“He turned to look at the door and narrowed his eyes. So, Rule Number One, apparently, was that he wasn’t allowed to crack a smile during foreplay. “Got it,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side before stepping up to the door and throwing it open.”

“So, Rule Number One, apparently, was that he wasn’t allowed to crack a smile during foreplay. “Got it”

“He stepped fully into the house. The air inside was cool on his skin. He turned, expecting the front door to close on its own. But it stayed open, as it was supposed to. He shook his head, chiding himself for letting an old house spook him. He walked into the kitchen. Behind him, the front door slammed shut.”

“Fuck, it's hot in here.” He put the guitar down, stood up, whipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Then he pulled off his belt like D'Artagnan drawing a sword...”

“When he at least reached the door the handle had cease to vibrate. Lowering himself suddenly to his knees he placed his head and the vagaries of his left eye (which was for ever trying to dash up and down the vertical surface of the door), he was able by dint of concentration to observe, within three inches of his keyholed eye, an eye which was not his, being not only of a different colour to his own iron marble, but being, which is more convincing, on the other side of the door.”

“So… what? You want me to sign my name in blood or something?”“Hmmm,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek as he looked at the ceiling — the epitome of an overly dramatic thinker.I rolled my eyes.“Why don’t we just seal it with a kiss?” he suggested, as if the thought of it didn’t gnaw at my intestines.“Is there a Door Number Two?”“Well, I could stay at your side every second until Nergal is dead,” he answered. “And before you ask, there is no Door Number Three.”