Placing Out by P. J. Brown Page A

shoved Dylan up against it, hard enough to rattle the wood. He growled, "I can't stop thinking about you. I don't like that one fucking bit."
    His mouth stopped anything Dylan might have said. After that there was no talking by either of them. Dylan had been dragged out of bed, he wore nothing but a thin robe that Ben ripped off him in seconds. He didn't take much longer shedding his clothes. He shoved the smaller man up against the door again, lifting him off the floor. Dylan wrapped his legs around the Ben's hips and whimpered as Ben guided his rigid cock up to the entrance to his hole. Pushing past the tight ring, he completely encased his cock inside Dylan. He had a fire in his blood. Burying his face against Dylan's throat, he pumped, plunging in and out, grunting as they both reached toward orgasm. They lost all control.
    Ben cried out and spent himself inside Dylan. He didn't pull out. Holding the other man captive in his arms, his unslaked mouth roamed over Dylan's sweating face and neck. He didn't know he was whispering Dylan's name over and over until he stopped. In horror, he stared down at the blond head resting against his chest.
    "Why can't I stop thinking about you?" He pulled out and let Dylan's feet return to the floor. Still holding him in shaking arms, Ben turned them around in a circle. "What did you do to me?"
    Dylan's arms remained around his neck. He nibbled on Ben's throat, licking his chin and lips, slipping inside his mouth. "That's okay, I can't stop thinking of you, either. So what are we going to do about it?"
    Ben tipped his head back until it rested on the door behind him. He stared at the ceiling without seeing it. But no matter what he did, he never lost his awareness of the man still in his arms. He knew even if he left now and never stopped until he hit the South Pole, that Dylan would always be there, buried in his memory like a splinter under the skin. Unseen, but never forgotten.
    "You like what you're doing?" he asked.
    "Like? Being a whore?" Ben winced and Dylan shrugged. "Your words, remember? No, I don't like it. But it's what I do."
    "I don't."
    Dylan caught on fast. "Why?"
    "I'm doing things I don't like. I'm turning me into something I never wanted to be."
    "So quit."
    "Quit," he said flatly. He dropped his chin onto his bare chest and met Dylan's guileless blue gaze. "Now why didn't I think of that?"
    "You're an ass, you know that?"
    "No, you're wrong." He looped one arm around Dylan's waist and pulled him tight against him. "I'm a copper who's got too many ugly things burned into his head." He thought of the nameless boy, killed because he held a sign and wanted basic American rights. Like he could ever share that with this or any man. "Things I wouldn't wish on anyone."
    "Then leave them behind."
    Ben stared at him. What the hell did that mean?
    Dylan stepped away. He took Ben's hand and led him over the bed. The sheets were rumpled and the pillow dimpled from Dylan's head. Clearly he had just come from it. He pressed Ben down.
    "We both need a drink, I think."
    Ben watched him cross to the alcove and come back with the same bottle of Johnny Walker. From what he could see it was at the same level as his last visit. Maybe Dylan didn't drink when he was alone? He had said he never brought customers here.
    Dylan handed him a glass and sipped his own. Ben wasn't so delicate. He downed his in one swallow, grimaced, and held the empty glass out. Dylan refilled it, this time to the top.
    "I don't think you can drink it away, but maybe you can put it to sleep for a while."
    "Fuck yourself."
    "One thing I've never tried." He took another sip of whiskey.
    This time Ben sipped, too. He held the glass in both hands and was ashamed to see they were shaking. He stared down into the depths of the golden liquid. His thigh, covered in dark hair, pressed against Dylan's golden, nearly hairless one. The contrast was startling.
    "I don't think I can keep doing this," he murmured.
    "Fucking me? Or