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What happens when a man begins too long for
that which he fears the most?

Two  young  men  are  confined  in  a  military
academy that is more prison than school. Kendall
believes  he  can  only  survive  by  avoiding
meaningful  contact  with  another  human.  Harris
believes  that  contact  means  salvation.  The  two
cross paths and are soon locked in a struggle only
one of them can win.

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ISBN: 978-1-77111-811-8

Cover art by Scott Carpenter

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endall! Get your ass back in line!” Griffin,
the drill instructor, loomed in front of me

and  hissed  his  warning.  His  fetid  breath  was  hot
against my face. I moved my foot the required half
inch  and  kept  my  eyes  resolutely  straight  ahead.
That was invariably the appropriate response—no
response at all. No questioning looks, no grunts of
dissent, no body language implying defiance was
permitted  at  Rossington  Academy,  prestigious
school for the sons of wealthy men. School my ass!
Rossington  Correctional  Center  was  more  like  it.
In  truth,  this  place  was  the  last  resort  for  people
with  more  money  than  time  at  their  disposal  to
discipline their out-of-control sons. My father had
sent  me  here  after  I’d  been  ousted  from  three
colleges in less than a year.

The first two incidents had involved petty theft.

Both  of  these  crimes  were  swept  under  academic
carpets in return for generous donations to the pet
programs  of  important  administrators.  The  third
incident  had  involved  armed  robbery  and
assault—indiscretions  that  even  my  father

“K

Derek Adams

couldn’t smooth over. However, he could still pull
strings and exert his control. He called in a few big
favors from cronies who kept the judicial machine
grinding in our state and I ended up here instead
of  as  a  guest  of  the  state  penal  system.  To  be
forced  to  admit  that  their  eldest  son  was  in  the
slammer  would  hardly  have  enhanced  my
parents’  standing  in  the  social  register.  Clearly,
that would not have been permissible.

Now that my foot was perfectly placed, Griffin

dismissed us and another day officially came to an
end. From now until six in the morning, we were
all confined to our rooms so that  we could study
for  the  next  day’s  classes  and  repent  of  our  evil
ways.  At  least,  that  was  the  theory.  In  reality,
things were a little different.

When you keep two hundred and fifty horny

guys  who  range  in  age  from  eighteen  to  twenty-
three  all  locked  up  together,  something’s  got  to
give.  Face  it,  none  of  us  had  ended  up  here
because  we  were  nice  guys.  Hard-ons  and
hormones  simmered  just  below  the  surface  of
Rossington  Academy’s  well-ordered  veneer,
bubbling up at night in a raunchy frenzy of cocks,
mouths  and  twitching  assholes.  The  night
belonged to the strong and I was king of the hill.

As a kid, I was docile and well-mannered. As a

result, I was every bully’s wet dream. My parents
were far too busy to notice that their only son was
unhappy and I was forced to come up with a

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solution on my own. I watched my surroundings
carefully and quickly figured out that the game
belonged to the strong. I was determined not to go
through life as a victim and so I set out to become
one of those whom I identified as victors.

Puberty hit hard, bringing with it a churning

mix of hormones and testosterone. I consigned my
wimpy  self  to  the  past  and  got  serious  about
becoming  that  which  I  aspired  to  be—a  man,
strong,  ruthless  and  dominant.  I  wanted  the
control.  I  wanted  the  upper  hand.  I  wanted  to
conquer  any  sign  of  weakness  in  myself  and  to
exploit the weakness of others.

I devoted myself to my transformation and over

the course of three years I turned a tall, weedy kid
into  a  hard-muscled  jock.  My  libido  developed
right  along  with  my  physique.  It  seemed  like
every time I flexed my muscles, my cock stirred in
sympathy.  A  finger  ruffling  the  line  of  dark  fur
that  split  my  torso  in  half  and  a  pinch  to  the
nipples was all it took to make my fat purple knob
pop  right  out  of  my  foreskin.  Once  I  got  myself
nice and hot, I’d hunker down and stroke it until
thick  white  streams  of  jism  arced  high  in  the  air
and splattered all around me.

Here at the Academy I didn’t have to depend

on  my  imagination  and  my  palm  to  find  relief.  I
could  always  persuade  someone  to  help  me  out
when  I  was  in  the  mood.  If  a  man  hesitated  to
jump and do my bidding, a flex of my thick biceps

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usually  changed  his  mind.  If  that  failed,  my  fists
were  quite  expressive.  I’d  coerce  him  to  kneel  in
front  of  me  and  put  the  end  of  my  dick  in  his
mouth. Then I’d close my eyes and pretend to be
someplace else until I got the relief I needed. The
heat  and  pressure  of  a  man’s  tongue  and  lips  on
my prick beat jerking off all to hell. I never looked
at  or  touched  the  man  involved.  That  kept  it
simple  and  impersonal—just  the  way  I  liked  it.  I
had  been  raised  by  servants  and  a  succession  of
tutors and so, practically speaking, I’d been alone
for most of my life. It suited me. It suited me just
fine.

Then, at the beginning of the new term, Harris

was  assigned  to  occupy  the  vacant  bed  in  my
room. Harris. Christ, what a piece of work he was!
From  the  minute  I  first  laid  eyes  on  him,  he  had
me breaking all the rules. My rules. The rules I’d
made to protect myself, both in this damned place
and  out  of  it.  Harris  unsettled  me,  unnerved  me.
No  man  or  woman  had  ever  done  that  to  me
before. Harris was different. Harris made me feel
afraid because he made me feel.

The first time I saw him, he was standing

beside the sole window in my room, naked, crying
his eyes out. I threw open the door and he spun
around to face me, hands cupping his groin, tears
streaking his handsome face. With his curly blond
hair, blue eyes, pink lips and rosy cheeks, Harris

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looked like an angel. He was long-limbed, slender,
compactly muscled. His skin was perfect, the color
of  burnished  gold.  Even  in  despair,  he  held  his
head high, his shoulders squared, a dancer’s pose.
He was not like me or any of the other denizens of
Rossington.  He  was  different.  He  appeared
unsuited  to  inhabit  this  hellhole.  I  had  no  idea
what  had  brought  him  here,  but  I  was  soon  to
discover  that  the  impact  he  had  on  me  was
fundamental in nature.

“I’m Rob. Rob Harris.” His clear voice quavered

slightly as he extended his right hand. “I…”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I

approached threateningly, my voice harsh, my
demeanor feral. I sensed immediate danger. His
long-lashed eyes fluttered and he took a step back
from me.

“I…I was told that this is to be my room.” Even

afraid, his voice rang like music in my ears. “This
is room seventeen, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but let me make one thing clear to you.” I

advanced upon him threateningly. “I don’t need a
fucking roommate.” I clenched my fists and felt
my biceps swell.

“I…I’m sorry.” Harris shrank back against the

wall, looking even more miserable now than when
I first walked in.

“Don’t waste time with apologies. And don’t

stand there naked. Get dressed.”

“But I have nothing.” He had just arrived. All

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new arrivals were subjected to the same treatment.
Their clothing was taken from them and they were
forced  to  walk  across  the  open  courtyard  and
through  the  halls  naked  and  alone.  They  treated
us like the prisoners  we, in fact, were. The object
was to strip away all identity, all pride. It worked
with some. It hadn’t worked with me.

“Harris!” Griffin loomed in the doorway, a

folded uniform held out in front of him like a pile
of dirty rags. “Take this.”

“Yes, sir.” Harris approached the man, his gait

unsteady, obviously frightened. He held out his
hands to take the bundle.

Griffin stared at him for a long moment before

he tossed the uniform on the floor at Harris’s feet.
“Pathetic,” he sneered. He turned on his heel and
left.

Harris picked up the uniform and closed the

door  to  the  room.  “My  father  sent  me  here.”  He
spoke softly as he sat on the edge of the bed across
from mine—not his bed, not by my reckoning,  at
least—and  pulled  on  the  thick  regulation  socks.
“He doesn’t want a sissy-boy for a son. They told
him this place would make a man out of me.” He
stood suddenly and looked me in the eye. “I am a
man. I’m just not the man he wants.”

“Quiet!” I took off my shoes and set them aside.

Harris reached for his shapeless regulation boxer
shorts and stepped into them. I tossed my tie over
the back of my desk chair and began to unbutton

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my shirt. Harris put on his shirt. I unbuckled my
belt,  stepped  out  of  my  uniform  pants  and  hung
them on a hangar. Harris pulled his pants up over
his tautly muscled legs and tucked in his shirt. The
wily little fucker was clearly mocking me. I peeled
out  of  my  boxers,  wadded  them  in  my  fist  and
threw them at him. They hit his chest and fluttered
to the floor. His eyes strayed to my  cock and the
tip  of  his  pink  tongue  flickered  across  his  upper
lip. When he raised his gaze to my face again his
expression was unreadable. I wanted to lash out at
him, but my hand resisted forming a fist.

I hadn’t gotten off in several days and

consequently I was so horny my balls hurt. I had
to have relief. Lucky for me, relief was clearly in
sight. “Get down on your knees and make my
cock hard, Harris.”

“You don’t need my help for that. Your cock is

already hard.”

“I…” I looked down. My cock was fully erect,

the  knob  exposed,  the  veins  that  twined  around
the thick shaft swollen with my hot blood. Harris
just  stood  there,  his  eyes  open  wide.  A  pale  blue
vein throbbed in the hollow of his throat. I stood
speechless. He took a step forward. I almost took a
step  back.  He  walked  past  me  and  left  me  in  the
room, alone.

I threw myself on my narrow bed and grasped

my hard cock in both hands. I beat off frantically,
teeth clenched, muscles knotted. My chest heaved

Derek Adams

as  I  gasped  for  air.  I  felt  like  I  had  just  run  the
stairs in the assembly hall bell tower. I closed my
eyes  and  Harris’s  image  flashed  into  my  mind.  I
saw  the  slight  rise  of  his  pectoral  muscles,  the
curve  of  his  belly,  the  downy  hairs  on  his  long
legs. The memory of him, naked in the room with
me moments before, made the blood throb in my
temples. I felt like he had slipped me some potent
drug, but he had never come near me.

The muscles in my groin contracted, my cock

swelled, my balls drew up tight between my legs
and I came. My orgasm was like a fist to the belly,
almost  painful  in  its  intensity.  Jism  shot  high  in
the  air  and  splattered  my  chest  like  hot  rain.  I
pumped  my  cock  until  it  went  limp,  then  turned
my face to the wall and fell into a troubled sleep.

Harris was dangerous. He was addictive, like a

drug.  I  became  obsessed  with  him.  I  thought  of
him during the long, dull days in class and on the
drill  field.  I  saw  him  when  I  closed  my  eyes  at
night  to  sleep.  I  began  to  feel  vulnerable  and  my
vulnerability  made  me  uneasy.  I  felt  the  need  to
assert myself, to gain the upper hand. I needed to
dominate him so that I could be free of his spell. I
soon saw my opportunity and I grasped it without
hesitation.

“I told you to get down on your knees!” It was

nighttime. When I entered our shared room,
Harris had just returned from the bathroom, his

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hair still wet from the shower. He turned to look
at me. The towel cinched around his narrow waist
slid  slowly  to  the  floor  and  left  him  naked,
exposed.  He  looked  at  me  but  did  not  move.
“Now!”  My  voice  sounded  more  like  a  strangled
cry  than  a  command.  He  knelt  in  front  of  me,
hands  palms  down  against  his  sleek  thighs.  “Get
my hard cock all nice and juicy, then suck it until I
get relief.” I rubbed my big fist along the chiseled
line  of  his  jaw.  “Bite  me  and  I’ll  smash  your
fucking face. You remember that.”

Harris nodded and raised his hands. He

pressed  one  against  my  thigh,  the  other  against
my  belly.  A  bolt  of  erotic  heat  skewered  me.  I
shivered  and  my  cock  rose  high  in  the  air,  the
glans  exposed,  already  leaking.  It  felt  as  though
the tips of his fingers had penetrated my skin and
were  growing  like  roots  in  my  body.  My  heart
began to pound. I rocked forward and was forced
to put my hand on Harris’s shoulder to keep from
falling.

This could not continue. I shook my head and

struggled  to  clear  my  thoughts.  “Keep  your
frigging  hands  to  yourself.  I’m  not  interested  in
any  part  of  you  except  your  mouth.”  His  hands
fluttered back to his thighs. He leaned toward me,
ready to suck.

I closed my eyes the second his lush lips made

contact and struggled to focus on a life far away
from this hellhole I was trapped in. Usually a

Derek Adams

blowjob took me out of myself and allowed me to
imagine  that  I  was  free  and  unfettered  with
nothing  looming  but  my  imminent  orgasm.
Tonight it wasn’t working. All I could think of was
Harris. All I could see were his angel features. All
I  could  hear  were  his  soft  moans  and  the  little
slurping noises he made while he sucked me off.

I looked down at him. He stared back at me,

watching me. His gaze flickered up and down my
body from time to time, but mostly it was fixed on
my face. I scowled at him. He blinked and his
eyelashes fluttered, but his cornflower-blue eyes
remained open, focused, intense.

I watched his full lips slide along my cockshaft,

devouring me inch by inch. I pushed deep into his
throat, skewering him. Soon his forehead pressed
tight  against  my  belly,  the  muscles  of  his  throat
flexed around my shaft and his hot breath tickled
my balls. He stayed put for a long time and then
leaned  back  slowly,  baring  inch  after  gleaming
inch of my veiny prick. He kept my swollen knob
trapped  in  his  mouth,  sucking  steadily.  His  full
lower  lip  rasped  against  the  bundle  of  nerves
tucked  on  the  underside  of  the  shaft,  just  behind
the rim of the crown. I gasped for breath.

Harris sucked me until my balls drew up tight

between my legs and then he lunged forward and
swallowed me again, his breath an ecstatic sighing
in my ears. Spittle and precome hung off his chin
in little crystal drops and splashed down onto the

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backs of his hands. He locked eyes with me again
and shook his head from side to side. I let out with
a  deep  rumbling  groan  and  rose  up  on  my  toes.
My  hands  curled  into  fists,  the  veins  that  snaked
over  my  biceps  bulged,  my  muscles  swelled  like
I’d  been  pumping  iron  for  hours.  Harris  drew
back,  plunged  forward,  then  drew  back  once
again. He trailed his tongue all along the tingling
underbelly  of  my  prick.  His  every  move  shot
shocks of pleasure to my nerve endings.

I was perilously close, aching to come, but

Harris wouldn’t let me. He knew I was teetering,
and every time I was there, prick flexing, gonads
jiggling, he’d back off, giving just enough tongue
for torment, but not enough to bring the relief my
body screamed for. I wanted to come, but I didn’t
want him to stop, wanted the release, but not the
end of the pleasure. So I did nothing except stare
down at him, teeth bared, nostrils flared, every
hair on my body rising with sexual static.

Finally I couldn’t stand it another second. My

balls ached and my heart pounded like a hammer
against my ribs. I cupped the back of Harris’s head
in  my  hand.  My  fingers  ruffled  his  soft  hair  and
touched the hot, smooth skin of his slender neck. I
pumped  my  hips.  I  lost  control.  I  fucked  his
handsome  face  savagely,  savoring  the  slippery
heat of his throat on my cock as I pistoned in and
out of him.

I slammed his face against my belly, crushing

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his chin against my balls as I  began to pump my
load  into  him.  He  didn’t  struggle  or  protest.  He
just  knelt  passively  in  front  of  me,  his  throat
muscles flexing while he sucked the life right out
of me. When I was drained, I pulled my cock free
and  staggered  back  to  sit  on  my  bed,  dazed  and
breathless.  Harris  stayed  where  he  was,  chest
heaving, cheeks flushed, his fat prick hugging his
golden  gut.  Disoriented,  I  pulled  on  a  pair  of
shorts and hurried down to the gymnasium where
I  pumped  iron  until  I  could  no  longer  grip  the
weights.

The following evening I stood at attention in

front of the flagpole in the main courtyard which
doubled as our drill field. It was cold. My breath
swirled  around  my  head  in  a  smoky  cloud.  This
was punishment. I had defied Griffin during drill
and  my  penalty  was  to  stand  at  attention  until
relieved by him. The sun set and it began to rain, a
drizzle  that  gradually  swelled  to  a  pounding
torrent.  The  rain  ran  off  the  bill  of  my  cap  like  a
veil,  obscuring  my  vision.  The  water  soaked
through  jacket,  shirt  and  undershirt  to  chill  my
skin. As the shadows  deepened to night, the rain
transformed to needles of ice and then to fat white
flakes.  It  mounded  on  the  polished  tips  of  my
shoes and on my shoulders and caked my lashes.

The paving stones of the courtyard were a

uniform blanket of white before Griffin came to

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dismiss  me.  He  sneered  as  I  walked  stiffly to  my
dormitory. I couldn’t feel my feet and kept upright
through  sheer  force  of  will.  Griffin  left  me  at  the
door  and  returned  to  his  quarters.  Alone,  I
staggered  up  the  stairs  and  along  the  hall  to  my
room. I was unable to grip the doorknob with my
numb fingers. I tapped it with the toe of my shoe
and Harris answered. His hair stood on end like a
rooster’s  tail  and  his  eyes  were  puffy  with  sleep.
He held the door open and I stumbled past him.

I stood beside my bed, the water dripping off of

me,  puddling  at  my  feet.  I  tried  to  take  off  my
jacket,  but  my  fingers  couldn’t  manage  the
buttons.  I  began  to  shiver  helplessly.  Harris
stepped forward and lifted my cap from my head.
The  blanket  he  had  pulled  around  his  shoulders
when  he  answered  the  door  slipped  to  the  floor,
leaving him naked. He kicked it aside and knelt in
front  of  me.  He  removed  my  shoes  and  socks,
stripped  off  my  sodden  uniform  and  pushed  me
down  onto  my  bed.  He  dried  me  with  his  towel
and  then  wrapped  my  blanket  around  my
shoulders.  He  reached  down  and  retrieved  his
own blanket and tucked that around me as well.

He knelt in front of me, picked up my left foot

and  pressed  it  against  his  warm,  dry  thigh.  His
eyes fluttered when he registered the cold against
his  skin,  but  he  placed  my  right  foot  in  similar
fashion  without  hesitation.  He  took  my  nerveless
hands,  raised  them  to  his  chest  and  held  them

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against  himself.  I  leaned  forward  until  my
forehead  rested  against  his  shoulder.  I  sat
motionless  while  his  warmth  flowed  into  me.  I
didn’t remember moving from the spot, but when
the  morning  came  I  was  in  my  bed,  the  covers
tucked tight around me. Harris’s bed was empty,
the sheet stretched taut over its surface.

I thought that having had him, used him,

possessed  him,  I  would  be  free  of  him.  Then
Harris asserted the full force of his power over me
and  I  was  lost.  I’d  been  in  the  gym,  venting  my
frustrations  on  the  weights,  willing  myself  not  to
think  of  the  intense  pleasure  that  the  sight  of
Harris  gave  me.  When  I  returned  to  our  shared
room, he was there, sitting on the edge of his bed,
naked, waiting. The scent of him in the little room
made my nostrils quiver.

“Good evening, Kendall.” His voice was like

soft  music.  I  ignored  his  greeting  and  sat  on  the
edge of my bed, sulking. I bent to untie my shoes.
The  sweat-soaked  laces  defied  my  fingers  and  I
cursed  under  my  breath.  Harris  stood,  walked
across to me and knelt between my feet.

“I’ll do it.” He smiled sweetly. I sat on the edge

of my bed and stretched my long, hairy legs out
on either side of him. He knelt in front of me and
teased apart the tangled knot. He took off the left
shoe, then peeled off my reeking sock, folded it
and set it on the floor. He removed the other shoe

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and sock as well, then reached up and gently
probed a bruise on my thigh.

“What’s this?” Bruises at the Academy

generally caused little surprise and elicited no
comments. I’d got this one from walking into the
end of a barbell. I was too big for any of the others
to attempt to leave a mark on me. “It must hurt.”
He looked up at me and smiled. The gentle
pressure of his fingers made my skin tingle.

I grabbed Harris by the wrist and jerked him

roughly toward me. His face was within inches of
mine  now  and  his  concave  belly  pressed  against
the sweaty lump in my crotch. I glowered at him
and  his  tongue  skittered  back  and  forth  over  his
upper  lip.  His  body  heat  slowly  penetrated  me
and  shot  a  shiver  of  pleasure  up  my  spine.
Keeping his wrist firmly in my grip, I dropped my
other  hand  onto  his  left  ass  cheek  and  squeezed.
The swell of muscle was taut, the skin like hot silk.

Instead of cowering in fear, Harris put his free

hand on my cheek and leaned toward me until our
lips met. I quickly turned my head away and
clamped his wrist even tighter, but he pulled my
face back to him. “Give in,” he murmured. Our
lips touched again. This time I didn’t resist.

Perhaps I had been kissed when I was a baby.

Quite  frankly,  I  don’t  remember.  I  know  I  was
never kissed after I got older. I’d had no interest in
kissing  the  girls  at  school.  None  of  the  men  I’d
brought  to  their  knees  at  the  Academy  had  ever

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shown much interest in the act. As a result, I had
no idea how sensual a kiss could be. At first there
was just the gentle pressure of his soft lips.
Without warning, his tongue flickered out, grazed
my lips, and darted into my mouth. Our tongues
made contact and I groaned as an incredible, ball-
jangling surge of lust shook me. I released Harris’s
wrist, slipped my arms around him and held his
supple body tight against me.

His tongue was on my lips and the roof of my

mouth.  It  jabbed  against  the  back  of  my  throat,
every  slight  movement  almost  as  intense  as  the
feel  of  his  moist  tongue  on  my  cock.  Harris
slipped  his  hands  up  over  my  belly  to  my  chest,
his  palms  grazing  the  thick  nipples  that  capped
my pecs. I  shook with the intensity of the feeling
and stroked the smooth, hot skin of his back.

Harris peeled off my shorts and jock, pushed

me  back  onto  my  bed  and  straddled  me.  His  ass
hole  throbbed  against  the  shaft  of  my  cock.  His
fingers twined with mine and he pinned my hands
above  my  head.  He  licked  my  pits  and  neck  and
belly. I writhed under him, gasping and flopping
like a stranded fish. His hard-on and balls rubbed
against  my  belly  when  he  scooted  up  along  my
torso. He smeared a cool, slippery gel on the shaft
of my cock. I shuddered when the tip of my prick
pressed against his pulsing sphincter.

Harris looked at me again, eyes wide, glittering.

“Please don’t hurt me, Kendall.” I pressed my

Contact

fingers  against  his  neck  and  his  body  relaxed,
melting  against  me.  I  took  him  slowly,  savoring
every  inch  of  the  penetration  into  the  hot,  moist
channel of his ass. I groaned, heart pounding like
a  jackhammer  as  I  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into
him.

Harris stirred against me and sat up, impatient

to  complete  the  link.  He  sank  the  last  few  inches
with a sigh. His sphincter grabbed the hairy hilt of
my prick. His ass cheeks pressed tight against my
thighs.  He  planted  his  hands  on  my  chest  and
began to rock. He twitched his narrow hips, found
his  comfort,  made  the  connection  between  our
bodies perfect.

“Fuck me!” His voice was raw. A satyr’s light

gleamed in his blue eyes. I bucked and he rose in
the air. My dick slid half out of him, then was
buried to the flexing hilt. I bucked again, savoring
the pressure and friction. His prick stood tall
against his flat belly.

Harris rode me like a rodeo cowboy. His torso

flushed  with  pink  and  little  jewels  of  sweat
formed on his upper lip. I grabbed him, rolled him
under me, cock  still deep in him. I  began  to fuck
frantically,  driven  by  the  sheer  intensity  of  my
need. He locked his arms around my neck, his legs
around  my  waist,  grinding  against  me,  his  kisses
hot against my throat and chest.

We moved together like a single being, created

solely for pleasure. Orgasm, when it came,

Derek Adams

originated  far  from  my  groin.  It  began  as  a
tingling in my fingers and toes, then spread like a
purifying fire, sensitizing skin and hair and guts. I
gasped  for  air,  unable  to  catch  my  breath  as  jism
pumped  out  of  me  and  spewed  deep  inside
Harris’s writhing body. I felt him come on me. His
sticky  heat  shot  up  my  torso  and  splattered
against my neck.

The sensations subsided as slowly as they came

on.  Our  frantic  pounding  calmed  to  a  gentle
rocking,  both  of  us  panting,  sweating,  trembling
with  the  sweet  exhaustion  of  satiation.  When  my
prick  went  soft  and  slipped  out  of  him,  I  felt  a
moment of panic. I did not want our union to end.
I  fought  to  banish  thoughts  of  the  Academy  and
our  dingy  room.  Harris  looked  at  me  and  smiled
crookedly,  fingers  still  loosely  joined  around  my
neck. “Tell me, Kendall, am I the man you want?”

I attempted to return his smile, but the spell

was broken and I felt the isolation rise around me
like  a  chill.  I  disentangled  myself  from  Harris’s
embrace  and  left  the  room.  I  stalked  along  the
corridor  to  the  bathroom  and  stood  under  the
shower  for  a  long  time.  When  I  returned  to  the
room, Harris was in bed, his blanket tight around
his  neck.  I  cursed  the  drafts  from  the  ill-fitting
window,  put  out  the  light  and  climbed  into  my
own narrow bed.

“It’s fucking cold,” I growled as the wind

rattled the glass.

Contact

“I’m freezing,” Harris replied. And then, a

moment later he spoke again, a note of steel in his
tone. “Give me your blanket, Kendall.”

“What?”
“I want your blanket!” I hesitated, wavered

momentarily and then rose from my bed. The
floor was cold beneath my bare feet. I gathered my
blanket, crossed to him, draped it over his narrow
bed. He looked up at me, eyes wide. I waited. His
hand emerged from beneath the covers and he
pointed at the floor.

Outraged, I tried to speak, but no sound came. I

sank to my knees and lay beside him on the floor. I
looked up into the shadows on the ceiling, seeking
an answer to my plight. I drew my arms in tight
against my sides and tried to warm my hands
against my chest.

Time passed slowly. The moon appeared in the

lower  corner  of  the  window  and  began  to  arc
across  the  glass.  I  no  longer  felt  the  cold.  I heard
Harris stir. His bare feet touched the floor and he
knelt  beside  me.  “Kendall.”  His  whispered  voice
tickled  my  ear.  “Tell  me,  Kendall,  am  I  the  man
you want?”

I nodded. “Yes, Harris. Yes, you are the one.”

He smiled and took my hand. He pulled me to my
feet. He pushed me back onto

his

bed, pulled the

blankets over me and tucked them around my
feet. He stood at my side, pale in the moonlight. I
lifted the blankets from the bed. He slipped in

Derek Adams

next to me. He pressed against me, leg to leg, back
to chest. My cock fit easily into the warm cleft of
his  ass.  I  slipped  my  arm  beneath  his  head.  My
biceps became his pillow. I tucked the blankets in
around  him.  I  pressed  my  hand  to  his  flat  belly
and  my  lips  to  the  nape  of  his  neck.  With  Harris
nestled  against  me,  his  scent  like  spice  in  my
nostrils, his breath hot against my arm, I fell into a
deep  and  peaceful  sleep.  I  had  made  contact  at
last.

About the Author

Derek Adams is the author of a popular series of
detective  novels  featuring  the  intrepid  Miles
Diamond, as well as over a hundred short stories
which,  he  insists,  are  ongoing  chapters  in  his
autobiography.  Mr.  Adams  currently  lives  in
Seattle.

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