.)


Walt. If you ever talk to me like that again, I'm gonna shoot you.

Alex. If I ever talk to you like that again, do it. Please!