Something Wicked This Way Comes

Friday, July 22, 2016


Welcome back to Free Fiction Fridays. Though it's a little later than I planned, I hope you enjoy Part 2 of Capturing Dominus.

* * * *

Micah drained the Stolichnaya vodka bottle. He dangled it over the passenger seat before dropping it. The thunk as it hit the floorboard wasn't half as satisfying as the growl and rumble when he revved the engine. Despite downing all the alcohol he could find, he wasn't anywhere close to thrashed. He needed to be fucked up. He needed drugs. 

As the automatic garage door slowly rose, Micah revved the engine again. The Ferrari purred like a big cat. Tears leaked from the corners of Micah's eyes. He ignored them. He'd known Dominus had sex with people at the club. Hell, other doctors called him "Dr. Fuck" because of his specialty as a clinical sexologist.

Knowing something and seeing it were two different things.

Micah eased his foot off the clutch and gave the Italian sports car gas. It lunged forward like a hungry panther. Despite his tears, Micah grinned. If Dominus wouldn't give him a ride, Micah would take one. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and ignored the painful twinge in his heart.

"Fuck him."

The car shot out of the garage. Micah had driven numerous other cars, but never a Ferrari. It was black, like all of Dominus's favorite toys. Micah whipped it around the long driveway and out onto Broadway, narrowly missing several other cars. He laughed crazily. The Ferrari cornered like it was on rails.

Micah shifted like a pro and accelerated along Broadway. The speed helped; the further Micah got from Pacific Heights, the better he felt. He hung a right on Hyde Street and roared down to Market at a ridiculous speed. The tires squealed as he hooked a hard left, heading for whatever dealer he could find.

A quick stop at 4th and Howard put a bundle of magic in his hand. Micah didn't even pull over. He opened one bag, jammed a straw in it, and snorted hard as he drove. He tore open a second little envelope. His eyes were tearing again, but this time it was accompanied by a warm, stinging rush of euphoria. At the very next stop light, Micah did his second bag of coke.

By the time he made it to the Tenderloin, his entire face was numb.

Micah at 14

Cruising in the Ferrari was a trip. Micah ignored the shouts, whistles, and catcalls. Plenty of hookers, hustlers, dealers and thugs roamed this area. He knew most of them by name.

Micah had been a ward of the state before he was out of diapers. He bounced between his mother and various foster homes until she overdosed when he was five. Micah ran away for the first time at six; by the time he turned eight, he'd spent more time on the street than anywhere else. Sticky fingers landed him in front of a family court judge at ten. Subsequent arrests for theft, delinquency, truancy, drug possession, distribution, and soliciting assured his spot on the California Youth Authority rolls. Hell, he was still on probation for his last solicitation rap.

Dominus hadn't cared about any of that. He brought Micah home, cleaned him up, treated him like a human being. Micah waited to be hit, or fucked, or turned over to others for one or both, but it never happened. Gregos Kalogeros didn't want anything from him, and the more time Micah spent in the man's house, the deeper Micah fell. He was fully, totally, terribly in love with Dominus: the only man who didn't want him. The scene from the club flashed through Micah's mind and despair almost crushed him.

Micah gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. He swallowed several times to force the bitter cocaine drip down his throat. Fuck Dominus.

Micah scanned the sidewalk. He was really fucking soaring. Blinking repeatedly to clear his eyes, he thought he saw a friend walking down the other side of the street in the opposite direction. Without a second thought, Micah ran a red light and whipped the Ferrari into a tight U-turn.

He never saw the truck in the intersection, or the SUV parked near the convenience store. He definitely didn't see the store employee wiping fingerprints off the market's door. All Micah saw were the stars when his head hit the windshield.

* * * *

"Try not to move."

Dominus's voice reached out and caressed Micah's ears like a swatch of velvet. He licked his lips and had to work very hard to open his eyes. As he did, his head exploded with sharp, throbbing pain. The whimper slipped free before he could bite it back, and Micah swore.

"Micah?" Dominus reached out and took Micah's hand. "You're at SF General. Stop moving."

"I'm not!" A wave of nausea swept over him and he tried to roll. Vicious pain took his head and chest at the same time, and Micah vomited spectacularly.

"Twenty-five milligrams of Phenergan, please."

"Do you want restraints?"


Hands were everywhere. Somebody wiped Micah's mouth and body. His body came up, dirty linen vanished, and he settled onto clean sheets. The fouled gown disappeared and cool air swirled over Micah's entire body before a warm gown covered him. Whatever Phenergan was, Micah was glad for it. The nausea vanished and some of the throbbing in his head eased. He made the effort to open his eyes again.

"Hospital?" he asked. His mouth tasted terrible.

"Yes. You're at SF Gen. You need to hold still."

Dr. Fuck

Micah managed to focus on Dominus's face. His foster father looked as serious as Micah had ever seen him. Serious, beautiful, and untouchable.

The ache in Micah's chest grew almost unbearable.

Dominus lifted a cup with a straw and Micah took a few sips of tepid water. It wasn't enough to wash the awful taste from his mouth, but it helped. 

"What happened?" he whispered.

"You tell me."

"I–I took your car."

Dominus said nothing, though he picked Micah's hand back up and held it in both of his.

"Did I hit something?" Micah's eyes drooped, but he squeezed Dominus's hand like it was all he had in the world.

"Several somethings." Dominus's voice was even and calm. "Also several someones."

Micah's eyes snapped open and found Dominus's face again. The answer to the question Micah wanted to ask, but couldn't, was right there in Dominus's eyes. Now in addition to his pounding head and aching heart, Micah had an awful emptiness in his gut.

"You have a serious closed head injury." Dominus reached up and gently wiped Micah's tears away. "Seven fractured ribs. Two fractured metacarpals. Four fractured phalanges. Thirteen stitches in your scalp. Extensive contusions to your torso." Dominus brushed his hand down Micah's cheek. "You're very lucky to be alive."

"Sure. Lucky."

"Rest. You're going to be here for a day or two."

Every breath Micah took hurt like he was being stabbed. His left hand was splinted and wrapped, but he wasn't aware of it. All his pain receptors were maxed out. He surreptitiously moved his feet, and then frowned at Dominus.

"No cuffs?"


"Why not?"

"Are you going to run?" Dominus's eyes bored into Micah. "Would you…run from me?"

A long moment passed as they stared at each other. Micah finally broke the silence.


Dominus raised Micah's uninjured hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the bruised skin of his knuckles.

"We have many things to discuss. For now, rest."


"I'm not going anywhere, Micah."

Micah closed his eyes, held on to Dominus's hand, and wept.

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

Friday, June 3, 2016


It's Friday, June 3rd. This means two things: a new flash fiction piece, and the release of Stardust, Always this weekend! 

June 5 is Cancer Survivor Day, and the Alan Rickman/David Bowie tribute anthology is set to release the same day. All proceeds from sales of the book are going to St. Jude's. Over 80 authors, poets, and editors contributed to this anthology, inspired by the lives and creativity of Alan Rickman and David Bowie. If you've lost somebody to cancer, if you have a survivor in your life, if you or a loved one is currently fighting the disease, please consider purchasing a copy. You can learn more about the book HERE.

Shameless plug out of the way, I hope you enjoy a bit more "behind the scenes" action from the Dust & Ash series. Part 2 will follow, of course. 

* * * *


by Tucker McCallahan

"He's in the main room again."

Dr. Gregos Kalogeros, better known as Dominus, paused in the act of skinning his honey-colored hair back into a short ponytail. Irritation and amusement warred on his face. Amusement won, and he smiled as he secured his hair with a rubber band.

"Have Ayana make sure nobody touches him."

"Yes, Dominus."


Club D's manager paused and raised an eyebrow as he regarded the owner.

"Is he dressed?" Dominus asked.

"That would be open to interpretation. He's covered…but not by much."

"He's a fucking minor."

"I know exactly how old he is."

"I'll be out in thirty minutes." Dominus took a deep breath as Kel left the room. Micah was going to drive them all insane.

A 14-year-old Micah

In the main room of Club D, Micah James perched on a padded leather barstool, body angled so that every inch was on display. His hair was a sooty mess of black that carelessly fell over his forehead. Frosty blue eyes that looked at least a decade older than his fourteen years scanned the room restlessly.

A couple approached, fit, trim, and in their thirties. Kel intercepted them before they made it to Dominus's new ward and steered them toward one of the club's employees. Brad might not've been as beautiful as Micah was, but he was nineteen and legal.

Nothing about Micah was legal.

Kel shot Ayana a look, his eyes flicking to Micah. She nodded from where she worked behind the bar. Kel fully intended to return to his duties and ignore the little bastard who had made his life miserable since moving into Dominus's house a month before, but as usual, Micah had other ideas.

"Where's Dominus?"

"With a client."

"So he's fucking somebody."

"Doctor Kalogeros is with a client. If that's too difficult for you to understand, perhaps you should consider attending the school in which he enrolled you."

"How many people do you fuck every night?"

Kel clenched his jaw to keep his mouth shut. He forced himself to turn and walk away to the sound of Micah's laughter.

Alone again at the bar, Micah swiveled around on the stool, wise eyes flickering around the room before they settled on Ayana.

"No TVs."

The pretty Latino girl pushed a red drink garnished with fruit and a little paper umbrella toward him.

"Nope. No TV." She dropped a straw into the fancy drink. "I'm sure there are several very nice TVs in the main house."

Micah sipped the drink and nodded.

"Oh yeah. Six high-end flat screens plus all the shit in the media room." Micah set the drink down. "But it's all bolted down."

"Dr. Kalogeros is wealthy."

Micah studied the girl.

"You don't call him Dominus. How come?"

"That isn't who he is to me."

"But it's his name."

"So is Dr. Kalogeros." Ayana wiped the bar with a clean cloth. "We can all only be exactly who we are." She held up a glass of water. "Even if I call this wine, it's still only water."

"That's pretty deep for a girl."

"Thank you." She looked past him. "Good evening Mr. Kristopoulos, Mrs. Kristopoulos. Scotch?"

"We'll have whatever this young man is having."

"Of course. Have you met Dr. Kalogeros's ward, Micah James?"

"Oh!" Mrs. Kristopoulos put a hand on her husband's arm. "This is the boy Dominus is adopting?"

"Nah." Micah eyed her jewelry before dropping his gaze appreciatively to her breasts. "I'm not the long-term type."

Ayana pushed two drinks identical to Micah's toward the pair.

"Micah will be starting high school soon."

The Kristopouloses grabbed their drinks and damn near fled the bar. Micah glared at Ayana.

"I thought you were cool."

Ayana's gaze was full of pity as she looked at the beautiful, troubled boy.

"As I told you, I can only be what I am."

Micah leaned up onto the bar, his face twisting into an ugly sneer.

"Got news for you, babe. You're a paid whore, just like everybody in this joint. Pretty it up all you like, but you fuck for money."

"You won't win him this way."

"We'll just see about that." Micah hopped off the barstool and almost collided with Dominus. Dominus's face was utterly blank as he wrapped a hand around Micah's arm.

"You cannot be here."

"Cause I'm jailbait and it'll get you in trouble?" Micah slid his free arm around his guardian's waist and stepped close enough to rub against him. Micah's voice dropped to a sexy purr. "Or cause I'm jailbait, and I'll get you in trouble?"

"Because my club is licensed by the City of San Francisco to allow only adults over the age of eighteen through its doors. I employ over two dozen people; I will not allow you to put them or this establishment at risk."

"So yes…and yes."

"We're leaving."

Dominus escorted Micah from Club D without another word.

Theo Theodoridis, the inspiration for Dominus

Vasilis Kalogeros chuckled as he plucked an olive from the platter on the table.

"A dick, eh?"

"Dildo," Gregos mumbled. He poured more ouzo into a glass he'd already emptied twice.

"Éna megálo?"

"Yes. A big one."

As the senior Kalogeros roared with laughter, a smile spread across Gregos' face. In short order he was laughing with his father over Micah's latest stunt: the ruination of a Dimitris Mytaras sculpture. Vasilis lifted his linen napkin and wiped his eyes.

"How did he…"

"Super glue. He super-glued a big black dick to my favorite statue."

That started the laughter up all over again. When the chuckling died away, Vasilis eyed his only child.

"Perhaps this one isn't meant to be your son."

"He's fourteen."

"Age is merely a number, and numbers are only important where money is concerned."

"I can't take a boy as a lover."

"This boy sounds exactly like you at that age."


"Do I lie?"

"No," Gregos groaned. "But he can't consent. He's still a child; he needs love, guidance."

"A firm hand and a hard dick, that's what it sounds like he needs."

Gregos rubbed his eyes.

"You aren't helping."

Vasilis sat forward, his face serious. Eyes the shade of the Aegean Sea locked onto an identical pair in Gregos' face.

"How much of your life will you let him destroy? If he were truly a child, you would already have dealt with him. You want him, Gregos."


"Handle it."

"How? I can't take my foster son as a lover."

"Why not?"

"It's illegal!"

"So take him where it isn't."

Gregos sighed and shook his head.

"I can't take him out of the country."

"Adopt him."

Gregos mumbled something around the lip of his glass as he finished the ouzo.

"What was that?"

"I'm working on it."

Vasilis pushed back from the table. He stared at his son.

"Work harder."

The Ultimate... Dominus

Micah, a few years older

The sub was belly down, arms stretched out and restrained. His legs were spread wide, knees bent and feet up. Cuffs around his ankles attached to pulley lines. He hung from the ceiling, upper body resting on the table and his dick pointing toward the floor. He couldn't have escaped even if he wanted to, which of course, he didn't.

Dominus stood between those spread legs, fingers tracing and pinching the swollen, reddened marks on his sub's glorious ass.

"Was it a good spanking?"

"Yes Dominus."

One hand strayed down to lightly caress his sub's cock and balls.

"You're quite aroused. Would you like to come?"

"Yes, please, Dominus."

"A please. You must be very close."

The sub remained mute. He was nearly perfect. Working him was never a chore, and given Dominus's level of sexual frustration lately, this session was necessary for them both.

Dominus rolled a condom on. Two lubed, practiced physician's fingers slid inside his sub, who moaned and squirmed. Without another word, Dominus replaced fingers with cock and set a hard, deep, punishing rhythm.

"Come!" Dominus barked.

His sub cried out, jets of milky white semen pouring from his dick to splash onto the floor.

The door slammed opened.

Dominus turned his head. Micah stood two feet away. His icy blue eyes were trained on Dominus's dick still buried in his sub.

"Dammit!" Kel arrived at a flat run, breathing hard.

Lust, betrayal, and fury filled Micah's face. He shoved Kel to the floor and fled the room the same way he'd barged into it, slamming the door behind him.

"Gamó tin tréla mou gamó," Dominus muttered. He slid free and caught sight of Kel, picking himself up off the floor. "Are you injured?"

"Just my pride. Little shit packs a punch."

"See if you can catch him before he leaves the club."

Kel opened the door and dashed out of sight. Dominus ripped the condom free, tossed it in the bin, and got down to the business of apologizing to a sub, something he never did. His father was clearly correct about Micah, and Dominus had a very bad feeling about where this situation was headed.

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

And don't forget about Stardust, Always, a tribute to Alan Rickman and David Bowie, on sale June 5, 2016!

Friday, May 20, 2016


Hey friends and readers. It's that time again. I'm recovering from some pretty major oral surgery (which is way worse than any other kind, IMO) so the conclusion to this week's flash fiction is fully a homage to the food I *can't* eat, and the food I've largely been living on for a week. How's that for some vague? At any rate, I hope you enjoy the second part of This I Know.

* * * *

This I Know Part 2; by Tucker McCallahan:

The heavenly scent of genuine Mexican food rolled out the door as it opened. Angel strutted out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked as good as he smelled. He saw me and did the head-tilt-chin-lift thing that passed as a greeting, but then his lips curved up into a sexy smile.

"Hey china."

"My name's Anthony."

He laughed.

"I like china better. My little brat."

I ducked my head as a blush stained my cheeks. This guy drove me crazy. He started walking down the alley behind Harvey's at a brisk pace. I had to jog to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Gonna take you to TJ's and feed you." His dark eyes danced as he glanced in my direction. "Less you want me to call you flaco instead of china."

"I don't speak Spanish."

"Mexican." His spine straightened and that chin came up again. "I'm Mexican."

"I'm a mutt. Melting pot American."

"Maybe you got some Mexican in you."

"I don't think so," I said.

"You want some?" he asked with a throaty little purr. I blushed–again–but met his eyes this time.


We walked the four blocks to Tijuana, also known as TJ's, in silence. Angel's presence at my side keyed me up like nothing else had in longer than I could remember. I was hyper-aware of him, of his every movement and expression. I wanted his arm around me, or my fingers entwined with his. It was all totally out of character for me. I was anxious and aroused at the same time, my heart thudding and lurching as we got closer to the restaurant.

As far as I could tell, TJ's was closed for the night. Not surprising since it was after 2AM. The entire building was dark and closed up. I frowned, unsure of where to go. Angel jerked his head to the side, and we headed around to the back of the place. He produced a heavy key ring from his pocket and unlocked the back door. He opened the door and held it for me before following me inside. With an ease that could only come from being fully familiar with the building, he reached a hand into the darkness and flipped a few switches.

Light flooded the commercial kitchen and left me slightly dazzled. The kitchen looked like all it was missing was Gordon Ramsey front and center, barking orders. Every surface inside the massive space gleamed.

"You look surprised."

"It's huge."

Those luscious lips curved up for me again as he held my gaze with his. "Yes." His smile transformed into a smirk. "It's huge."

I went up in flames on the spot.

"You have to stop doing that." 

"I like watching you turn pink." He strolled over to one of the industrial refrigerators and opened it, peering inside. "You still hungry?"

"What I want isn't in that frig."

"Don't be so sure." He vanished into the depths of the tremendous machine and reemerged with several covered containers. "You like spicy, yeah?"

"Love it."

Settling the containers into the crook of one arm, he extended his free hand to me. A zing sailed from my chest down to my balls as I curled my fingers around his. He led me through the kitchen into the dining room.

Chairs were turned up on wooden tables that had probably been all the rage in the 60's. The wooden floors and pillars gleamed with high-gloss polish. The lush aroma of live plants filled the air, and in my mind I imagined a Aztec temple scene, exotic blooms side by side with ferns and banana trees. Without all the lights on I had no idea where the scent actually came from, and I didn't really care. My fantasy was no doubt better than reality.

Angel handed me the containers and divested a large table of its chairs, righting them and setting them on the floor. I started to open the top container and he stopped me, taking the covered dishes from my hands and setting them on the table. His dark eyes smoldered.



"What, you want the men's room instead?"


"So strip."

My fingers went to the collar of my shirt, fumbling with the slick little buttons. At the rustle of cloth, my eyes flicked up. Angel's t-shirt fell to the floor. His skin was the same dark honey color of the polished wood and gleamed just as brightly. I wanted to see more of him so badly I wasn't sure whose belt to reach for: his or mine. He made the decision for me by tugging my belt free and opening my pants with a few quick jerks.

Clothes flew in a frenzy, neither of us paying any attention to what landed where. Angel's lips hit my chest, his hot mouth closing around my collarbone and sucking as cool air swirled up over my exposed flesh. I yanked at his tight jeans. He chuckled and I shivered, chill bumps racing ahead of his breath. My hands connected–finally!–with his skin and we came together in a clash of heat that sent my eyeballs rolling back into my skull.

Nothing that had happened in the Harvey Wallbanger men's room excited me even half as much as Angel. His mouth moved like a machine, chewing and sucking along my chest and up my neck. I trembled against him, sweaty and aroused, hands gripping and sliding over his perfect ass. His shoulders bunched and bulged as he lifted me off the floor and plunked my ass down on the table. My thighs fell apart, eager to cradle his body against mine. He was like some dark god, all burning eyes, black hair, and eager hands.

He laid me flat on the table and I moaned, back arching to keep our flesh pressed together. I heard the telltale tear of a condom wrapper and shuddered. My hips tilted up, but the pressure and slick fulfillment I needed were not forthcoming. I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me. He looked as hungry as I felt.

One of his hands reached above me. Just as my lips parted to ask what he was doing, the smooth tip of the condom nudged me. I tried not to squirm and failed. His low chuckle caressed my ears like velvet.

"So eager."

"Need you." That breathy voice couldn't possibly belong to me.

"Open your eyes, china."

I obeyed, though I didn't remember closing them. Angel hovered over me, his mouth curved into a sensual smile. A long, finely tapered, green chili pepper dangled from his fingers. My heart skipped a beat.

Angel rested the tip of the pepper on his full lower lip long enough for me to admire the contrast between red and green, and then slowly sank his teeth into it. My pulse hammered as he chewed. The scent of fresh jalapeno saturated the air. He bent his head and wrapped his lips around my left nip.

The oil from the fresh pepper in his mouth hit my skin like lava.

I hissed, hands shooting into his hair. His mouth came away exactly long enough for him to eat the rest of the pepper. Nip burning and eyes wide, I watched, fingers twisted in his hair as he chewed. The tip of the condom pressed against me. Then Angel lunged, and liquid fire rained across my chest as he thrust inside me.

The sex was like a detonation. Flames licked along my flesh in the wake of his tongue. Heat poured over me as his mouth landed on mine, his lips burning me with every kiss. Sweat rolled down my skin and tears leaked from my eyes as he fucked me hard and deep. My arousal built so fast and hot I had no control over it. My orgasm was a splatter of cool wetness, consumed by the inferno of Angel's body.

He fucked me until I gyrated on the table, a writhing mass of burning skin. Inarticulate sobs slipped from between my clenched teeth and were lost in the noise of the table pounding the floor and Angel's roar as he came.

My head spun. I twitched and jerked uncontrollably. As good as the orgasm was, the relentless burning was getting to be too much. I was frantic for relief and moaned in agony.

The splash of cold shocked me. My whole body jolted. Angel's laughter sent tingles racing along my skin. I blinked in surprise as more cold liquid drenched me.

Milk. He was pouring milk all over us.

I stared in utter astonishment as streams of white liquid ran all over me, puddling between our bodies, on the table, and dripping onto the floor.

"Open," Angel commanded.

I blinked again, fluttering my eyelashes to see through the huge mess.

"Your mouth, china," he explained patiently. "Open your mouth."

Like an idiot, I opened my mouth, and he poured a thin stream of milk into it. I choked, coughed, and spit half of it out before managing to swallow. I rose up on my elbows and surveyed the damage. I'd had messy sex before, but this was a definite record.

Angel stood at the foot of the table, a lazy smile on his gorgeous face, body covered with sweat and milk. He backed up and helped me to climb off the table.

"How much trouble will you get in for this mess?"

"Eh. Not much." Angel shrugged. "My cousin owns the place."

I glanced around and couldn't see my clothes. My stomach growled loudly. Angel laughed.

"Guess I should feed you for real."

"If you feed me, you might have to keep me."

Angel wrapped his t-shirt around his neck and held out his hand.

"This I know."

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

Friday, May 6, 2016


Hey all! Welcome to another round of Free Fiction Friday. This week's story is posting in two parts, so the conclusion will post next Friday, 5/13.

Head out this weekend and enjoy the eye candy and action of Marvel's Civil War if you get a chance. Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man is always good, and my resident comic-geek spouse has informed me the actual movie is good as well.

That said, enjoy Part 1 of This I Know.

* * * *

The problem with fucking in the men’s room at Harvey Wallbanger’s wasn’t the tiny little toilet, or the fact that it had no tank for balancing. It wasn’t the graffiti on the walls, either. The crude cock and ball drawings, dirty limericks, and “for a good time call” phone numbers that looked vaguely familiar were actually entertaining. It wasn’t even the guy I’d taken in there, whose name I couldn’t remember now. Ted? Ned? He might’ve just said, “Hi, gimme head.” The volume of the dance music in Harvey’s and my general social malaise made meaningful conversation impossible.

No, the problem with fucking in Harvey Wallbanger’s men’s room was the smell.

I stood there, perched really, on the tiny little toilet that had no tank in a stall that was too narrow with walls covered in familiar graffiti, while Right Said Fred tried his best to slot up and make some magic happen, and the smell of Mexican food overwhelmed me.

I don’t know if the bulimic twinks who populated the club’s VIP section finally eliminated the middle man and just threw their food straight into the toilet, or if some idiot got so stoned he ordered Loco Louie’s all-natural Mexican eatery to deliver his dinner directly to the men’s room. But somebody had authentic empanadas and tamales. The spicy combination of the chorizo and corn masa in the tamales perfumed the air with a sultry aroma that teased my senses far more effectively than Jed, who was still mindlessly rutting behind me, clueless.

I inhaled deeply, letting the fantastic mélange of scents bombard my olfactory nerves. For the first time in my life, I lost all interest in the sex I was having. My erection fell like a deflated meringue as my stomach growled. The sound effect was so loud that Ahmed froze mid-thrust.

“Bra, what the fuck was that?”

“Did you just call me ‘Bra’?" I slid off his dick and looked at him with utter scorn.

"It's not like I got your name."

"And that's a good thing." I didn't even bother wiping the lube off. I yanked my jeans up and exited the stall, buttoning and zipping as I went.

I ignored the pair of guys doing lines of anonymous white powder off the sink and followed my nose. It led me through the men's to the janitor, who leaned against the wall waiting to mop. I stopped short and stared at him. He was gorgeous.

"You got a problem?" His voice was heavily accented.


His chin came up, heavy dark brows furrowing over darker eyes as he shoved off the wall into an upright position.

"Fuck you, mariposo."

"No, you don't understand." I groped for the right words before the hot Mexican janitor beat the fuck out of me. Then his words registered. "Wait. Did you just call me a butterfly?"


A string of what I'm sure were negative and derogatory insults spilled from him mouth in a foreign language flood. Now I was hungry, horny, and confused. The four years of high school Spanish I'd taken were so hazy I didn't remember much past being able to ask where the bathroom was and say thank you.
The men's room door opened and a guy in a suit came in. He glanced at the guys doing lines, and then at me and the janitor. He made a face.

"No fucking while you're on the clock, Angel."

My inspiration for "Angel," Draven Torres.

The janitor's hands clenched his mop so tightly I was sure he was going to crack the thing in two. But his eyes and face reflected perfect blankness. The suit made a quick circuit of the bathroom and left. The instant the door closed behind him, the janitor glared at me and growled through clenched teeth.

"Get the fuck out!"

I fled.

I didn't go far, though. That heavenly aroma faded the moment I got back inside the club, and I felt like I was starving. Besides that, the janitor was more interesting than Ted-Ned-Fred-Ahmed-Jed-Zed.

I didn't bother with another too-strong drink. Instead I waited against a convenient pillar, one eye on the door to the men's. When the janitor emerged shoving the rolling mop bucket before him like a plow, I snaked through the writhing bodies of sweaty boys in that direction. I caught up to him at a door marked Employees Only. I had to shout to be heard over the din.


He either didn't hear me or he ignored me, and walked through the door. Before it could close and separate me from that holy aroma of goodness and the body it was attached to, I stuck a hand out, pushed it open, and slipped inside behind him.

"Hey–" I stopped as he brandished the mop like a weapon. "Whoa! I just wanna talk."

"You can't be in here."

"Who's gonna say anything?"

"My boss."

I inhaled. I couldn’t help it. He smelled so fucking delicious.

"What's wrong with you?" He let the mop drop back into the bucket with a plop.

"That's what I wanted to say to you." Like some high school kid, I blushed. "You smell amazing. Like tamales and empanadas."

"I work at TJ's before I come here."

"I've never been there. I've heard it's good, though." I inhaled again and my stomach growled. A surprised look spread across his face and he laughed.

"When's the last time you ate?"

I shrugged.

"You don't remember when you ate last?"

"Eating isn't a big priority–usually."

His eyes darted nervously to the door…and then to me. He checked me out like I was a side of beef. My legs went weak.

"Meet me at the back door in an hour."

He turned away without waiting for my answer. We both knew I'd be there. 

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

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