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hadn’t even
    recognized them for what they were. Faced with imminent
    danger, yet subject to a perverse and powerful erotic longing, he
    was fucked. Entirely and completely fucked.
    Adin took stock as he looked at his face in the mirror. He
    saw nondescript brown hair, slightly long, slightly on the wavy
    side, atop what he thought was an unremarkable face. Blue eyes
    looked back at him. When he smiled, people told him they
    found it charming. He rarely got angry, yet was known around
    the school for a badgerlike determination to get what he
    wanted. I am Donte, the apex of the food chain on this planet. He shoved at the large round knob on the hand dryer and rubbed
    his hands together briskly under its jet of hot air.
    “And that,” Adin said to himself, “makes you beer snacks.”
    He turned and bumped into Donte, who had come up behind
    him as silently as fog and whose face didn’t seem to appear in
    the mirror unless Adin was turned obliquely, and then he could
    catch him out of the corner of his eye. Neat trick that, but just a trick, like all the others.
    “Caro. I’ve frightened you.” Donte sighed, running a thumb
    over Adin’s trembling lower lip. “I meant only to tease. Sono
    perdonato? Mi perdoni? ”
    Adin brushed his hand away.
    “Come have a cigar on the patio with me.”
    “I don’t smoke.”
    “But surely you can’t argue that it would harm me? I don’t
    breathe, therefore, I’m not really required to inhale.”
    “Cigars are foul,” said Adin, thinking of returning to the
    table and paying the bill for dinner.
    “I’ve paid our tab, Adin. They have already given our table
    to some other young couple, who ordered an execrable wine
    that they read about in a magazine.”
    34 Z.A. Maxfield
    “Would you just…?” Tears stung Adin’s eyes, and he
    swallowed his shame.
    Donte took his hand and led him through the busy bar to a
    bench on the patio, where he ordered a cigar and Courvoisier
    for himself and a Bushmills, neat, for Adin.
    “How did you know I drink Bushmills?” Adin asked finally.
    “I tasted it on your skin in the airplane bathroom,” Donte
    said matter-of-factly, which drew a stare from an older man
    close by. Donte waved an impatient hand and the man looked
    away.
    “You are still angry with me.” Donte clipped and lit his
    cigar, then nodded his thanks to the waiter as he returned the
    implements to him.
    Adin remained stubbornly silent, yet he was taken by the
    way Donte seemed so natural in this venue, an aristocrat with
    his cigar and after-dinner cognac. He was stunningly attractive,
    and he knew it. Adin felt his breath leave him with a terrible
    moment’s fear that Donte was having him on again, and then
    realized he was just intrigued by the man, who literally, and
    figuratively, took his breath away.
    “Caro, you make me feel like a child who has played just a
    little too hard with a bird. I am all contrition. Look at me again
    with brave eyes, or I shall hate myself.”
    Adin didn’t know what to feel. “When you’ve finished your
    cigar, I would like to return to the hotel.”
    “ Più amato. What can I do to find forgiveness in your eyes?
    Would you like to tie me up and have your way with me? This
    might be what you call a win-win.”
    Adin stared at him.
    “I see I shall have to work harder then.” He smoked in
    silence while Adin worked on his whiskey. “Will you come
    someplace with me on faith, Adin? Will you let me show you
    something special, that perhaps only I can show you?”
    “You’ve already shown me things only you can show me.”
    He thought about his damp trousers. “I’m not exactly standing
    for the encore.”
    NOTTURNO 35
    Donte processed this. “I am truly sorry, Adin.”
    “I know.” Adin tossed back the rest of his drink. “ I know. I just…wasn’t afraid until that moment.”
    Donte’s dark eyes found his as he stubbed out his cigar.
    “You should have been.” He got up and walked away, turning
    to see if Adin