A Prompting - 2. To Sleep, to Dream, and Hunger

"Hot damn, he’s gorgeous!" Max had never seen a man more strikingly masculine: long, dark, shoulder-length hair of loose ringlets fanned out from his head to lay upon the pillow on which his head rested, an unlined forehead sloped to heavy brows lined with thick, combed eye-brows, long lashes, broad nose – nostrils seemingly flaring in the act of sensual overload, and full, dusky, rose-colored lips. The neat, full beard couldn't hide his sharply defined jaw and strong chin, and added contrast to the beautiful sun-kissed, mocha color of his skin.

"What do you mean . . . he?" Gorge asked. He thought Max—was gorgeous, and couldn’t help the twinge of jealously he felt. Possessiveness and hope, he still harbored after the two weeks they’d spent fucking their brains out - Max fucking his brains out - six weeks ago, and was slow to leave, and matched his feeling of loss.

Before Max could offer an answer, Macy butted in, "Have any of you noticed the number of suites stationed around the hall?" Having a head for these sorts of things, it struck her as odd before any other of the group of friends noticed.

"It looks like two of them are headed directly for us." Janice, Macy's hot, love-you-for-life girlfriend, announced.

"Shit, we just got here and we're already in trouble." Gorge's diminutive best friend, and some-time worry wart, Aleck, who was often enough the instigator of the trouble they two often found themselves in, complained.

"I've got to get closer to him," Max said. He was oblivious to anything, aside from an unexpected and sudden desire to touch the sleeping beauty on the raised altar. The shrouded form of the man set his nerves to tingling; his body couldn't be clothed, every inch of flesh and muscle was outlined by the thin, sheet covering and clearly, nothing lay between the cloth and the man's prominently outlined sex. Max wanted to touch him so badly he trembled with the need.

"Excuse me, Sir." One of the suits grabbed hold of Max's right arm just as he began to unconsciously step toward his greatest desire. Max's body quivered at the touch.

"What . . . Who . . . What's goin' on?" Max cried out. He blinked several times rapidly before shaking his head, chasing smoke and cob-webs from his mind. "Who are you?"

Aleck, Macy and Janice all began talking at once, as if on cue, and drew an audience from those around them in the hall, people turned at the disruption the noise created. Only Gorge held back. The second suite threw his hands out in the universal symbol of, whoa – quite down – shut-the-fuck up, and pumped them up and down to emphasize the point.

"If you will all be calm, I can offer an explanation," said the man trying to shush them. The noise slowly tapered off allowing everyone, but Gorge, to catch their breath.

"You better," and because the little green thing reared up in his head—with the same breath—Gorge turned to the man holding onto Max, "and get your hands off him!" He spoke through clinched teeth. He couldn't help it; he wanted what he couldn't have. Desire colored all of his thoughts when Max was involved.

"No sir. Right now, your friend is better off with me having hold of him." The man looked around at the crowd with his eyes, making the group follow the movement. Once he was sure they were aware of their surroundings again, he continued. "If you'll follow Agent Thompson and me," he gestured to his partner with the free hand, "we can help you better understand the situation. I'm Agent Peters."

"FBI?" asked Macy.

"Yes ma'am," replied agent Thompson. "Please, if you will, this way." He held his arm out toward the direction he intended. Agent Peters, leading Max, was the first to step out. Macy reached out and grabbed Janice's hand and they followed just ahead of Gorge, who then quickly walked forward to be ahead of them and close to Max. Aleck frowned at first, but he followed and agent Thompson then brought up the rear.

The crowd parted, and they continued to stare and whisper to each other, as the small group made its way across the Science Museum hall to a side door, where another agent stood guard. He waved them through. They continued down a hall with doors set at intervals, on either side, that ended with a single, open doorway leading to a small, open area containing an elevator door on the left side. Taking the elevator up, in two smaller groups, they ended one floor up and in another hall running perpendicular to the grand hall which ended in a turn back toward the hall. An open doorway stood facing them leading to a mezzanine and the hall visible beyond it. Agent Thompson walked briskly toward the opening and spoke softly to another agent, who stepped aside, before turning back to the group.

"Would you, please step through," he said before stepping aside. Agent Peters led Max through first and everyone else filed through only to bunch up in a little group just inside the doorway. They were tense and not a little scared of the situation thrust upon them.

"Excuse me," said a gray-haired man of to their right, getting their attention. He wore glasses, a brown-wool jacket, light-colored shirt and dark slacks and he stood facing them—offering the first smile they'd seen since the whole incident began. "I'm Professor Michaels, and you must be wondering why you've been brought up here under such, rather mysterious circumstances?" Before anyone could speak, he continued, "But before I explain, would you be so kind as to walk over to the railing?" He gestured, and like a grouping of meerkats, every head turned at the same time, and not a one of them blinked.

The professor smiled to himself at the stunned response of the friends and then led the way over to a glass railing. The group followed and Max stiffened upon sighting the figure on the false-altar. The professor noted the action and eased over to stand between him and the rest, and advising the agent to stand by the entry.

"As you can see, we have an excellent view of our famous friend," the professor spoke to no one in particular. "This is the third venue in which, he, has been exhibited."

"What do you mean 'he'?", Max used air-quotes, and "Of course it's a man," he said.

"Yes, under that sheet lies a man, my young friend. But not everyone sees this, especially so . . . definitely as you. Shall we ask your friends what they see on lying on the table?" The professor turned back to the others and raised his question with Janice first.

"It's a beautiful women. I don't know what you or Max are talking about," Janice said. "It's supposed to be Sleeping Beauty after all." The professor quickly glanced back at Max to find his eyebrows scrunched together and looking rather perplexed. He turned back and raised an eyebrow at Macy.

"I'm Macy," she said, introducing herself. "I see an androgynous looking individual. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. Whatever, you say male, but pretty and I don't see a particular sex." She looked at Gorge and Aleck. "What do you think, Gorge? Aleck?"

Gorge walked over to where Max stood looking heatedly down at the figure just as he did on the grand hall floor. "I see the same thing as Macy does."

"This is crazy!" Aleck said overloud. Everyone turned to focus on him. He continued loudly, drawing further attention to himself. The agents moved closer to him as well. "That–that person–thing can't be different like that. That's crazy talk!"

With everyone distracted, Max did some crazy of his own. With both hands, he pushed himself up and over the railing to plummet down onto three men, who had at that moment walked out from under the mezzanine. The crowd drew back in shock before a few of them began taking steps back toward Max and the men he landed on.

Max half-crawled and -rolled off the men to stand, looking this way and that to get his bearings, he growled showing teeth. The crowd pulled back and then turned away quickly only to jam up against those behind them. People began pushing and shoving and it blocked those FBI agents on the floor who were trying to get through. Pandemonium broke out, people fell and others screamed, and everyone pushed and shoved to get away. Max's friends stood on the mezzanine looking down, in shock and afraid for him.

It was then, with the parting crowd, Max saw the altar holding his destiny. He was for him, and no one would stop him. He ran, and when he reach the waist-high glass enclosure around the altar, he leapt over it. Breathing heavily, he looked down at the body and face of his future, and reached out to place his hand on the figures chest.

Nothing happened. Max almost whined in desperation. 'Why wouldn't his beloved wake?' Only seconds later, a warmth could be felt under his palm, and then the chest rose and fell and Max turned his face up to the ceiling. "Yes!" he shouted triumphal.

The body below him shivered and Max looked upon the face. Brown eyes flecked wildly with gold looked knowingly back at him and Max shivered as well and he leaned in. While Max focused on the eyes, a well-muscled arm slid out from under the sheet. Max's friends yelled and called from the mezzanine (Gorge fell to the floor in tears) but Max was lost to them. The arm raised up and hand reached for and held the back of Max's head—he didn't resist—and allowed himself to be pulled downward.

The man's lips pulled back and he snarled. He yanked Max's head down swift and hard, and clamped onto his neck with long, sharp teeth!