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“Bullshit! How would you even know?”

Chess paused, actually seeming to consider this. And answered, at last — “Well . . . you got me there, Ed. Many the times as I seen it done, I guess . . . I still probably wouldn’t.”

They contemplated each other for a tick, chests heaving. Chess’s eyes fell, unexpectedly, releasing Morrow — and even more unexpectedly, Morrow registered it as a loss, rather than a victory.

“Listen,” Chess said. “I ain’t no outrager. So hell, Ed — if you genuinely don’t want to, I sure ain’t gonna stick a knife to your throat. I mean, I could make you, and you might like it better than you think; blow-job’s the best method of persuasion I know, savin’ a gun. But . . . it wouldn’t be worth the damn effort, that way. Would it?”

Chess’s thumb stroked idly at Morrow’s cock-head, drawing a hot bead, swirling it ’round. And, at once — it didn’t seem so bad. After all.

That’s the magic talkin’, Ed.

Probably. But then again — who cared?

“Wouldn’t, I guess,” Morrow replied, fast enough not to think it over. And crushed Chess back to him.

They retired to the bed, shedding clothes and weapons as they did — a bit cramped for Morrow’s liking, ’specially when two were involved, but it wasn’t as though Chess wasn’t providing a hell of a distraction . . . biting at Morrow’s nipples on the down-slide, licking his navel, rolling his whole face (the beard scratching awfully, yet intriguingly) in the cradle of Morrow’s pelvis like he was savouring the taste. Even pushing his thighs apart peremptorily — so strong, for one who still got mistook for a boy on occasion, if only from a distance — so he could lap at Morrow’s too-full balls before opening wide and taking him to the root, grunting with effort, the thrum of it almost enough to fetch Morrow right there.

Seconds later, Morrow opened his eyes to find Chess arrayed on top of him, huffing in fresh pleasure while he fingered himself open, well-primed with what Morrow took — by its smell — to be some of his own brilliantine. Fair made Morrow blush, to see how Chess’s own cock perked up at the sensation: red and shiny, crying out for further exploration. How would it be to grab hold in turn, do to Chess as he’d been done by? Jack him slow, then faster — keep on ’til Chess was the one rendered inarticulate, ’til he made him squirm, and arch, and pop —

Here Chess shifted downwards into Morrow’s lap, however, breaking that train of thought all to hell — coming down in the saddle with a long groan, letting gravity do much of the work. Morrow let out a holler as he drove up into the very heat of him, lodged narrowly, stuck fast. Chess sat there froze a moment, all mussed up and panting, and said:

“Just, uuuuh, gimme one sec. Gotta find the angle, or it won’t work like it oughta — ”

“You want to, though, right? Say you want to, Chess — ”

“Morrow, God damn! Do I any way seem to you right now like I don’t?”

As though to prove the point, Chess forced himself down still further, ’til something inside him apparently gave way with a force that made Morrow shudder. And let loose with a whoop as he did it, triumphant and unashamed, the way an Injun trick-rider jumps a fence.

So tight and nasty, almost dry enough to scratch, for all the hair-oil Chess might’ve used — impossible to forget this was the literal back passage he was trying to breach, a secret place where nothing flesh was ever meant to fit, no matter its constitution. Yet more impossible still to fault the act further for that simple truth, given the sheer intensity of pleasure it obviously held, for both of them.

Because: Morrow could see Chess’s eyes rolling back already, both their hips going twenty to the bar. Felt himself collide intermittently with a smallish, hardish lump inside, and saw how it made Chess gasp, whenever he did — that famous “thing,” he could only conclude. As in God, oh God, HIT that!

I could rid the West of Chess Pargeter right now, Morrow thought, with one quick snap. Tear his ear-bob out right now, when he ain’t thinking — make him ugly — take away that lure of his, so he has to comport himself the same sad way all the rest of us do. Crush his hands, break the trigger-fingers at their roots, like chicken-bones. . . .

But this was just sophistry, empty rhetoric, as the mere fact of what Morrow was doing even while he thought it proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. What with him still hammering hard into Chess like it was his first fuck, or his last — or both.

He almost laughed at the craziness of it all, right out loud. But let a cry of his own bust out instead, similarly squeal-pitched, as ruin broke through him all at once — clutched Chess to him, nipping automatically into the younger man’s nearest sweaty

shoulder, and felt his body go off in a chain of tiny explosions, a firecracker-string stuffed with spunk.

The cross-shaped earring flashed and jounced, sparking painfully at the very corner of Morrow’s sights, as Chess juddered hard through his own climax, spitting hot trails up Morrow’s stomach — throe-drunk, riding the wave. Energy crackling everywhere, out of his very pores.

If I was Rook, I’d want some of that, Morrow thought. If I was Rook . . .

But he wasn’t.

No time to feel bad, though, just hold on and enjoy the ride, pumping every last drop of his own heart’s-blood out through the head of his cock.

“ — aaaaAAAAAh, fuck me!” Morrow heard himself yell to the empty air, so loud his voice gave out mid-way. Chess answered it in kind, then collapsed, pulling them both over in a graceless heap. They lay there a while, twinned and panting, as though neck-to-neck in yet another race to see who’d be able to catch their breath first.

“Guess you’re . . . mine, now,” Morrow managed, finally. His own voice so hoarse he barely recognized it.

Which was also a mistake, the single dumbest thing he could’ve said, goin’ by prior report alone.

Chess simply snorted again, however, before rolling safely back on top.

“Not too damn likely,” he replied. “I’m the Rev’s, if I’m anybody’s. But considerin’ how I’m the one just busted your cherry, as regards t’ queer frolics . . . way I see it, if anything — now you belong to me.”