by

Candy Apple

"What is this?"

"It's your costume, sir," the young man behind the counter replied, looking a bit nervous at the tone of the question from his customer. Tim could feel his scalp draw tighter and fought hard not to lose his temper.

"No, it's not. This is about one-third of my costume. I'm supposed to be a cowboy, not a gladiator!" His voice was rising despite his best efforts not to kill the messenger. He couldn't be sure this particular costume shop employee had messed up his order, but something told him he had. He was starting to sweat, even though it was 50 degrees outside and the shop didn't have much heat on. "What am I supposed to wear with this, anyway?"

"Uh...I don't know, sir. I guess...underwear?"

"I hope that wasn't intended to be funny," Tim retorted.

"No! I didn't mean it that way. I just don't know what you'd wear with that without messing up the look of the costume. I mean, isn't that what gladiators wore?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I wasn't there!"

"I'm really sorry," he hastened to reply, holding up his hands. "I don't have any other costumes available in your size. Everything's spoken for because of Halloween."

"Well, yes, I suppose it is. I need it for a Halloween party like everyone else. Oddly enough, I don't wear things like this to business luncheons!"

"If it's any consolation, I think that costume would look really awesome on you," he said. Noticing Tim's silence and stunned expression, he tried to back-pedal. "I mean, you don't see many short, chubby, balding gladiators."

"I need a different costume. This is ridiculous. I can't wear this to the party I'm going to!"

"It's Halloween - "

"Thank you, I'm aware of that. I'd like to speak to your manager."

"She's not here right now. I'm the only one here. She'll be back about five."

"Five? I'm supposed to be at the party by seven!"

"Maybe you could wear a black suit and shades and be an FBI agent or something. I can refund your deposit - "

"I'd just like to know how you managed to mix up a cowboy and a gladiator."

"All the costumes have item numbers on them. The item number on your order form is for this costume. I checked all of them at least twice so this didn't happen. Maybe you wrote down the wrong number?"

"I didn't write down a number at all! I looked at your costumes on your website, picked one out, and came in here and ordered it for tonight. I didn't even know it had a number." Tim paused and ran his hand over his face tiredly. "You're telling me you have nothing else?"

"Nothing good quality. Mostly cheap trick-or-treating kind of costumes."

"How about a vampire cape? I can just put it over a tux and do a little makeup."

"I don't have any left. Well, just that really cheap one on the mannequin in the window, but it doesn't look good on. The material's thin and wrinkles too easily. It's really just for display."

"How about a zombie?"

"I've got a rubber mask, but you'd have to trash your own suit because I don't have the zombie suits. They're all - "

"I know. Spoken for."

"I have a gorilla suit. It's pretty old, though, and I don't think it's all that clean. We use it for our promotions when we have somebody stand outside and wave at traffic."

Tim closed his eyes briefly. He could either sweat out the evening in a dirty gorilla suit, or run around with his privates swinging in the breeze under a gladiator skirt. Neither option was palatable, but his chances of finding another decent quality costume of any type at this late date was unlikely. He wondered if the smoothie shop would loan him their giant banana suit.

"I'll take this one," he finally agreed, not really seeing another viable alternative. If nothing else, it would give a few of the rich old ladies at the party a cheap thrill. Maybe they'd write Senator Glassman a bigger check. Or they'd be outraged and not write any checks at all. In any event, at least it wouldn't be a dull evening.

"I'm really sorry. Look, I can take half off the rental. My boss will okay that."

"Fine, thank you." Tim paid the fee and signed for it, and a moment later was heading for the door. Another man was entering, talking on a cell phone, looking at his watch, and barreling through the door by shouldering it open. He barely missed swinging the door right into Tim's face.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there," he said.

It was on the tip of Tim's tongue to suggest that maybe if he'd actually been looking, he would have noticed another man carrying a garment bag right in front of him. There was a sincerity in the man's stunning blue eyes and something warm in the curve of his smile that calmed some of Tim's ire.

"No harm done. Happy Halloween," he added as he walked through the door the other man then held for him.

"Yeah, you, too," the stranger replied, his smile widening. Tim couldn't remember seeing a smile that bright and charming before, and it was all he could do to look away and keep moving. He thought he could feel the stranger's eyes on him as he left.

********

"Hey, Mr. Strachey, got your costume right here," the kid behind the counter said as Don approached it, getting out his wallet. Todd also worked part-time as a bike messenger, and Don had paid him on several occasions to do a bit of spying for him.

He typically hated Halloween costumes, but he was behind on his office lease payments, and there was a costume contest at the Parthenon, a popular gay club, that paid $1,000 to the winner. He knew there was probably something historically not right about a Roman Gladiator in a Greek-themed club, but he was counting on the skimpy nature of the costume to make him a front runner. All that time in the gym ought to pay off sometime. He'd probably lose to some overdone drag queen - getting into a costume contest with gay men was typically like entering a musical talent competition with Elvis Presley and The Beatles.

He unzipped the garment bag just to get another look at it.

"What the fuck is this?"

"It's a cowboy outfit."

"What is it doing in my garment bag?"

"Oh, you were the gladiator. Shit!" Todd looked at the order slip. "It's in your size."

"This one?"

"Yeah. That guy who just left has your costume, but it was in his size. I doubt you could trade anyway."

"The one who just left? He's going to be wearing the gladiator outfit?"

"Some fancy party he was going to. He was really pissed off about the mix-up. This was supposed to be his outfit."

"What party was he going to?" Don asked. The guy he'd run into had a nice, tall, solid build, smelled of just the right hint of expensive cologne, and had a voice that would melt glaciers. That wasn't even getting into his perfect features and thick brown hair, and something warm and inviting in his face that made Don stare at him longer than he should have.

"I don't know. His name's Tim Callahan."

"Think, Todd," Don said, laying a $20 bill on the counter. "Who does he work for?"

"I don't remember. He's spoke at this gay youth thing I went to a few weeks ago."

"He's gay? You're sure about that?"

"He was talking about coming out and support groups and stuff, so I guess so. I think he works for a lady congressman"

"There's no such thing as a lady congressman. He works for a woman?"

"Yeah...Senator Chessman or something."

"Glassman?"

"Yeah, that's it. How'd you know?"

"You were close on the name. Where's the party?"

"I don't know. It's fancy, I think, because he was kind of freaked out about wearing that costume to it."

"Okay, Todd, you made up for screwing up my costume order."

"I didn't screw it up - "

"Oh, right, the evil spirits did it," Don replied with a slight smile, taking the garment bag. "Happy Halloween, kiddo."

"You, too."

"It just might be," Don replied, leaving the costume shop with a spring in his step.

********

Tim looked at himself in the mirror. If not for the voice in his head screaming at him about the inappropriateness of the costume for the party he was going to, he'd have had to admit he didn't look too bad in it. Except that his boxers were showing under one part of the...well...skirt. Finally caving in to the reality of his situation, he pulled out a black Speedo and swapped the boxers for it. Problem solved.

He was running late, so there wasn't much time to dwell on how utterly ridiculous he felt when he thought of showing up at the party in that outfit. He was committed to it now, and there was no turning back. It looked a little odd when he put on his topcoat, leaving his legs bare from the calves down under it, ending in the leather sandals that came with the outfit.

At one point, he had his phone in his hand to call the senator, but he couldn't figure out how to ask her if she minded if he showed up in a short skirt and strappy sandals.

********

Don shrugged into the vest that finished his cowboy outfit. Well, technically, the hat was the final touch, but the clothes looked good on him. He thought of abandoning his quest to see a hot man in a gladiator outfit and trying for the prize at the Parthenon anyway, but a plain old cowboy would never make the grade there.

He donned the hat and checked out his look one more time. It was a black hat, and he wondered if that made him a bad guy. He grinned at the thought, hoping that the hot man in the gladiator outfit had a thing for bad guys. Vowing that he'd buy a laptop with his next retainer, he got in his car and headed to his office. He figured Senator Glassman's website probably had details about the party, because it was no doubt some kind of fund raiser if it was hosted by a politician. He hoped it wasn't some exclusive invitation-only event, but if necessary, he'd figure something out to get around that.

"Bingo," he muttered as he found the link on the event page for the Halloween Masquerade and Charity Ball taking place at the country club. Chewing his lip, he scrolled down to the reservation information, and found that tickets were indeed available at the door. For a mere $500 per person. "Fuck." Feeling like his coach had just turned into a pumpkin, he sat back in his chair and sighed. Well, it was a fun idea while it lasted.

He was about to close the web browser when he noticed a link to Senator Glassman's staff information. He clicked on it, and there he was, right at the top of the staff listing, with a nice little head shot next to his name, Timothy J. Callahan. Chief Aide. Nice job. Hot man. Though the picture barely showed his shoulders, it was obvious they were nice and broad. He remembered that clearly, since he'd almost run into that nice expanse of chest going into the costume shop.

He browsed through the other information on the site, looking for an inspiration of how he could get in past that $500 price tag.

********

"Oh, my goodness, that's not a cowboy," Senator Glassman said as Tim took off his coat and handed it to the girl in the cloak room. The young woman behind the counter flashed him a big smile and her eyes lingered more on him than his coat before she took it and handed him his claim ticket. The senator herself was dressed up as a flapper. "Why, Tim, I think my skirt's longer than yours," she teased, finally giving in to the laugh that was bubbling up.

"Very funny," he replied, finally smiling a bit, since his boss seemed to be amused by the whole thing, rather than horrified at his lack of decorum. "The costume shop mixed up my order. I was supposed to be a cowboy." If his boss wasn't worried that he was flashing some thigh and more than a little shoulder and chest, why should he fret over it?

"It's just as well. You look fine, and there are already four cowboys here and it's still early. Of course, none of them look like they could get on a horse if their lives depended on it. Now when is the band going to get started?" she asked.

"They should be playing already. I'll go see what the hold up is. I was hoping I arrived between numbers," he added as they walked into the main banquet hall where guests were already grazing from a laden hors d'eouvres table and sipping cocktails.

"I thought you were bringing a guest tonight," she commented.

"He was called into work at the last minute, so I'm flying solo."

"Well, in that getup, possibly not for long," she joked, patting his arm as she left him there to go mingle with the guests.

Tim wondered if he'd turned as red as he felt. It would have been a bit easier if his date, a surgeon at Albany Memorial, hadn't had an emergency that left him wandering around in the skimpy costume alone. Ryan was planning to dress as a Julius Caesar, so he would have felt no more ridiculous in his costume than Ryan would have felt in his toga and laurel crown.

********

When Don arrived at the country club, the party was in full swing. Guests were still arriving, and music was wafting through the doors as people passed through them to get to the festivities. He was moving along with a large group of people and thought he was home free to get in the doors when he noticed the two costumed greeters with their clipboards at the entrance to the banquet hall. One was a pretty scary-looking female zombie with sunken eyes and dark lips, the other was a somewhat harmless-looking middle-aged vampire, but they both were checking names off their lists as guests arrived. They obviously weren't insulting guests by asking for ID, but he had no clue what fake name to use. He could just pull an alias out of his hat, or use his own name and make a big stink when they didn't have it there, but something told him that would only fuck up his chances of seeing Mr. Gladiator in all his scantily clad splendor.

Or, perhaps it would draw him out to see what the fracas was...

He dropped back from the swell of guests he'd been walking in with, and loitered in the lobby a moment, pretending to adjust the holster on his costume. He wondered what the other guests would think if they knew the gun in it was real.

"Any no-shows?" the vampire asked the zombie as the two got into a brief huddle to compare their clipboards.

"Dr. Ryan Everly," the zombie replied.

"He's Tim Callahan's date."

"Oh, that's right, Tim said he'd been called in to an emergency surgery." The zombie crossed off the name with a pen she clutched in her pallid, black-nailed hand.

Don made a quick detour to the restroom, mainly to hang around for a few minutes so as not to arouse suspicion when he gained entry to the party using the good doctor's name. How much more could he hope for than for Mr. Gladiator to be dateless? Not that he was above doing something underhanded to any competition to level the playing field, but it was one complication he could do without.

He walked out to the entrance where he approached the zombie.

"Good evening, sir," she said, smiling.

"Great costume," he commented, and her smile widened.

"Thank you very much! Same to you," she said. "Your name?"

"Ryan Everly," he said. "I'm really late," he added, trying to look sheepish, so she'd put two and two together, and get five, thinking he was Tim's late, contrite, date.

"We didn't think you'd be able to make it, Dr. Everly," she gushed. In a moment of horror that was scarier than her sunken eyes, he spotted Tim Callahan not ten feet away, his head swiveling around when he heard the name.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Bloody fucking hell.

Don forgot his predicament temporarily when he got a look at the man in the gladiator outfit. Sturdy legs, dusted in dark hair, just enough thigh showing to fuel his hottest fantasies about having those thighs wrapped around him in the heat of passion, broad shoulders and nice biceps flowing down into strong arms and beautifully shaped, manicured hands. While the front of the costume hid Tim's nipples, he could see some chest hair peeking out, and he could fill in the blanks with his imagination about the tasty little nubs that would lurk among the dark curls. He wondered if his mouth had hung open visibly as he found himself licking his lips.

"Tim, Dr. Everly made it after all," the zombie told him cheerfully, as if he couldn't see Don standing there for himself.

"Hey there, beautiful," Don greeted, going for broke, wondering if there was any chance with this guy. He wasn't just good looking, he was stunning. His smile made Don's knees go weak, and calling him "beautiful" seemed to turn the tide. His expression went from confusion to that amazing smile, and he walked toward Don.

"I thought you weren't going to make it," he said, linking his arm through Don's and walking with him back into the party. Then, smile still pasted in place, he asked in a hushed tone, "Who the hell are you and why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you."

"First our costumes are mysteriously switched - I distinctly remember picking this one out," he said, tugging on Don's sleeve, "then you show up at the costume shop at the same time I do, and now you're here, pretending to be my date so you can sneak into this party. If this is some scheme to get close to the senator or you're skulking around trying to dig something up on her or her staff, it stops now."

"I couldn't care less about the senator," Don protested. At Tim's raised eyebrows, he added, "I'm not into politics. It's not about her. It's about you."

"What are you? Some kind of reporter?"

"I'm a private investigator, actually, but that's got nothing to do with this."

"Of course not. It's all just a coincidence," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Fuck, he smells good. Don stuck his hands in his pockets to keep himself from touching one of those strong bare arms. "Who hired you?"

"No one. That's kind of what got me into this in the first place. I was going to enter a costume contest wearing that," he said, gesturing at Tim's costume, "to win some prize money. Business is slow right now. I wasn't following you."

"Then what? You want to swap costumes? I don't think we're the same size."

"I don't want to swap costumes with you." Don paused, sighing. "I wanted to meet you."

"Then we're back to you following me."

"Okay, I followed you, but just because I wanted to see how you were gonna look in that outfit."

Don waited while that registered. Tim stared at him.

"So you found out who I was, where I was going, and then crashed this party just so you could see me in this outfit?"

"Well, yeah," Don admitted. "That's not exactly all of it. The costume, I mean. I thought you were hot and I wanted to meet you. If you want me to, I'll leave, but I bet I can show you a better time than your doctor boyfriend."

"He's not really a boyfriend, just someone I've been out with a few times," Tim replied, and Don was surprised by the candor of it, and that he was getting a friendlier tone. "I don't think anyone's ever gone to such lengths to meet me before. Makes me feel a bit like a celebrity. With a stalker," he added, looking a little uneasy.

Don looked around the room. Couples were dancing, people were loading their plates from the buffet. "You want to dance?" he asked. "Even if I'm a stalker, what am I gonna do in a room full of people?"

"I suppose I can't argue with that logic," Tim replied, his expression moving back toward that smile Don was quickly becoming addicted to.

They found their place on the dance floor, and while they weren't the most coordinated pair in terms of their costumes, they certainly weren't the oddest. Just a few feet away, Freddy Krueger was holding Marie Antoinette in a close embrace as they swayed to the music.

"Ah, Halloween," Tim commented, and Don had to laugh.

"Might just replace Valentine's Day as the most romantic night of the year," Don said, making the move to lead their dancing, glad that Tim was comfortable with that. The singer was doing his rendition of "Beyond the Sea", the band keeping it up-tempo. His remark about romance seemed to bring a slight tinge of pink to Tim's perfect face, and Don wondered if he could be any more beautiful.

"I think this is the first time I've danced with someone when I didn't even know his first name," he joked, and Don laughed.

"Don Strachey."

"Oh, wait a minute, now I know why you look familiar."

"The magazine," Don replied, sighing, referring to the feature article in The Advocate that had brought him some recent notoriety.

"That photo didn't do you justice."

"Thanks," Don replied, grinning, pleased with the compliment. "It was this guy I was dating...he was in advertising, and he took it on himself to help boost my clientele. I've gotta admit, it's brought me some clients, but it seems a little weird to get them that way."

"A lot of people try to hire within the community, so if your name's out there, it's a service to them, too."

"Just seems odd that people think I'm better at my job because I'm gay, or in some cases, not as good at it. Or that it's weird I'm not a hairdresser or something instead."

"Somehow I don't see you as a hairdresser."

"I probably have hat hair now," he said, laughing, glancing upward. His hat was sitting on a cocktail table where he'd left it when they started dancing.

"That's not how I meant it." Tim laughed. "Your hair looks fine. I meant, you don't seem the hairdresser type."

"Is that good?"

"Just an observation. I would see you in an active, slightly dangerous profession."

Don could feel Tim's hand trying to discreetly feel up his biceps and his shoulder. That was a good sign. Don had been trying to figure a way to move his hand up from the middle of Tim's back to the part of his upper back that was bare, but there was no subtle way to do it. So he just went for it and ran his hand lightly over the soft skin on Tim's back. His dance partner shivered a little, and moved closer.

********

Just when Tim was feeling discouraged that Don was going to remain a complete gentleman, he felt a questing hand caressing the spot on his back that wasn't covered by the costume. He'd never been fond of one night stands, and never likely to take up with someone he'd just met, but there was something sweet and sincere in Don's striking blue eyes, and hopelessly romantic about how he'd tracked Tim down just from a chance encounter in a costume shop. He also didn't mind the firm curves of muscles he could feel under Don's shirt.

So he raised the stakes and moved closer, tightening his hold on Don, letting his caresses of that muscled arm and shoulder get a bit more obvious and aggressive. His nose was near soft blond hair that smelled of something fresh and herbal, blending with the cologne Don was wearing. Even though he'd still been suspicious of him at the time, there was something about Don standing there at the entrance to the banquet room, looking at him with an expression that could easily be called starry-eyed, and calling him "beautiful" that had taken Tim's breath away. It was as if he could see so much more in that moment than just a strange guy wearing his cowboy costume.

"You're a good dancer," Tim said against the perfect ear that peeked out from under the blond hair. And Don was a good dancer. He moved easily with Tim and the music, and he liked to lead. With those muscles, he could have led Tim anywhere.

"Just need the right partner," he said, and then he pulled back a bit to look into Tim's eyes. Before he realized what he was doing, he let his emotions and his attraction lead him, and he felt his lips meet Don's, then his tongue, as they shared a kiss that some part of Tim's sense of propriety was telling him didn't belong on the dance floor. He pulled back, a little flustered that he was making an inappropriate spectacle of himself in the middle of the senator's fundraiser.

"Was it something I did?" Don asked, smiling, but there was a thread of insecurity in his tone.

"This isn't the place," Tim said, looking around furtively. They'd drawn a couple brief glances from their fellow dancers, but now everyone seemed back to concentrating on their own partners and the festivities. The band was starting to play "Monster Mash."

"Oh, God, I wondered how long it would take them to get around to that classic," Don joked. "Hey, if I did something to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

"I kissed you, remember?"

"I kissed back. Enthusiastically," Don added, grinning a little devilishly. Then his demeanor, posture, and expression changed. "Is that guy on the guest list?" he asked, inclining his head to the right. Tim stole a look. There was a guy dressed up like a scarecrow making his way around the perimeter of the room, getting closer to where Senator Glassman was standing with a group of guests, talking and laughing.

"I don't recognize him, but his face is mostly covered with the costume. Why?"

"He's carrying."

"Carrying what?"

"He's armed. He's not one of your security guys?"

"Wait, how do you know he's armed?"

"There's a bulge at the back of his costume, right near the belt. Badly concealed gun."

"We have security, but he's not one of them. Our security is the vampire at the door - "

"No shit? He's security?"

"It's not like we ordinarily have a lot of action at these events. The other three are stationed around the room in various costumes, but none of them are scarecrows. I know what they're all wearing."

"Can you contact them?"

"I can tell Amos - he's the vampire. They can radio each other, so he can alert - "

"No time," Don said, leaving Tim standing there, stunned, as he nimbly wove his way through the crowd, drawing his own weapon. For a bizarre moment, Tim thought he was stark-raving insane and was going to take on an imagined bad guy with a prop gun that came with the cowboy outfit.

Tim alerted security, then watched as the scarecrow got closer to the senator, and Don was gaining on the scarecrow. The security crew were circling the room so the exits were secure, but only Don seemed to be actively pursuing the potential culprit. And then it was all happening so fast that it seemed like a dream, or a sequence in an action movie, but not reality. The scarecrow pulled the gun out from under the back of his costume, and as he raised it, Don was on him, propelling them both onto the buffet table, red punch and chilled shrimp flying everywhere, two gunshots sending the crowd into screams of panic as they began running every which way, trying to escape from the danger.

Tim snapped out of his shock and rushed to where the senator was being hustled away from the action by a couple of the guests she'd been visiting with when the mayhem broke out. She looked flustered, but was otherwise unharmed.

"Are you all right, Senator?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said. "Where is security? And why is Dr. Everly armed?" she asked, her eyes wide as they watched Don overpower the gunman, restraining him face down on the floor, straddling his back, with his arms pinned there.

"Does your security have any handcuffs on hand, if it's not too much trouble?" Don shouted. Amos the vampire was hurrying toward the mayhem, now that the threat was contained. He handed Don a pair of plastic tie restraints. "You think you could call the cops? I have my hands full," he added.

"He's not Dr. Everly," Tim said. "His name is Donald Strachey, and he's my date," he added, catching Don's gaze when he looked up. The slightly crooked smile that was quickly winning Tim's heart dispelled some of the grumpiness on Don's features. Then Tim frowned when he noticed the bloody scrape on Don's forehead. "You're bleeding," he said.

"Nothing serious," Don replied right away, his eyes staying locked with Tim's. "Recognize this prince?" Don asked, pulling the scarecrow mask off the subdued man beneath him.

"I do," Senator Glassman said. "About two years ago, he threatened my life after an investigation into misappropriations by the government contractor he was working for led to several arrests and the ultimate dissolution of the company. My office spearheaded the investigation. He lost his job, obviously, and his reputation was tarnished. I had a restraining order against him for more than a year, until it seemed the threat had passed."

"Theodore Sturgeon," Tim stated. He'd been an aide on Senator Glassman's staff at the time, but not her chief aide. Still, he remembered the unbalanced man who'd harassed the senator with threatening phone calls and e-mails.

"You ruined my life!" the man spat angrily. He was a tall, slender man with graying brown hair. "So you're gonna have to look over your shoulder for the rest of yours!"

"Not anymore, she doesn't, hot shot. You'll be cooling your heels in the joint for a nice long stretch," Don said, tightening the plastic restraints. "Did somebody call the cops?"

"I did," an Indian, complete with a feather in his headband, joined the group. "They're on the way."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You're security, right?"

"The vampire, the Indian, Frankenstein, and Elvira, Mistress of the Dark," Tim said, as the whole security force gathered there. Don arched an eyebrow at Elvira, wondering how a long, form-fitting, plunging black pencil dress would serve her while overpowering a perp. And why Tim had any qualms about cavorting around in a short gladiator costume. "Don, I don't know how to thank you. I didn't even see that guy," Tim added, his voice getting Don's attention away from the motley security team.

"Mr. Strachey, is it?" Senator Glassman said, extending her hand toward Don as he stood, leaving it to the security team to get the perpetrator on his feet and escort him, in his food spattered costume, to the foyer to wait for the police.

"Senator Glassman," he said, shaking her hand.

"That's all punch, isn't it?" she asked, referring to the red stains on his white shirt.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, smiling. "I guess this gives 'party crashing' a whole new meaning," he added, and the guests gathered around them laughed.

"He stepped in for Ryan. It was just easier not to adjust the guest list at the last minute," Tim said, linking his arm through Don's. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, and Don smiled at him again.  

"All in a night's work," he joked.

********

Don gave his statement to the police, and Theodore Sturgeon was led off in handcuffs. Thanks to the best attempts of the band and the country club's staff cleaning up and hauling away the destroyed buffet in record time, the party did continue, if not a bit subdued, after the violent interruption.

"I should probably clean up." Don looked up, and plucked a chunk of shrimp out of his hair. "That's just great," he said, laughing. "Got any cocktail sauce?"

"Just drag it through that stain on your vest," Tim suggested.

"Very funny," Don said with a snort, tossing it in the nearest wastebasket as they stood in the foyer. Then he touched the scrape on his head with a little wince.

"There's a utility closet in the back, with a sink," Tim offered. "Are you sure you don't need a doctor?"

"I've had worse, believe me."

"The least I can do is patch you up, after I got you into this," Tim replied, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at Don's forehead. Don was looking at him, enchanted. Then he grinned.

"Where were you keeping that, anyway?" he asked, gesturing at Tim's costume. After all that had happened, the skimpy costume seemed funnier than it had when he'd nearly had a meltdown in the costume shop. He laughed.

"There's a little gap in the waistband."

"I got news for you, beautiful. That ain't the only gap it's got," Don retorted. Tim felt his momentary relaxation about the outfit disappear.

"What's showing?" he asked, and he wondered if the color had drained out of his face. Don seemed to notice his distress, and instead of laughing at it, his expression turned sympathetic, and there was a gentleness and sweetness in his tone that melted Tim's heart.

"Nothing important, I promise," Don said. "Just a nice little glimpse of the goodies under the top half."

"Come on, let's get your head taken care of. I think I'm ready for this evening to be over," Tim said, leading the way toward the utility room. "That was some pretty impressive action out there," Tim said as they entered the little room that was more like a closet, with a utility sink, a few shelves of cleaning supplies, and a first aid kit. "Now there's luck." Tim handed Don the little kit while he wet some paper towel to wash the blood off Don's forehead. "Hold still."

********

Don smiled at the words. "I'm not going anywhere," he replied, savoring the closeness of Tim's body and the tight quarters they were sharing. He couldn't remember the last time someone had fussed over one of the numerous scrapes and bruises he acquired in his line of work. Usually he washed the blood off and if it kept bleeding, slapped some kind of bandage over it. Tim's gentle fingers were carefully cleaning his skin, even trying to clean the drying blood out of his hair.

"It's swelling a bit. That has to hurt. I wish we had some ice for it."

"Feels pretty good right now."

Tim set the wet towel aside, then dried the area carefully. "I couldn't get it all out of your hair, but I think I got most of it. You'll have to wash your hair later."

"Maybe you could give me a hand with that."

"Washing your hair?" Tim paused, and Don wondered if he'd misread Tim's body language, the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes. He was willing to bet Tim Callahan was a nice guy, the kind who didn't usually hook up for one night stands, and didn't sleep with someone he'd just met. Then Tim slid his hand into Don's hair, letting it slip between his fingers. "Your hair is like silk," he said, his voice husky with what sounded a lot like desire.

Don went for broke then, pulling Tim against him and kissing him, deeper and harder than he'd tried on the dance floor. He wasn't really prepared for Tim's response, which was to push him back against the wall and return the kiss with an eagerness and passion that left no doubt that he shared Don's attraction. Tim grasped Don's shirt and pulled it out of his pants, making him scramble to get his arms out of the vest and the shirt sleeves as he pulled it open, sending buttons flying. Some tiny part of Don's mind fretted over how he was going to get dressed again, but it was quickly overcome as the discarded garments landed on the floor, and Tim pulled Don's undershirt over his head and threw it to join them. His hands were running up and down Don's back while his mouth was exploring Don's chest, kissing and licking, sending jolts of pleasure as his tongue swirled around Don's nipple.

He pulled at the leather of Tim's costume. "How does this thing come off, anyway?"

"It's pretty easy," Tim replied, breathless, but smiling. He fumbled with the shoulder straps that held the upper part of the costume in place, and to Don's delight and amazement, they detached from the chest section of the costume easily, sending it down like a big flap.

"Holy shit," Don muttered, before pulling Tim back into his arms and nuzzling his neck, inhaling, kissing his neck and his collarbone and rubbing his cheek against the soft, dark chest hair that had been lurking behind the costume. Tim's hand was in his hair and he was kissing Don's cheek and his temple, wherever he could reach while Don explored the contours of what he considered the most amazing chest he'd ever seen. He'd fantasized about tasting him, taking those tasty little nubs in his mouth, and now he did that, not sure if Tim's little gasps of pleasure or the taste of him was better.

His hands pushed at the waist of the costume, while Tim's hands were adeptly unfastening his belt and unzipping his fly. Before he knew it, his pants and shorts were around his knees, and Tim's hands slid around to cup and squeeze Don's cheeks, pulling his naked groin against the leather of the costume. If he hadn't been so determined to get under that skirt, he could have come right then.

"It opens in back," Tim said against his ear right before he stuck his tongue in it. All Don needed was a little direction. In a moment, the gladiator skirt was around Tim's ankles, and Don was rubbing off against the bulge that was straining the fabric of the taut Speedo that was the last article of clothing left between them. In a swift gesture, Tim took care of that, yanking them down to mid-thigh.

They shared more kisses, settling in to a shared rhythm, rubbing against each other. Don wanted to reach down to relieve the desire, jerk off, or better yet, jerk each other off, but that would have meant sparing a bit of heat between their bodies, or taking his hand out of Tim's hair or off his ass. He just didn't have enough hands to spare one.

So as Tim pressed him against the wall even harder, he hooked his leg around Tim's thigh and pulled him even closer, and the increased pressure made them both gasp and cry out. In moments, they were coming, and then they were sagging there in each other's arms. As they looked into each other's eyes and smiled, there was a sharp knock at the door. Thinking faster than Don's sex-fogged brain was working, Tim reached over and carefully pushed in the button to lock the door.

"The door was unlocked?" Don whispered, his eyes bugging.

"I'm sorry, Don, I was just planning on cleaning up your forehead."

"Speaking of cleaning up," Don commented, looking around them.

"Tim, are you there?"

"Oh, my God!" Tim whispered. "It's Senator Glassman!"

"Answer her."

"What?!"

"Answer her. She knows you're in here, or she wouldn't be knocking on the door."

"Be right out," he called.

"Is everything all right?"

"Fantastic!" Don called out to her, and Tim's eyes bugged.

"Are you insane?" Tim whispered, sounding a bit more hysterical.

"Just getting my head patched up!" Don added.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Better than ever!" he replied, sounding way too happy for a guy who was supposed to be having a head injury tended. Meanwhile, he yanked his pants up and started trying to salvage his shirt, stuffing it into the pants and zipping them while Tim pulled the bottom half of his costume up and when he had trouble fastening the back, Don just grabbed his hips and turned him around, fastening it for him. They both worked at getting the top half of the costume put back together.

"Your holster's gone," Tim said, pulling up his Speedo under the gladiator skirt.

"My gun's in there. Shit!"

"I'll wait for you in the foyer," the Senator said, and Tim could hear her walking away.

"She knows."

"She knows we were doing something in here." He opened the first aid kit, found a piece of gauze and some tape and slapped it haphazardly on his scrape. "Gotta make the story look valid."

"That looks like a five-year-old did it," Tim commented.

"Well forgive me if I didn't do a great job bandaging my own wound after I just had great closet sex."

"It was good, wasn't it?" Tim asked, grinning.

"It was so fucking good I didn't notice my gun was missing."

"Funny, I thought you fired a few pretty good shots."

"Sexy and a comedian, too," Don retorted, finally locating his holster in the utility sink. He shook it off a bit and re-buckled it around his waist.

"We smell like...like..."

"Fucking with a splash of faded cologne. Just keep your distance from the senator."

"Do I look all right?"

"Baby, you look so fucking hot - "

"I meant do I look put together again to get out of here?"

"Timothy, relax," Don said, taking a hold of Tim's shoulders, trying to ignore how good that warm skin felt under his hands. What was bothering him now was how flustered and embarrassed Tim was with the whole situation. This wasn't the first time he'd had a quickie in a dark place with a hot guy, but this hot guy was different. He actually still wanted to be around him even after scratching the itch. "I'll take care of Glassman."

"How? You don't even know her!"

"I just saved her life. That oughtta get me some brownie points. And you, by association. Shit, half my buttons are gone," he said, trying to button his shirt.

"You called me Timothy."

"What?" Don frowned, finally shrugging. "Close enough."

"Why did you call me Timothy?"

"That's your name, isn't it?"

"Yes...but..."

"If you don't like it, I won't do it again."

"No, no...it was nice," Tim said, and then he smiled and cocked his head a bit. "You called me something else tonight that was nice, too."

"I did?" Don asked, having a feeling he knew what it was, but he didn't want to give up Tim's shy little smile an sweet uneasiness in bringing it up.

"You called me 'beautiful'," he said softly. Then he looked into Don's eyes.

"It's the first thing that comes to mind when I look at you," Don replied, smiling, touching Tim's cheek. "It was the first thing I thought of when I almost ran head on into you at the costume shop."

"I don't usually do things like this," he said, and the color in his cheeks just made him more beautiful to Don.

"I know. I'm glad you did it with me."

"So am I."

"Come on. We'll make our excuses and get out of here."

"What are we going to say that could possibly explain how long we've been in here?"

"You've already come out of the closet once in your life, Tim. How hard can it be now?"

"You're impossible."

"And shameless," he replied, waggling his eyebrows.

********

If Senator Glassman suspected something more than first aid was happening in the utility closet, she didn't challenge them on it. She thanked Don again for his keen powers of observation and his willingness to jump in, literally, and save the day.

"I think I've had enough excitement for one evening," she said as her escort for the evening arrived with their coats. "I'm sure you two have as well," she said, giving Tim a look. Tim felt a cold sweat sweep over him, and wondered if he turned a deeper shade of red than the cocktail sauce stain on Don's battered costume.

"I'm sorry if we held you up," Don said. "I was a little dizzy," he said, touching the lopsided bandage. "Tim was just waiting with me until I had my land legs again."

"You should see a doctor, Mr. Strachey," she said as her date, a distinguished looking man with graying dark hair, helped her with her coat.

"Yeah, I'll probably get checked out tomorrow. Right now I'm just going to settle for going home to bed." He flashed Tim a look that was enough to keep the blush going.

"Well, good night, and thank you again," she said.

"Good night, Senator," Tim said. "Mr. Platt," he added, shaking hands with her date, who nodded and smiled. After they left, he looked at Don. "That was a nice save until you added the going to bed part."

"What? I'm injured," he added. "You can't leave me wandering around injured and alone." Don gave him a look that rivaled the best sad puppy eyes. "Come on, I did explain why it took us so long to come out of the closet," Don wheedled, standing in front of Tim, slipping his fingers into the waist of Tim's costume on each side and tugging him closer.

"Not here," Tim brushed his hands away. "I have to get my coat."

"I'll get it." Don took the claim ticket and went to get Tim's coat. A moment later, he was back with the dark topcoat. "This'll be cute with your sandals."

"Oh, shut up," Tim replied, but he was laughing as Don held his coat for him. There was something about Don's devilish blue eyes and big grin that he couldn't resist, as much as he wanted to. "Hey, what time was the costume contest at the Parthenon?"

"Midnight, why?"

"It's only 11:45. If we hurry, we could still make it. You showed up, stepped in for my missing date, and saved my boss's life. I'd like to help you win that prize money."

"You'd enter the costume contest?"

"Well, I think given the condition of your costume, I'd have a better shot at it." Tim paused. "Do you think I'd have a chance at winning?"

"Yeah, you've got more than a chance," Don said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Then let's get going." Tim wasn't sure he liked the idea of parading around in that outfit again that night, but if Don had been planning to do it, he must need the money. While Tim's job paid well enough, he didn't have an extra thousand dollars lying around to show his appreciation. "Did you drive here? I took a taxi."

"In this outfit?"

"Don't remind me," Tim replied, smiling. Don's car was evidence that he wasn't rolling in the dough as he fought with a jammed passenger door to open it for Tim. When he did get it open, he hastily threw a few things in the back seat and then brushed off the seat before stepping back for Tim to get in.

"Sorry. Probably not what you're used to if you're dating a doctor," he said. His tone was light but he looked a little self-conscious, and that bothered Tim. A lot.

"Like I said, we've just gone out a time or two." He touched Don's shoulder. "I don't choose my friends or my dates based on the cars they drive."

"That's good luck for me, then," Don replied, laughing softly.

Don got in and after a few attempts, started up the car. He drove toward the Parthenon, and found a parking space about a block away from the club. Tim took off his coat and left it in Don's car as they got out of it and joined other costumed party goers who were heading for the club.

A couple of men let out loud wolf whistles as they passed Tim, and one of them gave him a thumbs up before heading into the club. Don grabbed Tim's arm, pulling him back.

"Let's just forget about this," Don said.

"I'm already getting good reviews," Tim joked.

"It's a zoo in there. We probably won't even get signed up in time. Let's just go."

"Most of these people are probably going in for the contest. We'll make it."

"I changed my mind, all right?"

"Well...yes, of course, if you don't want to go in, we don't have to."

"Good. Let's go."

"Hey, nice costume!" a middle-aged man dressed in a safari outfit hollered.

"Fuck off!" Don shot back, and Tim found himself a bit shocked at the aggressive fire he saw in those beautiful blue eyes as Don stared down the other man. Apparently deciding he didn't want a fight, the other man hurried into the club, and didn't look back.

"Don, what's wrong?" Tim asked, concerned, and startled.

"Have you ever been in that club before? It's a pick-up joint."

"A couple times, once for a friend's bachelor party, and one other time with some friends for some happy hour thing they had. It's a little wild, but nothing I couldn't handle."

"You want a bunch of sweaty, horny guys whistling at you and gawking at you?"

"What? No, I don't want that. I wanted to help you win the money."

"Well, there are a few things more important than money." Don looked into Tim's eyes. "You're a nice, classy guy, Timothy. And I don't want you in that place with a bunch of guys leering at you and trying to...peek under your skirt or something."

Tim almost laughed at those last words, but the seriousness of Don's expression kept him from making light of it. Most of the guys he dated tried to get him to loosen up, take things less seriously...come across a little more readily. And here was Don, with whom he'd had the kind of hot, steamy encounter he'd never had on a first date, defending his honor and treating him with a level of respect that cultivated the seeds of some very important feelings that were growing in his heart for the man who was fumbling to explain his chivalry.

"It's okay, Don," Tim said, smiling, taking his hand. "I had other plans for later anyway." He regretted saying it that way when Don's face fell visibly. "I promised to help you wash your hair, remember?"

"Yeah, I do now," he said, grinning, squeezing Tim's hand.

"I have a feeling you're a really special guy, Donald Strachey," Tim said. "Maybe one of a kind," he added.

"Some people might say that's a blessing," he replied, still smiling.

"Then some people would be wrong," Tim said, then he leaned in for a kiss. It deepened and they wound their arms around each other. There were a few more whistles and cheers from partygoers, but this time it made them laugh as they parted. "I have a nice selection of shampoos at my place," Tim said.

"I bet you do, beautiful," Don said, looking at him with what Tim could only think was love, as impossible as it was that Don could feel that way about him that fast. Then again, Tim was having some feelings for him that were starting to strongly resemble love.

********

Don drove them back to Tim's apartment building, somewhat relieved he hadn't had to take Tim back to his place. It wasn't that the apartment was all that bad, or that he hadn't taken dates back there before, but Tim's place was in a nicer part of town and Don was reasonably sure there wouldn't be dirty underwear in a pile on the bedroom floor. Tim Callahan just seemed the type who would have a tidy, stylish hamper in the bathroom for such unsavory things. Don wasn't really a terrible housekeeper, he just wasn't a very good one.

The apartment was in a nice complex of several three-floor buildings with brick and stone exteriors. Tim led the way up to his second floor unit and unlocked the door, flipping on a light switch that illuminated a small foyer. It cast a dim glow farther into the living room, which was as neatly kept and nicely furnished as Don imagined it would be. Everything was in neutral shades of tan, beige, or green, with some attractive framed art on the walls and some nice-looking lamps, vases, and other trinkets. Don wasn't a lamp, vase, and trinket kind of guy. He had lamps, but not nice ones, and he never seemed to think of the kinds of accents that made a dwelling really look nice and coordinated and easy on the eyes.

"Nice place," he said.

"Thanks," Tim replied, smiling as he hung his coat in the small closet near the door. Don wasn't wearing a coat and he'd abandoned the cowboy hat in the car. Of course, he'd had everything else off at least once that night... "Are you hungry? You didn't get much to eat at the party."

"I think I'm wearing more than I ate," he joked, wandering into the living room, looking at framed photos that were on a table behind the sofa. Tim turned on a couple of the lamps. "You must have a big family," he said, since there were quite a few pictures of happy people, some of them including Tim, others not.

"These are my parents," he said, referring to a picture of a distinguished older couple.

"You look like your mom," Don said.

"I think so, too. So does she," he added, smiling. "This is my younger sister, Kelly, and this photo over here," he said, pointing to a picture of a bunch of guys in ski sweaters, including Tim, "is of some of my friends from the seminary."

"Seminary? You were a priest?"

"Not quite. I jumped ship before becoming a priest, but that was the plan for a while. I still go skiing with a few old friends every winter. The rest of these are from various events I've been part of in the last couple years. Notice the camera smiles and handshakes," he said, and he was right. Tim was in photos with a number of important-looking people, including a former president.

"Wow."

"Ironically, I met him at a function I attended with my family. Conservative Republicans."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, it makes for some interesting Thanksgiving dinner conversations."

"At least you have them."

"My parents?"

"No, conversations with them."

"My father is having more trouble with my politics than my sexual orientation," he said, smiling. "I'm hopeful my mother can wear him down. He barely talks to me at all. My mother's a different story." Tim paused. "Are you in touch with your family?"

"Nope, not for years."

"I'm sorry."

"You mentioned food?" Don asked.

"I have some leftovers if you want to just raid the refrigerator, or we could order a pizza."

"Whatever you want. I'm pretty easy to feed."

"I made lasagna last night, so I can reheat some of that. Stupid to make it for one person, but I had a taste for it."

"You can cook?" Don asked the question before he realized it was coming out of his mouth. He just couldn't believe anyone who was hot, sweet, sexy, handsome, and single, could also cook.

"I manage," Tim replied. "Why?"

"Just wondering exactly how perfect you really are," Don replied, grinning at him.

"Far from it," Tim said, chuckling and shaking his head.

"I was thinking maybe we could put eating on hold for a little while."

"Sure."

"You did promise to wash my hair." He slid his arms around Tim's waist and kissed him. "I've been really looking forward to that."

"You have? Then I'd be a terrible host to keep you waiting any longer. The bathroom's this way." He took Don's hand and led him down a short hall to a moderately sized bathroom. The tub was nothing out of the ordinary, but the showerhead was one of those oversized rainfall showers. Tim slid the glass door open and started the water. Then he turned back toward Don and plucked the ragged looking gauze bandage off his forehead, tossing it in the wastebasket.

"Hey, I did a good job on that considering the circumstances."

"The scrape isn't very big, but it's going to be a nasty bruise. I'll get you some ice later." Tim paused and looked at Don, who was looking into his eyes, smiling. "What?" he asked, puzzled.

"Guess it's just been a while since somebody worried about stuff like that," Don said, his voice soft. Tim touched the back of his head with a gentle hand and kissed his forehead.

"If you were my partner, I'd worry about you all the time." Tim's voice was a bit hushed, too. "Probably drive you crazy," he added, smiling.

"Nobody giving a shit if you end up dead is no picnic, either." Not sure why he'd spilled his emotional guts so easily, he couldn't look into Tim's eyes after that. He had to sound so fucking pathetic.

"Well, then we're in luck, aren't we?" Tim asked, his tone cheerful and he flashed Don one of those gorgeous smiles of his and then adjusted the water temperature in the shower. Don had no idea how someone could be so sensitive to him, so intuitive about what he needed. "I guess there's not much to feel self-conscious about now," he said, unfastening the top of the gladiator costume.

Don got to work at stripping away the remnants of his stained and somewhat mangled cowboy outfit, anxious to be close to Tim again, and in a setting where they had some time and some privacy.

Just as Don was about to move in on a newly naked Tim, Tim frowned and took a hold of Don's arm. There was a good sized bruise forming there.

"What did you land on, anyway? I didn't think shrimp could bruise you."

"I think I caught the edge of that giant bat made out of ice," Don replied.

"Sorry, that was my idea."

"It looked nice on the table. You didn't expect someone to jump on it."

"No, you have me there."

"I'd rather have you here," he said, pulling Tim in for a long, leisurely kiss.

"How about in there?" Tim inclined his head toward the shower. It was already getting steamy in the bathroom and they hadn't even gotten under the spray yet.

"Even better."

The tub with the glass shower doors closed was tight quarters, but that was fine with Don. Tim had some kind of good smelling shower gel and a loofah handy, so they doused the loofah with the gel and started making suds on slippery skin, tracing each other with their hands, learning every intimate curve of each other's bodies.

Don had showered with someone before, but it was mostly a means to an end. And while they were washing away the stale traces of their earlier encounter, and getting heated up for their next round, it was the first time he loved the experience itself. Touching each other, playing around with the loofah and soaping each other up, finally washing each other's hair, Tim's fingers infinitely gentle around the slightly tender part of Don's head.

He realized then he'd never actually savored the intimacy of it, taken his time caressing anything he could reach - the sexy places and the more mundane places. Washing a long, graceful, sturdy arm before it wound around him and pulled him close for more kisses. Letting his hands map the expanse of shoulders and back, licking and kissing at the wet, tender skin of his lover's neck. It was almost a surprise when their shared friction made him come, and his climax seemed to excite Tim to his own.

Even though it wasn't a very efficient way to get dry, they played around with toweling each other off, letting themselves get sidetracked by kisses, nibbles and touches. Tim finally tugged on Don's hand, leading him into the bedroom. It was a nice room with a king size bed covered with a satiny bedspread that looked like it was beige or tan or some similar color. The only light was spilling in from the hall, and Don honestly didn't care about anything else in the room except Tim and the bed.

Tim threw back the spread and covers in a gesture that was almost dizzying in its swiftness, and pulled Don down with him onto the cool, smooth sheets. Expensive sheets, definitely not the kind Don usually picked up at the discount store when his toe poked through a hole in the ones he had.

He was getting hard again, not able to remember the last time he'd come three times in one night with one guy. Tim was kissing his chin, his jaw, along the curve of his throat. Don rolled them so he was on top, kissing and licking his way down Tim's chest to his belly.

"There's stuff in the drawer."

Don hoped that meant Tim was offering what Don thought he was offering. He opened the drawer of the night stand and took out lube that didn't look like it had been used before, and a condom out of a nearly full box. He didn't want to read too much into that. Just because the supplies didn't look like they were frequently used probably only meant they were recently restocked. He couldn't believe the beautiful man laid out on the bed didn't have a long line of lovers at his command, and that his bed or his night stand supplies didn't see regular action.

He coated his finger with the gel and then took Tim's growing erection in his mouth, sucking him while he eased his finger into the hot tightness of his body. Tim's knuckles turned almost white as he gripped the sheets, gasping and letting out a little cry of pleasure. His free hand cupped warm, heavy balls, working them gently, his finger teasing and stroking Tim's prostate. Sensing Tim was getting close, Don added a second finger, gently stretching, since Tim seemed a little tight.

Withdrawing his fingers, he moved up to look into Tim's eyes, slowing things down a minute to kiss him. Tim started to turn over, but Don stopped him.

"I want to look into those beautiful eyes of yours when I make love to you," he whispered, kissing him again. Tim smiled then and his whole body seemed to relax under Don.

Entering him was intense. Don didn't know if he was tight because he was nervous or if he really didn't do this often. He took it slowly, stroking Tim's cock and kissing his chest while he eased inside. When they were fully joined, he stayed still a moment, leaning over Tim, kissing him.

"Relax, sweetheart. I just want to make you feel good."

He felt warm, strong thighs wrap around him, and he started to rock gently. It was so much better than the flash of fantasy he'd had when he first laid eyes on Tim in that gladiator costume, when he'd thought of what it would be like here, now, doing this. They were caressing each other and kissing, their movements slow and easy. Tim felt so hot and tight and good around him, both inside and out. They were both moaning and breathing harder, and soon the pace quickened thanks to their urgency building with each move.

Don took in the sight of Tim's body arching, the sound of his voice as he cried out, stroking Tim's cock as he came. Don couldn't hold back any longer as the waves and shudders of Tim's climax reverberated through his own body.

As they lay there, quiet in the afterglow of the moment, Don almost feared opening his eyes. He expected Tim to be gone and he'd be alone in his own bed, having made wild passionate love to his right hand. When he did open his eyes, Tim's eyes met his, and they smiled at each other.

"Wow," Don said, and Tim kissed the end of his nose.

"Sweet talker," he joked.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

  
"No, I'm fine."  Tim was quiet a moment.  "I don't do this very often."

"You don't seem like the one night stand type."  Don smiled, stroking Tim's chest.  "You deserve better."

"It doesn't get a whole lot better than this."  He caught Don's hand and kissed it, holding it close to his heart.  "I'm not big on one night stands, that's true.  I also don't bottom very often, so it's been a while."

Don lay there quietly, mulling that over.  Timothy was gentle, cultured, elegant...and a top?  But Don was a top.  Usually. 

"Are you still awake?" Tim asked.

"Uh, yeah, I'm awake."

"You like to be on top, too.  I kind of gathered that when you were leading on the dance floor."  Tim was smiling when Don looked up at him.  "It's okay.  I like it both ways."

"You do?"

"With the right person, pretty much anything is good."  Tim smiled and kissed the top of Don's head.  "We can draw straws or something if you want," he said, humor in his voice.

"Dr. Everly missed a really good evening."

"He's going to be missing a lot more of them, I hope," Tim ventured, sounding a little nervous. It pierced Don's heart that his beautiful lover could feel the least bit nervous or unsure of him, that he would feel uncertain offering Don a chance at more than just one date.

"He's toast," Don said, kissing Tim again. "I don't play well with others and I don't share."

"Really?"

"Timothy, I'm no doctor. And honestly, at fancy parties? I was much happier chasing a perp and knocking over the buffet than I was mixing and mingling."

"We can work around that," Tim replied, smiling. "I don't like guns."

"I promise not to wear my holster to bed. Unless you want me to. I don't have much money."

"Money can't buy you love."

"Is that what this is?"

Don felt his heart pounding, like his whole life rode on the answer to that question. One word could lift him to the stars or drop him into a bottomless pit. If Tim rejected him now, he wasn't sure he wouldn't spend the rest of his life stalking him, a slave to unrequited...well, on his part, it felt a hell of a lot like love.

"Kind of crazy, isn't it? I mean, people are together a long time sometimes before they even say the 'L' word. We don't even know each other."

"I'd say we've made a pretty good start."

"I wasn't talking about the Biblical sense."

"I know I'm probably not the kind of guy you usually go out with."

"You're right. You're someone entirely different and very special. I think there's a lot about you that would be interesting to know."

"Let's just play it by ear, and after say, twenty, thirty years, you don't like what you see, you can feel free to dump me."

"That's a long trial period." Tim smiled and kissed him.

"By then, hopefully you'll feel sorry for me because I'm old and give me a break."

"What if I need forty or fifty years to be sure?"

"The specific terms of the deal are negotiable." Don snuggled against Tim, who rubbed his back in long, slow strokes.

"I kind of liked it when you defended my honor outside the Parthenon."

"You've got honor worth defending, beautiful."

"I think I might love you."

"What do I have to do to seal the deal?"

"Love me back?"

"Already done."

********

Todd took the mail out of the store's mailbox and unlocked the front door, turning on the "Open" sign. The costume shop was transformed for the Christmas season into a flashing, twinkling, tinsel-laden assault on the eyes, since they sold seasonal merchandise throughout the year to supplement the costume business. The good news was, they'd rented out a record number of Santa suits so far.

After plugging in all the decorated displays and turning on the Christmas music, he stood at the counter and sorted the mail. He was surprised to find a Christmas card addressed to him in the middle of the pile. He opened it and a color snapshot slid out. It was Don Strachey and Tim Callahan in sweaters and jeans, arms around each other, standing in front of a house that looked like it needed a lot of work. He knew they'd been dating ever since the Halloween party.

Inside the card, the cover of which was a red front door with a big green wreath on it, under the printed greeting, was a handwritten note.

Todd,

Don and I wanted you to be the first to see our house. We're moving in together in time for Christmas. Thanks for screwing up our costume orders! Watch the mail for a New Year's party invitation.

Merry Christmas!

Tim & Don