*Please note: 
	There is some fairly explicit material, 
	including implied underage sex, in this chapter. 
	You know the drill. 

His dick popped free of her mouth, splashing her face with hot come. Her light blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Her tongue crept out to lick her lips and taste his essence. If he could have come again, he would have. As it was, he had to settle for a satisfying throb of heat between his legs.

Wet heat.

Wet.

Shit! Sasha sat bolt upright in bed, his pulse racing madly. "I had the dream again."

As if it wasn't bad enough that Sasha was forced to suffer through sexual abstinence, caused largely by the fact that Sasha would not, could not be satisfied by anyone but the one girl he could not have, now he was beginning to dream about it. Her.

He threw back the covers and examined his crotch. "This is pathetic. Jerking off is better than this. Except--"

Except that Sasha saw her face when he came.

She was everywhere. She was everything. Or at least, she was everything necessary.

Sasha jumped out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with a dull whap. "Thank God there's a bathroom in my room. Otherwise, I'd be mortified. *Again*."

He went into the bathroom and made quick work of getting cleaned up. The sheets, however, were another matter. He had two choices: wake everyone else up to get clean sheets...or sleep on the wet spot.

"I guess it's the wet spot," Sasha told himself with a sigh.

As he slid back under the covers, he said, "I give it one more year. One more year. I swear. There has to be someplace where it's legal for us to get married."

Not at 13, his brain reminded him. Skye is only 13. Even if you wait one more year, no one in their right mind is going to let a 14-year old girl get married. To a 17-year old boy who hasn't graduated high school yet.

Sasha's brow furrowed as he slept. There were no more sexual fantasies in store for him the rest of the night, but that didn't prevent him from feeling troubled.

*****

"Hey, Elton John!"

Jazz ignored the voice and concentrated on eating his sandwich. It was a very nice sandwich: ham and swiss cheese on rye with a slice of cucumber pickle and a dab of spicy brown mustard. Jazz smiled to himself as he thought about Smoke making the sandwich for him.

"You deaf or something? I'm talking to you, fag!"

Jazz sighed. He was enjoying his lunch. He really didn't want to miss the rest of his lunch hour, especially not to defend himself against some homophobe's unwanted rhetoric.

When the owner of the voice in question presented itself right in front of him, Jazz reluctantly stopped eating. "Nice outfit, queer. Your boyfriend buy you a corsage for the big dance, too?"

Jazz put down his sandwich. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah, there is. You can suck my dick, cocksucker." The senior laughed hysterically, apparently putting on a show for his three cohorts, all of whom were too shy to do more than act as a kind of bizarre Greek chorus.

"You don't want to mess with me," Jazz said patiently, raising his napkin to his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, why not?"

Jazz studied the older teenager's burly physique and overconfident body language. Experience told him that he was mostly bravado, but the presence of his friends might push him into doing something potentially dangerous.

"Cause then I would have to hurt you," Jazz explained slowly.

"You? You hurt me? You sure you don't want to wait for your boyfriend?"

"Yeah. I can handle you all by myself."

"You're pretty brave, dickhead. What makes you think you can beat me?"

"This." With that, Jazz jumped from his seat and stood perfectly balanced on the edge of the chair.

"Awww, man, you know that feng shui stuff or something?"

"Something like that."

"I hate that crap. I got kicked in the balls once by a girl who knew that shit. Hurt like hell for a week."

"I bet." The longer the two of them stood there, the more easily Jazz was able to read his opponent.

"So...you need a protector? I'm real good at keeping people away," said the teenager, evidently inordinately proud of this peculiar talent.

"Umm...thanks but no thanks. I'm good."

"I can dig it. Catch ya later, sunshine."

"Not if I can help it," Jazz muttered under his breath. When the older adolescent was gone, Jazz picked up his sandwich again. His breathing was still a bit erratic, but other than that, Jazz was no worse for wear.

By the time Adam arrived, tray in hand, Jazz had more or less forgotten about the incident. But Adam's casual demeanor didn't fool him. He knew that his lover was undoubtedly aware of every nuance and every undercurrent that flowed throughout the lunchroom.

"Everything okay, babe?" Adam said softly so as not to be overheard.

"Fine."

"You want to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"About defending your honor a little while ago?" Adam asked, pretending that it didn't matter that he would be leaving Jazz behind at the end of the summer. Oh, they would still see one another, but it wouldn't be anything like what they were used to.

Jazz shrugged. "Big guy copped an attitude. I put him straight, that's all."

"Put him *straight*? That's a little twisted, even for you, Nick." The truth was, Adam was scared. Scared of losing Jazz. Scared of going off to college alone. Scared of starting his brand new life...without the one person who made it all worthwhile.

"He wanted to be my date for the Prom. How's that?" Jazz couldn't completely mask the bitterness in his voice. This should have been the happiest time in his life. But like the bully who ruined his lunch, life was conspiring against him.

"I'll take care of him," Adam ground out, the degree of his anger taking him by surprise. Funny what a little frustration and a lot of powerlessness could do to a relationship.

"I told you. It's already taken care of."

"You took care of it?"

"Yeah."

"But you shouldn't have to. I should have been here. I should have protected you."

"I don't need your help with *everything*, Adam," Jazz said, gritting his teeth.

Adam reached across the table and covered Jazz' hand with his. "Are we fighting over this? Nicky, please..."

"Take your fucking hand away, man. Do you want to get me *killed*?"

Adam pulled his hand away instantly, unable to hide the hurt in his dark eyes. "Sorry," he whispered.

Jazz pushed his sandwich away and forced himself to look at Adam. "No, I'm sorry, Adam. It's not your fault."

"Do you want to forget about the Prom?" Adam asked, a lump the size of a softball in his throat.

"Nooo, I'm just...I don't know. Feeling sorry for myself, I guess. Missing you."

"I'm not gone yet. We have all summer, Nicky. We can be together every day."

"I know. I just feel...you know...left behind. Like you're going off to have this great adventure while I'm...stuck here. Trying not to get my ass whipped for falling in love with another guy."

Adam dropped his gaze to the table before them. "Jesus, you're making this hard, Nick. You're not even going to let us enjoy the time we have left."

"Then maybe we shouldn't--"

"No!" Adam's startled shout drew the attention of the other tables, but after a few moments, everything went back to normal. "You don't get out of this that easy, Jazz. You promised me forever, dammit."

"I won't hold you to that, Adam."

"Well, I will. If I have to tell you how much I love you every fucking Goddamn day, I will. You got that?"

Jazz gulped and hid an anxious smile. "Um, yeah. I think you just outed yourself to the entire lunchroom, though, man."

The piercing intensity of Adam's eyes grew even more powerful. "If that's what it takes, Jazz. If that's what it takes. I need you and I am *not* ashamed of that."

A huge shadow loomed over them. "Hey, Elton John. This guy bugging you? You want I should take care of him for you?"

"No, thanks. I think I've got him under control."

Adam frowned as the older teen stalked away. "Friend of yours?"

Jazz buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking rhythmically. When Adam managed to pry his fingers away from his face, however, it quickly became obvious that Jazz was *laughing*, not crying.

Jazz looked up, his bright green eyes dancing with amusement. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"Then let's find something else to do," Jazz murmured huskily.

Adam's dark eyes flashed. "Here? Now?"

"Well, not right here, no," Jazz giggled. "But yes, now."

"You do like to live dangerously, don't you?"

"Adam, you have no idea."

"Chris! Wait up!"

Chris turned around and caught a glimpse of Emmy running towards him and struggling to hold onto her school books at the same time. He smiled. "You don't have to run," he said, taking some of the books that were slipping out of her grasp. "I would've carried these for you."

"That's sweet," Emmy said, chewing on her lower lip.

"Isn't that what boyfriends are for?" Chris asked softly. He felt caught in the web of her attraction, but he was in no way trapped. He was precisely where he had always wanted to be.

"Is that what you are? My boyfriend?" Emmy swayed slightly in his direction and he automatically reached out to steady her, his free hand smoothing its way down her arm.

"God, I hope so," he whispered, lacing his fingers through hers.

The tentative smile that she wore faded, leaving in its place a somber-eyed princess who seemed to be exploring the nuances of their new relationship. "Walk me home?"

"Always."

She gazed deep into his eyes and silently acknowledged that Chris was making a vow that had nothing to do with walking her home. She wanted to kiss him so badly, she began to tremble.

As if he were reading her mind, Chris tightened his grip on her hand. "Right here?" he murmured.

She nodded, her long red ponytail swinging back and forth to brush her shoulders.

He shifted the books he held and leaned forward to capture her mouth. When Emmy responded by touching the tip of her tongue to his lips, Chris dropped the books without thinking and pulled her tight against him.

The noise of the books hitting the sidewalk startled Emmy and she broke away, giggling. "My hero."

Chris blushed before joining her in laughing at himself. He bent down and picked up her books. "Maybe I should forget about holding your hand."

"Don't you dare!" Emmy said, her eyes warm and silvery on his face.

They walked in companionable silence for a couple of minutes, content to amble along until suddenly Chris stopped. "What is it?" she asked.

"We're never going to get home at this rate."

"Oh." This time Emmy was the one who blushed.

"What was that for?" Chris questioned.

She shrugged, then chuckled. "Just me being silly, I guess."

Chris looked at her inquiringly and Emmy sighed. "We can't...kiss...like we did...at home."

All at once a memory assailed him, so strong it might have been real. Emmy whimpering in his arms as she sought release. "Soleil," he said hoarsely.

Need lay naked in his eyes, but he reverently touched his lips to her cheek. "We did more than kiss," he whispered.

His fingers exposed the mark on her neck and he tenderly kissed that as well. "You belong to me."

Emmy smiled, a smile of such purity and such clarity that Chris could only stand in awe. "We belong to each other."

"You definitely need to get out more," Chris said to Sasha, patting the 16-year old on the back. "I mean, look at you, holed up here for hours. You spend *way* too much time on that computer, Sash."

"That's easy for you to say. You've got everything you need."

Chris closed his eyes briefly and thought of Emmy. Sasha was right. Almost. For a moment, a vision of Emmy, writhing in ecstasy on top of him, threatened his control. He reluctantly let go of that image and forced himself to focus.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Chris asked kindly.

"To you? No."

A hurt look crossed Chris' face before he could hide behind a more neutral expression. Sasha raked a hand through his long brown hair and exhaled. "I didn't mean that the way it came out. I meant--"

"I know what you meant."

"No, I don't think you do, Chris. The problem is...she's your sister. I really can't talk about this with you."

Uncomfortably aware that he felt relieved, Chris nodded. "It's a Skye thing, then."

"Yeah," Sasha said softly. God, he had it bad. He couldn't even bear to say her name out loud. It conjured up all of those sensual nightmares in which she starred.

"She misses you, y'know," Chris couldn't help saying.

"I know," Sasha murmured. Just the thought of her suffering in any way was like a stake being driven through his heart.

"Maybe talking to Uncle Dec would help," Chris offered.

"Maybe," Sasha echoed. "I think I'll go see what Da's up to."

*****

Sasha found Declan easily enough. But he wasn't sure Declan really *wanted* to be found.

Declan had Sasha's father pinned against the wall of the living room. One elegantly shaped hand was caressing Sey's thigh while the other played with his hair.

Sasha knew he shouldn't listen. It was a private moment between his parents. He had no right to be there. But there was something almost hypnotic about the way Declan was making love to Sey with nothing more than a gesture and a glance. Sasha just couldn't find the strength to look away.

A faint smile traced Declan's lips as he regarded his lover. "I'm glad I came home early."

"So am I."

If Sey sounded slightly breathless, it was only because Declan's hand was slowly creeping up his leg. "The kids will be home soon."

"Yeah."

"You should stop."

Declan's hand froze on Sey's hip. "Really?" he drawled. "You sure about that, acushla?"

"Well..." Sey's lips parted and Declan kissed him, his hands sliding down to cup his partner's buttocks.

Without warning, Declan literally lifted Sey off the floor and into his arms. Far from surprised, Sey wrapped his legs around Declan's waist in evident approval. "Kiss me again," he whispered to the tall lean Irishman.

Declan obliged, completely unaware that Sasha continued to watch the two of them. By now, Sasha was trapped. He had stayed too long to reveal his presence, but he honestly wasn't sure that either of them would forgive him if he didn't.

Declan carried Sey to the huge recliner that dominated the living room and sat down with the former Comm op on his lap. Declan lay back, his hands slipping under Sey's shirt to massage his back. Sey reciprocated by nuzzling the side of Declan's neck.

"That tickles," commented Declan, his smile now fullblown.

"You taste good," Sey quipped, broad swipes of his tongue forcing a groan from his lover.

"You're a devil, you are," Declan whispered, his brogue suddenly much more pronounced. "But you're an angel, too, for loving me, y'know that?"

Sey's amusement faded instantly. "You give me way too much credit, Declan. You're damn easy to love."

Declan's fingertips strummed slowly down Sey's cheek and Sey's dark brown eyes fluttered shut. All thoughts of sex gone, Declan cradled his beloved's head against his chest. Resting his chin on the top of Sey's head, Declan held him as though he would never let go. Declan choked back a sound that might have been a sob if he allowed it. "I'm way too attached to you, acushla. If anything ever happened to you..."

"Ssh, love, nothing's going to happen to me."

Declan squeezed his eyes shut, but a tiny trickle of moisture escaped. "I don't think I could live without you," he managed to say finally.

"You won't have to. I'm not going anywhere for at least, oh, the next hundred years or so." Sey was adept at comforting Declan. It was one of the roles he loved most. Declan's strength was obvious, but he showed his vulnerability to no one. Except Sey. No one had ever been as important to him as Declan. There could never be anyone else for him.

Declan buried his face in Sey's hair, his harsh breaths ruffling the dark brown waves that now flowed all the way to Sey's shoulders. "I love you so much," he murmured.

Sey couldn't answer. His heart was too full. He could only kiss the base of Declan's throat before burying his face there.

The tableau his parents made brought a lump to Sasha's throat and a pang to his heart. They're beautiful, Sasha thought, and they belong together. Silently vowing to do whatever he could to keep the loving couple together, Sasha finally ventured out of his hiding place.

"Hey, Da, Dad," Sasha said, as if he had *just* walked through the door.

Declan smiled at his son as his hand stayed resolutely tangled in Sey's hair. In fact, when Sey attempted to move away from Declan, Declan refused to let him go, cradling him protectively against his chest again.

And again, Sasha was struck by their beauty, the sheer intensity of their love shining brightly, unmistakably.

"Everything okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah, Da," Sasha said, deciding that his problems were just that, *his* problems. "Everything's okay."

"Name?"

Sasha's hands shook as he typed in his screen name. "Frodo451."

Damn, he thought, I knew I should have gone with Aragorn or Boromir. Frodo? What was I thinking? I'm not cute and cuddly. Apparently, the other occupant of the Internet chat room disagreed.

"Sex?"

"Huh?"

Sasha's overwrought mind briefly wrestled with the question, finally concluding that it wasn't asking if he *wanted* any. "Male."

"Age?"

Sasha sighed. If he gave his real age, the conversation would probably be over before it started. He felt uncomfortable with lying. But his need to connect with someone, anyone, muted the voice of his conscience.

"18."

The cursor flashed on and off, waiting for a return message. It was the longest few seconds of Sasha's young life. Then...

"DarkAngel63." Part of Sasha's mind registered the fact that the screen name was what lured him into the chat room in the first place. It reminded him of Skye. But then, everything reminded him of Skye lately. That was the problem. Short of having a lobotomy, Sasha couldn't conveniently forget her. Nor did he really want to.

"Female. 18." Yes! He disregarded the little voice that told him that whoever he was chatting with was just as unlikely to be telling the truth about themselves as he was.

"What do you look like?"

Sasha shook his head. He wasn't sure what he should say at first, but he decided to stick as close to reality as possible. It was easier to remember.

"Brown eyes, brown hair."

"How tall are you?"

Now? Ummm...Sasha thought for a second. He was 5'7". He didn't mind being short. In fact, he rarely thought about it. But maybe he should pretend to be taller.

"5'10"," he typed in, rewarded with another answer from DarkAngel.

"Blue eyes, blonde hair." That floored him, enough so that he didn't think to ask her how tall she was. Not that he really cared. He could honestly say that he wasn't interested in her height.

"Are you in high school?"

"Yes."

"Me, too."

They chatted about inconsequential things for a few more minutes and Sasha realized that despite his obsession with Skye, DarkAngel sounded intriguing to him.

For one crazy moment, he wondered if it might actually be Skye. But then he dismissed that as the nonsense it was. He signed off and shut down his computer. With a yawn, he headed for bed. Things felt marginally better. He had something to look forward to and that was good.

Maybe he wouldn't have the dream again.

*****

DarkAngel smiled to herself. What a stroke of inspiration this was, surfing the Internet. She hadn't predicted finding someone like Frodo so easily, but he was perfect.

She'd baited the hook. Now all she had to do was wait...and reel him in.

She looked forward to the consummation.

"Is it time yet?" Jazz asked for the umpteenth time.

Smoke started to laugh, but the vaguely panicky look in Jazz' green eyes gave him pause. "No."

"How do I look?"

"Nervous. I wish you could settle down and relax. I think you'd enjoy the Prom a lot more."

Jazz continued as if Smoke hadn't said a word. "Do I look okay? What if Adam changes his mind? What if he doesn't like the way I look? What if--"

"Yes. He won't. He will. Now slow down for two seconds, Jazz."

"I can't, Pete. I'm going to remember this night for the rest of my life. What if I...screw things up?"

Smoke wrapped his arms around his son and hugged him. "You won't screw things up."

"But I want everything to be perfect," Jazz wailed, pressing his face against Smoke's shoulder. Jazz' hands tightened their grip on Smoke's shirt, to the degree where Smoke feared that he would leave permanent wrinkles. On his skin.

"Nothing's perfect," Smoke commented, provoking a fresh moan of protest from Jazz' direction. He hurriedly added, "But I'm sure everything will be fine. Adam's got everything planned down to the second."

Trying to cheer him up as well as provide a much needed diversion, Smoke said, "Adam's sending a limo to pick you up."

To his dismay, Jazz looked as if he was going to cry.

"What's wrong?"

"I feel sick," Jazz whispered weakly.

Smoke helped Jazz into the bathroom and closed the door to give him some privacy. Once the door was shut, Smoke beckoned to James. "Jamie?"

"Yeah, Pete?"

"I've never seen him like this. If something goes wrong, I think it'll break his heart."

James pulled Smoke into an embrace similar to the one Smoke had given Jazz. "Ssh, nothing's going to go wrong."

Smoke lay his head on James' shoulder and closed his eyes with a sigh. "I just want him to be happy, Jamie."

"He will be. You'll see," James said, hoping he was speaking the truth.

*****

"Is something bothering you?" Michael asked Adam. Adam cursed and tore at the tie he was struggling to knot.

"No," Adam answered, but he sounded distinctly preoccupied. Far more preoccupied than tying his tie would seem to warrant.

"Is everything okay at school?"

"Why?" Adam asked sharply, watching his mirror image meet his father's eyes with a suddenness that betrayed him. "What did you hear?"

Michael waited. He was well-trained in waiting. He knew he could outwait his son.

"It was a mistake, that's all," Adam eventually admitted.

"What was a mistake?" Michael asked quietly, his lack of expression belying the worry that threatened to engulf him.

"It's just that I was hoping we could get through tonight without anyone, uh, you know, giving us problems, but--"

"Did someone threaten you?"

"No!" Adam replied, his cheeks flushing bright red. "But--"

"But?" It took all of Michael's considerable training not to reach over and pull the words right out of Adam's mouth.

"I kinda outed myself. It was an accident, I swear."

"And now you're worried about repercussions?"

Adam nodded silently.

"Do you want to call it off?"

"You mean, not go?" Adam exclaimed incredulously. "Do you know how much Jazz is counting on this? Do you know what I went through to get the limo and the hotel?"

"*I* helped you get the hotel reservations, Adam," Michael reminded him.

"I know," Adam said, looking eternally grateful. "I can't believe you did that either. I mean, I was so afraid to tell you what I wanted to do."

"I know how much this means to you, Adam."

"But not many Dads would do this much," Adam said, sounding like he was near tears.

"I want you to be happy," Michael said, his own throat uncharacteristically clogged with emotion.

"I am," Adam whispered, but he looked as if one more kind word would put him over the edge.

Michael gave in to what he considered untrustworthy instincts at best and hugged his son. When Adam started to cry, albeit noiselessly, his face buried against Michael's chest, Michael gritted his teeth and closed his own eyes. He had to be strong. Adam needed him to be strong.

"I love you," Michael said hoarsely, stroking his son's hair. "And I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Dad," Adam managed, his voice muffled. It felt so good to be this close to his father. For the first time that evening, Adam felt cautiously hopeful.