* * * * * * * * * * * *

The long, sleek car sped on towards the windmill. The two passengers sat in silence, one glaring through the window, the other gazing at him with something approaching contrition.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan..."

Sporting an impressive black eye and a spectacular bruise which was spreading across his left cheek and purpling nicely, Jonathan Creek gave an abrupt "Hmmph!" and then continued to stare, purse-lipped, out of the car window.

Adam Klaus sighed. "Well I'm *sorry*, Jonathan, but you insisted..."

Silence.

The American magician tried again. "I told you to keep well out of the way, but you wouldn't listen."

Yet more silence.

"I *told* you it was a dumb idea to stand so close to the machinery, but *you* knew better..."

Jonathan shrugged inside his duffel-coat and pointedly ignored him. Adam looked away, sucking in his cheeks as he drew on his Havana cigar -- then exhaled, while Jonathan coughed. He shook his head. "Jeez, I know you're some kind of prestidigitational genius, Jonathan, but *sometimes*..."

Jonathan shot him a withering glance and then returned his attention to the passing scenery.

"I know your friend Maggie thinks you're wonderful -- "

"It's Maddie."

"Okay, *Maddie*. Maddie thinks you're pretty damn smart, Jonathan, and most of the time I agree with her. However. How much of a dweeb do you have to be not to realize that getting hit by a heavy wooden pole will *hurt*?"

"I wasn't *expecting* it to hit me."

"Well no, you *wouldn't*," Adam replied acidly. "That's an easy mistake for *anyone* to make. You stand in front of the apparatus just as the stage-hands pull on the swing-bar to bring it into position -- and you just happen to walk *right in line* for a direct hit. Can't imagine why anyone should think that might be in any way dangerous..."

At last, stung, Jonathan took the bait. "It was *my* trick, Adam; all I wanted to do was make sure that it was going to work. From where *I* was standing it didn't look as if you'd got the timing right."

"So you decided to interfere -- "

"I *didn't* interfere. I just wanted to be sure."

"*Interfere*, Jonathan."

"Oh all *right*, then! I *in-ter-fered*."

"Thank you."

"I *interfered* because I wanted to be sure that you weren't going to make a total prat of yourself if it all went wrong."

"I see. Well, I thank you for that kind deed, Jonathan."

"Yes -- and look where it got me!" Jonathan prodded gingerly at his wounded face. "It's lucky it didn't take my eye out!"

"Awww..." Adam's face assumed a puppy-like air of sympathy. "And you have such a nice eye, too. *Both* of them, in fact."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"I got you the finest medical treatment in the Home Counties, didn't I?"

"After trying to worm your way into the knickers of the entire nursing staff."

"A little charm works wonders."

Jonathan stared at him, half appalled, half admiring. "*Nothing* ever ruffles you, does it!"

An unruffled Adam shrugged and spread his hands. "I'm a magician, Jonathan. Being unruffled is part of my job."

"Yeah, well -- crapping yourself on stage while your pet tiger mauls your lovely assistant wouldn't improve your image much."

"Are you *kidding*? Ranjit's no shy, retiring soul, Jonathan. One out-of-line *purr* in her direction and that tiger will be growling falsetto for weeks."

"Sounds as though you're speaking from experience, Adam," Jonathan remarked smugly.

Adam looked uncomfortable. "Game girl, Ranjit; game girl."

Jonathan sniggered. "Did you offer to show her your magic wand again?"

Adam looked pained as Jonathan continued to chuckle. "You *wound* me, Jonathan -- you really do." He looked out of the windscreen as the car slowed, and stubbed out his cigar. "Ah. We're here."

The car pulled up and Jonathan bundled himself out of it and started across the field towards his windmill.

"Jonathan! Wait for me!"

Jonathan turned. "What's the matter?"

"What's the -- *nothing's* the matter. Jeez, Jonathan, can't I stop by for a drink with the man who's made me what I am today?"

Jonathan raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You were an oily, libidinous prat before we met, Adam. That had *nothing* to do with me."

"*Jonathan*..."

Adam was doing his injured fawn look again. Much against his better judgment, Jonathan relented.

"Oh, all right then," he said, calling back briefly over his shoulder as he trudged towards his front door. "I'll go and put the kettle on." He turned back as he heard the car pull away and saw Adam picking his way cautiously across the field in his expensive, hand-made shoes. "'Ere! What's *your* game?"

"Mmmmn? Oh, it's no problem. I'll call him to pick me up when I'm ready to leave."

Exasperated, Jonathan jammed his hands into his pockets. "Aren't your staff allowed to associate with the likes of me, then?"

"Let him go, Jonathan. I don't want him over-hearing. I wanna talk business."

"Oooh! Scared I'm going to sue you for my injuries, are you?"

There was that pained look again. "You have *such* a low opinion of me, don't you, Jonathan."

"Are you surprised, given how long I've worked for you? I know you too well." He let out an exasperated groan. "Oh for God's sake, Adam -- don't give me that helpless, cow-eyed look."

"As your loyal employer, the very *least* you could do is treat me with a little dignity."

"Dignity? *Dignity*? This from the man who once got an elderly elephant with a heart condition and Irritable Bowel Syndrome stuck under a stage? The man who, when said animal expired, arranged for half a dozen other pachyderms to trumpet The Last Post at her funeral?"

"Well, Jonathan, accidents happen. *Shit* happens."

Jonathan chortled in agreement. "*Mmmmm*. I remember. Every time the heating goes on in that theatre the memories come flooding back." He gave two ostentatious sniffs and then wrinkled his nose.

"*Jonathan*..."

"All *right*, I give in! There's only so much I can take of you looking like Bambi's cute older brother."

"I'll take that as an apology, shall I?"

"If you like." Jonathan furrowed his brow.

Adam looked dignified. "From you, it's the best I can expect. Now. Can we go in?"

Jonathan shook his head, the long curly hair tumbling over itself. "You like to live dangerously, don't you, Adam? I don't think you've ever set foot across the threshold before." He put his key into the lock, turned it, and then pushed open the door. "Come on, then. And wipe your shoes before you come in."

"Jonathan Creek, you are a gracious host indeed," smiled Adam, obeying before following his employee through the split stable door.

"Tea, coffee?" Jonathan shrugged off his duffel-coat and hung it on a peg. "Horlicks? Flat caffeine-free Diet Coke?" The kettle was on and two mugs ready on the work-top before he became aware of the lack of response. He rubbed each ear-hole and then tapped them gently. "Have I gone deaf?" He turned round -- and his mouth dropped open. "*Champagne*, Adam?" He raised an amused eyebrow. "To what do I owe *this* unexpected pleasure?"

Adam looked pleased with himself and waved a hand in a self-deprecating fashion. "A mere token, my dear Jonathan, to say thank you for all your hard work."

"Yeeessss... Gratitude's not your strong point, Adam. I can see now why you didn't want *this* to be seen in public."

The kicked puppy look returned to the bright blue eyes, sitting well with the hurt expression on the older man's open, boyish face. "I really don't like this streak of cynicism in you, Jonathan."

"Me? Cynical? I was a positive little ray of sunshine until I came to work for you, Adam." Jonathan's hazel eyes widened as he gave Adam his best admonishing stare. It had much the same admonishing effect as that of a slightly annoyed hamster. "So I wonder what went wrong, mmmm? Where did I get *that* from?" And then a thought tapped at his brain. "Much like your Dom Perignon, in fact." He looked from the bottle to Adam and then back again. "I take my hat off to you. How did you do *that*?"

"I *am* a magician, Jonathan."

"Yes, but -- *where* did you secrete it?"

"Trade secret."

Jonathan pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Hmmmn. *Warm* champagne. And you still expect me to drink that?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know *where* it's been..."

Adam sighed, and shook his head while Jonathan cackled. "You Brits and your Carry On... movie T and A jokes..."

"Don't knock it! *Ooh, Matron*!" he added, in full Kenneth Williams camp. "It's all part of our cultural heritage, Adam."

"*Ich*..." Adam's expression soured with distaste. "Here. Take this. Though now I'm not so sure you deserve it."

Jonathan thawed. "Nice of you to bother, though, Adam. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Jonathan."

There was an interesting timbre in Adam's voice, Jonathan noted. Almost a *purr*, he mused, as he rootled about in a cupboard looking for suitable glasses for champagne. And as for the way Adam had said his name... "Hmmmmn..."

"Mmm?"

Jonathan closed the last unit door. "Have to go up to the top floor. Have to make do with sherry glasses, I'm afraid."

"I don't...*see* you as a sherry drinker, somehow."

Jonathan's mouth stretched briefly into an apologetic grin. "I keep it for guests. Come on. Upstairs."

"I bet you say that to all the girls..."

Adam followed Jonathan up the stairs from the kitchen, through the bedroom and then into the windmill's living area. As the circular room rose slowly into view, the American's jaw dropped.

Every available surface was covered with magical memorabilia. Framed posters, including one of an Edwardian female Harlequin, another for Wallsend Borough Theatre and a Hall of Mirrors sign hung on the walls and from the ceiling, along with magical apparatus and other exotic paraphernalia. Books on every aspect of magic imaginable, from medieval grimoires to the secrets of close-up magic filled huge bookcases and Gothic cabinets. Ring-binders labeled with every kind of illusion stood in neat, alphabetical order, along with a polished wooden card-index and specimen cabinet. Masks and antique filigree Indian lanterns hung from the roof beams and ceiling. A reproduction of Tutankhamen's gold and turquoise mask looked down from a ceiling curve. Old statues in wood and porcelain depicting magical themes, and what seemed like every other possible item relating to the practice of magic, were arranged haphazardly: everywhere Adam looked there was something new and extraordinary to catch his eye.

Every surface contained *something*, including magic boxes, models, and glass balls. Items on the floor included a large coloured globe, a bust of a Negro wearing a red and white striped throw, and some large cushions and rugs; while another rug was thrown over one of the roof beams. The big metal wheels used as part of the mill's operations now served as storage space for books, toys, what looked like a large glass slipper, a white plastic souvenir of Tower Bridge and an old Airfix model of a classic four-funnelled ocean liner. Japanese swords hung from the mill's central pillar, along with antique mirrors and other odds and ends. In a Chesterfield arm-chair sat a faceless wooden mannequin, looking like a Tim Burton Pinocchio -- and a wooden bust of some indeterminate human figure bearing a tray loomed over Jonathan's work-bench.

The work-bench was the last thing Adam's brain managed to take in. Like the rest of the room it was chaotic, yet left Adam in no doubt that Jonathan knew where everything was. Along with the expected pencils, paint-pots, pens, masking tape, varnish and storage tins were a kaleidoscope, a couple of small dolls, a vice, model theatres, giant dice, feathers, a box of tiddly-winks, a hack-saw, several chocolate bar wrappers, a fake gun, a half-eaten packet of salt and vinegar crisps, a tube of Pringles and an original plastic model of a red Thunderbirds rocket.

The room's decor and its intimate nature as afforded by the darkening sky beyond the windows made him feel that he'd stepped back in time to the study of a Victorian illusionist. It was clearly the abode of an obsessive, and yet there was also the faint suggestion of an Arabian Night's bazaar -- and Adam could only stand and stare in genuine awe and admiration.

"*Jonathan* -- I'm...*totally* lost for words... This is...*extraordinary*. *Jesus*..." He began to walk around the room, his fingers touching each artifact reverently. "I never *knew*, Jonathan. Well. I guess I should've expected *something* like this -- I just never suspected... Why have you never *said* anything?"

Jonathan, hands in pockets, merely shrugged and smiled bashfully.

Riffling through the files and books, Adam looked at him, then jerked his head in the direction of some of the more noteworthy items. "A schmuck like Copperfield would *kill* for some of this stuff...hell, I'm not sure *I* wouldn't be tempted... You must've been born outta time, boy."

Jonathan smiled again. "I've always been fascinated by the golden age of illusions. When Maddie and I first met I told her that I was born a hundred years too late."

"Yeah, maybe...but what would *I've* done without you, kid?" Adam's eyes drifted over Jonathan. "But I can *imagine* it," he continued softly. "Those angelic curls, a frock-coat, and with your mind -- you would've knocked 'em dead."

" -- And would I still have a lecherous old roue for a boss?" Jonathan grinned.

Adam grinned back, accepting the description. "Why break up a winning team?"

Jonathan grunted. "With *my* luck he'd probably turn out to be Jack the Ripper."

Suddenly lightning struck. "Jeez, that gives me an idea!"

"Eh?"

Adam was inspired. "It's got legs -- as a concept, it's got Elle MacPherson's."

Jonathan caught on. "To go with your Psycho routine?"

"Well, why not?"

"I think the question of good taste comes into the equation somewhere." Jonathan set out two sherry glasses. "Though why change the habits of a lifetime?"

"Are you suggesting I don't have good taste"

"What do *you* think?"

"I employed *you*, didn't I? Here, give me that bottle." With an ease born of long experience, Adam opened the champagne and began to pour. After filling both glasses he picked one up and raised it in salute. "To Jonathan Creek: without whom I'd be nothing."

Jonathan touched his glass to Adam's, then took a thoughtful swallow. "Adam, is this your sick, perverted and twisted way of telling me I'm fired?"

"What -- and watch my career disappear down the john? *Please*."

"So why *are* you here?"

Adam sank down onto the Chesterfield sofa, taking in the clock with a wooden case like a castle tower and turret on the window-sill behind him. "Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan..." he sighed, running a hand over his short dark hair. "Do I really need a *reason* to want to spend some time with a valued employee?"

"*Yes*," replied Jonathan firmly, lugging over a floor cushion and settling down on it. "You never do *anything* without an ulterior motive, Adam."

Adam looked hurt. *Genuinely* so, Jonathan thought with surprise. "Is that *really* what you think of me?"

"Let's just say that I've known you long enough now to know that you're a crafty bugger, Adam. What is it that you're after?"

Adam shrugged, apparently having regained his characteristic bounce. "I've been thinking," he began.

"What about?"

Again, Adam shrugged. "Well, you and *me*, to be exact. You know, Jonathan, we never really talk about *anything* but the business any more."

"I don't think we ever really did," Jonathan replied, taken aback. "Unless we include your romantic entanglements."

Adam refilled their glasses. "Why don't you come and sit up here where you'll be more comfortable, Jonathan?"

"I'm quite comfy down here, thank you..."

Adam patted the seat beside him. "C'mon..." he purred. "You know you want to..."

For a moment Jonathan studied his employer -- then shrugged, gulped down his second sherry-glass of champagne and joined him on the sofa.

"There, now," Adam soothed, pouring out another glass from the out-sized bottle. "That's *much* better, isn't it?"

"*Hmph*..."

"Now Jonathan... Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, mmmm?"

Jonathan ceased his unaccustomed enjoyment of the taste of this delicious champagne and goggled at Adam. "You want my *life* story?"

Securing an elbow against the back of the sofa and resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Adam gave Jonathan a coy look. "Well, as much as you'd *care* to tell me, Jonathan..."

Bemused, Jonathan sucked down more champagne and Adam poured another replacement. Jonathan wasn't known for throwing alcohol down his gullet, but this champagne was so tasty and unusually moreish that he couldn't help but throw back the glassfuls he was being poured. Besides, they *were* only drinking from sherry glasses -- and he doubted that Adam would *really* shell out on anything as expensive as *quality* champagne just for a little chat with him.

It was also slowly beginning to occur to him that perhaps Adam wasn't drinking *quite* as much champagne as he was, but Jonathan's head was beginning to swim and he wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not. "Well, what would you like to know?"

Adam made an eloquent gesture with his hand. "Whatever you like. Tell me about your mom and dad, perhaps."

That intriguing purr was back in Adam's voice, but Jonathan was having even more trouble than before in defining it. "They both live in America now," Jonathan began, then hiccuped. "My mum -- Sally -- is a doctor. That's probably why I -- *huck* -- 'm such a hypochond-driac now."

"Well, it always pays to be on the safe side. They say a creaking gate never falls off -- 'cos it gets oiled. Or something." Adam frowned. "I'm not sure I've remembered that right... But you are *one* creakin' gate who's *sure* gettin' oiled!" he chuckled, sotto voce, as Jonathan knocked back another glass of champagne and held out the sherry glass for more.

"M-my mum's a doctor, an' my dad's a lecherer -- no -- a *lecturer*," he informed Adam as the American poured more wine. "Th-thang you... Huh-he lechers in epidim-epidemiology at a university."

"Whereabouts in the US are they now?"

"'N Phh-Philadelphia," he replied, carefully enunciating each syllable.

Adam chuckled and adopted W C Field's characteristic drawl. "On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia..." he quoted.

"*Hic*..."

"Do you miss them, Jonathan?"

Jonathan pushed a fuddled hand through his tangled chestnut curls. "Bit. Sometimes. We were never close, but -- mmmm, sometimes..." He held out his glass. "M-*hic*-more, please..."

"Your pleasure is mine," Adam replied smoothly, pouring champagne.

"Thang you. Y-you know, anyone would think you're trying to get me *drunk*, Adam!"

Adam put the bottle down. "Perhaps I am," he purred.

Something began to register in Jonathan's brain. "*Why*?"

Adam shrugged. "Oh, so that I can seduce you without you creating a lot of fuss..."

Jonathan blinked at him owlishly. "You're 'avin' a *laugh*, aren't you?"

"No." Adam was suddenly serious. "No, I'm not."

Jonathan stared at him, then rubbed furiously at his curly hair. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm following this at all. I don't understand..."

"Jonathan..." Adam regarded him coyly. "Don't pretend that you don't *know*..."

"Ai'm *not* pretending," Jonathan burbled in reply. "But I seem to be ver', ver' drunk and nothing's making a lot of sense..."

"Jonathan," Adam began, "what do you *think* I just said?"

Jonathan's brow furrowed. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so intoxicated. "You -- you said something about being seduced..."

"Yes, I did. *You* are."

"I am what?"

"You are being seduced. I admitted that I'd been plying you with champagne so that you wouldn't offer up too much resistance when I seduced you."

"You -- want to -- seduce -- me..." Suddenly Jonathan stared at him. "You want to seduce me?!" he exclaimed.

"Yes I do," Adam replied calmly. "Do you have any objections?"

"I think it's stretching the boundaries of the employer-employee relationship a bit," retorted Jonathan, blustering a little. He rallied further. "And as for having to get me drunk first -- I think that's disgusting! I'm not one of your chorus line bumbims, you know!"

Adam sighed, and stroked Jonathan's hand. "Oh Jonathan, I've hurt your feelings, haven't I... And by the way, it's *bimbos*, not 'bumbims'."

"Bumbims -- bimbos -- whatever... I'm not an easy lay, Adam!"

"I never thought you *were*. But so far you haven't raised any other objections to the idea, Jonathan..."

"Well I am *now*!" Jonathan blustered. "It's *ridiculous*! You see an attractive woman and -- *BOING*! -- your prong reacts like a divining rod over water. I've spent most of my *career* with you getting my arse kicked through fighting off your bloody women. You don't have a homosexual bone in your body!"

"Don't I?"

Adam's voice was much too cool, calm, collected and amused for Jonathan's ease of mind. "Look, you have elaborate women throwing themselves at you all the time -- you should think yourself lucky!"

"Oh, but Jonathan, that gets so *boring*!"

"*I* should be that lucky," retorted Jonathan. "And if you're *bored* with gorgeous women falling at your feet, I'm buggered if I want to provide you with a taste of something different." And then he thought about one of the words he'd just used, and blushed furiously. "Well, you know what I mean. If you want to perk up your jaded palette with something of a homosexual nature, then I'm sorry, but this is one thing that most definitely is *not* in my job description. You can get your bi-curious jollies with someone else, Adam!"

His employer merely favoured him with his best "little boy lost" expression. "But I don't *want* to get them with someone else, Jonathan..."

"Why *not*?"

Adam stroked Jonathan's cheeks with his finger, taking care to be tender when he touched the technicolor bruise. "Because I don't want -- *wouldn't* want -- anyone but *you*, Jonathan."

Jonathan was beginning to feel uncomfortable -- and it wasn't just because he found the idea of all this unpleasant and distasteful. Or *thought* he did. In fact, there was something happening in his boxer shorts that he was doing his best not to think about at all. "Why -- " His voice came out as a falsetto squeak, and he coughed. "Why not?"

"Because I *trust* you," Adam replied simply. "At the end of the day, you're the one member of my entourage who sees through all my bullshit and doesn't put up with it. You're the only one who *really* understands me. We're alike, you and I -- we both *adore* magic and we both get a real kick out of a trick that we've sweated blood over coming together. Above all, I know you'd never betray me. Oh, I know you think I'm an inveterate, insatiable womanizer, but I have a *heart*, Jonathan."

"But this is still stupid," grumbled Jonathan, sipping more carefully at the remains of the champagne in his glass. "You don't *go* for blokes."

"You're right, I don't. But I do go for *you*, Jonathan..."

Jonathan stared at him. "Do what?"

"I go for *you*, Jonathan. I want you."

"Want me?" Jonathan stared at him stupidly.

"Want you. Sexually. Carnally. *Desperately*."

"But why *me*?" Jonathan demanded weakly, suddenly finding those wonderful blue eyes all too much for him to cope with.

"Because you're a very attractive young man," Adam replied simply. "Intelligent. Witty. Dry sense of humour. Attractive. That sweet little rose-bud mouth and that complexion like full-cream milk. That delicious lisp. Broad shoulders I can hang on to and hair I could get lost in. Do I make myself plain?"

"Very."

"And what's your reaction *now*?"

<*Panic*,> Jonathan thought immediately. This was all far too much for him to take in: particularly when he realized that the idea of going to bed with Adam Klaus wasn't as dreadful as he might once have thought...

"So, Jonathan... Would you be prepared to go to bed with me?"

"Do I get the sack if I say no?"

"Do you *want* to say no?"

Jonathan tried glaring at Adam, but he doubted if he looked any more intimidating than custard. "What do *you* think?"

Adam merely smiled knowingly. "I think you're a trifle confused. I don't think you *do* want to say no..."

"Really?"

"No."

And then Adam leaned in, grabbed a handful of Jonathan's tousled chestnut hair, and kissed him, full on the mouth.

* * * * * * * * *

At first, Jonathan was stricken with disbelief and sat stock still, rigid with shock, as Adam's mouth moved gently against his.

<This isn't *happening*!> he thought. <Adam is *kissing* me! He's -- *he's got his hand on my thigh*!>

And he was *still* trying to ignore the growing activity in his boxer shorts...

Adam lifted his head for a moment, then kissed Jonathan again -- and to the surprise of them both, Jonathan responded, closing his eyes and moving his lips against Adam's, happily parting his lips for Adam's exploring tongue as the fingers wound in his hair pressed their faces closer. Adam's hand moved further up Jonathan's leg, stroking the inner thigh and brushing his knuckles against the growing hardness at the younger man's crotch.

Jonathan moved instinctively against the other man's touch, and reached up to cradle the dark head in his own hands. As one the two men moved closer until their bodies touched, and then settled contentedly, kissing and touching and stroking each other until the outside world started to disappear.

For Jonathan this was all too much to take in -- or at least it would've been if he could've been bothered to worry about it. For all his bluster and objections, and his natural reluctance to feel anything other than vaguely amused disbelief at Adam's antics, this was actually very, very pleasant. Adam was an extremely good kisser, and the practiced touch of his mouth, hands and fingers made Jonathan feel cossetted and cared for, rather than part of an experiment.

And then, as Adam's tongue began probing rather more deeply and his hands found Jonathan's sensitive nipples and fledgling erection, it occurred to Jonathan that Adam was actually rather too good at this for it to be wholly an "experiment". And if he didn't know better, he could almost be persuaded that Adam cared far more for him than he'd actually admitted.

Now *there* was a thought to conjure with: could Adam Klaus, inveterate womanizer of this and many other parishes between here and Reindeer Falls, Alaska, actually be -- but no, his mind balked at it.

Yet the thought wouldn't go away. *Was* it possible that -- for all his skirt-chasing ways, Adam was actually in *love* with him?

* * * * * * * * *

Before long, Jonathan was half-delirious with the combined effects of champagne and kissing. When he and Adam finally broke apart, Jonathan lay sprawled on the sofa. "This is one hell of a way to be given your P45," he sighed.

Adam looked both hurt and annoyed. "Will you *quit* going on about getting the sack, Jonathan! You are *not* being sacked."

"No?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Promise. You are *not* going to be sacked. Quite the reverse, in fact."

"Really?"

"Um-hm. I'm going to give you a raise..."

And then he reached down and unzipped Jonathan's jeans, reaching inside and sliding his fingers under the waistband of the boxer shorts to tease Jonathan's eager erection.

"Talk about a magic wand," Adam chuckled wickedly, sliding his hand up and down the pulsing shaft, making the prone man whimper with pleasure before releasing the swollen organ.

"What are you going to do now?" sighed Jonathan happily.

"Just you wait and see," replied Adam, as he led Jonathan back down to the bedroom.

* * * * * * * * *

His skin a mass of flame where Adam had touched, licked and kissed it, Jonathan lay back on his bed covers, arms above his head, and gave himself up to wallowing in the glorious sensation of Adam's mouth and tongue working methodically on his throbbing penis and his hands carefully palming the tender balls beneath.

Curious that he'd never thought of Adam in this light before -- or that Adam doing this to him could ever have felt *so* wonderful. Somehow, he didn't think that this was a first time for Adam: he was altogether too good at it...

He reached down and combed his fingers into Adam's short dark hair as he broke off to mouth Jonathan's balls and then returned, sighing contentedly, to sucking the rigid organ standing proud and clamouring for attention. God, this felt so *good*, Jonathan thought, closing his eyes and moaning as Adam's fingers found the tight puckered hole between his buttocks. So good...so *unbelievably* good. So...*right*.

And then his hips were bucking upwards, ramming himself inelegantly between his employer's lips as he came, crying out and filling Adam's mouth with salty semen...

* * * * * * * * *

The next thing he remembered was Adam settling down beside him and taking him in his arms. Jonathan snuggled up against the warm body and ran his fingers absently through Adam's chest hair whilst grinning up at him with an expression akin to that of the Cheshire Cat on Class A drugs. He didn't even mind tasting the flavour of himself when Adam kissed him with long, slow, leisurely thoroughness and extravagant sweeps of his tongue. In fact, he doubted if -- short of the application of a crow-bar -- he'd be able to get rid of his ridiculously satisfied smirk for at least a week.

And *Adam* looked pretty pleased with himself, too -- and not without reason...

As Adam pulled him closer, Jonathan couldn't ignore the thick, heavy cock now prodding his belly in a rather over-familiar fashion.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Adam?" he asked, looking down pointedly. "How are you going to make *that* disappear?"

Adam merely smiled. "I have plans," he purred.

"Such as?"

Adam gave a low, slow chuckle. "Turn over and I'll show you..."

Jonathan was no fool, and laughed as he obeyed Adam's instructions. "You'll be telling me next that it won't hurt a bit..."

"Not if I'm careful," Adam replied, kissing a broad, pale shoulder. "Trust me, baby boy," he smiled.

Jonathan looked back over his shoulder, ruffled his curls and chortled with delight as Adam produced a tube of gel and began smearing his cock with it. "You're not about to swim the bloody Channel, you know!"

Adam remained unperturbed and began anointing the tight little rosebud between Jonathan's upturned buttocks. "You'll thank me for this," he retorted, slapping the inviting cheeks gently.

"Okay, I'll believe you. So *now* what?"

Adam grinned, then smiled seductively. "*Now* I get to show you my very *favourite* disappearing trick," he replied...

* * * * * * * * * * * *