The Brotherhood - Tezcatli's Game Part 1

THE BROTHERHOOD.

TEZCATLI'S GAME.

Willa Okati.

Dedication.

Ever and always for A.D., who holds my hand through every up and down of the writing process. You are my suns.h.i.+ne.

Chapter One

When a man wants to be alone, where can he go? You wouldn't think a place like this would suit him. Well, me.

Amour Magique is everything Liam promised, and more -- lights, colors, sounds. Men thras.h.i.+ng around, almost primal in the way they dance.

They're beautiful, like untamed angels on a wild spree. You can all but hear their blood pounding in tune with the ba.s.s. G.o.d knows the sound of a pulse is better than disco. I think that's what I'll listen to.

I'll listen to the club's beating heart. I have to, because my own is empty ...

Amour Magique was an amazing building, rising several stories high in the air, with open s.p.a.ce in the middle for music and the shouts of dancers to echo far to the ceiling. All around, wall to wall, there were nooks and crannies. Some of them contained bars, some of them resembled offices, others were observation decks with stairs twining down to the main floor. Every one of them hummed with activity -- every one except his.

Quentin sat very still in his hiding place halfway between floor and ceiling, watching life churn and thrash below him in Amour Magique. G.o.d, it was wonderful. So gorgeous that it hurt, or would have hurt, if he'd had any room left in his heart to spare for aching over beauty.

He sat almost as still as a statue, not moving an inch. Not a finger, not a muscle, and he was barely even blinking or breathing. He didn't want anything to interrupt his last moments of looking down on humanity, seeing it with all its flaws and wonders. The only time he s.h.i.+fted was when the rickety chair he'd found wobbled, and even then he went with it, fluid as flowing water.

Quentin knew he shouldn't be lurking in his current hiding spot. Liam had let them all disperse when they'd entered the club, so if he'd followed Liam's orders, he would be out there like the other members of the Brotherhood, a good boy, dancing and thras.h.i.+ng with the rest of the muscle crowd. But Quentin had taken himself off, determined to find some place where a man would be able to just sit and absorb. Somehow, he'd managed to locate the kind of hushed corner he'd wanted most of all and had taken it over. It felt almost like a box seat in a theater. He could sit in peace and quiet and observe. He could simply be.

He wished he could savor the solitude. Being alone felt so much better than attending a Brotherhood meeting. Chinese food and mockery. Pretensions of friends.h.i.+p while every man there bared his teeth like a wild animal. It felt better than talking to Liam, who was all chatter and joie de vivre. Better than being with David, even though David was kind and soft and understood more than anyone else what made Quentin tick.

He'd miss David.

Quentin turned his head to look around himself, making sure he was still alone. Not a person in sight. Good. Not that they'd want to come up where he was, he supposed. Only a fool or a madman would really feel the urge to sit in the middle of a deconstructed bar.

Well, maybe a couple looking for a place to have a quickie. From what he saw on the dance floor, though, that wouldn't be a problem for most. They went at it where they stood. Others danced alone next to couples tangled together, f.u.c.king with or without their clothes on.

It was amazing. It was terrifying. So much freedom. No limitations.

Quentin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Hush ... hush ... get through this. It's only a moment. One second in time.

Breathe, and then it'll be over.

Opening his eyelids, he turned around to look at the wreckage he'd claimed as his hiding place. Piles of scarred wood sat against the wall, what he supposed were the pieces of a bar. Spanish oak, he thought, remembering from another time and place how that particular wood gleamed and shone no matter how hard folks used it, or for what reason.

It was a shame to waste such good material. The bar could have been fixed. So many things couldn't. He hated to see a work of art torn apart like trash. It had been a thing of beauty, and now it was ruined.

Stone-faced, Quentin pivoted back toward the dance floor. Silent, he watched the clubgoers. Idly, using one foot for leverage, he rocked his chair of scarred Spanish oak. Back, forth, back. Taking his time.

He breathed. In, out, in, out, in, out. Slow and steady.

He felt a little dizzy. Low blood sugar, of course. His stomach had been sour and sick-feeling, so once again he'd put off eating before coming to the club. The thought of ingesting anything, even a gla.s.s of juice, made him nauseous.

Not that he wanted to steady himself. He was empty. The way he should be. Nothing less than what he deserved, after all.

"You still treatin' yourself the way you wouldn't handle a dog?" Quentin looked up. He smiled at the man who'd come to join him. He, at least, was welcome there. He always would be.

"Zach," he said, caressing the name on his tongue. The sound of it tasted good. Leather and hay and the great outdoors. "Zach, you came."

"Always do, with you." Zach leaned against the guardrail of Quentin's balcony and winked at him. Quentin couldn't help chuckling back. He felt suddenly free and easy in his skin. Zach always made him forget about his worries. "Don't tell me you didn't eat before coming out tonight."

Yeah, he could forget about his worries, that was, except when Zach reminded him. Quentin flushed and glanced down a little -- but not entirely away. He didn't want to take his gaze off the tall man, dark as ebony, strong-armed and long-limbed. Zach had taught Quentin how to ease up. He'd always lounged, even when he worked. He'd made everything look so easy ...

"I've missed you," Quentin said, not answering the question. "You were gone for so long this time."

"You know I don't stay away. How could I? Man would have to be crazy to leave someone like you. d.a.m.n, Q, you're pretty as a girl."

"Hey!"

Both of them laughed.

"You with that long, s.h.i.+ny hair and those big old 'please, please hurt me' eyes," Zach teased. "We know who wears the pants, is all I'm sayin'."

Quentin's eyelids lowered. "Just because I'm most often on the bottom doesn't mean I'm a woman."

"h.e.l.l, no." Zach's own eyes, chocolate brown, darkened with want. "You put it to me so good the last time we were together." He dropped down into a lazy crouch, reaching out. Almost touching Quentin's thigh. Not quite. He drew in a deep, l.u.s.ty breath before he glanced back up. Quentin hadn't looked away. If it were up to him, he'd watch Zach all night long.

Zach's fingers curled and uncurled. "Tell me a story, Q."

Quentin couldn't help broadening his smile into a grin. "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything I ask for?"

"Anything. I promise."

Zach looked up with darkly smoky eyes. "Tell me about the last time we were together. You and me. And I want details, Q.

Give it to me. I want to hear it again."

Quentin drew in a sharp breath. Beneath the zipper of his loosely fitted khakis, he felt his c.o.c.k begin to swell. Being near Zach was enough to arouse him. Hearing the man's bedroom voice in public made him hard. "I'll embarra.s.s myself." Not that he'd deny Zach. He just wanted to hear him speak again.

But Zach knew what game Quentin was playing. He sank down fully onto his knees. "You don't feel like telling me? Then how about I tell you something I remember? Last time I was here, like this ..." He flashed a look up at Quentin. Pure s.e.x.

Breathtaking. "... we were in the stables. No one else around but the horses. Just you and me. Nighttime. Dark velvet sky. Bright stars. And me ..." He s.h.i.+fted. "... right here. Only the way I recall, you weren't wearin' so many clothes."

"Zach," Quentin breathed, his c.o.c.k rising. He reached out as if to touch the closely shaven head. "Go on."

Zach knew what he was doing, Quentin could tell, and Quentin loved every second of it. "You were spread out on a square bale of hay. Legs wide open. Your gorgeous c.o.c.k, man, so f.u.c.kin' good, standing tall just for me. I rubbed my hands along your legs." He ghosted the motion, up and down. The hairs on Quentin's legs rose and tingled at the almost-touch.

Zach leaned in, closer still, his mouth almost on Quentin's swelling erection. "I was right here," he said, the words coming in short bursts. "Already made you come once. Smelling you. Pure, rich manliness. Ripe. Hard day's work. Hard night's play. My hand and my fingers on you. Solid. Heavy. Ready to go pop. Then my mouth, my lips. Tasting you. Salty. Musky. Even better than that rich wine Ricky brewed. You remember what kind?"

"Mead," Quentin breathed. "You're remembering mead. Heavy and smoky, tasting of heather. I was like that to you."

"No. Oh, no." Stroke, stroke, stroke. Heavy-lidded look. "So much better." Zach licked his mouth. "Took you between my lips. Just licking at the head. Little drops of come on my tongue. So s.e.xy. So f.u.c.kin' s.e.xy. Thought I'd go off myself, just from the way you felt in my mouth."

"Zach ..." Quentin had begun to shake.

"What's wrong?" Zach looked up sharply, all play forgotten. "d.a.m.n! Quentin?"

"I'm -- I'm all right." Quentin scrambled after the lost moment. "It's fine. Go on. Please, go on."

"Nuh uh. You got me all distracted, and you didn't answer my question. Did or did you not feed that scrawny-a.s.s body of yours before you came out here to play tonight?" Quentin couldn't help glancing away, ashamed. "No."

"d.a.m.n it, Q!" Zach stood, hands on his hips. "You know better. You're gonna bottom out, and who's gonna see you up here all alone?"

"I wanted to find a place where we could be alone," Quentin said. Almost begged. "Don't be angry."

Zach eyed him fiercely for another few seconds, then sighed. He leaned back against the railing a second time. "I ain't mad, Q. But you have got to take better care of yourself. Do you hear me? You gotta stick around for a long, long time. For me."

"No. That's not fair."

"I want you to promise me, Quentin. Say you'll go downstairs and get yourself a screwdriver, no vodka. Drink it up."

Quentin's stomach turned. "I can't."

"d.a.m.n straight you can, too. All those bars, one of them has to serve orange juice. Probably a d.a.m.n smoothie. They got everything here."

"They didn't have you." Quentin looked back up at his lover. "Didn't have you. I had to be sure you'd come."

"Baby, I always come for you." Zach reached out, his wonderful dark fingers reaching to caress Quentin's cheek -- skating away, then down toward his hand, to twine their fingers together.

His hand pa.s.sed through Quentin's. Light as air. Just as solid. Zach shook his head. "Why'd this have to happen to us?"

Quentin's heart ached. He opened his mouth. "I don't --"

"Quentin!"

The voice startled them apart. Quentin looked away for a second. Just one second. Too long. He felt Zach vanish from the railing. Disappear into thin air. Going, the way he always did when someone else appeared.

Quentin wasn't a violent man, but he felt inclined to murder just then. He s.h.i.+fted posture as the warmth of Zach's presence faded away. From relaxed to sinuous. A snake, coiled up, ready to strike -- but waiting for just the right moment. Balanced on the edge, and empty as a dry well.

"Liam," he said.

The small man clattered past a pile of broken wood. He paused to shake his head at the remains of the Spanish Oak bar.

"Such a shame," he said in clear dismay. "To throw away what is perfectly good! I must have a word with Silas."

"Silas?" Quentin asked, his voice pitched low and flat. He didn't care about the answer, but he didn't want any questions turned on himself. "Who is he?"

Not that Liam ever paid any attention to signals. Verbal, nonverbal, Quentin was screaming at him to go away. The little man never listened.

"The owner of Amour Magique. Well," he stopped to consider, "insofar as a place such as this can have an owner. Perhaps you would be better to call him a caretaker during his time. What are you doing up here by yourself?"

Ah. Quentin's eyes squeezed shut briefly. He'd known Liam wouldn't leave it alone if he didn't answer. David would have.

David understood things. He wasn't any Zach, but he knew what it was like to want to be by yourself, and quiet.

"It's too much down there," he lied. "Men, noise, sweat. There are too many -- things."

"And you, you are so single-minded." Liam thrust his hands into his pockets as he took a couple of steps closer to Quentin.

He nibbled thoughtfully at his lower lip as if he were trying to figure out what to say. Odd, to see Liam at a loss for words.

Normally he chattered like a magpie.

Quentin thought absently that once upon a time, before there had been Zach, he would have considered Liam cute. Without a doubt, the man was crazy, but he had a strange way about him that made you want to touch him and be touched in return.

Maybe it was his curls. They were just about the color of autumn leaves. Quentin knew they'd crinkle beneath fingertips and twine around a man's hands. He shuddered and turned aside. All he wanted was the smooth glide of Zach's scalp. Curls couldn't compare. They couldn't. They wouldn't.

d.a.m.n Liam, anyway.

Quentin's erection was all but gone, but his b.a.l.l.s still felt heavy and full. Uncomfortable for more than one reason, he s.h.i.+fted again. Still smooth, coiling and uncoiling. "Do you want something?" he asked quietly. "Do you need help with one of the other men?" He wouldn't call them Brothers. He never had.

"What? No," Liam said. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "It is you, I think, who needs looking after. You were pale outside the club. I had meant to ask you if you had eaten, but then the altercation between Bree and Collin and Micah -- ah!" He shrugged expressively. "That was unforgivable of me. None of you take care of yourselves. Is the sugar in your blood too low again?"

Quentin's stomach muscles squeezed. "No," he said without flinching. He knew Liam knew he was lying, just as he knew Liam wouldn't let it pa.s.s. The smaller man shook his head and dug into one pocket. "Here. I bought a chocolate at the bar below. I thought you might be in need of it." He drew out a silver foil-wrapped morsel and stepped forward, putting the candy in Quentin's hand and closing his fist around it. "Go on, now. Eat, eat."

Quentin's fingers clenched. He felt the candy, warm from Liam's body, squish between his fingers. His gorge rose. "Liam, I can't. Truly. I'm all right." He thrust the chocolate back into Liam's hand. When Liam wouldn't take it, Quentin let his treat drop to the floor. It landed in a pile of construction dust with a small puff. Like ashes.

Struggling not to vomit, Quentin turned aside, looking away from Liam. "Go," he said, his voice choked. "Just -- go, Liam. I don't want you here. Please."

"You must listen to reason."

Quentin laughed for the first time in -- months, perhaps. He didn't remember. It didn't sound like his laughter used to. When he'd been with Zach, he'd chuckled, rumbled, whooped and even giggled once or twice. This sounded like the husk of dead bark, two strips of the stuff rubbing together. "Go away, Liam."

Liam started to speak, then let out his breath in a great big sigh. He stared at Quentin for a long moment. Quentin could feel that amber gaze on him, raking him up and down. He resisted the urge to s.h.i.+ver. Liam saw too much; he always had. He could look through a man's armor to his soul.