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bathed in silvery light that crisscrossed his face with striking shadows Drawn Together
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    created by the unusual guardrail of the round stairwell. Yamane shook his head to clear it.
    Rory was beautiful. There was something honest and compelling and safe inside him, and Yamane responded to it without thinking.
    Yamane reached out a hand. “You’ve got something on your lip,” he murmured, rubbing it gently with his thumb.
    “What?” Rory froze.
    “Me,” said Yamane, closing the distance for a kiss. Yamane kissed Rory tentatively at first, but then, when he found no resistance, he deepened his kiss, stepping into Rory’s body by coming down a stair.
    He hadn’t planned a kiss; it came to him spontaneously to do it when he saw the way Rory was looking up at him. He twined his fingers in Rory’s hair and used his thumbs to stroke his high cheekbones. He even coaxed the shocked boy’s mouth open and stroked his tongue gently against his perfect white teeth. Finally, he broke contact and ran up the stairs.
    He may have been brave enough to kiss Rory, but he didn’t have the courage to face the aftermath of that act. He made it to the top before Rory had a chance to react.
    Rory’s knees buckled, and he sat down hard on the concrete step.
    Yamane’s voice floated back to him from the walkway above. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said, “and next time, try to use very specific language.” Rory thought he heard light laughter.
    “Well,” Rory murmured through his hands, which he held over the mouth that had been well, truly, and expertly kissed by a really beautiful man. “Amen to that.” 22 Z. A. Maxfield
    Chapter Four
    Rory sat in the shadow of the stairwell for a long time. Eventually, he heaved himself to his feet and turned around to walk, not toward the hotel, but back toward the businesses from which he came.
    What the hell was that?
    He took off along Shoreline Drive, crossing the street at the light rather than using the overpass. He ambled aimlessly past the restaurants and shops, past the convention center, the Terrace Theater, and finally the arena. He reached the farthest parking lot and the safety of his car. Rory didn’t bother opening the car door, sitting instead forlornly on the hood.
    If Ran-sensei saw him as an idiot, why did he spend any time on him at all? If he wanted a boy toy, well… Rory truly thought he’d covered that ground. His biggest problem, as he saw it now, was that his clothing and some of his personal belongings were in that hotel room, and he was loath to go back. Setting aside his reaction to that kiss -- which didn’t bear scrutiny -- he felt going back was like…asking for more. Now, he had to decide if he could afford to leave everything in that hotel room behind.
    The layer of evening mist hung in the sky, obscuring the stars, with the moon a dim light hidden behind its curtain. Rory thought it must be full to be glowing that brightly despite the amount of moist air obscuring it. Rory enjoyed the feel of the cool night air on his face. Unlike the gulf, the air here was balmy but light, not oppressive like the humidity he was used to. He could almost sleep here right on the hood of his car. He probably would have had he not been invited to Yamane’s hotel.
    It was time to face facts. The situation wasn’t anything more than slightly embarrassing. He wasn’t in danger. Unless Ran Yamane was the master of some kind of queer fu, he posed no threat to Rory. Probably. Rory touched his hand to his lips, and immediately the memory of Yamane’s lips on his returned to him, startling him with its sensual intensity.
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    Crap, crap, crap. He jumped off the car, sighing deeply, and began the walk back to the hotel. In spite of that kiss -- or maybe, a new and quiet voice nagged, perhaps because of it --
    the only thing he couldn’t leave behind in that hotel room without a backward glance was Ran Yamane.
    As he neared the hotel on the street level,