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closer.
     
    “You get over here too,” he called, his voice rough and heavy with lust. “Get that monster of yours out and see if you can fit that bad boy down my throat.”
     
    Mike knew he should resist. He could feel the words of refusal in his throat, could taste them in his mouth. Rational arguments and scholarship tried to rise up, but they couldn’t get through. Because Mike looked at Pete’s mouth, lush and swollen from Ara’s kisses, and all he could think of was what it would look like with his cock pushing in and out of it.
     
    He should try to force reason into this, he knew. But he couldn’t. All he could do was rise, head aching, and crawl across the room to Pete, and as he watched Ara bend Pete’s legs back and steady himself as he dipped his head to take Pete’s cock into his mouth, Mike undid his pants, pulled out his sex, and fed it to Pete as instructed.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Pete and Peter
     

     
    As Clarke’s thick cock slid into his mouth and Ara spread his thighs and suckled him, Pete let go of the last of his tension and let the pleasure of his attendants course through him.
     
    Goddamn, but he felt alive.
     
    It wasn’t just that Pete had never had sex quite like this, either. It wasn’t that Ara was a ghost, though that was decidedly a first. Pete had been with two guys before, and it had been good, but it had been nothing like this. Pete didn’t know what this was that he’d gotten into, but whatever it was, it was intense.
     
    He was a mellow guy. He worked, but not too hard. He did nothing to excess, but he didn’t withhold himself on principle, either. He would fuck or be fucked. He would drink or not drink. He would stay home or go out. In general, Pete found that much of life made no difference to him one way or the other. Sometimes life was good, and sometimes it wasn’t so much, but overall everything was no big deal.
     
    He did not feel that way right now. Clarke was fucking his mouth, and Pete loved the fact that the man didn’t want to and yet couldn’t seem to help himself. He loved seeing that professional distance crumble. And he loved the slick, smooth taste of Clarke on his tongue. He loved the sweaty smell of his groin as it thrust against Pete’s nose. He liked the way Clarke groaned and grabbed at Pete’s hair, holding on tight as he gave in and fucked Pete’s mouth with abandon.
     
    Below, Ara was taking him in deep as well. His hands weren’t half as cold now, but they were still cool against Pete’s thighs, which he pressed open as he bobbed up and down on Pete’s cock. Oh, yeah, he was a wicked cocksucker all right. His lips were sealed around the shaft, but his tongue danced inside the dark, wet cave his mouth had made around the heated flesh as he rose and fell. It felt so good. It felt. There was a pulse rising inside of Pete, a pulse that climbed along on top of his orgasm, but it had nothing to do with semen. It had barely anything to do with sex. It was something inside him which had been dark and quiet, a limpid pool, and now it was a stormy sea, cresting and rising, reaching up and up and up—
     
    Wait, Pete thought, his mind feeling very far away. I don’t even know what a limpid pool is.
     
    And on the heels of this realization came another thought: Who is this, rising inside of me?
     
    He knew a moment of panic. And then the pleasure of Clarke’s fucking and Ara’s sucking overwhelmed him, and he shivered, and shuddered, and came. He flooded the ghost’s mouth with semen.
     
    And the something that had been rising inside him lifted, rose, and sailed easily out of his body, taking Pete along with it. He rose like mist from his own body, a soul, a spirit, a ghost himself—he didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. He was up. He was out. That was what mattered.
     
    Move. He had to move.
     
    There were bodies below him, ripe with sweat and sex, but they were not the bodies he sought. The room was changing again, and as it did,