“He went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels from the top of the refrigerator.'Ah, my last surviving friend,' he said to no one at all.He unscrewed the cap, and put the bottle to his lips. Better to drink until a blackout, than to remember thoughts like knives that cut him from the inside out, and bled him dry.”

“I finished the ale, started to order a third one, and decided against it. I'd had enough. More than enough. Or I never would have. You take just so much from a bottle, and then you stop taking. From then on you're putting.”

“They stood in the courtyard of Swangard Palace, too cold to be comfortable despite the sun, and they looked fully on one another, knowing that they were friends, and would always be.A lot of water under this bridge too, Mark thought, with something like awe. He was growing older. Old enough to feel the current of what had been flowing under him, leading to his future. Old enough to look back over his shoulder, and see his past behind him, and grieve for what was gone, and honour its memory.He felt, suddenly, how much it would hurt him if Val died; felt an echo of that pain, knowing that the Valerian he had known, fluffy and peering and hapless and altogether wonderful: this Valerian was already dying. Not physically, of course, but the man he remembered from that first night in Swangard Palace would be gone the next time they met, though his ghost would linger on in Val forever, and in their memories.Three cheers for ghosts, Mark thought. Three cheers for the dead.Of course Val would be much the same: better, even. As full of wonder and delight, with big pockets full of puzzles and fascinating stories about the lives of ants and ingenious designs for windmills that would do your washing. And they would still be friends, excellent friends. It could even be better next time.But it would never be the same.”

“I trust you, Cash. I trust you.”He grabs my wrist and presses his lips to the inside then pulls gently until I’m bent at the waist and my face is close to his.“Come home with me. Please.” I can feel his warm breath on my lips, they’re so close. I lean forward to close the small gap, but he leans away. “Please,” he repeats softly.I would never tell him, but he could ask me anything right now and I’d agree to it. Anything at all.“Okay.” As soon as the words leave my lips, his mouth is on mine.”

“What’ll it be?”“I’ll have a beer. Bottled. Not light.”“Careful there, Ty,” Jenna said as she popped the top off and slid the bottle to him. “Don’t want to put on too much weight, or you’ll have trouble holding your stick.”He grabbed the bottle and held it to his lips. “Never had any complaints about my abilities with my stick so far.”Jenna arched a brow. “And you’re here alone? With that charm? Shocking.”

“You want it, boy?" He pulled his prick out of his jeans."God, yes. That's why I'm here." "Good." He left his jeans open, left his prick hard and pushing out. "Come on. Shower.""Turn around." He wanted to see it. Griff went a deep red, but the man turned to show the weird, stylized whip branded into one ass cheek. Groaning, Brian reached out and touched it, traced it with his fingers. He'd done that. He'd marked his boy. "You still clean?" Brian kept rubbing his prick back and forth across Griff's hole. "I am. I couldn't... I couldn't get it up with anyone else.""Good." He grabbed the shampoo and poured it over his fingers. "Was not. You fucked me up""We fucked each other up." He was not in this alone. He couldn't wait to be inside Griff again. His wild, desperate baby boy. His fingers traced the brand on Griff's ass. His. All fucking his. Marked permanently. And Griff had let him do it. The man knew it was true.”

“It had soaked in on him at last, the spot he was in. Soaked clear through a quart of booze until it hit him where he lived and rubbed the place raw.”