Stranger in Moscow

"Michael?" he heard his name called through the doors.

"What is it?"

"Can anda come here?" Michael paused and then reentered his bedroom.

The sight that hit him was a dream. Stray candles all around his room had been lit, his patio doors had been opened letting in the fresh storm air, and there, in the middle of his own bed, was his biggest and darkest fantasy. Mark's masculine figure was lying, bare, with his sparkly comforter pulled just high enough to make Michael's head spin.

"Mark...," Michael whispered. Mark looked back at him with such eyes. Michael knew what he wanted now for sure; it was...