Page 91 of Darkness

A man caught his eye, an attractive face framed by golden blond curls. Instead of guilelessly wide blue eyes, though, this man’s eyes were possibly gray. His lithe body was a little shorter than Farren’s but he distracted Morrisey by writhing against him out on the dance floor.

Fake Farren’s cologne stung Morrisey’s nose, nothing like the aromatic scent Real Farren wore, which brought to mind a summer storm, but good enough for pretending. How Morrisey longed to hold Farren, kiss him, love him. But how would that even work if they were from different species? Farren inhabited a human body, so everything probably worked the same. It had during their two encounters.

Morrisey longed to fuck him. But would doing so cement the bond, joining them together forever?

For approximately three and a half minutes, Morrisey had everything he could want in his arms. Comfort, oh, sweet comfort, like he hadn’t found before. Maybe not even with Craig.

The poor excuse for Farren brushed his lips against Morrisey’s cheek. "Would you like to come to my place?" The words were high and nasally, nothing like Farren’s rich tenor.

Morrisey stepped back, seeing his dancing partner as just a man. A stranger. Someone he didn’t know and who, on second thought, didn’t look much like Farren after all.

"Sorry," Morrisey replied, now eager to escape. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Normally, I don’t like being a Plan B, but just in case they don’t show…”

The smile Morrisey conjured wouldn’t fool anyone. He’d not felt this awkward in years. He backed away, a feeling of loss filling his heart. It’d just been a foolish, sweet dream, nothing more.

He pushed through the crowd in the opposite direction, feeling the sudden heat and closeness of the air. Air, he needed air. Sweet relief came when Morrisey finally fought his way free, leaving behind the packed bodies.

He breathed deeply several times. Did Jessa just have nothing to tell him? Or had something happened? Yeah, he really needed to let Farren know about her.

For now, he’d walk the four blocks to his apartment, taking the opportunity to smoke. No one would notice if he didn’t return to the compound tonight, would they? Sleep, he needed sleep, and to remove the ghost of holding Fake Farren from his mind.

He met few people on his way home. Walking in this neighborhood late at night likely wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. Then again, maybe remnants of his death wish remained.

Wait! Since joining the task force and working with Farren, Morrisey had lost some of his fatalism, and had even left the latest Agnes at home tonight.

He reached his apartment unscathed and settled onto the couch, surveying the wreckage of his life. Yeah, really should clean the place. No, wait. Jessa did. Get himself cleaned up, then. Maybe it was finally time to disconnect the landline, straighten himself out.

Would Arianna be interested in helping him make his apartment more presentable? Into a place he wouldn’t mind bringing a date?

The thought of dating brought Farren to mind.

God, Morrisey missed coming home to someone smiling, waiting for him. Of course, Craig’s smiles had been fewer and fewer at the end. Still, regardless of how they had ended the relationship, Morrisey wouldn't trade their good times for anything.

He’d never rate a man like Farren, but what about the dancer? Morrisey’s apartment didn’t currently look like the result of vandalism. Should he have invited the dancer home?

Morrisey knew why he didn’t. It took knowing someone for attraction to follow. He’d been on a men’s softball team with Craig for two years before he’d turned one day and saw more than a teammate.

Had he reached the point with Farren after only a few weeks? Nah. Maybe Morrisey obsessed over Farren to avoid meeting anyone in real life.

If you think living with a cop was hard, how about living with someone who can’t even tell you what they truly do for a living? The little voice in the depths of Morrisey's mind made an excellent point.

He sprawled on the couch, opening his jeans to slide his hand beneath his boxers. Already well on the way to hard, his cock felt silky against the roughness of his palm. He spat into his hand, then stroked himself several times, trying to imagine the blond from the dance floor.

Regardless of how he tried to focus, the image grew taller, blue eyes bright and penetrating.

Farren’s tenor would stroke down Morrisey’s body straight to his groin. I want you, he’d say, heat reflected in his eyes. Wait! Had he said those words in a dream?

“I want you too,” Morrisey mumbled aloud. He stroked faster, picturing a naked Farren lying across the lonely king bed in the bedroom. He’d look so good splayed out on the covers, tempting Morrisey to touch.

His skin would be soft yet firm, the lean muscles Morrisey barely got a look at even more impressive when not covered by a layer of fabric. The Farren in Morrisey’s fantasy gasped, pressing his nipples against Morrisey’s questing fingertips.

While he maintained professionalism at work, Farren brought pure passion into the bedroom. Morrisey’s thoughts suddenly took on a mind of their own, his dream Farren placing a firm hand on Morrisey’s chest, urging him onto his back.

With a wicked tilt to his lips, Fantasy Farren climbed over Morrisey much as he had their first night together, but using his hand to line them up.

Both Morrisey and Farren uttered a groan when Farren sank down onto Morrisey's cock. Tight heat gripped him, and Morrisey groaned again when Farren rose and fell, a wicked smile on his soft lips as he bent down, kissing Morrisey, looking every inch a debauched angel.

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