5 comments/ 15695 views/ 8 favorites Lust Never Sleeps Ch. 01 By: ShelleyRunyon Chapter One: One Night in Hannagan's "How good is your French accent?" "I beg your pardon?" Darryl craned his neck, peering around him, but there was no one close enough who could be considered to be within earshot. No one paying the slightest attention. So that settled that. This lunatic must be talking to him. This rather lovely, albeit strange, lunatic. "Do you parlez vous Francais? Speak a little frog? Enough to be mistaken for a native? If not a native, someone from Canada maybe?" The speaker was gorgeous, in a cat-walk drop-dead kind of way. Blond hair, short, slicked back. Dirty blond, actually. With just a trace of stubble around his lips and chin. And cinnamon eyes. The kind of guy that made Darryl's heart beat faster than a junkie's on speed. Darryl hadn't intended to come to Hannagan's tonight. He was tired of one night stands. Tired of the same old, same old. Tired of being treated like nothing more than a pretty face, a quick roll in the hay. Tired of people recognizing him for a few sleazy tabloid shots. That was long over and hardly worth remembering. He hadn't even known who the guy was until he found himself in the backseat of his Mercedes, sucking his cock like no tomorrow. Not till the flash bulbs went off and his name and face were promoted to the front page of every supermarket rag around. He never saw or heard from the stranger again—imagine that. This guy didn't seem interested in all of that. Although what he was after, Darryl couldn't figure out for the life of him. But something inside of him, some little tickle, told him to at least play along. For now. "Actually, no, I don't speak any French," Darryl regretfully confessed. "How about German? I took a few years of it in high school. I'm no expert, but I think I can give that a go." Darryl had no idea what he was even talking about, but the words seemed to pour from his mouth of their own volition. The blond squinted one eye, his head bobbing back and forth as if in thought, tongue stuck into his cheek as he considered the matter. Darryl had to force himself to look away from those damn kissable lips. "No," he said at last, almost reluctantly, "gotta stick with the original script, I think. Now, repeat after me, with your best French accent: I'd walk across the world for you." "I'd do what for what?" Darryl echoed, confused. "Jeez, you blew it already. Let me say it slower. I'd. Walk. Across. The. World. For. You. Now you try it, but with that accent thing." Darryl cleared his throat. He glanced around, half expecting a white-coated keeper to emerge from the woodwork. None did. He decided to give it his best try, whatever the results. He focused on the lips, as he repeated the line, correctly. Not well, though. His characterization sounded more Cajun than authentic Frenchman. "Much better! For that, you deserve a reward!" Before Darryl could wrap his head around what was happening, he'd been pulled into a strong pair of arms, and those delectable lips were fastened upon his, and he was being kissed hard, so hard it made his head spin. When he was released, he fell back slightly onto the bar stool, grateful that it had a back, otherwise he'd have simply poured bonelessly onto the barroom floor. He stared at the stranger, lips slightly parted, almost as if he wanted or expected more of the same. Common sense told him not to get involved, look what happened last time. He told common sense to shut the fuck up. Before he could get out a question—what's your name came to mind—he found his hand being taken by the other man, their fingers twined securely together. "It's show time, folks," he whispered in a husky contralto, which only served to raise Darryl's blood pressure even higher. What did that even mean? He followed the gaze of those gorgeously warm eyes as they traveled to the door. Now entering Hannagan's were two men in business suits who seemed to be vying for the title of stiff of the month. They might almost have been sent from Central Casting, straight off the set of The Godfather. He gave blondie a suspicious look, wondering if this were the payoff to the set-up. He stood right beside Darryl, his body fairly quivering with excitement, their hands still locked. He leaned in to Darryl so close that his warm breath ghosted over his ear. "By the way, the name's Sawyer. Sawyer Thomas." "What are you, Tom Sawyer's evil twin?" Darryl managed to get out before his lips were otherwise engaged, and all logical thought flew straight out the proverbial window. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find that the two goombas were now standing there, waiting expectantly for them to quit playing tonsil hockey. Sawyer remained imperturbably unflappable, adjusting his tie, which had come askew during the time he'd had his body crushed against Darryl's. "Mr. Schrodinger. Mr. Salisbury." He greeted the two men with a solemn nod. Schrodinger was tall and lean, with a long jagged scar which ran the length of one cheek. Salisbury was shorter, pudgier, with a face like an overgrown infant. They wore identical dark blue wool suits, cut to fit their disparate body styles. Schrodinger turned to his companion. "It's always the quiet ones, you know?" "It is indeed," Salisbury echoed the sentiment. "Gentlemen, meet my... lover... Jean-Phillipe." Darryl tried not to start at the strange name; the feel of Sawyer's nails digging into his palm helped reinforce the idea. They looked at him, almost expectantly. Another dig reminded Darryl that perhaps he should speak. He cleared his throat, then managed to get out, "How do you do?" Kudos to him for the accent. "That depends on you." This in unison. "Do you have the diamonds?" What? Lust Never Sleeps Ch. 02 Chapter Two: Diamonds Aren't Forever Diamonds? What diamonds? Darryl didn't have the least idea what the two men were talking about. Whatever it was, it seemed to scream dubious intent. There was an air about Mr. Schrodinger and Mr. Salisbury that simply reeked of shadiness. The trouble was Darryl knew nothing about no stinkin' diamonds. Legitimate or otherwise. "It's all right, love, they're the gentlemen I told you about." Sawyer's smooth voice both elated and frightened Darryl. The fright arose from his distinct lack of knowledge regarding the current situation, the elation from the pleasurable sensations those dulcet tones sent shooting through his body, all rushing toward his dick. "Go ahead and show them." Show them what? He cast a quick glance at Sawyer, whose smile was broader than the Cheshire Cat's. On the other hand, he noticed the two dark-suited men eyeing him in a less-than-friendly manner, in quiet expectation. Quiet, and not entirely happy. Probably because Darryl was keeping them waiting. He fumbled for something brilliant to say, something rather French. All he came up with was, "Um, oui." Yeah, he sounded like a dumbass and he knew it. "You put them in your pocket, darling." Sawyer rolled his eyes slightly for the two gentlemen's benefit, while Darryl's hand flew automatically to his jacket pocket, even though he knew damn well there was nothing there. Well, maybe a condom. Or a ticket stub. But certainly nothing as extraordinary as.... Diamonds. Well, hellfire and damnation. Darryl looked at the shiny little rascals that blinked and glittered in his hand, amazed at what he was seeing. He glanced at Sawyer, suspiciously. The other man radiated only abundant confidence. Darryl didn't know anything about gemstones of any kind. The only jewelry he knew about were the earrings that he sported, one in each ear, and they were silver hoops, no stones. But he just knew, looking at these little lovelies, that they were worth quite a bit of money. He also could have sworn they'd been taken out of their settings. As in stolen. Of course, who went to a bar to broker a legitimate diamond deal? Durp. "I believe this is what you were wanting, was it not?" Sawyer asked the dark pair, his hand snaking out in expectation. "Indeed it is, is it not, Mr. Salisbury?" "Most assuredly, Mr. Schrodinger." The two men wore identical dead smiles. Darryl found it quite creepy. "Shall we complete our transaction, then, so that you gentlemen may go about your business—" "Excuse me, sweetheart, but have you seen a child, about yea high?" The speaker was a fortyish buxom redhead in a low-cut black dress. She'd interrupted Sawyer in mid-thought, leaning in between him and Mr. Schrodinger, her two main assets almost resting within Sawyer's grasp. Well, one of them, maybe. Two would be too much to ask of one lone palm. Darryl felt an irrational jolt of jealousy at the sight, one he tucked away as being crazy. All eyes were fixed upon the redhead. Except for Darryl's. He was staring at Sawyer. Therefore, they all missed it. Which, of course is the purpose of the Distraction. To draw attention away from the Main Event. Darryl first noticed a slight breeze, a lightness of being in his... Holy shit, his hand was empty. What just happened? He noticed a thin weasely fellow with a moustache that looked as if it'd been penciled in with eyeliner. Crookedly. He was hightailing his small ass toward the front door. It didn't take Charlie Chan to put two and two together and come up with Theft. "Hey!" Darryl pointed toward the fleeing thief. "Somebody's got to stop him." Mr. Schrodinger and Mr. Salisbury turned to regard the man, as if he were some sort of specimen, but not one of very great interest to them. Not surprisingly, the redhead had disappeared, mammaries and all. "Tell me, Mr. Salisbury, do you think we should bring out Mondo to play with the little man? He hasn't been out for a while." The shorter of the two men considered the question for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, sadly, I must decline. I believe that Mondo would crush him to a pulp before we had a chance to interrogate him. That would not be good, not good at all." "Then we are agreed?" "We are agreed, Mr. Schrodinger." They closed their eyes, nodding together, like a pair of identical bobbleheads. "Milosh!" Darryl found himself edging toward Sawyer. Which worked out well, as the blond was moving his way, his arm snaking about Darryl, their hips meeting, which sent sparks shooting through Darryl's entire body. Darryl couldn't explain this strange attraction to a perfect stranger. Sure, he'd felt connections before, usually of the hot and horny variety. But those quickly burned themselves out upon being given satisfaction. This one seemed different. So, what were they waiting for? Or who? Darryl couldn't be sure. All he knew was this was one hell of a surreal moment. A commotion from one corner of the bar drew their attention. A man indignantly shot to his feet, yelling at someone who sat at a small table. "Okay, I paid the twenty bucks. What do the cards say?" The man sounded angry. The sea of people between here and there shifted just enough for Darryl to see the object of anger—a young handsome gypsy, dark and swarthy, almost piratical in a bright purple head scarf, the effect of his beauty marred by a black eye patch. The gypsy attained a standing position, making a peculiar motion with his fingers in his patron's direction. Darryl had the feeling it was nothing favorable, most likely a curse. "The cards say...." His accent was rich and thick, yet precise. He paused, for effect. The man seemed torn between skepticism and belief. But he was all ears. "You should return money you embezzle before police catch you." The man's jaw dropped to the floor. Darryl stared in disbelief as the gypsy ran after the thief. Lust Never Sleeps Ch. 03 Sawyer Thomas cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the three men who stood grouped about him—Mr. Schrodinger and Mr. Salisbury, and of course Darryl, aka Jean-Phillippe. "Gentlemen, since your minion is more than capable of taking care of that minor annoyance, shall we... ahem... conclude our business?" The two dark men exchanged looks, the gaze of one going up, the other down, in order to account for their contrasting heights. "A diamond in the hand is worth money in your pocket. We shall be in touch with you, Mr. Thomas." So saying, they touched their hands to the brims of their matching bowlers, murmured, "Mischief managed," and faded into nothingness before Sawyer's and Darryl's very eyes. Darryl turned toward the bar. "Can I get a shot please?" "What kind do you want?" "Whatever you have." He downed the first shot within seconds, asked for another, before turning his attention back to Sawyer, who was frowning. Not at him, but at where the two gentlemen had been standing, wrinkles marring the perfect symmetry of his brow. "Well, fuck," he said, rather inelegantly. "Did they stiff you?" Darryl asked, although he was fairly sure of the answer. But it was all he could think of to say that wasn't will you please fuck me. "Do you see any money in my hand?" The blond licked his lips, and Darryl thought he would orgasm right then and there. "Well, if they think I'm going to take that lying down, they have another think coming," Sawyer muttered to himself. He tugged on Darryl's sleeve. At the question in the dark-haired man's eyes, he simply said, "I'll think of something. Let's get out of here. They won't be coming back here any time soon." "What about the gypsy?" "Unless I'm mistaken, we'll find the evidence of his handiwork close at hand. But never mind that now." He tugged again, and Darryl would have followed him anywhere, his second brain having taken over for the moment. Darryl managed to toss the money for his drinks onto the bar, plus enough to cover a tip, before he found himself exiting Hannagan's just behind Sawyer. They stood on the street for a moment, as if considering their next move. Well, Sawyer was. Darryl had no idea what was going on or what was meant to be done about it. The antique gaslights that lined the street, redolent of another era, had winked on. Evening was nigh. "That way." Sawyer pointed a short distance from them, where a growing crowd of people was gathering. "If I'm not mistaken, we'll find the thief there." "That's good, isn't it?" Darryl asked. "You can get your diamonds back and conclude your business transaction." Sawyer lightly trailed his fingers along Darryl's jaw, setting him to quivering. "You are such an innocent," he said, dropping his voice so that only Darryl could hear his words. Then he kissed him, with infinite tenderness, before leading him toward the group. "Let me show you, Jean-Phillipe." "It's Darryl," Darryl muttered, but Sawyer seemed not to hear. Before they'd reached the edge of the crowd, they could hear bits and pieces of what was being said in fascinated horror by the onlookers. "What could have done that?" "Is there a serial killer on the loose?" "Who's this guy?" "What's up?" Sawyer muscled their way through. Rather he employed fortunately placed touches which seemed to turn people away from their path of their own accord. Darryl marveled at the skill inherent in his fingertips. And wondered how they'd feel if applied to himself. That thought alone caused his body to flame. Sawyer pointed. "Look," he said, and Darryl did so. It was indeed the thief. Head neatly sliced from his body, tenuously perched atop his neck. A good stiff breeze would probably send it rolling away. A slender filament lay upon his chest. "Violin string," Sawyer explained. "He was garroted with it. It's the gypsy's trademark." "How can something so thin do so much damage?" Darryl asked, incredulous. "Special strings. Made to order. Come." He turned to go. "Aren't you going to look for the diamonds?" "Milosh has them. Which means they'll have them. Which means we must get them back." He grabbed Darryl's hand, twining their fingers, drawing him away from the excited throng. Just in time, as a vehicle flashing bright lights appeared, honking and edging its way through the madness. "Where to?" Darryl asked. Purely for appearance's sake. He really didn't care. "Where else? To the church!" They threaded their way through the crowd of wannabe gawkers and down a side street. Oddly enough, it was one that Darryl didn't recognize. And he thought he knew all the streets in these parts. But if the price of holding on to Sawyer Thomas included being taken to strange places on strange errands, then so be it. They twisted and turned along such a convoluted path that Darryl gave up any idea of getting his bearings, content to cling to Sawyer's warm hand. May the contact never end. It was darker here, fewer street lights, buildings with no designation, or indication of their purpose or their intent. Locks and chains and iron bars, and the few people they saw scuttled away without ever drawing near. "There." Sawyer pointed to a building that sat where the street dead-ended. Looking into the sky, a single star played guardian above it. They reached the gothic doors of the edifice; it looked more imposing the closer they got. Darryl couldn't help but think of Notre Dame when he saw the flying buttresses and the forbidding gargoyles. He half expected to see Quasimodo leap from the battlements. Sawyer pounded upon the door; Darryl could hear the reverberations echo through the building. For long moments, nothing happened. "Perhaps no one's here?" he suggested. Just then the door opened a crack, revealing a long tall nun with beautiful dark chocolate eyes. "Good evening, Sister Sue, might we use your phone?" Lust Never Sleeps Ch. 04 If Darryl had anticipated an argument from the stunning nun, he'd calculated erroneously, for she ushered them inside without comment, other than to bid Sawyer close the door behind them. In her hand, she held a lit candle, shielding it from the momentary breeze their arrival had stirred. "Some things never change, do they, Sawyer?" Sister Sue's smile was dazzling; Darryl wondered if she'd been a cover model in her other life, before she became a bride of Christ. He also wondered what her relationship with the sexy Sawyer was. Take a deep breath and try to come back to reality. Before he completely lost it over this virtual stranger. Assuming it wasn't too late already. "Could be," Sawyer replied enigmatically. "Maybe you're thinking of when we were in school." He offered her a cheeky smile which made Darryl ache on the inside, almost painfully. The nun slapped Sawyer lightly on his arm, mindful of the candle. "It's always the same with you, don't even tell me it's not. And you don't fool me with that I want to use your phone crap, either. You're never without your cell. You want a favor, don't you? C'mon." Without waiting for a response, she led them into the church itself. Darryl was amazed at the size of the place; from the outside it hadn't looked near this big. He'd never seen such beautiful stained glass in his life. And the statuary... It appeared to be almost lifelike, exquisitely carved from the most beautiful materials he could imagine—translucent alabaster and what appeared to be Carrara marble. He was drawn to one statue in particular; it was almost hidden behind a Corinthian column. The handsome face of the statue held a distinct resemblance to... He glanced between the marble and Sawyer with undisguised confusion. Sawyer simply smiled and reached for Darryl's hand. He gave it willingly. Sister Sue led them to the back of the church, behind the altar, pulling back a beautiful Flemish tapestry to reveal a door recessed so cleverly it was almost invisible to the naked eye. From there she proceeded to take them into a private room, paneled in rich dark mahogany, even finer tapestries strewn about its walls. Not to mention ornamental pieces in gold and silver and beautiful jewel tones. She waved them into chairs, taking her place behind an ornate desk. Darryl took a seat, almost sinking into the soft leather of the well-upholstered armchair, while Sawyer went directly to a cabinet, removing a cut-glass decanter. He turned toward Sister Sue. "Two or three?" he inquired. "What do you think?" He brought out three fluted glasses, set them on the rich wood, and began to pour the dark liquid. The liquor reminded Darryl of the color of night itself, rich and soft and velvety. He hadn't known fluids could assume such mysterious hues. "What is this?" he asked, but received no immediate answer. Sawyer placed one glass into the nun's outstretched hand, before pulling his chair very close to Darryl's, as close as he could manage without being in his lap. He took a seat, handed Darryl a glass of the divine elixir, but before he could drink, the beautiful blond had twined his arm through Darryl's, bringing his own glass to his lips. "To what shall we drink, my sweet?" he asked. Darryl momentarily lost command of the English language at those liquidly sexy tones, and he uttered the first words that came to mind. "To us?" Jesus, how predictable, inane, and utterly inappropriate. But Sawyer didn't seem to mind, echoing the words, a vibrancy in his voice that was close to driving Darryl insane with lust. "To us." The nun cleared her throat. "Hello? Try to remember I'm here, and please do focus, Sawyer." "I am," he returned, his eyes never leaving Darryl's face. "On the matter at hand, I meant, dearest brother." What? Darryl was even more confused than before. "Are you a monk?" he asked, trying to make sense of the nun's use of the word brother. Sister Sue snickered. "No," Darryl smirked, "luckily for you, or it might be difficult for me to fuck your sweet brains out." "I don't know, some priests manage quite well," the nun interjected. Both men turned their heads. She didn't look even slightly abashed. "Welcome to the modern church," Sawyer quipped. "And now you know my deepest darkest secret. This is my sister, the Sister. Sue, say hello to Darryl." Oh, so he does remember my name. The thought made Darryl unexpectedly happy. Why did he suspect, though, that Sawyer Thomas possessed worse secrets? "So what's up now, brother of mine?" Sue repeated her question. "What kind of trouble are you in, and how have you gotten this dear sweet innocent boy involved?" "What makes you think he's innocent?" Sawyer countered. "Because he's still with you? Once they find out, most of them run screaming for their lives. Obviously, he's still a newbie, and therefore innocent. Looks like he still has stars in his eyes." "I resent that." Sawyer's tone belied his words. "Resent away." She shrugged. "Hello, Darryl, what has my little brother gotten you into?" "Well, um... we met at a bar... he asked me about a French accent... and then there were two men... and diamonds... and a gypsy..." His story sounded very incoherent, even to himself. What did she mean? What others? Just what had he gotten himself into? Damned if he knew. Sister Sue downed the contents of her glass in one well-practiced chug, then sighed. "Seriously, Sawyer? Why are you bothering with those two? You know they only bring trouble." Sawyer shrugged, setting his glass on her desk, which earned him a tsk as she shoved a coaster toward him. "Caveat emptor," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "I can handle them." "Oh yes, past experience has shown me that." She snorted. "So tell me, what do you want?" "Your car, sister of mine. We need to make a flight." Lust Never Sleeps Ch. 05 At Sawyer's words, Darryl turned toward him, perplexed. "We're catching a plane? Why?" "I never said plane, love," Sawyer enigmatically responded, eyes fixed upon his sister. "You're not going to make me grovel, are you? Surely I've done more than enough atonement for the last time." Sue snorted. "Not near enough, and you know it. Not if you were to say Hail Marys from now 'til kingdom come." "Hardly worth my time, don't you think?" Sawyer's voice was smug, a cheeky grin affixed upon his pretty face. "When there are so many... better things... to do with it." He turned the full battery of his eyes upon the already sinking Darryl, who went down immediately, all hands lost. Happily. "I know I've said it before, but this really is your last chance." "Yes, dearest darling sister." "Oh dear Sawyer, will you please pay attention?" Somehow the nun's words were spoken with less irritation than might have been the case, all things considered. "I am, I am," he assured her. Darryl blushed under his close scrutiny. "You know you can't fly at night." "I'm well aware of that, sister of mine," Sawyer assured her. "We'll leave at first light. Or shortly thereafter." He poured more of the dark liquid into Darryl's glass, refilling his own as well. When Sister Sue tapped the stem of her glass lightly against her desk, he played bartender for her as well, before twining his arm with Darryl's once more. "My turn to make the toast," he said in a sultry voice. "May the dreams that once were be remembered once more, and may this night be the first of many!" They clinked their glasses together, caught up in one another's eyes, oblivious to all else. Sue cleared her throat and rose, pushing her chair in as she did so. "Well, that's that. You know where your room is, brother, you hardly need me to tuck you in. At least do me the courtesy of telling me good-bye, will you, before you go?" She walked around the desk, adjusting her rosary beads as she did so. "In the meantime, I shall pray for both of your souls." "Thank you," both men said at once. At the door of her office, Sue turned and regarded them. "You know what they say, don't you? The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach." "Only if you're a very bad surgeon," Sawyer cheekily commented. "I prefer a more southerly route myself." He leaned into Darryl and captured his lips, kissing him long and hard. By the time they came up for air, Sue was gone. "How will we fly without a plane?" Darryl asked, although this was far from the first question in his mind. But it was the one he allowed himself to ask, priding himself on keeping his libido in check. More or less. "Tomorrow, my sweet, tomorrow. We have other, more pressing matters tonight," Sawyer replied. "What pressing matters?" Darryl tried to ask, but Sawyer's lips made further discussion unthinkable. And undesirable. "Come, my love." Sawyer beckoned. The head-over-heels Darryl followed, without question, as they wound their way into the bowels of this seemingly infinite church, until they reached a chamber, which Sawyer unlocked. This room was as elegantly furnished as the rest of the building. The largest and most conspicuous piece of furniture was a mahogany four-poster bed which sat in the center. There were mirrors on each wall, as well as upon the ceiling, the gilt frames edged in cherubs. Darryl was surprised to see a computer atop a roll-top desk—an incongruous note in a place that seemed otherwise wrapped in elegance. "We're going to sleep?" he wondered aloud. "We're going to bed. Not the same thing at all." "But about tomorrow, shouldn't we—?" Darryl's words were stopped by Sawyer's lips. He surrendered to the blond's touch, the ache in his groin advising him not to worry about tomorrow, to live for tonight. Somehow Sawyer managed to undress them both without disconnecting their lips—no mean feat in and of itself. The next thing Darryl knew, the bedding had been pulled back, and they were lying together upon the softest of sheets, naked, and fully entwined about one another. Darryl was far from being a virgin—there was ample evidence of that on the Internet, much to his chagrin. He'd been with a fair number of lovers in his time. Lover being a relative term, for he'd given none of them his heart. But, on this night, he gave it gladly, and most willingly, to Sawyer Thomas. "Kismet," Sawyer whispered, nibbling on Darryl's ear, his hand caressing Darryl's stiff cock. "Our kismet is to be together. You are the other end of my red string." Darryl wasn't sure what he meant, but it didn't really matter at the moment. He ached to be taken, to be possessed by Sawyer. It was a primal need within him he hadn't known he possessed, but it was certainly making itself manifest now. In one deft move, Sawyer slid Darryl beneath him, taking the upper hand. Brazenly he rubbed his own throbbing cock against Darryl's, which only served to drive him even crazier with lust. "Lust never sleeps," Sawyer whispered, "and neither shall we. Not tonight, anyway." He ran his hands along Darryl's long firm legs, before raising them to the level of his shoulders, burying himself deep in the heart of Darryl, eliciting a heartfelt cry of pleasure from him. "Are you the one I've waited for, Darryl? My chosen one?" Sawyer mumbled to himself. He filled Darryl's being with every thrust of his willing cock, dancing to the rhythm of the music in their hearts. He felt his partner's climax approaching, as well as his own. Now was the time. "Heart's fire, eternal love, show to me a sign from above..." They cried out in mutual orgasms, as suddenly the bed was suffused with a brilliant red glow. Sawyer smiled triumphantly. Lust Never Sleeps Ch. 06 Darryl opened his eyes to find himself looking directly into Sawyer's cinnamon gaze. "Morning, love." The chipper beauty smiled—Darryl melted. "Sleep well?" "Slept wonderfully," Darryl replied. "Me too." Sawyer placed his hand against the back of Darryl's dark head and pulled him closer, their lips meshing perfectly. I think I could easily get used to waking up like this. Darryl found himself still in awe of the night before. Not just their lovemaking—which had been stupendous in and of itself—but at what had happened directly thereafter: the glowing bed and all. A phenomenon which Sawyer had yet to explain, although he'd promised he would. Just before he stopped Darryl's questions with sultry kisses and a second orgasm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered to Darryl. This is getting awfully complicated. Darryl told it to fuck off. There were no windows in the room, therefore no convenient way to gauge the time. As if he could read Darryl's thoughts, Sawyer murmured, "Time for us to be leaving, alas. I would've liked a little more time in bed with you." His eyes roamed over Darryl's naked body with open admiration. Darryl felt himself blush hotly. With some reluctance, he watched Sawyer roll out of the bed, keeping his eyes affixed upon Sawyer's lovely backside as he bent to retrieve their clothes from the floor. He tossed Darryl's onto the bed. "Right then, can't be helped. Come, love, things to do, people to see. Sisters to appease." He winked at Darryl as he buttoned his black silk vest. He was certainly fluent in the language of dressing quickly. He left the white long-sleeved shirt beneath it open at the throat. Darryl restrained himself from licking the gorgeous creamy flesh that was revealed. A look from Sawyer sent Darryl hastily to his own toilette. His clothes weren't near as fine as Sawyer's, consisting of a pair of tan cords, with a pale blue casual shirt over it. He'd not intended to stay long at Hannagan's that night. And he'd never even considered hooking up with anyone. In his own mind, he was severely underdressed. "We'll take care of that later." Sawyer kissed him sweetly, leading him from the bedroom. Darryl couldn't help but wonder if the man was psychic, or merely a scholar in the art of deductive reasoning. They found Sister Sue at her prayers before the altar. She stood at their approach. In her hand, she held a key in the shape of a cross, which she handed to Sawyer. "I don't need to remind you to be careful, do I, brother dear?" "Of course not, sister of mine." Sawyer's smile was more than contagious, it was downright addictive, Darryl decided. When Sue turned to Darryl, her eyes widened and she gasped. Darryl quickly felt his face, wondering if he'd managed to grow a second nose or a third eye. She reached for his hand and grasped it, staring at the back. Darryl found himself staring as well. Surely that hadn't been there before. He thought he'd have remembered something like that. On the back of Darryl's hand was a small red heart. He stared, openmouthed, as did Sister Sue. Sawyer, on the other hand, wore the smuggest of smiles. "I owe you one big apology," Sue conceded, glancing toward her brother. "You were right about him. He is the one." "I know," he smirked. Reaching for Darryl's hand, he kissed it lightly. Darryl thought he'd swoon. "Wha—?" he began, but he was stopped by a kiss, and a soft, "Later," from Sawyer. They made their farewells and plunged once more through the secret door in the back of the church, this time taking a spiral staircase which Darryl'd not noticed before. The metal latticework clanged beneath their feet as they rushed upward, emerging at last into a round room, in the middle of which sat an old car. A car. This made no sense whatsoever. Shaking his head in disbelief, Darryl glanced upward. By the shape of the high ceiling, he deduced they were inside the church spire. But what earthly purpose did a landlocked vehicle serve in this place? And how had it arrived there? "No time for explanations, climb in," Sawyer directed him, leaping into the driver's seat. Naturally. Darryl didn't see the purpose of it, but nonetheless, he climbed inside the car. Now what? He looked at Sawyer, who lifted his eyebrows suggestively. "Move closer, love," he suggested. When Darryl did so, sitting almost in Sawyer's lap, he found himself bound by two straps which appeared from nowhere, clasping him in place beside the mysterious blond, who was likewise encumbered. "Safety first," Sawyer exclaimed. He produced a pair of goggles from beneath his seat and slid them over his head. Darryl found that far from making him look ridiculous, they only served to enhance the beauty of his warm brown eyes. When Sawyer handed him a pair of his own, he donned them without hesitation. "Ready?" "Sure," Darryl replied. He waited for Sawyer to engage the engine, still wondering what any of this meant. Instead, he watched in fascination as he inserted the cross-shaped key. Nothing happened. How long were they going to sit up here before they climbed down from their ivory tower and proceeded in some other manner? The scent of the wind was Darryl's first clue that the status quo had changed. It tickled his nose. Without thinking, he sniffed. And then he sniffed again. Looking up in amazement, he saw that the spire was in the process of opening outward, like the petals of a flower, yearning toward the sun. While he gaped at the sight, he became aware of a gentle upward motion. To his amazement, the sky seemed to be coming nearer. How could that be, unless... "Oh dear God, we're flying!" he exclaimed, gripping Sawyer's thigh with his left hand. "Hang on, lovie, we're going up!" Sawyer gleefully chortled.