Gunther didn’t immediately respond and Keith realized he’d gone too far so he added, “That’s just about the only thing that would make me feel okay about today.”

Gunther sat up and then stood up. Keith stared down at the mottled brown carpet, expecting the other man to take his coat and go. He heard the rustle of fabric.

Soon I’ll hear the click of a hotel door closing, Keith thought. Instead he just heard more rustling. He glanced up and to his astonishment realized that Gunther had shed his sport coat and tie. His cuffs hung, unfastened, while he worked the buttons of his dress shirt open.

Stupidly, Keith asked, “What are you doing?”

Gunther pulled a slow smile, looking him straight in the eye as he shrugged out of his shirt. He wore a white undershirt that molded to his flat abdomen. His biceps and forearms bulged, angular masses of muscle. “I’m preparing to make you feel better about today.”

Keith gave a dry laugh. “Okay, nice one. You got me. How about we get Thai takeout from that joint around the corner?”

“Afterward.” Gunther stepped out of his shoes and unbuckled his belt.

With a weird mix of pleasure and fear, Keith realized Gunther wasn’t joking. He said, “I don’t have anything…for that.”

“I do. Inside pocket of my overcoat.” He dropped his pants. Even in white boxer-briefs and black dress socks, Gunther looked amazing. He didn’t keep either of those on for very much longer, though. Nor did his undershirt remain in place. Naked, Gunther’s pale body seemed like it could have been cut from paper. His legs were heavily roped with muscle. Though his chest was mostly bare, a fine line of dark hair ran from his navel to his groin. His cock, like the rest of him, seemed perfectly proportioned. Long, uncut, and resting on a pair of the most even testicles Keith had ever seen.

Gunther stepped closer. Keith set his ice pack aside and rested his hands on Gunther’s hips.

Gunther shuddered and murmured, “Chilly.”

“Sorry.” Keith ran his palms up over Gunther’s abdomen, then around to his back, sliding down over his round ass, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing the tender inside flesh.

Keith watched Gunther’s face as he gently explored Gunther’s body. “You really were perfectly made.”

“Through no effort of my own, unfortunately. But thank you.” Gunther rested his hands on Keith’s shoulders, spreading his legs slightly, allowing Keith greater access. Gunther’s cock was fully erect now, the head bobbing very near Keith’s face. He nuzzled the shaft, cheek pressed against Gunther’s abdomen.

Gunther said, “I hope you will invite me into your bed soon.”

“In a minute.” Keith caught the head of Gunther’s cock, sucking it, tasting it. Now that he knew Gunther was trans-goblin he half expected some vile Zippo fuel flavor to assault his senses and kill his desire. But Gunther tasted just like he had before. He tasted just like he looked—perfectly human, while simultaneously being inhumanly perfect. Gunther arched into him, just slightly.

Keith stood and nibbled Gunther’s lower lip, sampling that flavor too, though he’d never truly forgotten it. How could he? Spicy, fragrant, rich, and slippery. Luscious as drawn butter. Gunther’s lips parted, soft and passive to Keith’s explorations. His hands rested lightly on Keith’s sides, as if they were waiting to receive a permission slip before even attempting to touch Keith’s chest.

Keith supposed that that was exactly what Gunther was waiting for, given Keith hadn’t even loosened his tie. Cheek pressed against Gunther’s throat, he said, “Lay down with me.”

Gunther said nothing. He merely climbed onto the mattress and stretched out on his stomach as he had numerous times in the past.

At the small of his back, Gunther had a tattoo. A small triangular blackwork design with a point that dipped down toward the cleft of his ass. It was just about the last thing Keith expected to ever have the pleasure of seeing again, but once he did, he could not get his clothes off fast enough.

Face resting on his folded arms, Gunther watched. He said, “I have a condom in my inside jacket pocket.”

Keith picked up the jacket, felt inside the pocket, and laid the foil packet on the bedside table, along with a small tube of lube. He lay down next to Gunther and ran his hand along the other man’s back till he reached the tattoo. He traced the inked lines, wondering what, if anything, they meant.

Keith had tattoos of his own. He’d never met a chef who didn’t. His were slightly more embarrassing, though piecemeal, work that dotted his body like pictures scattered from a scrapbook. On his right shoulder, a Jolly Roger from his pirate phase—on his left, a Celtic maze, and on his inside left forearm, a line of black stars stretching from his wrist to inner elbow—a remnant from his club period.

“I always liked this.” Keith gently traced the lines of Gunther’s tattoo.

“It’s goblin script.” Gunther looked slightly embarrassed. “It’s how you write the word ‘love.’ I got it on my eighteenth birthday.”

Keith chuckled, ran his hand down over the curve of Gunther’s buttock. “And you say you’re not rebellious.”

“It’s my one and only display. I’d seen a picture online of a man who had a tattoo right there and I thought it was beautiful so that’s what I got. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be called a tramp stamp.” Gunther smiled up at him from under his lashes. “Will you still kiss me?”

“Why not?” Keith bent to press his mouth against Gunther’s. The other man’s lips were hot and soft and supple. Keith didn’t think he’d ever kissed a man who seemed so relaxed and willing to let him take the lead. The very compliance seemed suspicious. Why in the world had Gunther taken his ludicrous bait? Had their positions been reversed, Keith would never have offered his own body—especially not to a guy like himself, with such questionable views and obvious anger issues. It seemed impossible that they should be here together this way. And yet, here they were.

 By nature Keith was not a rough or aggressive lover. He never had been. He’d played at it, sure. Lied about it to the straight guys he worked with who didn’t really understand that being gay wasn’t about plundering ass after ass after ass—not to him anyway. He’d bragged with some bravado over slaying this or that twink at the bar. But inside he’d never thought about sex that way and he couldn’t think about it that way now. He gave it his best, turning the ritual of condom and lube into teasing play, taking time to make sure Gunther was comfortable, relaxed, and overall eager to accept him into his body. Keith murmured small compliments, telling Gunther how beautiful his body was—how hot inside—as he lay, chest pressed to Gunther’s back, fingers entwined with his temporary partner’s, hands flexing and contracting, mirroring the push and pulling of their bodies.

Gunther responded with more generosity, if it was possible to supersede the hospitality of allowing Keith within his body.

Keith wound his arm around Gunther. Feeling Gunther’s questing hand, he laced their fingers together once more.

Friction became slick heat and he could no longer tell where his skin ended and Gunther’s began. Dizzying scents and sensations flowed through him. The carnal pleasure of Gunther’s skin far exceeded anything he’d ever known before or since he’d last had this man. Whether it was a trick of his goblin flesh or actual love, Keith did not know and he did not care. He thrust into Gunther’s responsive flesh, kissing and consuming him as if he’d been starved and alone for years only to stumble upon some lush, wild bacchanalia.

No number of kisses or fevered thrusts seemed adequate to slake Keith’s craving. He longed to consume Gunther utterly, selfishly. Gunther bucked back against him, then began a tense and shuddering climax. The beauty of seeing Gunther’s pleasure, feeling the other man’s delicious hunger, drove Keith to the blinding, inarticulate edge of sheer avarice. Then all at once ecstasy was upon him, rolling through his taut muscles, drawing tears from his eyes.