by Megan Derr
Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Detail
The Assistant
The Tycoon
Three Kings
The Bastard Son
The Demon Slayer
Coming Soon
About the Author
THE
GALLERY
VOLUME ONE
THE PERMANENT COLLECTION
Megan Derr
The Permanent Collection comprises those paintings which never leave the Gallery. The beings within these paintings have bargained with the Curator to stay on forever in return for gifting him their powers, resources, or knowledge. They help the Curator in running the Gallery and provide sustenance for the Curator and Assistant Curator.
Today's featured pieces include: The Assistant, about a lonely, misunderstood young man who accompanies a friend to a strange gallery and is unexpectedly offered a job; Three Kings once walked away from their kingdoms, and now spend their days with each other; The Tycoon is about a rough and powerful man who went missing several years ago and has every intention of remaining so; The Bastard Son is about a man who once fled betrayal and heartache and now uses his deadly skills and famous sword to defend Silenus and the Gallery. And in The Demon Slayer, an angel arrives to find the gallery under attack, and soon one demon is slain while another falls…
The Gallery: the Permanent Collection
The Gallery 1
By Megan Derr
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Samantha M. Derr
Cover designed by Aisha Akeju
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition May 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
Digital ISBN 9781684312979
Print ISBN 9781684312993
The Assistant
Rex sighed as he climbed out of Gary's car and followed him across the street. His skin itched, inside and out, with the hungry, gnawing need to fuck. He hated it, the need that earned him names like slut and whore and pathetic. But he'd long ago stopped trying to pretend it wasn't a fact—he needed sex, frequently and often. Right now, the need was getting bad enough he had a stabbing headache, was getting dizzy and tired the way most people only did when starved.
Years ago, he'd tried to hold out for as long as possible—and once he'd nearly died, having grown too weak to move. If a regular hookup hadn't stopped by to retrieve a forgotten watch and not minded being practically mauled, Rex probably would be long dead.
Which'd make many of his exes happy, probably, but he was just as happy to be alive. Though he'd be happier if he didn't have a nausea-inducing headache.
He needed a good fuck. It was the only thing that ever made the deep, hungry ache go away. But he would not be able to trawl for someone willing for a few hours yet.
"Christ, you just got laid last night, Rex," Gary said, looking at him in disgust—and familiar, exhausting jealousy. "Already you have that 'need to fuck' look on your face. Can't you just—"
"Drop it," Rex snapped. "If you want me to help you finish your project, please just drop it. I don't need my supposed friend calling me a slut, not when you promised you understood and didn't mind and have broken that promise time and again. I told you: I need sex at least once a day or I get seriously sick. How many times do I have to say it before you believe me like you said you did?"
"Whatever," Gary muttered, and turned angrily away.
Rex sighed and resumed following him, keeping a few paces back in case Gary whipped around to continue arguing—and so maybe he'd mostly forget Rex was there.
He was so tired of every friendship, every stupid, pointless attempt at a relationship, ending this way. And that was definitely how this was going. The end was all but written. Because Gary was pissed and hurt that Rex never had an interest in him. Once he'd fucked Gary, just once, but it only took one time to ruin everything. He'd known better, but he'd been hungry, and it had been a mistake. They weren't lovers—they weren't good for each other as lovers—but Gary refused to believe it, which really proved his point all over again.
Stifling a second sigh, he finally looked up at the last art gallery they had to visit today. Gary was interviewing the curators of each of them, Rex knew that much, but further than that he hadn't paid much attention. They'd visited at least a dozen already. He was tired and hungry, and more than that, he needed sex. It seemed sometimes that was the only thing that ever made him feel better.
The other galleries had all been uptown, a few in the fashionably shabby parts of downtown. There was plenty shabby, but nothing fashionable, about this area. It was completely rundown, litter everywhere, all the buildings save the gallery boarded up, the street so cracked and broken he could see the old brick street beneath the pavement.
In sharp contrast the art gallery, simply and unimaginatively called The Gallery, was neat, even almost classy, despite the bars on the window. It had a clean sidewalk and was brightly lit inside and out. It was inviting, when the rest of the neighborhood made Rex want to get back in the car and flee the desolation.
"Come on, already," Gary said irritably, pushing open the door and motioning impatiently at him.
Sighing again, mentally going through his finances and what he'd have to do to get by when Gary moved out at the end of the month, Rex followed him into the gallery.
They stepped into a classy little front room filled with couches, chairs, tables, and candles. The whole place smelled a lot like strawberries, a little like honey. His stomach growled—and, to his surprise, the gnawing, aching need for a fuck grew suddenly sharper. Like smelling a banquet after not eating all day.
He wished he knew what caused it. Rex had been eighteen before he realized it wasn't at all normal for people to feel the way he did. That he was weird. No one else meant it like he did when they said they needed to get laid.
"It's missing paintings, I think," Rex finally said.
Gary rolled his eyes and did not reply.
Rex stifled yet another sigh. Yeah, he would be looking for another roommate in a couple more weeks. It sucked, because he liked company, liked having a roommate, but they never lasted. They always tried to be more than friends, and that didn't work because Rex's needs couldn't be taken care of by one person. He'd tried that, and trying to keep up had left his lover exhausted—and then nearly dead. That was when he had truly appreciated how different he was.
He just didn't know why.
Rex started to say something else when a door in the back opened, and a man like no one he had ever seen before slipped into the room. He was tall, broad-shouldered and lithe, ridiculously graceful as he crossed the room to greet them. His hair fell past his shoulders, loosely tied with a ribbon, beautiful waves of deep, glossy brown. He wore slacks and a button down shirt in a shade of dark green that brought out the bright, vivid green of his eyes.
Want burned hot in Rex's gut in a way it never had before. If every previous encounter—and there were thousands of them—had left him hot, this man left him feeling half-melted. Rex felt anxious, restless, too tight in his own skin, desperately eager and painfully, sharply lonely.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the man said, smiling politely at Gary and shaking his hand.
He then turned to Rex, and the smile froze on his face, those beautiful eyes going wide for a split second. Then they narrowed slightly, in a way that made Rex feel something he n
ever had before: like he was the prey. Even when the people he bedded were dominant in bed, or wherever else they landed, Rex remained in control. He was always the hunter.
But this man…
Rex could not tear his eyes away, and call him crazy, but he loved the way the man made him as nervous as he did hungry. He licked his lips, scarcely daring to breath—
Then the man coughed, his smooth, professional manner returned, and Rex almost thought he had imagined the whole thing. "You look like students," he said. "Studio and gallery interview time already?"
Gary laughed sheepishly. "I've been hearing that a lot today."
The man smiled. "Well, we might complain, but art is art, and anyone in the art business loves attention. Not many students, however, find their way to my humble gallery. I'm a bit out of the main, as you've probably ascertained. But you are more than welcome to ask your questions. Perhaps you'd like a look around? We are off the beaten path, as they say, but worth the journey. Come, I will show you my paintings. I promise they are wholly unique, and like nothing you'll find anywhere else in the world."
"No offense, Curator, but I've been promised that several times today, and so far those promises have all been empty," Gary replied, but absently, more interested in digging through his messenger back for his notes and papers and a pen.
"I'm Rex, this is Gary," Rex said, and held out a hand. "Thank you for showing us around and taking the time to speak to us, sir."
"Sir," the man repeated and laughed briefly. He shook Rex's hand, holding it a few beats too long. "Silenus, please. It's an old family name."
"Silenus," Rex repeated, trying to ignore the way his hand was warm and tingly. He was relieved and disappointed when Silenus turned to Gary. "This way," Silenus murmured, and led them through the door from which he had first come. "My gallery is much larger than it would at first seem. I've bought up the surrounding properties and turned it all into my gallery. It's a regular labyrinth of rooms, so do not stray too far from me." He winked and led them through a short hallway and finally into a room that was obviously the start of the supposed maze.
"This is the first room in what I call the Special Exhibits. The paintings here stay only a brief time before they go elsewhere. As you can see, my gallery focuses on people. You will find no landscapes or stills or abstracts here."
There were ten paintings in the room—three each on two of the walls, and two each on the walls that also had doors. All of the paintings were of people in some idle activity, smiling in contentment, obviously happy in their own little worlds. A man reading, a woman sewing, another person typing, one watching a movie, taking a walk, fishing, gardening, working on a puzzle, another cooking, and the last of a figure dozing on a couch, smiling in their sleep.
Gary made a soft noise and went to the image of the man typing, eyes locked on it like looking away would cost him something. Rex looked more closely at that one, curious what had grabbed Gary so. The man was handsome, almost pretty, with red hair and blue eyes. Slender, almost skinny.
The man bore a passing resemblance to Rex, leaving him amused and weary all at once. Gary had always wanted something Rex couldn't give. He looked again at the painting and was stuck suddenly by a vivid image.
An overturned bottle of wine. One wineglass knocked over, wine soaking into the white tablecloth, dripping onto the floor. Soft moans, needy pleas, men too desperate for each other to make it further than the floor, their romantic dinner forgotten entirely. Wine, spilled in eager hast, soaked part of Gary's shirt. Ben tore it off, lapped at his damp skin, sucked and bit, one hand around Gary's cock—
Rex shook himself, banishing the unexpected imagery. Glancing hastily away from the Gary and the painting of 'Ben,' he accidentally met Silenus's eyes and was startled to see Silenus watching him.
Then Silenus smirked, looking extremely pleased. "Would you like to see more? I have paintings that will be of more interest to you. The Special Exhibits are not, I think, adequate for your needs."
His words made Rex's body go tight, made his blood heat. He glanced at Gary, who seemed oblivious to everything but the painting, then looked back at Silenus.
"He'll never notice," Silenus murmured, and motioned with a rolling nod of his head for Rex to follow him. Silenus led them through several more rooms, never pausing, never looking back, explaining only that they were all still part of the Special Exhibits.
They finally stopped before a closed door made of some dark wood, and Silenus pressed one spread hand to it. The door shimmered purples and reds, and then there was a soft click. Opening the door and pushing it open, he looked over his shoulder and said, "These rooms house the Permanent Collection. The paintings here call my gallery home."
Whatever the heck that meant. But Rex had come too far to quit now. However strange everything had become, however out of his depth he felt—this place, this man, also felt right.
Or maybe he simply didn't care that he was the proverbial moth. Some days, burning sounded like a damned good idea.
Another ten portraits greeted him, set off by subtle lighting, like they were all sharing some sort of whispered secret. It made him itchier, hotter, hungrier than ever, made him want to take his cock in hand and stroke until he was sore and raw.
The nearest painting was of a woman, dainty and pretty, all warm brown skin and dark, pretty curls spilling down her body. She wore a light blue negligee trimmed in cream lace that displayed her wares enticingly. Soft and sweet, the scent of vanilla and rose. Pliant, willing, always with a gentle smile and loving manner, a fond little kiss before she obediently knelt between his legs and wrapped her lips around his cock. Her breasts were soft and firm in his hands as she rose up and straddled him, and she made softy, breathy noises as he thrust up into her—
Turning away, Rex glanced at another portrait, this one of a man dressed in an exquisite three piece suit, every last bit of him perfect and in place—except for the hard, leaking cock pulled from his slacks, fisted tightly in one hand. His expression was smug, like he knew he would be obeyed, like it never occurred to him he might not. 'Suck it,' Laurence said, and he did so gladly, hands tied behind his back, knees rubbed raw from the carpet. Only Laurence's hand, fisted tightly in his hair, kept him in place as he took Laurence's cock, licking, sucking, barely able to breathe as Laurence began to ruthlessly fuck his mouth—
Rex gasped as hands landed on his hips, Silenus right behind him, his arousal as obvious as Rex's own. His touch burned, sent shivers down Rex's spine. "What is with this place?" Rex asked. Had he been drugged? Lost his mind? Was he back in his apartment dying? There was no way this place and its crazy paintings could be real.
Yet something in all of this called to him, to that part of himself he had never understood.
"You enjoy my gallery the way precious few can," Silenus replied, hands still firm and warm on Rex's hips, the heat of his hard cock through their clothes nearly making Rex moan. "Would you like to see more?"
Rex wanted a real explanation, he wanted shit to make sense, but when he opened his mouth, all he said was, "Yes."
Silenus made a soft noise of approval, which for some stupid reason made Rex happy. "Then we continue," Silenus replied, and leaving a hand on the small of Rex's back, led him into the next room.
The first portrait Rex's eyes landed upon was of two people in something that looked like an old-fashioned library or study. The first was a woman, seated in a high-backed chair. She was nothing like the last woman; there was nothing delicate or pretty about her. She was cool, striking, dressed in a sleek black dress that showed nothing but hinted at everything. Her hair was also black, eyes dark brown. She held a glass of wine in one hand, extended so that the second figure could fill it—a manservant, immaculate and perfect in appearance, like he would not know how to look unkempt if his life depended upon it. The look they shared was simple on the surface but burned Rex to the core. In the woman's lap, a whip lay coiled, almost as though it had been forgotten.
; "Again, Frederick."
"Yes, ma'am," Frederick replied, and let fly with the whip, striking his skin, making him cry out for more. Angelica licked her lips and drank her wine while she watched Frederick, now sweaty and aroused and completely disheveled, lash Rex until he finally surrendered with a cry and came all over her expensive rug. "Come here, boy," she purred.
Rex crawled over to her, back throbbing delightedly, body shuddering from too much and not enough. Her dress had been hiked up and pulled out of the way, and he settled eagerly between her spread legs to taste her, fuck her with his tongue, while behind him Frederick's hard cock slowly filled him.
Almost panting, Rex shook his head, stumbled back, rubbed his eyes in a futile effort to clear his head. Turning away from Angelica and Frederick, his gaze landed at random on still another painting—this one of a beautiful matched set of men with dark hair, dark eyes, and dark golden skin. They reclined lazily in a massive bed, the sheets hiding nothing, like cats simply waiting for dinner to stroll by. Sadir pounded into Rex, ruthless, demanding, taking his own pleasure, fingers so tight on his hips they would leave bruises. Sadir came with a hoarse, growling shout, but gave Rex no time to recover, merely withdrew his cock and moved aside, and then it was Satim pounding, possessing, greedily using his body—
Rex had never been so hard, so hungry and so starving, and he did not know why he described it that way, except it always seemed to fit. "W-w-what's going on here?"
Silenus laughed, voice husky. "As you can see, my gallery is special. It caters to those with very specific wants and needs—from love to lust, and all the permutations and combinations those things might take. Those beings who can find those things nowhere else, will find it here." He took Rex's arm and led him to a bench. "Your friend, for instance—he was looking for a partner, someone to share his life with. He has found it tonight, in the form of the long-waiting and ever patient Ben."
Rex smiled, bittersweet. "Someone who could be what I could not. I'm glad. He deserves to be happy."