The Night of the Dare             His father had been right about strong drink after all, Jim had to admit. He wasn’t ready to accept that it led invariably to wickedness, but there was no denying that strong drink could make a man open his mouth and put his foot in it. And it could make one forget that one’s partner was totally unscrupulous about taking unfair advantage of a man with foot inserted therein.             Jim hadn’t been drunk. Not even tipsy. Just… perhaps … a little too immoderately pleased with himself. They were basking in the glow of success: a complex case swiftly and satisfyingly wrapped up; the well-deserved praise of their supervisors (and two weeks furlough to go with it); admiring glances from the ladies of the town.             Artie was in much the same condition as himself, of course, but managing his tongue came second nature to Artie.             “I need to be kissed,” Jim announced.             Artie gave him a long unreadable look, but withheld comment.             “See that girl over there? Bet I can get her to kiss me.”             Artie craned his neck to look at the astoundingly pretty young thing in pink frills. “She’s married,” he said dismissively.             “Huh? You don’t know that.” Jim gave her a closer look, but her left hand was hidden in a bouquet of flowers. From her elaborate blond curls to the perfect little white boots, she was a picture of feminine delicacy. She’d been standing there ever since Jim first saw her, with no male companion, no child running about, and certainly no indication of impending motherhood.             “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he announced.             “I can tell,” Artie informed him with infuriating certainty. “She’s married. Or at least engaged.” He relaxed back into his seat and raised his glass to Jim. “I just know these things.”             “I’ll bet she isn’t.” He should have known better than to bet with Artie about anything, but there was that strong drink. “Bet she’ll let me kiss her.”             Artie regarded him with amusement. “Indeed, James? And just what would you bet?”             “If she won’t give me a kiss, then I’ll—“ He stopped to consider what penalty would carry approximately the same significance. “I’ll kiss you!”             He knew he’d made a huge mistake the instant the words were out of his mouth, because Artie merely saluted him again with his brandy snifter. “See you and raise you—“ He broke off. “No, I can’t imagine anything you’d agree to. See you and call you. “             ”You can’t bet the same thing,” Jim protested, realizing too late that he would have to kiss Artie whether he won the bet or not.             “Of course I can,” Artie said, in his most irritating manner.             “Huh! Well, I’ll just go win my bet.” He’d win the bet, and then he and the young pink thing would go off for the evening, and by the time he returned, Artie would be similarly occupied with someone else.             “I wish you luck,” Artie said, a comment that would have been far more sincere if not for the smug expression on his face.             Jim glared at him, but the prospect of wooing Miss Pink Frills conquered whatever irritation he might feel toward Artie. He straightened his shirt and weskit, donned his jacket and hat, and went out with a happy whistle threatening to burst from his lips.             On the station platform by the flower sellers cart, he paused as though to consider a purchase. “Roses, sir?” The old woman inquired. “Or these glads? They’d be a sight in a vase.”             “What are these striking blooms?” Jim asked, pointing to the bouquet in the pink girl’s hand. He smiled winningly at her. “How lovely… the flowers, of course.”             She dimpled.             Jim took off his hat. “Jim West, at your service, ma’am.”             “Those are carnations,” the flower seller broke in. “Carnations and baby’s breath.”             “For my maman,” said the girl, in the most fetching French accent.             “Your mother is a very lucky woman,” Jim tried again. “Is she as beautiful as her daughter?”             The girl giggled, though it was a very appealing giggle, not at all a silly one. Her flawless complexion heightened color until it was nearly the same shade as her gown. “She is the most beautiful woman in New Orleans, m’sieur.”             “Oh, surely not, mademoiselle,” Jim declared, looking deeply into her dark blue eyes.             “Madame,” came a cold voice. Jim jerked around.             A tall man stood behind him, an impeccably dressed and obviously wealthy man, into whose arms the young woman threw herself.             “Raoul! Tu es arrive!”             An elegant woman in the wake of the man held a toddler who bellowed enthusiastically, “Maman! Maman!” and held out his arms to the girl.             “Madame Fluorney,” the man said pointedly. “And this is my mother-in-law, Madame Haribot.”             Jim bowed. What else could he do?             “And my son, Robert,” continued the man, making his ownership of the group abundantly clear.             Jim bowed to the child as well. “A fine boy,” he said, the words sticking in his throat.             Monsieur Fluorney gave him a final glare, gathered up his family, and swept them along the platform to a coach that Jim had not noticed previously. The coachman leaped down to open the near door for them, and away they drove. Jim watched morosely, wondering whether it was the coach that had tipped Artie off, or if he had just been bluffing when he claimed to know that the girl was married. Either was equally possible.             He turned away toward the town. He’d find someone to spend the evening with, perhaps the night as well. He’d have to pay up his debt, no question of that, but he didn’t have to do it right this minute.             “You wouldn’t be sneaking off, would you?” inquired a mild voice.             He whirled around to see Artie lounging against an ornate pillar.             “Of course not!”             Artie straightened up and gestured with his head toward their train. “Shall we settle up then?”             Jim hesitated, then shrugged. After all, the evening would be more fun if he didn’t have his bet hanging over him.             “Sure, why not?” He walked ahead of Artie and swung up into the car as though this meant nothing at all to him. In truth, he wasn’t certain why it should mean anything. It wasn’t going to be a romantic kiss. He shouldn’t feel as quivery as the first time he’d kissed a girl. It was just—awkward. That was all. Why he had ever been so foolish as to bet a kiss, he couldn’t fathom. He’d fallen prey to strong drink, just as his father had warned. What his father would think of him kissing his partner didn’t bear dwelling upon.             Artie followed him into the parlor and stood in the center of the room, looking as calm as if being kissed by his partner was an entirely normal event. If he’d still been smug, or even grinning at his victory, Jim might have been able to plant a noisy smooch somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth and back quickly away. Artie’s grave demeanor gave the kiss a whole different meaning, and suddenly Jim didn’t know how to proceed. His mild insobriety had fled the instant Artie accused him of running away, and something akin to fear had taken its place.             “Sure,” he said again, though Artie hadn’t spoken. His voice was a trifle too loud in the small space. His heart thudded in his chest. Artie stood expectantly before him.             “I haven’t done anything… “ Anything like this, he meant to say. But what this was, he couldn’t define. One man’s lips touched briefly to another’s. That was all. It didn’t mean anything. Certainly it didn’t mean anything about his own sexual habits, and what it might mean about Artie’s was a huge unknown, and none of his business besides. He took a step toward Artie, and then a step sideways to skirt the chair that sat between them. The sideways movement placed him at the back of the sofa, and he gripped the padded edge as though for support.             “It’s just a kiss,” Artie said softly. Still no smile. If he’d made any effort at all to tease, Jim could have responded the same way, could have joked about what Colonel Richmond would say if he knew his best agents were betting for kisses, could have dredged up something that would break the awful tension. But Artie just stood there gravely waiting for Jim to kiss him.             “Sure,” he said a third time, knowing how inane he sounded, and unable to stop himself. At any moment, a nervous titter was going to burst from his throat, and he’d be just as unable to stop that.             Artie tipped his head to one side. “Would it help,” he asked, as politely as if he was offering to pass the toast, “would it help if I were to kiss you instead?”             “I—I don’t know,” Jim stammered. “I suppose so. If you want to.” He heard what he was implying, that Artie desired to kiss him.             Artie didn’t seem to notice. He moved around the chair and stood before Jim, very close. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, and helpless to object, Jim obeyed.             A whisper of sound, the faintest stirring of air, Artie’s lips feather soft against his. A second only, and the contact was lost. Jim made a sound he didn’t recognize and, wholly unable to stop himself, as though the space between them were a vacuum instead of perfectly ordinary atmosphere, sought Artie’s retreating mouth with his own. Artie sighed and came back to him, and the universe spiraled down to just that point of contact until, with a long shaky inhalation, Artie brushed his palm over Jim’s cheek and eased away.             “Forgive me,” he said roughly.             Incredulous, Jim grabbed his arm. “Stop, you can’t mean that.” Artie looked back in obvious surprise, and Jim added, “I wasn’t fighting you off.”             “I took advantage of you.”             Trust Artie to blame himself, Jim thought, and his world, which had been flying apart around him, coalesced again into one simple truth. Artie might try to take responsibility, but they were partners. He led, and Artie followed, and he’d led Artie into a place where he, at least, had never been. It was up to him to lead them through it to whatever awaited them on the other side.             He took Artie’s hand and held it, waiting through Artie’s jerk of surprise. “I provoked you,” he said, and watched as Artie digested that, and nodded slowly.             “Yes, you did, but I should have—“ Artie stopped.             “You should have what? Paid no attention??             Artie shrugged slightly, his head turned away.             “Have I done that before? I think I probably have.” He squeezed Artie’s hand. “Have I?”             “Oh, James.” A small, pained laugh. “All the time.”             “Why didn’t you ever say—“ He stopped. “Never mind. Stupid question.”             Artie pulled his hand away. “Yes, I see that you understand. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.”             Jim stopped him from moving away by the simple measure of hooking his fingers into Artie’s belt and holding on. “Suppose I want you to bother me.” He heard the words coming from his mouth, as though another man were saying them, but he wasn’t being provocative. He was deadly serious. Nothing mattered in this moment except to convince Artie that whatever was happening between them, he wanted it every bit as badly as he was certain Artie did.             “You don’t mean that.” But Artie looked less sure than the words sounded. The cynical tone that had colored his voice a moment before had disappeared.             “I don’t know anything about this,” Jim admitted. “But I know what I want.” That didn’t seem adequate. “Not just—“ He spread his free hand, unable to convey in words what he meant. “You know.”             “Sex, you mean.” Artie was having no trouble with the words, but they seemed forced all the same. Words that had never been spoken before between them, words that had had no meaning before between them.             “Not just that.” Jim laid his hand against Artie’s cheek, as Artie had done a moment before to him. “This. To touch you. To care for you.”             Artie’s face softened, but his voice, when he spoke, was full of amused irony. “From a single kiss you know all that?”             Jim wouldn’t be diverted. “I don’t know how. It’s like a door opening into another world. Yes, I do know all that, Artie.”             Artie sighed. “You don’t know anything.” Jim would have said he knew every shade and intonation of Artie’s voice, but he had never heard it defeated before, or miserable.             “Then show me. Don’t just walk away. You don’t want that.”             “You can’t imagine what I want. Let it go, Jim.” No more misery now, and no amusement either. Anger, and under the anger, despair.             “You wanted to kiss me.” If he let Artie go, they would be lost to each other for good. “Kiss me again, Artie.”             Artie’s breath came in a long unsteady inhalation. “All right.” As though he were speaking to himself instead of to Jim, he said again, “All right.”             He turned to Jim and took Jim’s cheeks in his hands. “This is what I want,” he murmured, just as their lips came together. It wasn’t a soft gentle kiss, as the first one had been. He took Jim’s mouth with his own, and his body pressed Jim hard against the back of the sofa. His hands slipped down to Jim’s shoulders, and then to his waist. He pulled Jim away from the sofa and held him in place while his mouth ground against Jim’s and his tongue demanded entrance. Jim thought in a daze that getting shot wasn’t as intense a sensation as this.             The kiss sighed away eventually. Artie was still as a statue, waiting. Jim let his breath out slowly and rested his forehead against Artie’s shoulder. He wasn’t ready to meet Artie’s eyes, too overwhelmed with his own chaotic thoughts to articulate anything yet. Out of all the conflict came one strong impression, the awareness of Artie’s body in his arms, under his hands. He let himself feel the warmth, the solid flesh, let himself respond to it. His arms rested at Artie’s waist, his hands splayed against Artie’s back, and he slid them up, savoring the strong bands of muscle and the heat that radiated even through shirt and undervest.  He’d held Artie before, and he recognized now what he had felt, without realizing it, on some of those occasions. Caring and affection—he had already acknowledged those to himself. But there had always been more than that, and he knew now that love had been growing in his heart almost from the beginning.              The thought left him breathless. It seemed inevitable that it should have been Artie who won his love, and at the same time like the most wondrously marvelous discovery in the universe. Obvious: who else should it have been? And astonishing: how could he not have ached all along to hold Artie like this? He smiled to himself, his face still hidden against Artie’s shoulder, and the smile spread until he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer.             “Artie,” he murmured, loving the sound of it. He straightened and brought his hands up to undo Artie’s cravat, the smile stretching his mouth from ear to ear.              Artie’s breath caught at the expression, but he stopped Jim with a sharp gesture. “Be certain.” His voice was unsteady. “We can go back to what we were. I’ll make that happen if you want it that way. But not if this goes any farther.”             “It’s already gone too far,” Jim said simply. “I don’t want to go back.”             He pulled loose the ends of Artie’ cravat, untied it and laid it aside. Artie stood very still, his eyelids lowered so that Jim couldn’t see his eyes. “I want us to go on working together,” he said. “That’s one reason I never—“ He broke off.             “Never propositioned me?” Jim asked, his lips curving up again. He couldn’t stop smiling. He felt as though his face had been re-fashioned into a permanent grin. “Just try to get rid of me, Artemus Gordon. I’ll follow you around until you change your mind.”             Artie did look at him then, and his face slowly relaxed into the bemused expression Jim had come to love over the years. It struck him that except for the kiss itself, nothing about this Artie was different from the one Jim had known all along, and what that might mean left him breathless all over again.             “Do you love me?” he asked, on impulse.             Obviously startled, Artie didn’t answer for a moment. “You don’t waste time, do you?” he asked finally. He took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, of course I do. I haven’t allowed myself to think in those terms. I didn’t suppose this would ever really happen.”             Jim had Artie’s collar stays between his teeth, and was halfway down the column of shirt buttons. “I—Mmphf!” He set the collar stays aside. “I’ll have to send Madame What’s-her-name a bouquet. You did know she was married, didn’t you. You weren’t just bluffing.”             “I recognized the insignia on the carriage,” Artie admitted. “I’d never seen her before, but I’d heard of the family, and she was the right age to be Raoul Fluorney’s wife.”             “So you set me up,” Jim said, the grin breaking out again. He slid Artie’s vest away, and let the silk fall to the carpet at their feet.             “I’m a gambler,” Artie said, with a small smile. “I couldn’t beat those odds. But I took a big chance, all the same.”             Jim pulled Artie’s shirt out of his waist, and Artie added, “So did you.”             “So I did. But it was worth the risk.” Jim let the smile spread across his face. “We both won.”             Artie’s eyes closed briefly in acknowledgment, but all he said was, “Are you going to undress me right here in front of everyone?”             He didn’t sound terribly upset at the prospect, but Jim glanced out the windows at the platform. In the early evening sun outside, nothing in the relatively dim car would be visible, but dusk was falling, and soon, even if the details of their figures weren’t clear, the activity he had in mind certainly would be. But he didn’t want to go into either of their sleeping compartments. Both were cramped for space, to begin with, and both were personalized by four years of occupation. He couldn’t quite articulate what he was feeling, but it had to do with their first encounter taking place on common ground, in the shared spaces where they had spent so many hours together.             He stepped back from Artie reluctantly, and drew the curtains on the platform side. He could hear Artie doing the same on the track side. The car grew dark, not so black that he couldn’t see anything, but enough that when Artie grasped his elbows from behind, he jerked in surprise.             “You’re like a cat, sneaking up on me,” he joked lightly, uncertain what Artie meant to do. The grip on his arms was tight enough that he would have had to exert himself to break free.             “You asked what I wanted.” Artie’s mouth was close to Jim’s ear, his voice low. “I’ll show you what I want.” Jim couldn’t quite imagine what Artie meant, but the erotic buzz in his voice was an obvious challenge. He could feel the bulge of Artie’s organ against the tight fabric across the back of his trousers, and his own cock, which had been half-hard with anticipation, twitched and filled.             “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking. “Anything you want.”             “Give me your word that you won’t back out.”             “I give it.” He couldn’t conceive of anything Artie might want that he would object to. And if Artie was a gambler, so was he. Artie gambled with his intellect, with his acting skills, sometimes, more traditionally, with the cards. Jim gambled with his body. He gambled that he would come out on top whatever the circumstances, that he was smart enough, fast enough, tough enough to outwit any opponent. But this was different. Artie was not an enemy, but his lover, and in giving his word not to back out, he was gambling that he knew Artie well enough to trust him with anything.             He relaxed back against the warmth of Artie’s body. Of course he trusted Artie. That was one of the most profound truths of his life. “Anything,” he repeated, his voice steady now. “I trust you with anything, Artie. You must know that.”             The grip on his elbows eased, and Artie slipped his arms around Jim’s chest. “What can I do with you, then?” he asked, amusement rumbling in his voice. “Tie you up? Make you wear a dress? Spank you?”             Some emotion that Jim couldn’t identify made him quiver momentarily–he wasn’t certain whether it was fear or anticipation or disgust. But it was clear that Artie was teasing him. “I said anything. But I’d look pretty stupid in a dress. And don’t spank me unless you want to return the favor.”             “So tying you up is all right?” Artie hugged him hard. “Don’t worry. None of that interests me in the least. I just couldn’t resist seeing how far you would go.”             His fingers undid Jim’s vest buttons and pulled on the ends of the string tie Jim was wearing. “I do have one order for you,” he whispered in Jim’s ear. “Don’t say anything else until I give you permission. Can you do that?”             Jim had his mouth open to agree when the full import of the words struck him. He closed his mouth and just nodded.             “Good boy,” Artie breathed. “Not a sound now, unless you just can’t help it.”             He’d been working on Jim’s trouser buttons, and the movement of his fingers against Jim’s now rigid cock, even through the fabric, was enough to make Jim gasp. But he held back anything more. Artie slid a hand into the loosened waistband, touching everywhere but where Jim yearned for it. Jim had promised not to speak, but he’d made no promises about moving, and he did his best to maneuver himself into Artie’s hand. His squirming had one effect, though it didn’t get his cock where he wanted it. He could feel Artie growing hard against his ass, with a soft murmur of appreciation, and he decided that if he couldn’t say anything himself, he’d have to make Artie vocalize for both of them. With a smile that was hidden by the dark, he pressed back harder and wiggled provocatively.             Artie chuckled and gave him his reward, hot fingers fisted around his cock. But only for a moment, and then he edged back. “Let’s not make any more mending for me than you already do,” he said. “Get these down before I poke a hole right through them.”             He tugged the drawers down along with the trousers, and Jim felt the cool night air on his ass and his cock. The contrast was almost as erotic as the heat of Artie’s hand had been, and he shivered involuntarily.             They had ended up behind the sofa again. Jim couldn’t tell whether that was coincidence or Artie’s skillful maneuvering, but it evidently suited Artie’s intentions. “Lean forward,” he whispered. “Put your hands out on the back of the sofa.”             Jim obeyed, and his cock brushed against the soft velvet upholstery, almost unbearable stimulation. He felt a groan rising in his throat and stifled it. Behind him came the soft rustle of Artie’s clothing being discarded. He still wore his shirt and undervest, his trousers hobbled his ankles, and the contrast between Artie’s freedom to move and speak, and his own voluntary helplessness made him shudder with anticipation.             Artie meant to bugger him, that was clear. He shook his head slightly at the connotations of the word, but all the others were equally distasteful. He felt in his mind for the disgust he ought to be feeling. For the fear and the revulsion and the hatred he’d seen in other men’s faces and heard in their voices when they spoke of the act, and the feelings just weren’t there. This was Artie, who loved him. Artie, whom he trusted with his life. If he could trust Artie to care for his life, he could certainly trust Artie with his ass. He almost laughed out loud at the comparison, but managed to suppress it at the last moment.             “You can tell me later what you find so amusing,” Artie said. “For now, pick up your right foot.”              Artie bent and pulled Jim’s boot off, and then drew the trousers and drawers off that leg. After freeing the other one, he said, “Now spread your legs a bit, that’s right. The idea of fucking you with your pants around your ankles is tempting, but I think you’ll be more comfortable without them.”             He pulled Jim close to him again from behind and said into his ear, “You did know I was going to fuck you, didn’t you?”             Jim nodded jerkily. He’d known that the instant Artie demanded his promise not to back out. He hadn’t verbalized it to himself yet at that point, but deep inside he had known.             “I have one more order for you,” Artie told him. “You’re not to touch yourself. Understand?”             Jim nodded again. If he couldn’t touch himself, then Artie would have to do it for him, and he had no trouble complying with that at all. He was quivering with the need to feel Artie’s hand on him.             What he felt instead was the sharp nip of teeth on the back of his neck, so unexpected that he jerked involuntarily. Artie laughed softly, and then pulled Jim’s shirt away from his chest, stripped it down his arms, and tossed it into the greater darkness beyond them. “Take your vest off,” he ordered, and Jim threw it after the shirt.             He could feel goose bumps on his arms and legs, though the air wasn’t particularly cold. It was odd to be so aware of being nude, because it had never been an issue between them. But then, Artie had been careful not to ogle, even if he had wanted to. Jim was going to make it very difficult in the future for Artie not to ogle, and that thought had him smiling all over again. He writhed sensuously back against Artie and observed the hitch in Artie’s breathing with satisfaction.             “Don’t be hasty now,” Artie said, with a little chuckle. “Everything is coming along very nicely.” He slid a knee between Jim’s legs and separated them a bit more. “Mm. Very nicely indeed.”             Jim had begun to think that Artie meant to do no more than fuck him, and while he wasn’t as apprehensive about that as he probably should be, he wanted more. Wanted the feel of Artie’s skin against his, the touch of Artie’s hands. He’d always appreciated Artie’s sturdy solid body, and with the muscle Artie had developed over the years, he liked it even better. No wonder, he thought a bit sardonically, that he’d fallen like a ton of bricks for Artie’s kiss—he’d evidently been working toward this day for a long time.             Artie must have been reading his mind, because he slipped his arms around Jim’s back and just held them together for a moment, running his hands gently over Jim’s belly. Jim sighed—there was no way to hold that back—and let his head fall back to Artie’s shoulder. Artie clasped him strongly across the belly with one hand and moved his other hand up to fondle Jim’s nipples. “Like that?” he asked softly. “Some men do.”             Nipples were not Jim’s most erogenous zone, but anything Artie did felt good. He nodded, and Artie left one side to pinch the other one sharply. That felt better than Jim would have expected, an electric sensation that went straight to his cock. He inhaled sharply, and Artie laughed and did it again. Jim’s cock jerked against the back of the sofa, almost painfully. He wanted to touch himself so badly that he almost couldn’t hold back, his hands balled into fists at his side.             Artie held him close again, his hands splayed over Jim’s belly. “Time for the good part?” he murmured in Jim’s ear. Jim turned his head and kissed Artie’s mouth, not sure what message he was sending. Yes, he was ready. He was tingling all over. But this erotic tenderness touched him deeply as well. He couldn’t have guessed how much he would love the feel of Artie’s arms around him.             Again, Artie seemed to know his mind. He ran his hands over the hard muscles in Jim’s arms as they kissed long and deep. When they parted, he kept them close for a moment more. “Your mouth is sweet to the kiss,” he whispered, “sweet to the taste, as a draft of musk from a spiceman's pouch.”             Jim twisted around a bit more and gave Artie an upraised eyebrow in lieu of a verbal question. There was just enough subdued light from the gas lamp in the far corner to see Artie’s face.             “No, it’s not from the Bible,” Artie said, looking amused. “It’s an Arabic wedding song. And I didn’t even quote it correctly. But it felt right.”             He tucked his head into Jim’s shoulder, and his hands drifted down at last to Jim’s hips and then around to his groin. Jim inhaled sharply as Artie’s hand cupped his balls, and groaned involuntarily as the other hand gripped his aching cock.             “No, no,” Artie told him, in mock severity. “You weren’t to speak. I consider that a vocalization.”             He smoothed his hand over Jim’s cock from root to tip, and back again. Jim bit his lip.             “You want to beg me for more, don’t you?” Artie asked. “I’ll bet you want me to put my mouth on you.”             Jim shuddered at the thought, and clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms.             “Not this time,” Artie said. “But I will. I love how hard you are. I want to feel you in my mouth.”             Jim couldn’t decide whether the sultry promises of Artie’s voice or the sensations from his hand were more exciting, but he definitely knew he wasn’t going to last much longer if they went on. He pushed hard into Artie’s hand, wanting to prolong the pleasure, but unable to stop himself.             Artie laughed softly and took the hand away. “All right, no more fooling around.” He pressed Jim forward. “Bend down now, like you were. I’ll be right back.”             Jim obeyed, but turned his head to watch Artie walk quickly into the galley, his compact ass and strong thighs giving rise to thoughts Jim had never imagined. Could he take Artie as Artie was going to take him? Would Artie allow that? How would it feel, to press into a man instead of a woman? His cock twitched and he led it slide back and forth along the velvet back of the sofa until he was lightheaded with need.             Artie was back in a second, and now Jim could see his heavy cock bobbing in front of him at each step. He’d seen Artie nude before, of course. Had even seen him with a morning hard-on once or twice. He’d thought nothing of it, no more than of any of the men he’d shared quarters with in the Army or in college. But now that arousal was for him. It was he who had driven Artie to risk the dare, he whom Artie had wanted badly enough to chance a rift in their friendship. There was heady satisfaction in the knowledge, and heavy responsibility to be certain he lived up to Artie’s hopes. I never really supposed this would happen, Artie had said, and Jim wondered suddenly just how long Artie had yearned for it.             Artie could see where his eyes were fixed, of course. Artie’s hand went to his prick as he came up to Jim, and he hefted it, letting Jim see the rosy head and veined shaft. “This is what you want,” he whispered. Jim nodded tightly. “This is what you want inside you.”             Jim closed his eyes, and nodded again. He hadn’t known he wanted this. An hour ago—less than that, surely—he’d been plotting to go off with the pink-gowned girl on the platform. Thinking of how he would seduce her, how he’d get her out of that ridiculous frilly dress, what she would look like under it. His thoughts had never been more than quick, passing fancies. He wasn’t one of those men who dwelled on plans to seduce a reluctant woman. But his expectation for the evening had been so completely the opposite of where he found himself now that it was as though his world had turned inside out.             But there was no question that he wanted it.             Artie’s hand settled gently on his back, steadying him. The other hand touched his ass. He breathed in deeply, spread his legs a bit more, and bent his head, waiting. The hand slid between his ass cheeks, slippery with something. A finger touched the hole, kneaded the flesh around it gently until he relaxed, slipped inside. It felt odd, an intrusion. But not painful. The finger slid in deeper, moved in and out, and he took deep breaths and willed himself to accept it.             Artie was silent as he withdrew, and returned with what felt like two fingers. That was unpleasant, but again, not really painful. Pain was broken limbs, or being shot. Pain was getting beaten, not having your lover’s fingers up your ass. The comparison was so ludicrous that it almost made him laugh, and Artie said aggrievedly, “I’m tempted to give you permission to speak just to find out what you think is so funny!”             Jim turned his head and let the smile take over his face again, and saw a mirror image of it on Artie. Artie bent and kissed him swiftly. “You’re crazy,” he said. “Must be why I love you.”             He took the fingers away and moved to stand behind Jim. Jim could feel the cock butting at his ass. “You can speak now if you want,” Artie said softly. “I changed my mind. I want you to tell me if you can’t do this. Promise me that you will.”             Jim nodded. He had no words for this moment. He felt things he had no idea how to put into words, vulnerable and powerful in equal measure, afraid and exalted all at once. He pressed back against Artie and waited.             Artie’s cock was much larger than two fingers. But Artie went slowly, massaging the tender flesh, waiting when Jim’s breath caught, his fingers caressing Jim’s ass to ease the clenched muscles.             “Not much more now,” Artie whispered, and as he spoke the words, something inside Jim twitched and contracted, like a tiny replica of his prick.             “Damn,” he said, the first word he had spoken. His voice sounded rusty. Artie moved in him, and the tremor in his gut came more strongly. “Damn.”             Artie bent and kissed the back of his neck. “Touch yourself. I want you to feel everything. Feel me fucking you while you pleasure yourself.”             The words set off an explosion in Jim. He gripped his cock, and Artie moved in him, and the place inside him spasmed and quivered. He hardly knew what was happening to him. He could feel Artie gripping his hips and thrusting into him, one set of sensations, and at the same time, his cock throbbed and jerked, another set, and his gut wanted, needed, to feel Artie’s cock again. He writhed against Artie, panting and pulling on his cock, and Artie pushed hard into him, hard enough to send him almost painfully against the sofa with each thrust.             He set one hand against the top of the sofa and pushed away, holding them both there while his other hand stripped his cock down, once, twice, again. His balls contracted violently, and his seed burst from him, scalding drops that sprayed against his hand. At the same time, Artie shoved so hard into him that he almost lost his balance. He could feel Artie’s cock jerking within him, and it nearly set him off again. Artie was hanging on to him, gasping and calling his name over and over.             He managed to stay on his feet somehow, trembling with the aftershocks. Sweat ran from his back; he could feel it between his body and Artie’s. “Next time,” he managed to get out, “Next time, we’re doing this in the damn bed!”             Artie rumbled with laughter and pushed himself upright, slipping wetly from Jim. “My God,” he said. “I’m too old for this.”             Jim turned and gathered him in. “Oh no you don’t!” he protested. “Give me the best sex I’ve ever had and then say you can’t do it again?”             Artie laughed all over again. “Well… in a couple of months maybe. Or a week. Or—“ He stopped, catching sight of the mock outrage on Jim’s face. “Tomorrow? Definitely not again tonight!”             Jim sighed happily. “Ask me in the morning. Whose bed are we sleeping in?”             Artie tilted an eyebrow at him. “We’re sleeping together too? This is awfully familiar all of a sudden. I hope you don’t hog the covers.” He peered at the clock. “Besides, it’s only eight. We could get dressed and go out for the evening. Find a couple of ladies—“             He broke off at the expression on Jim’s face. “No?”             Jim took Artie’s arms and hauled him close, kissed him hard. “I’m a selfish possessive bastard,” he growled into Artie’s ear. “I don’t share.”             “Hmm,” Artie said. “I suppose I should have known that from the way you treat your horse.” But his mouth twitched with a poorly suppressed smile. “That’s all right, then. And we’re sleeping in your bed. Mine is full of books and bits of things that tend to poke you in the middle of the night.”             He let himself be pulled into another, longer, kiss, a lazy kiss this time, with soft exploration of tongues and teeth, and occasional little nips. When it ended, he relaxed fully into Jim’s arms and rested his head on Jim’s shoulder. “Guess it’s too late to go out after all,” he mumbled. “Wonder whether Colonel Richmond would let us remodel the train and make one larger bedroom for both of us.”             Jim rubbed his hands up and down Artie’s back. “If it didn’t cost the government anything. And if he didn’t know about it first, so he didn’t have to actually approve it.”             Artie chuckled softly and stood up straight. “Selfish, possessive, and devious too! I think I’m in love.” His face sobered. “Go along to the necessary and make certain you’re not bleeding. And wash yourself. It can be a bit—“ He hesitated. “A bit messy, when you’re on the receiving end.”             Jim had already figured that out. “Don’t carry any books into my bed while I’m gone!” he called back over his shoulder, feeling the smile break out all over his face again. The sex had been good, the love was even better, but the return of their easy bantering friendship was a promise of permanence, a peek down the road into a long future together.             And when he came back to the compartment and found Artie snoring with an open book on his chest, he just chuckled to himself and set it on the shelf overhead. Artie opened one bleary eye and shifted over to make room for him, hauling the blanket along with him. Jim tugged it back and curled them up together, his cock settling comfortably into the crack of Artie’s ass, and his love cradled in his arms.             His father had been right about one thing after all, Jim thought as he faded into sleep. Strong drink could lead a man down strange ways, and he was infinitely grateful for the path he had found.