by A. F. Henley
Anton walked them back to the reception area, fuming, and August was very aware of three things. Anton was furious. Anton was struggling to choose his next words carefully. But the darkness in Anton's eyes displayed the evidence that Anton would take no pains in snapping his neck like a twig if given the opportunity. All in all it only convinced August that staying where they were and folding to Anton's plans, were the wrong things to do.
Doren and Anton shook hands at the door before Anton turned to August and casually grasped his hand, but instead of a firm, calm handshake, Anton tightened his grip to the point of crushing August's fingers. It was through gritted teeth that Anton spoke while August made every effort not to let the act register on his face. "It was such a pleasure to meet you in person, August."
August gave Anton no satisfaction that the pain in his hand caused him any discomfort at all. Rather, he smiled pleasantly and shook the grip as gentlemanly as possible. "And you as well, sir. Thank you for your time."
When the door shut firmly behind them, as they walked down the beautifully decorated corridor, August scrubbed the feel of Anton's palm off his own, rubbing it with far more force than necessary on his slacks, his jaw set like stone and his temper burning.
Morana
She stepped from the shadows of Anton's office, appearing to form from the darkness itself. Large silver jewellery glinted like stars against her dark skin.
"Did you see him?" Anton hissed. "Interfering little prick!"
Morana turned passive black eyes on her furious boss and reached, patting the back of his hand. Her cool skin was a startling contrast to his burning body. "Yes, Anton. I saw."
"And?" Anton pulled back, frustrated and impatient. "What do you think?"
She pursed her lips and arranged her robe around her as she sat on the couch. She trailed her fingers over the expensive leather. The smell of it always made her ravenous. "And I think he should be watched."
"And Doren?" He dropped to his knees in front of her, his face twisted with concern. "Should we be worried about Doren?"
She reached for his head and pulled it on her lap, stroking his hair. "He is very powerful. He will be quite useful. We must not lose him."
He looked up, stricken, and then wrapped his arms around her waist, dropping his head to her lap again. "That fucking assistant," he growled. "I can already tell he will be a problem."
She continued to stroke Anton, turning her attention to his ears and his neck. She was an old woman, yes, but as always, Anton's closeness excited her. Such a powerful man, so strong and controlled, but like all of them, he was crumpled on his knees like a child, begging for her to help. She used her long, painted nails to trace symbols on his neck and shoulders. It calmed him, aroused him—she could see it in his softening face, his glimmering eyes.
He lifted his head and moved towards her, but she stopped him with a finger. "Wait. Listen first. There is real reason for you to be concerned with August. He has abilities of his own. I can feel them. I have yet to figure out if those abilities will be useful or not worth the problems they will bring, however."
Anton's eyes were locked to her face—rapt attention, awe—and slowly his hand began to slide up her flowing skirt. "What do I need to do?"
She smiled. "We need to keep them apart. Doren doesn't yet realise his strength. And August doesn't even know of his. The less time they are together, the better. Perhaps we can find a distraction?"
He lifted himself to his knees and pulled her forward, towards him. "That will be easy. I'll send the girls. And you, can you do something about keeping them here for as long as we need? Can you stop that little prick from making off with my star?"
"Anton," Morana sighed. "I can do anything."
Doren
The rain started to fall before they reached the hotel. "I told you we should have got a cab," Doren said, water dripping from the spiked ends of his hair. He shook himself like a dog, spraying the lobby and chuckling as August fisted his own hair in an attempt to battle the streaming water. Their clothes were pasted to their bodies, and Doren found himself fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes off August's form. For a small guy, the man had some damn nice definition in his chest and upper arms.
"You," he said, pointing at August almost accusingly, "are soaked through."
"I'm fine. And walking is good for you." August replied. "But we should get you dried off before you catch pneumonia and we prove to Anton just how right he is about my assistant qualities."
"God forbid," Doren shuddered, grinning at the acid in August's voice.
He followed August down the hall, snagging August's arm and nudging him towards the stairs just before the elevator button was pushed. They made it to the fourth flight before August stopped, winded. "Why do you always take the stairs anyway?"
"You're the one who said walking was good for you. So walk!"
"Humph!" August grumbled. "That was outside. There are no stairs there."
The hall was freezing, their fingers chilled to useless, and Doren fumbled for his entry card at the door of his room. But he had no trouble reaching for and stopping August when August turned to leave. "Come in. Please. I'll make the coffee this time."
August laughed and the sound of it, even as Doren wanted to smack the suspicion off August's face, made Doren feel like a kid being offered candy. He leaned against the door and tried his best look-how-cool-and-hot-I-am pose.
"No. I need to dry off and start making some calls."
"Please," Doren mock-pouted. "I don't want to be alone."
August shrugged, walking away. "So call someone. I can get a number for you if you want."
Doren tsk'd, drew himself off the wall, and trailed after August, shoving his palm in the way of the slide-lock when August tried to push his card in. "Not for that, smartass. Just for company. I promise. Please, Auggie. I don't even care if you're just making your calls or doing your work. Do whatever. Just do it with me so I don't have to sit in the room by myself."
August didn't even try to look anything but unconvinced.
"Consider it an office away from the office. I'll probably just sleep anyway."
When August tried to align the card yet again, Doren snapped it from between his fingers. "Can't you ever do anything I ask you to the first time? My room is bigger. I have wireless, phones, fax service—everything and anything you need. So stop being an asshole and just come over and give me some fucking company, okay?"
Doren's heart raced at the sigh August gave him. Something in the air whispered agreement to the sudden rush of heat: "He's giving in." One more push, one more reason, just one more feather on the scale and Doren might be able to make this work. "Besides, we didn't get lunch, remember? We can order room service. My treat."
August released the handle and rolled his eyes. "On one condition."
"You name it."
"Stop calling me Auggie."
Grinning, Doren raised one hand in a boy-scout salute and crossed his heart with the other one. "I promise!" He stepped aside so August could walk past him. He even managed to wait until August stepped through the door to Doren's room and kicked off soaking shoes before he added the, "Aug."
Other than a sharp look, August offered no rebuke. He seemed to be too busy staring wide-eyed at the room. Anton's company had spared no expense: a massive king-sized bed draped in dark silk and nestled in its own little room to the back, a marble bathroom with hot tub, kitchenette, bar, and an impressive desk and sitting area. Doren was more than aware that they'd spoiled him. He also knew it was a far cry from August's staple provisions next door.
"You have all your notes?"
"Yes," August said, running a single fingertip along the brocade of the couch as Doren stepped past him. "But I really should change first."
Doren returned with an armload of towels and dropped them on the couch. He picked one up and tossed it. "Un unh, no way. You won't come back. I know you too well already."
August snagged the towel but rol
led his eyes. "I can't very well sit here in wet clothes." He caught Doren's look and his own fell into a frown. "Nor will I sit here wrapped in a towel."
"Actually," Doren yanked the towel from August's grip and rubbed August's hair with it, granting himself a derisive snort, "I was thinking more along the line of you sitting there naked." He laughed at August's annoyance when August clucked his tongue and pulled away. "I'm kidding! Wait here. I'll be right back." He was back in seconds with August's pyjama pants, now dry, and a t-shirt. "Ta-da! Like it was meant to be, no?" With another laugh Doren lifted his voice to shout after August as August made his way to the bathroom to change, "And don't think you can keep that t-shirt, either."
He was still chuckling, albeit mostly silently, as he let himself fall on the bed while August changed, imagining August in the bathroom: the squeaks of wet skin on tile echoing as he peeled off wet clothes, the occasional cymbal-like drip of water on to a hard surface, the shuffle of thick towel on firm skin. With a deep breath Doren reached towards it, searching, seeking, and finally finding August's music. It floated through his mind and he let himself drift with it. Sweet chords of … innocence? He listened harder—yes, definitely innocence. But it was spiced with experimental desire, curiosity and confusion. It was soft, yet hard … playful but demure. It filled Doren's senses with a sentiment that he didn't quite understand, but that left him reaching to hear it again and again—a pleasant rush that brought with it a fierce sense of need.
The breath that Doren sucked in as he bolted upright almost made his head spin. Without another pause he reached for the pen and the pad of paper he always kept beside the bed, regardless of where it was he was sleeping. He was scratching out lyrics when August walked out of the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" August leaned over Doren to peek at the paper. He smelled like rain and fabric softener, fresh and sweet. And the desire to slip his arm around August's waist and pull August on to the bed was almost painful. Instead, Doren lowered his head and licked his lips, steadying his breath. "I'm writing. The rain has inspired me."
"Good. I can get some work done."
It didn't take long for the words to morph from mind to paper. They never did when they hit him like those ones had. Then Doren just sat back and watched August make his calls. He was good—professional and goal-oriented; he was glad August was on his team. August made him comfortable, for whatever reason that might be.
When boredom got the better of him, Doren let the rain draw him to the balcony. He shoved aside the curtains to stare as it rushed to the earth beyond the glass. Entranced, he flipped the lock and walked out. The gutters poured into the sewer drains, eaves troughs and awnings raged into waterfalls. The city was drowning. This time, however, he could find no music to the rain. It was a cold, hurried rush of something dark that hid from his mind when he sought it.
He didn't need to actually hear August come up behind him; he heard the change in sound—the addition of one single chord within the cold, persistent drench. He waited for August to reach his side and spoke, as if to the night itself. "How long have you known that you're gay, Aug?"
"I don't recall telling you I was gay."
Doren didn't bother to tell August that he hadn't needed to say it. It would be too hard to explain with words. Still, Doren knew it. He knew it as strong as he knew that August was attracted to him. He'd heard it. He'd made words out of the emotions in the sound and then put those words to paper. Yet for reasons Doren couldn't understand, August resisted him like he was viral. He caught August's eye and smiled, the little smile that always seemed to make August's expression go soft, and August didn't disappoint him. So why then, he wondered, if August's body wanted him, if August's eyes called out to him, did August refuse to allow his arms to close the distance between them? Surely there was more to it than just the fact that they worked together?
He looked away and turned his attention back to the rain. If he kept trying to dig for the answer to that question he was going to drive himself crazy. "So," he said, his voice cool and calm, "ready to eat?"
He left August standing on the balcony while he located and studied the menu for room service.
August
Their meals had been good—overpriced and a little fussy for two coworkers sitting down to eat over a day planner and a notebook—but enjoyable. The room was warm, Doren's chest was bare, and it was as distracting as all hell no matter how insistently August told himself it wasn't.
He knew he was being stupid. Any man, any woman, any being with any sexual attraction whatsoever would take the leap with both feet and not question it for a second. Doren would have him; August didn't doubt that. But then Doren would take on just about anyone who offered. As would ninety-five percent of most single young men. So yeah, he was probably the most ridiculous being with a set of nuts this side of a monastery. After all, Doren could probably teach him things he would never forget. And if he gave in, if he let it happen, one day he'd be able to look back and say, "I slept with Doren."
But that was the problem, wasn't it? That he'd be looking back. Alone. With nothing to gain but a moment's experience. One night, after all this time, after all those twenty years of waiting, was not enough to make him cave just for the sake of sensation. He needed more. Somehow, somewhere, along the way as he'd watched the people in his life and learned how humanity operated, he'd decided that there had to be connection. Yes, that made him the oddity. He'd heard more than his fair share of retorts about the concept when he'd used to discuss it. Nowadays he just kept the thought to himself.
It was the phone that startled August back to reality. It was Doren's eyes that made him blush a dozen shades of red. Breaking the eye contact, August stood and waved Doren away. "Let me," he said. "I'm the assistant, remember? You never know, it could be a crazy stalker or something." He winked, identifying the words as a joke. But still … one couldn't be too cautious.
He firmed his voice, doing his best to attempt formal. "Hello, may I help you?"
"August? May I speak with Doren, please?"
The voice had professionalism down far more than August could have ever hoped to. He didn't recognize it though. It certainly wasn't Diana. It was way too feminine for Anton. "Sorry, whom? I think you have the wrong room."
"August? This is Glenda. Anton's secretary. I do have August, do I not?" She didn't wait for him to confirm. "I'm terribly sorry that we missed you at lunch. We all are, in fact. It would have been lovely to get to know you."
He was opening his mouth to return the sentiment when Glenda began again. "I apologize for the late notice but we'd like to see Doren in Boardroom Four, please. We're waiting for him now if he can make the time. Just let him know that we have the information he requested this afternoon."
He wanted to correct her. It was the information he had requested this afternoon. He didn't bother. "You mean now as in now? Right now?"
"Yes, now, please. Let him know we shouldn't be long. And it's right here, in the hotel. On level six in the northeast corner. There are signs."
August tucked the phone against his shoulder as he scribbled down the details. "Oh, and August?" There was a tone of disapproval in Glenda's voice that made the nerves in August's spine flare. "Did I dial the wrong room number? This is Doren's room, isn't it? Or is it not?"
August's jaw tightened. A retort flew to his tongue about implications and attitude, but he held it back. "Yes, this is the right room. And I'll make sure Doren gets the message. Is there an extension we can call you back on?" There was a click on the other end of the line and August realized he was talking to a dead phone. Well then, he mused, not so much of a request as a demand, apparently.
He looked at Doren and was surprised at the expression he found: a distant look, like Doren was drifting. August waited for Doren to look at him and when Doren did, it was with distraction and unresponsiveness. Was he coming down with something? Had the rain caught up with him? "That was Glenda, Anton's secretary. They want to see you in Boardro
om Four on level six."
Doren nodded, lethargic. He rose.
"I can tell them no?" August said. "Or put it off for now? Or I could come with you?"
August frowned as Doren stepped past, and when Doren looked back, August wasn't sure he was even focusing. "No. Not this time. You should go now. I might be late."
He left the room without looking back, not bothering to stop for a shirt. And wasn't that just great, August thought. Wouldn't that make a lovely headline? Rock star found wandering—dazed and half-naked—in local hotel. No doubt Anton would be able to twist that into somehow being his fault. He should probably follow. But Doren had said no.
August shrugged, disappointed for reasons he couldn't get a grasp on, and went back to his own room. After all, Doren was the boss. And he was a big boy. He could take care of himself.
August locked the door behind him, praying Doren had the good sense to have grabbed his entry card before walking out.
Doren
They were three of the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen in his life. Ursula: tall, blonde and leggy; Glenda: slim, dark and sexy; and finally Medea, a petite redhead with the pout and round eyes of a child. It was them, he figured, that he'd heard in the hotel room—beckoning like Sirens through the phone line, whispering promises of interesting games as though they had been standing in the room alongside him and August.
"Hello, Doren." Anton's smile was about as feral as anything Doren had ever seen before, including the weasels they used to chase out of the chicken barns. The ones with the teeth like razors and the eyes of midnight. "Have you met my secretaries?"
Doren grinned at the ladies, swiveling the chair to get a better view. "Why, yes, I have indeed. And let me say again that you have lovely taste in associates, Anton. But I have yet to figure out the necessity for all three of them to come out, after hours nonetheless, just to deliver a few papers."