The Brotherhood - Tezcatli's Game Part 2

Maybe he would be, soon.

At least Quentin had swallowed the sweet morsel. Tezcatli took that as a good omen. "Now, that's better," he said, his voice low and silky. "Good boy."

Quentin's cheeks flared bright red. "Stop calling me that!" He backed up a few more steps.

"I'll call you what I want to call you," Tezcatli purred as he matched Quentin's movements. "You may call me Tezcatli." His Cat body had begun to sing to him. The way Quentin moved set a fire burning deep in his belly. His c.o.c.k rose and filled a little more. He reached down to stroke himself again. Even Quentin would be able to smell it. Didn't mean a thing that he was just a human. A h.o.r.n.y man recognized another h.o.r.n.y man, no matter what.

And Quentin did. He faltered, then stopped, staring. His lips parted again. "You -- I -- don't --"

"I think I will." Tezcatli paced closer, keeping Quentin off his balance. They were almost at the wall now.

Close enough to touch.

He did. Palms flat against Quentin's chest. He felt the man's heartbeat pick up its pace, going faster and faster. He tweaked at one nipple through Quentin's shirt and laughed when the other man jumped.

Close enough to lick.He did. One long, liquid stripe up the line of Quentin's throat. The man moaned, tilting his head back even as he shook it a little. That movement said no, no. His body, though, near enough to feel the heat, said yes, yes.

Close enough to kiss.

He didn't. Not yet. A Cat stalked his prey with fire and caution. Slow, steady, slow, steady, never giving up. Just putting it off. His prey could run, but they'd only die tired.

Although he didn't plan for Quentin to die at all. Not a final death, anyway. Not if he could help it.

But another test first, maybe?

As if it were meant to be -- approving, Tezcatli thought -- the music and lights changed in Amour Magique. His Cat called out to the DJ's soul and the G.o.d-awful disco stopped, the room growing dim. A voice began to sing in Spanish. One of his clan members. He'd enjoyed that one in bed before, but he'd never be powerful enough to please Tezcatli for long. All the same his voice was pure s.e.x rising in the air.

Tezcatli heard the rustling of men stopping their wild gyrations and coming together in pairs ... or more. Closing his eyes, he imagined he could feel the heat of their bodies pressing against each other. G.o.d, it was fine.

Beneath him, Quentin shook like a kitten trapped by a huge paw. Would it kill him or take care of him? Honestly, humans!

Tezcatli changed his mind and stole another kiss, after all. One sweet, hot taste that left Quentin gasping and staring at him as if he were both devil and angel.

He whispered two words. "No. Zach ..."

"There is no Zach here," Tezcatli growled. "Pay attention to me. Tezcatli, not Zach."

"Zach." Quentin shook his head again. "I can't. I'll betray him."

Tezcatli leaned in tightly, nudging his c.o.c.k against Quentin's. Hard and full. Quentin wanted it. Wanted him. Tezcatli knew it.

The human smelled like salt and s.e.x. Grief and l.u.s.t. It went to Tezcatli's head.

"Can't you?" he taunted. "I think so. This says you want to." He rocked his hips forward.

"You're not my keeper. You have no say over what I do or don't do."

"Oh, yes, I do." Tezcatli tasted Quentin's lips again -- all too brief. Then he wrapped his arms around the man. "Come on,"

he challenged. "Dance with me. Or are you too afraid?"

Chapter Three

Thunder rolled outside the window, and rain pelted the gla.s.s with a sharp, staccato rhythm. Quentin could tell from the sound of the wind that dark weather was brewing. Past experience told him a storm front was moving in -- the serious kind that kept men off work for days on end. No mending fences or riding out to exercise the horses in a foot of sticky, suctioning mud.

He and Zach lay together on Zach's bed, idly reading through a newspaper together.

"Here, don't flip over the page, Zach. I wasn't done reading the advice columns yet."

"Slowpoke."

"Slow -- I'll poke you!" Quentin wedged an elbow into Zach's side. The man was terribly ticklish and wormed away from his lover, chortling. "Gotcha," Quentin said triumphantly. "But where do you think you're going?"

"Not too far, babe, don't worry." Zach reached down to grab his cup of coffee, sitting on the floor beside them.

Drinking was awkward while lying on his stomach, but he managed it. The expression on his face as he took a long, deep swallow, was one of absolute bliss. "G.o.d, that's good."

"Coffee hound."

"Don't be makin' light of dogs, now. I'm the faithful kind. Just one scratch behind my ears and I won't stray."

"You'd better not." Quentin reached out to seize Zach with one easy hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Zach l.u.s.tily pressed his lips to Quentin's, then -- stopped. "What is it?" Quentin asked. "What's the matter?"

Zach's eyes were troubled. "We are safe in here, right?"

"Safe? What do you mean?" Quentin glanced around them. "The door's locked. Everyone else is down in the common room playing cards or shooting darts."

"You don't think they'll notice we're both missing? Put two and two together, maybe come up with an answer that won't do us any good?"

"No, no." Quentin shook his head. He stroked the back of Zach's neck. "They think we're both out doing ch.o.r.es. I made sure to spread the rumor myself. A word in MacGuire's ear, and ..." He grinned brightly. "... everyone's convinced the boss sent you out to check the fences and that I'm in the library reading up on the latest medical journals."

"d.a.m.n selfish of him, keepin' those in the house where you have to go with your hat in hand to keep up with your job," Zach grumbled. "But Q ... you smile at me like that, and I think the sun's comin' out." He leaned in closer, almost touching despite the flicker of fear in his eyes. "Do it again."

"I'd rather kiss you."

"Quiet, man, quiet!"

"No one's going to hear us, Zach." Quentin gathered his lover's hand in his own. It was cold. "Put down your coffee. We're safe here, very safe. And I'm tired of the newspaper. I know how I want to be entertained." He brushed their lips together. "I want you."

"Quentin ..." Zach protested, but a grin was tugging at his own lips. "You're gonna get us killed one of these days."

"Could be. But we'll both go happy, won't we? Come here. Give me a real kiss. And maybe a second, and a third, just for luck ..." Quentin finger-walked his hand down below Zach's waist, fondling his c.o.c.k and b.a.l.l.s. They hardened even more beneath his touch. "You're always so h.o.r.n.y," he said in admiration. "It just takes a little, doesn't it?

"Oh, G.o.d, Quentin," Zach moaned.

"That's right." Quentin squeezed gently. "So tell me, lover ... may I have this dance?"

The scene flashed behind Quentin's eyes as the strange man pinned him to the wall. So close to him. Closer than anyone had ever been since he'd last had Zach. David's hugs didn't count, because he didn't have the same intent as this creature, whom Quentin couldn't help thinking was not quite human. The way he moved and talked -- he was almost bursting with energy he just barely controlled.

"Quentin," the man breathed, his voice slightly accented. It'd been a long time, but he understood what that tone meant. This stranger wanted him. Right there, right then, up against the wall. "Dance" might or might not have meant moving to the music.

Quentin couldn't tell.

He stared at the proud face so close to his. There was an Indian-like cast to the features. His voice, though, had a Spanish flavor. He sounded more like the ranch hands that had come up from Mexico, across the border, searching for a better life. They'd found the cattle spread and called it good enough. This man's body language said he was something else entirely.

"What are you?" he managed to whisper, hoping the man would hear him above the music. Maybe let him go. If he thought Quentin was crazy -- and he was, wasn't he? -- then perhaps he'd be put off. "Who are you?"

He was wrong. The man leaned in a little further, nuzzling against Quentin's cheek. Quentin shivered, both at the automatic reaction of his body to a male touch and at the thought, I'm betraying Zach. Zach's memory. I can't do this.

"Stop," he said, pushing the man -- or trying to. The stranger was stronger than he looked. A good shove didn't even budge him. Then again, chocolate notwithstanding, Quentin felt weak and shaky. "Stop it! I don't know you."

"That's going to change," the man breathed against Quentin's skin. "But what I am? That's another story." He bit Quentin's earlobe. Hard. "I'm the man who wants to f.u.c.k you. Right here, right now. But I'll settle for a dance, first." He drew back far enough for Quentin to see dazzling white teeth flash at him. "I'm a patient ... man." He laughed. Quentin didn't see the humor.

"I don't want to dance." He tried to slip underneath one of the arms all but pinning him to the wall.

"Yes, you do."

Quentin thought of Zach. How they'd gone out after dark, still in the rain, and shared a slow, lazy spin behind the stables.

The doctor and the veterinarian cowboy. They'd whirled to music that played only in their minds, although Zach had sung a s.n.a.t.c.h or two of the song. They'd laughed, quietly, and held onto each other in the sheets of water pouring down. His last dance. He wouldn't spoil that memory by dancing with someone else. He wouldn't.

"No!" he repeated, pushing at Tezcatli again. "Let me go."

"Or you'll what?" Tezcatli leaned upon Quentin. He rubbed against him, groin to groin. Quentin bit back a quiet groan at how good it felt -- and G.o.d, it felt so unbelievably good. Tezcatli might move like some big animal, but his c.o.c.k was every inch a man's, and it was hungry. He wanted Quentin and didn't mind letting him know it.

He couldn't help pushing back. His body acted of its own accord, nudging up into Tezcatli's groin. A thrill shot down his chest into his belly, setting up a low flare of heat, driving him a few inches closer to wild. But still -- "I can't," he managed. "My -- my old -- my Zach -- he won't --"

"This Zach isn't here. I am. Dance with me."

Tezcatli's strong hands slid behind Quentin's back, pulling him away from the wall. He had an effortless strength that was s.e.xy and terrifying. He tugged Quentin close to him, molding their bodies together, nudging Quentin's legs apart and inserting his thigh. No question what kind of dance he wanted. Dirty dancing, old school style. Chest to chest and c.o.c.k to c.o.c.k.

Quentin flagged briefly. He glanced over Tezcatli's shoulder, searching for any sign of Zach's ghost. Nothing. He was nowhere to be seen. "Don't leave me!" he cried out, forgetting the man who held him for the one who had disappeared. "Zach, don't go. Please!"

Tezcatli gave Quentin an angry look. "Who is this Zach?" he demanded. "Is he one of your Brothers? Did someone steal your heart before I could?" When Quentin hesitated, Tezcatli shook him like a kitten -- not to hurt, but to teach a lesson. "Tell me."

"Not one of the Brothers," Quentin managed. "Not someone ... here."

The man's face changed again, irritation melting away for utter sensuality once again. "Am I coming on too strong for you?"

he asked, startling Quentin. "I don't think so. I think you like it this way. You want my hands on your back, your chest, your a.s.s.

You like having my p.r.i.c.k pressed hard and tight up against yours. I can hear your breathing getting faster and faster."

He paused to skate his nails up Quentin's back, making him hiss and arch in tighter. "You want me," he said, his voice full of self-a.s.surance.

Quentin buried his face in Tezcatli's shoulder. Not for comfort or rea.s.surance, but because it was easier than looking at the man. Saints and angels help him, he was right. Quentin did want him. His body had been starved for pleasure so long, and it was fighting to dip into the well again. He could already feel fingers invading his hole, the sharp pain and the burn easing into pure pleasure. When Tezcatli trailed his tongue down the side of Quentin's neck, he thought of that proud, full mouth on his c.o.c.k and groaned.

His groin bucked involuntarily into Tezcatli's own. "Oh, G.o.d."

"Pray to me," Tezcatli ordered. "I'm the only one who hears you. Now dance with me." He swayed Quentin to and fro, a tree in the wind. Hurricane Aztec. Aztec! The pieces came together. The man was like an ancient Native American G.o.d come down to earth. His touch set Quentin on fire. He couldn't help moaning and moving with him. His body wanted to dance. But could he? His bit of sugar intake wouldn't hold. He'd fall down soon.

The syringe lay impotently at their feet. He wouldn't be making his way out of the world that night unless he jumped over the balcony's railing, and he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't ruin the night for the dancers down below. They still knew how to enjoy life, or they were able to pretend. They had themselves and everyone else fooled if they didn't. But him? He'd wanted to join Zach. He'd been waiting for this moment since Liam had mentioned Amour Magique. Gotten everything ready.

Then ... Tezcatli had appeared. And it all went straight to h.e.l.l. A place where the fires were too beautiful not to touch even if he knew he'd be burned.

"Wait," he said, struggling against the Aztec. "I have low blood sugar."

Tezcatli glanced down at the empty, abandoned syringe. "I knew something was wrong," he said. "You smelled like sickness." He sniffed. "You still do." His lip curled. "Do I have to take care of you? Bring you some, what is it? Orange juice?"

For some reason, that amused Quentin -- tickled him enough to make him want to laugh. The man barged into his private scene, drove away his lover, forced him to dance -- not quite against his will -- and he was concerned? Talking like a novice volunteer for the Red Cross? He couldn't help laughing.

Tezcatli growled softly. "Don't mock me. No one mocks me."

"I'm not. I ... I just ... this is insane!"

"Then isn't it fun," Tezcatli asked, drawing his finger down Quentin's cheekbone, "to be a madman? Tell me what you need.

Then I want my dance. Do you understand me?"

Quentin nodded. "In my coat," he said. "The inside pocket." Tezcatli's fingers began exploring immediately. Quentin sucked in a breath as the man brushed over his nipple, searching. "A tube. Small."

"Unlike you."

Quentin laughed again. Tezcatli found the inner pocket at last and drew out a small dose of oral glucose. He'd meant to leave that at home in case someone like Liam had been extra pushy. Habit had made him forget to take the emergency supply out.

Or maybe it had been the memory -- he'd been wearing the same coat since Zach. The tube he carried was old. Zach had grabbed him tight for a goodbye kiss one morning and slipped it to him because he hadn't had time for breakfast. "You need to take care of yourself," he'd said. "Someone has to, and it ain't always gonna be me."

Quentin had rewarded Zach for his teasing by spinning him around, and then with a kiss ...

"The oral glucose," he said. "Let me drink it. That'll help. Then, if I dance with you -- if -- just one dance? Then you'll leave me alone?" Perhaps when Tezcatli left, Zach would come back.

Tezcatli shook his head. Instead of replying, he held the tube up, pressing it to Quentin's lower lip. "Open for me," he whispered. "Open up."

His eyes were stormy as the sky on the day Quentin remembered spending in bed with Zach. Dark coffee laced with l.u.s.t.

The way he nudged the tube at Quentin's mouth brought up images that Quentin couldn't shake off: thoughts of being on his knees in front of the proud man. Being faced with a c.o.c.k that stood out hard and proud. A firm hand on his shoulder, urging him close.

Sticky sweetness painting his tongue.

Quentin let out a shuddering sigh as Tezcatli slipped the tube inside. He closed his mouth around the glucose without thinking, or perhaps thinking too much. Imagining the medicine was a c.o.c.k. A spoonful of sugar, he thought crazily, wanting to giggle. Then, Tezcatli depressed the plunger and Quentin fought not to gag as the vile, concentrated sugar water flooded his mouth.