"Don't you dare get sick on me," Tezcatli warned. "Drink that. Swallow. Do you hear me? I want you better so that we can dance."

Quentin managed to get the dose down without his gorge rising. His stomach twisted as the dose hit bottom, burning him from the inside out. But it worked, oh, yes, it worked. He could feel the remedy course through him right away, feel himself stop shaking and sweating, color returning to his skin.

Tezcatli was regarding the dropper with suspicious interest. "So fast," he muttered. "How long have they had these?"

The question struck Quentin as ridiculous. To be standing in the middle of a dance club balcony, music playing and couples f.u.c.king below them, held in the arms of a man who wanted to bend him over and drive into him like a hammer and nail -- oh, he had no doubts about that, not at all -- and they were discussing first aid? He did laugh, then, unable to help himself.

"I told you not to make fun of me!" Tezcatli threw the empty vial away, but for all his words and actions, he was smiling.

Sharp white teeth shining. He jerked Quentin back against him, hard. "Is that it? Are you better now?"

Quentin swallowed again. He swept his mouth with his tongue for any last traces of sugar. The sick sweetness repulsed him, but he knew the dose was doing its job. He nodded, acknowledging his shortness of breath had nothing to do with the state of his health. Not anymore. And as his c.o.c.k came into contact with Tezcatli's, still eagerly erect, he realized he had to confront an entirely different sort of weakness.

"Don't," he said, even as his body leaned into the embrace. Embrace? a.s.sault? A little of one and a pinch of the other. His traitorous libido, starved for attention, was betraying him. And Zach. They'd sworn to be faithful to each until death did them part ... but it hadn't parted them ... not really ... "Don't," he whispered again.

"Say it like you mean it, and I might believe you." Tezcatli kissed a line down across Quentin's face, flickering at his skin with a wickedly talented tongue. "You do want this. You want me."

"I don't."

"Liar. Listen to your body, Quentin. It's telling me a different story. Is this Zach going to come after me? Is he someone I need to take note of? Someone you need to be afraid of?" Tezcatli looked fierce. Protective and possessive. "You're mine. I picked you out when you walked into the club." He paused thoughtfully. "Well, first I liked the one with all the jewelry, but a bartender told me he'd already been chosen by a vam-- by someone else."

"Bree?" Quentin couldn't help his amus.e.m.e.nt bubbling over. "You liked Bree first, then me?"

"You're making fun again."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not. But I know how you can make it up to me." Tezcatli's hands came down to cup the globes of Quentin's a.s.s, pushing their groins together. "Dance with me. Admit that you want to."

"I can't."

Tezcatli's hands squeezed. "You can. You do. You are. You want me. Just like I want you."

"I shouldn't ..."

"Oh, yes," Tezcatli breathed against Quentin's shoulder. "You should. You really should. Forget everything else for a moment." He set up a slow, steady beat, thrusting against Quentin's lower stomach. Every time their c.o.c.ks skidded together, even through clothing it was like touching hot iron. Quentin's heart jumped at the thought of feeling it in the flesh.

But Zach ...

"Forgive me," he whispered.

"Who are you talking to? Pay attention to me!"

Quentin ignored the man he was about to have s.e.x with, for the ghost of one he'd loved. "Zach, please, don't stay away."

Tezcatli was watching him fiercely, face feral. "Are you done? Is that a yes? You're finally going to --" He kneaded Quentin's a.s.s. "-- dance with someone who wants you?"

Quentin swallowed hard. Lifting his chin, his "Yes" met Tezcatli's air of antic.i.p.ation. Then he gathered up his courage, leaned in, and kissed the man. The moment their lips met, he hissed and felt himself become lost. Tezcatli was like a quick-acting, potent drug.

"That's better," the man murmured against his mouth. "So much better." One hand worked its way between them as he thrust. "Now," he said, his voice low and raspy. "You're wearing too many clothes. What do you say we fix that?"

Chapter Four

My G.o.d. I expected to die tonight and either join Zach, wherever he went to, or float up to heaven or plummet down to h.e.l.l. I didn't expect a fallen angel to come and save my life -- not that I wanted it saved. And I didn't think he'd want more from me than to get that syringe away.

But ... more ... he wants more. He wants me. I can feel him. And I'm tempted. So tempted. It's been so very long since Zach. What if Zach comes back?

What if he doesn't?

"Your heart's beating a whole h.e.l.l of a lot faster all of a sudden," Tezcatli whispered, easing his way behind Quentin. He pushed his arms underneath Quentin's to hold him around his chest, one hand over his sternum. "I can feel it. What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"

Quentin felt the pressure of a rigid c.o.c.k lined up dead center with the crease of his a.s.s. He fought for breath. "No," he said.

"Are you excited?" Tezcatli nipped his earlobe. Sharp, sharp teeth. He didn't break the skin, but it left behind a sting that first burned, then tingled. He thrust against Quentin. "Do you feel that? You made me this way. I'm burning for you from the inside out, man. Give me a break and give me a chance."

Quentin couldn't help pushing his head back, sleek hair and their shirts the only things separating him from the furnace warmth of Tezcatli's shoulder. "I shouldn't."

"But you want to." It wasn't a question.

Quentin closed his eyes. "Yes. I do."

Tezcatli gave a low growl. He sounded satisfied, as if he'd won some big battle. Actually, he had. Quentin groaned, half- terrified of what would happen next -- he didn't do casual s.e.x, he never had -- and half unable to wait to see what Tezcatli would do.

"I think I said a minute ago," the other man said softly, hot and heavy against Quentin's ear, "you're wearing too many clothes. I want them off your hot, tight body. Now."

A thrill rippled through Quentin. He hadn't had anyone demand to see him naked since Zach. Oh, there had been offers, to be sure -- but they were from half-drunk men and the odd woman who thought she could "turn" him, that he was too handsome to be gay. More fools them.

Tezcatli wasn't offering, he was claiming. Quentin knew he'd be stripped of every st.i.tch before they were through, public area be d.a.m.ned.

Memories flashed through his mind about how he'd had to pretend, with Zach. Not meeting one another's eyes over the breakfast table. Brief, terse discussions when there wasn't anyone around to hear. The West didn't like gay men, and it hated gay cowboys with a vengeance, even if they were medic and vet. G.o.d knew what would have happened to them if they'd ever been bold enough for anything in public. Anything ... Quentin turned his head away. Waves of unhappiness washed through him.

Tezcatli gave him a small shake. "Stop that!" he ordered. "Whatever it is you're thinking about, wherever you go, come back. I want you to be with me. Pay attention to this body. Touch me, want me."

Quentin yanked himself back to the waking world. "Like you want me?" he asked, although it wasn't really a question.

"Now you're getting the picture." Tezcatli thrust his hands beneath the lapels of Quentin's jacket. "I want this off. Now."

Quentin tried to fight it one last time. He brought up picture after picture of Zach. His gorgeous lover. Swinging bales of hay to cushion a sick animal. Currying a horse after a long ride. Laughing at him over a cup of coffee. Lying in bed next to him, so hard and warm. Eager to kiss as he was to talk, and twice as eager to f.u.c.k as he was to hold and be held. He shouldn't. But he was, wasn't he?

"Tezcatli," he moaned as the Aztec began to draw his jacket off his shoulders. The other man's touch infected him and made him feel too hot all of a sudden. His skin felt alive again, not cold and dead as it had been. "We're in public ..."

"Not that public. You picked a good place, Quen-tin." Tezcatli dragged out his name. "No one's going to see us up here."

His teeth bit at the soft skin of Quentin's neck as it was revealed. "No one will ever look up and notice us, no matter what we're doing up here. And ..."

The jacket came off, inch by inch. It rustled with the soft, living sound of good leather worn hard. "If they do see us? They'll be jealous of me simply because I'm the one with you." A hard hand cuffed the back of his neck. "And of you because you're the one with me." A wave of heat swept over Quentin. He murmured something, not really words, but they made Tezcatli laugh. His jacket slithered down to the floor, where Tezcatli kicked it aside. He heard a clanking noise as it hit the empty syringe and glucose tube and sent them rolling back into the mess of the dismantled bar.

Tezcatli's hands began working quickly on the b.u.t.tons of Quentin's shirt. He had amazing fingers, the tips rough and callused, almost like paws. Just like other hard-working men he'd known. For all that, though, they were sensitive. He moved gracefully, not wasting any effort, but so fluid in each tiny gesture. Quentin's shirt opened notch by notch, Tezcatli pausing to brush across each tiny patch of bared skin.

When the shirt hung open to his waist, the man splayed his hands flat across Quentin's chest, fingers working as if he were kneading the flesh. "Good," he purred into Quentin's ear. "You feel so d.a.m.ned good. But don't you think this is a little one sided?"

He stepped back, removing the tantalizing pressure of his c.o.c.k from Quentin's a.s.s. "I think we should level the playing field.

Be equals."

For some reason, that amused him, and he laughed. Quentin inhaled deeply, unable to help a comparison. Zach's laughter had been a light tenor. Tezcatli's was a low rumble. Both had the same effect: they set his nerves on edge in the best possible way.

His own c.o.c.k had risen, just as it had with Zach's ghost, but this time with an urgency he hadn't felt in months. Wanton with the new sensation, he arched back, searching for Tezcatli's warmth and hardness against him.

Forgive me, Zach! I'm only a man.

Tezcatli swayed against Quentin's body, and Quentin let him. He led the dance, and Quentin followed. The best kind of dance ever. Slow and dirty, grinding hips against a.s.s, stripping away layer after layer of clothes. When they came back together, Quentin had only a second to register the feel of a smooth, hard-muscled chest against his shoulder blades before Tezcatli whirled him around.

"I want to taste your mouth."

Quentin's breath caught in his throat. He stared at Tezcatli, drinking him in. Tezcatli's eyes, heavy-lidded with l.u.s.t; lips, slightly parted. His chest, hard with a bunching, flexing six-pack. Quentin couldn't help bringing his hands up to do some touching himself, pressing his palms against the bronzed skin. The other man's heartbeat was rapid.

"You want me," he murmured, still unable to wrap his head around the idea. "Right here. Right now."

"I want you. And I'm going to have you." The words were more promise than wish. Quentin felt a little more of himself slip away under the man's spell. Still, he had to know.

He pushed his hand hard against Tezcatli's lower belly. "What would you do if I said no and meant it?" he asked. "If I didn't want you." Tezcatli grinned wickedly and thrust against him. The explosion of sensation when their erect c.o.c.ks met almost melted Quentin's spine. "G.o.d, you feel so good. But -- no. What if? What would you do, Tezcatli?"

"The way you say my name," Tezcatli murmured. "So good. It's natural on your lips. Those full, kissable lips. I want to eat you up starting with your mouth."

"Tezcatli. The answer to my question. Please."

Tezcatli's lip curled. "Do you honestly think I'd do this if you didn't want it? You don't know me very well."

"I don't know you at all." Quentin struggled for words. "But we're about to f.u.c.k, aren't we?"

"Is that a 'yes, please' that I hear?"

"Tezcatli ..."

The man brought his hand up to Quentin's face. His touch light for once, he ran the ball of his thumb over Quentin's lower lip.

"I would let you go," he said. "If I didn't know for d.a.m.n sure you wanted me, I'd let you run away."

"Would you have let me --" Quentin looked over Tezcatli's shoulder in the direction where the syringe had rolled. "Would you have stopped me then?"

Tezcatli looked insulted. "You think I would have let you kill yourself? No way, Quentin. You're too pretty to be wasted.

I'm not heartless. I followed you up here for a reason. I heard you talking to someone, and then to the incu-- to Liam. I knew when you first looked at me. There was a light in your eyes. Every man knows what that look means."

As his fingers trailed down to swirl in the light down of hair on Quentin's lower stomach, Quentin gasped, but had to push on.

"What -- what does it mean? The look you're talking about."

Tezcatli's face lit with an inner blaze. "It means," he said, "f.u.c.k me. Come and get me. Win a prize for the big man. It means you wanted me before you knew you did. I knew I wanted you."

Quentin shut his eyes briefly, then opened them to the sight of the Aztec who was taking advantage, rocking against him in a seductive rhythm, distracting him by the blasts of sensation from c.o.c.k against c.o.c.k. Quentin's breath was coming in short, fast bursts.He still remembered Zach, but he'd gone past the point of no return. It was f.u.c.k or be f.u.c.ked, no choice about it. He thought, from the way Tezcatli dominated him, there wouldn't be any question about who was on the bottom either.

His inner muscles began to ache. He felt empty in an old way that, at the same time, was entirely new. He wanted to be filled.

He needed another man inside him. No waiting.

"Then take me," he said, his words staccato. "Take me hard and fast and now."

Tezcatli grinned. "That," he said, "won't be a problem at all."

Gorgeous little f.u.c.k, Tezcatli thought as he held the man in his arms. Had to pin him down, 'cause otherwise he'd fly away.

Maybe less Cat than Bird. b.u.t.terfly? Could be. There were Old Ones who liked the feeling of soaring through air instead of pounding across the earth. They were prey.

So was Quentin. The most delicious hunt he'd been on in years, and he had the prize between his paws. He bared his teeth.

Let's do this.

Quentin moved with him like liquid, molding to his grasp. Tezcatli only had to push in one direction, and Quentin followed. So f.u.c.king responsive. He wanted to see what would happen if he pushed the man all the way over the edge. Figured he might drive him there, inch ... by inch ... by eight inches.

Tezcatli laughed to himself, a dark laugh he knew, full of the predator's voice he kept inside, and attacked.

Their shirts were off. Pants needed to go next. Tezcatli shoved his hand down the front of Quentin's loose khaki slacks, working his way past the waistband of fitted boxers, so nice and tight on Quentin's flesh, and struck gold. Or c.o.c.k.

He wrapped his fist around the man's member. As big as Tezcatli's. d.a.m.n, the erect p.e.n.i.s felt good. "You have such a fine set of b.a.l.l.s," he whispered, voice full of the night, as he rolled them in his palm.

Quentin moaned like a s.l.u.t, spreading his legs wide for Tezcatli's invasion. Hot hands and arms had wrapped around Tezcatli's back. Fingertips pressed into the meat and muscles behind him, urging him on. Never let it be said the Cat didn't follow the leader -- well, sometimes.

His lover wasn't circ.u.mcised, a surprise. If they ever did this again, Tezcatli thought he'd like to give the man a present. Take that c.o.c.k between his lips and let him feel what it was like to be sucked off by someone who knew d.a.m.ned well what they were doing. Tezcatli imagined himself pushing the flap of foreskin out of the way and tasting the man's pre-come. Not a lot of it, just enough to make him damp at the tip. Sticky on his hand. He imagined rolling his tongue around the fat mushroom head, tasting that musky fluid.

Well. Why wait?

Loving the protesting groan that Quentin gave, Tezcatli drew his hand back out of the man's pants and lifted it to his lips. He sucked one finger in, then another. "h.e.l.l. You're good," he said, his own breath quickening at the unique flavor on his tongue.

"Here." He figured it would drive Quentin wild, so he pushed a third finger to the man's lips. "Taste yourself. See what you're like along with me."

Quentin's eyes rolled back in his head as he drew the finger in, obedient as a kitten on milk. His hot tongue wrapped around Tezcatli down to the knuckle, lapping his own flavor and that of the Cat's skin. "Oh ... G.o.d," he breathed, sucking hungrily. "So long. Too long."