Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

"Would you like me to fuck you first? After all, you are what's important, too, darling."
    So polite, it almost made Sam want to laugh at such use of etiquette in a place and situation such as this. Sam shook his head. "I brought him for you, dear. He wouldn't be in existence if it weren't for you." Sam walked to Bobby. Beautiful, young, pliant, quiescent Bobby. "Will you give the doctor what he wants, Bobby? Do you have any qualms? If so, you should tell me now."
    Bobby looked at him curiously. "Sam, you know I have no feeling like humans. I am here to serve, to learn, to understand, to experience. For me, all knowledge is useful, every experience to be embraced and examined."
    "Of course. You're right. I sometimes forget you aren't really human."
    "It's all right, Sam. I still consider you my friend. But Dr. Ophelian is my maker. I am honored to let him fuck me."
    And so it would be. There was little left for Sam to say. He'd known when they set out upon this journey that Oberon would want to fuck Bobby. He'd known all along— all these years of planning, of creating— where it would lead. He really had no right to be feeling as he did right now— jealous of Oberon. Oberon had suffered so much— he deserved what little pleasure he could experience. And when it came right down to it, Bobby did belong to him. Not to Sam.
    Sam stepped away.
    CHAPTER 6
    As Sam watched Ophelian, he considered the road he had taken to reach this point. He had to wonder if there had been any other course possible. Ophelian was not necessarily so inordinately handsome a man. But he carried himself with an intensity and forceful carriage that could not be ignored. Sam recalled him at Hall University, in those early days when Sam was but eighteen and Ophelian several years older. Every time Sam had watched him cross the grounds, impervious to those around him, yet trailing behind him like a king's great robe, a bevy of impressionable young men who hung on his every word.
    Sam had watched from a distance, quite like now. He watched as Ophelian disrobed, revealing a body still hard and fit at forty. Somehow he'd lost none of his vitality in that respect. If anything, he now glowed with an intense feral light— a measure of higher intelligence wedded to primal ferocity. His hack-cut blond hair only added to the appearance of wildness, and his fierce eyes burned with a dangerous blue fire.
    Sam shrugged out of his suit coat, folded it and laid it across the bed. It was a bed meant for sleep, not for fucking. He took off his cap and tossed it onto the bed. Carefully he sat on the edge of the narrow bed and reached down to untie his shoes, then slipped them off. He disposed of his shirt, trousers, socks, and underwear in like fashion. He heard Oberon groan.
    "He has lovely lips, Sam. Coleson did marvelous work on him." A muffled sigh escaped him.
    Sam glanced up and watched as Oberon embraced Bobby. He cupped the back of Bobby's head and kissed him hungrily. Both men were now naked. Oberon, an uncommonly tall man, measured height for height with Bobby. They were almost a match in physique, but that was purposeful. Oberon reached down to cup Bobby's ass. Oberon lifted his head and looked at Sam. He held out a hand. "Come here, darling. Come join us. It won't be the same without you."
    At the sight of Oberon and Bobby in foreplay, it did factor much into the state of Sam's arousal. How could it not, seeing the two men— well, one automaton companion and the other Sam's lover and husband— engaged in intimate foreplay?
    "Mr. Dart. We have a special mission in mind for you. We understand you were at one time personally acquainted with Dr. Oberon Ophelian. We need a man to carry out a special secret mission. Ophelian has created a dangerous compound in a misguided attempt to control society to his own ends. He has involved himself with some very unsavory characters who want control of the metropolis. And you know it won't stop there. Ophelian must be stopped, and we think you're the man to help us apprehend him and destroy that compound. It will mean a promotion for you. Will you step up to serve your country and combat the danger so near at hand?"
    Promotion. Such a word for his current position as Constable of Ragstown. Buried away in a neverland of chaos, brutality, and poisonous manufactory gases erupting into the atmosphere. A place where men of any means remained hidden behind respirators. And those that didn't were rewarded with shortened