Echoes Throughout Eternity

"By Apollo, Xiphon! You're going to cleave me in two!" Andros panted as I rammed into him. With a final thrust, I reached that pleasurable spot and emptied my seed deep within him. With a scream, he arched his back and he too, exploded. I gently lowered his legs from my shoulders and gave his manhood an appreciative kiss.

"Mmmm ... like the finest honey...." I began to lap the glistening white fluid from his tight stomach and continued to lick him, up to his strong, muscular chest. I gently bit his nipples and smiled to myself at his sharp intake of breath.

"You know, Mother said if I came home limping again, she would turn you into an old, fat woman."

"Oh, I doubt that. Would she be so cruel to her only son?" I looked into his wine-dark blue eyes and gave him a deep kiss.

He laughed. "Hardly. Although I may be inclined to turn you into a sheep!" He grabbed me and deftly changed our positions. Though I was the more muscular, he pinned me easily. Andros had me below him and began to nuzzle my neck. "What do you think of that, Majesty?"

"Baaaaaa!" I said.

* * *

My name is Xiphon, eldest son of King Leandros and Queen Diopatria of Crete. I was a sickly babe and my birth had been a difficult one. My father had been ready to abandon me on the mountainside, but my mother spirited me away to the far side of the island. She had heard tales of a powerful witch who might be able to help me. After several days travel, she found the small cottage of Danae, the sorceress. Danae herself had recently borne a son and when she saw the condition of myself and my mother, welcomed her with open arms and promised to do what she could.

My condition, she discovered, was the result of a curse upon Leandros for improperly sacrificing to Apollo. She assured my mother that she could indeed lift the curse from me, but it would need to be done slowly over several years - Apollo was not a vindictive god; he could be convinced of his error, but never defied.

Andros was the son of Danae and allegedly, Apollo himself. A year older than me, he became my brother, my friend and later, my lover. He too, was a puissant sorcerer - Andros developed his powers at an early age; no doubt due to his unique parentage. Year after year, while I grew stronger, my mother grew weaker; one day, she fell into a deep sleep and never awoke. Leandros wept for weeks over her loss and my father could scarce bear my presence; I resembled my mother closely and his grief over her death quickly turned to anger and hatred towards me.

It was not long before he remarried. Melina - a harpy if there ever was one - became the new Queen, and quickly found herself with child. Thalos - a devious, squint-eyed little brute - became my step-brother. He and his scheming mother made my life miserable at the palace; I spent as much time with Danae and Andros as I could. Acheos, the captain of the guard and my mother's distant cousin - became the father I lost.

Andros and I lay entwined in the meadow, the sun creating a dappled effect through the branches of the olive tree above us. He traced lazy designs on my chest.

"How are Scylla and Charybdis?"

I made a face. "The same as always. Melina makes me ill. Honeyed words to my face and a dagger in my back."

"I could always turn them into sheep. I could also turn us into wolves." He grinned. "It would be fun!"

I sighed. "I appreciate the offer, my love, but no. Father dotes on Thalos. I swear he would have me killed for the slightest infraction. I keep away from that miserable trio as much as possible."

Andros nuzzled my neck and jaw. I held him close. "By the gods, how I adore you. What would I do without you?"

I heard a rustling to my right. I turned to see a pair of bronze greaved legs and something heavy knocked me into darkness.

* * *

I awoke to find myself in a prison cell. My head throbbed and I was chained to the wall. Andros was similarly shackled against the adjoining wall. He looked far worse than I - a large gash traveled down the side of his head. The blood had dried and left a dark vine down his face, across his shoulder and down his chest. His handsome face was a mass of bruises. He looked at me.

"Wh-what happened?"

"I don't know. Perhaps we have been abducted for ransom."

At that point, I heard movement outside of the heavy wooden door. With a clank, the portal opened to show Melina and Thalos. The haughty woman lifted her dress as she entered the cell.

"So ... here we have the traitor and his fornicating partner!"

"Melina, what is going on here? Release me immediately!"

She gave me a smug smile. "I think not, Prince Xiphon. The evidence of your treason is well documented. Leandros has decided to have you and your ... lover ..." she looked over at Andros. "... put to death."

Andros' eyes blazed. "I will have my revenge, you harpy!" he said quietly, but the force in his voice was unmistakable.

Thalos laughed. "Go ahead and try. That charm around your neck negates your powers! You two will soon be food for the vultures!"

"Where is Acheos? What have you done to him?"

"Oh, the captain was sent on a very important errand for the king. When he returns, you will be rotting in the sun."

With that, Melina and her spawn left us alone. The door slammed shut.

* * *

"Xiphon, former prince of the realm, you stand charged with treason against Leandros and Melina, king and queen of Crete. How do you and lover plead?"

I spat at the herald. "We are innocent! I have done nothing to deserve this treatment! Father! You would take the word of this harpy over your own flesh?"

My father's face twisted in fury. "SILENCE! Melina has shown me incontrovertible proof of your disloyalty! I should have put you to death twenty summers ago!" He put his arm around Thalos, who leered at me. "This is my only son!"

Leandros turned to the soldiers. "Place them on the pyre and burn them!"

Still in chains, Andros and I were hauled up to the pyre. He tripped and stumbled against me. I felt the charm around his neck hit me in the face. I grabbed it with my mouth and twisted my head. I ripped it from his neck and spat it out. He looked at me and gave a triumphant grin.

A whirlwind blew the guards away from us and a wall of blue flame separated us from the crowd. Our chains vanished in a puff of smoke. Andros transformed. In his place was a great eagle. He grabbed me gently in his claws and his wings launched us into the air. I could see the amazed and shocked faces below us as we flew higher and higher. I saw Thalos nock an arrow into his bow and aim it at us. I felt a burning pain in my shoulder and weakened as I was, I again spiraled into blackness.
* * *

I awoke to find Danae wiping my face with a cool cloth. I felt if my body was on fire from within; Danae's eyes were red with tears.

"Andros? ..."

"He is dying, Xiphon. Poisoned by a scratch from the arrow that went through your shoulder... and despite my powers of healing, I cannot save him! Nor you!" She held me close and wept. I had never in my life seen the sorceress cry. Despite the flames in my blood, I felt the chill hand of Thanatos caress my face.

"Take me to him." I could barely sit up and my breath came in ragged gasps. I needed to hold Andros a final time before we took our journey together across the Styx with Charon.

The sorceress helped me stagger into the other room. Andros was sitting up, lines of pain etching his face as he breathed with difficulty. I was so weak I could scarcely do more than lean against him. Feel him. I grasped his hand in mine.

"My father comes." he said. Danae gasped.

I had noticed that the room had appeared bright, but I attributed it to the agony affecting my eyesight. However, as I looked out the window, I could see that the sun was descending from the sky. Within the span of a few breaths, I made out a fiery chariot pulled by four golden horses. The being in the chariot strode across the grass and entered the cottage. Apollo had come to earth.

He was perfection itself. Tall and tanned, the god wore a blindingly white chalmys edged in gold. His deep blonde hair spread around his shoulders like a halo. His muscles rippled under his skin. Apollo's face was a mixture of worry and anger.

I tried to kneel before the sun god, but I managed only to crash to the floor. He picked me up as if I were but a babe and sat me in a chair. There were unshed tears in his golden eyes. He lifted Andros into his arms. I could see the familial resemblance between the two. He kissed the forehead of his dying son.

"When we return to Olympus, I will have you healed." He looked at me with pity. "I am sorry to have caused you this, Xiphon. Had I not been so angry the day your father failed to observe the proper rites, you would not be dying now. You, least of all, deserved to be the brunt of my wrath."

"Father, please help him." Andros whispered as he lolled in Apollo's arms. He had lost consciousness again.

"Danae..." Apollo called to her. She ran to his side. He handed her a scroll. "I cannot interfere directly in the prevention of Xiphon's death ... but I can allow you to undo it. This spell has been forbidden to mortals of this age, but I give it to you. It may be used only once." He looked worriedly at Andros. "I must hurry." His face darkened and it was terrible to behold. "See to it that all who have done this pay in full."

The sun god leapt back to his chariot and raced back into the sky. The day was yet young, but the sun set early as Apollo raced back to Olympus with his Andros.

The sorceress read the scroll and gasped.

"What is it Danae?"

"It is a powerful spell - to curse someone with undeath."

"I don't understand."

"This spell, " she said, "will bring the dead back to life. Or rather unlife. You will walk the earth, feeding on the blood of the living, for all eternity until the curse is lifted by one who will willingly take it from you and suffer your fate without hope of release."

"What of Andros?"

"He will return to earth - when, I do not know. Time moves differently in Olympus. What may be a day or month for him may be ages upon ages here. "

"Will we be together again?"

She nodded. "But I cannot say when, Xiphon."

I was fading. I felt myself becoming a wraith. "Hurry, Danae. I cannot last much longer."

* * *

I found myself on the bank of a great, dark river. The far shore was shadowed and despite the throng about me, all was quiet. Deathly quiet. This was the Styx. I was dead. I felt a wrenching sensation and the dark world spun around me. The next moment I found myself staring back into Danae's shocked face.

"Xiphon? Is that you?"

"Danae? Did the spell work?"

She gave me a nod. "You have changed somewhat. I was afraid that instead of the prince I knew and loved, a monster would return."

"What changes have been wrought upon me?"

"Your eyes blaze with a gold-brown fire. And you have fangs."

My tongue felt along my new, sharp teeth. I grinned. Danae encircled me in her arms and held me. Her eyes grew hard and her mouth thinned into a determined line.

"My prince, we have some work to do."

* * *

I was completely healed - there was not a mark on my new, undead body. I ran like the wind across fields and streams, crossed hills with ease and soon found myself back at the palace. Torches were lit and the gossip in all quarters was of the great early sunset and my escape from Leandros. I could hear the faintest sound and see into the darkest corners. I traveled amongst the soldiers, willing them to ignore me - which they did. I searched for and heard a familiar voice - albeit wracked with sobs and recriminations.

"I should not have left! The King sent me on a fool's errand and my prince is dead!" Acheos wailed.

I found the captain in a small pub. The place was nearly empty and my uncle had his head down, pounding the bar with his fist.

"Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! May he be rot in Hades!"

"Acheos ...." I whispered to him. I wrapped a gentle tendril of my will about him. "Come outside."

The captain stopped pounding the bar. His shoulders shook as sobs continued to convulse his body.

"I need some fresh air." He got up and staggered into the street. As he left the tavern, I grabbed his arm and gently pulled him aside. He looked blearily at me and then smiled. He wrapped me in a crushing grip.

"Xiphon! You're alive! Thanks the gods, you're alive!" He looked warily around. "It's not safe for you here, my prince. That she-devil and her whelp have spies everywhere!"

I found it difficult to tell him of my news. "Acheos, look at me." I moved closer to the door of the bar, so it's light could shine upon my face.

He gasped. Had he been a weaker man, he would have fainted dead away. He saw the grim set of my face, my glowing eyes and the sharp fangs descending from my upper jaw.

"You're ... you're ..."

I held him. "I am dead, Acheos. With a spell from Apollo himself, I have become a vykrolax. Thalos killed me and may have killed Andros. I have come here to warn you - take your family and leave the island at once. Danae's vengeance is coming and it will be swift and terrible." I placed a small carved dragon in his hand.

"Speed you home and gather your family. Place a drop of your blood into the dragon's mouth. It will grow and take you and yours to safety. Hurry!"

He ran.

I continued to the palace. At this point I did not bother to mask my presence; several of the soldiers that had been at my near immolation saw me, turned, and ran in terror. Others - foolish mortals - attempted to stop me. My strength was indeed inhuman; I threw some against walls where they lay broken in crumbled heaps; others I grabbed and crushed the life out of them. Still others I bit into their necks and drained them dry. I tossed the empty husks out of my path.

I reached the private apartments of my father and his brood. Melina froze in shock at my appearance. I gave her a wide, wicked grin. My fangs were still bloody from the many soldiers I had dispatched to Hades.

"I have plans for you, Melina ... in the meantime, where is that slow-witted coward you call your son?!"

She shrieked and slammed the door shut. I laughed. I grabbed the side of the lintel, ripping it off it's hinges; then I threw it across the room.

I then saw Thalos - that squint-eyed son of a whore - he screamed louder than his mother. And he hid behind her.

"Surprised, brother mine? You killed me with that poisoned arrow of yours, but I am now beyond the reach of death itself!"

He stared at me, stricken with terror. He tried to flee, but I froze him in place with a glance. I continued.

"You may have killed Andros and you have forced us apart - for how many lifetimes, I do not know. Apollo himself has brought him to Olympus to be healed. Danae and I swore to the sun god that we would make you - all of you - pay dearly for your actions."

In the blink of an eye I was next to my stepbrother. I buried my fangs deep into his neck and bit down hard. I tore the throat from his miserable body and spat it out. He collapsed onto the floor in a pool of spreading blood.

I turned to my stepmother. "You and my addled father I will leave to Danae's tender ministrations. Goodbye, Melina."

I left her screaming as I exited my former home. I looked up to see a dark speck in the sky. It grew to a large dragon that landed neatly in the courtyard. Danae sat astride the beast. She put out her hand.

"Get on, Xiphon! Our revenge is nearly at hand!" The dragon leapt into the air.

It was exhilarating to feel the wind across my face as the dragon flew higher and higher. Crete and the islands below us appeared to be like pebbles in a bowl of water. Danae's voice held a manic note as she wheeled the dragon around.

"Hephaestus himself flew into a rage when Apollo arrived at Olympus. He took one look at Andros and howled. Even Zeus was unsettled at his response."

I shivered, and not from the cool winds wrapping around me. "The god of fire is normally so kind and even-tempered. Why did he react so?"

"Andros was dear to him. His skills in metalworking were rivaled only by the god himself. Besides being with you, my son's greatest joy was the making of works to praise Hephaestus. The god of fire considered him his foster son. Ahhh... it begins! Look below, my prince!"

I watched as smoke began to pour out of the highest peak of Thera. Within moments, I heard a deep rumble and the mountain exploded in liquid fire. A black cloud, in the form of a giant hand, rose from the remnants of the mount and stretched menacingly towards Crete. The smoky fist closed around the island. Our vengeance was complete.

* * *

Apollo's gift of undeath was indeed the curse Danae had predicted. Years stretched into decades, decades into centuries and centuries into millennia. My vampiric powers grew as time passed. After a few centuries, I could command the beasts of the air and of the earth. I could cloak myself in shadow even at the zenith of the sun. I could bend men's wills as easily as a blade of grass.

I traveled the world in search of Andros and yet, never found him. I saw the rise and the fall of Rome; I traveled with Charlemagne in his many campaigns; I fought beside King Henry at Agincourt. I breathed the sweet, clean air of the New World with Spanish conquistadors and I saw the death and destruction in the World Wars of the Twentieth Century. I was present in New York when the great towers fell in a brazen and cowardly attack.

I began to despair of ever finding my love again and over the interminable years my heart hardened in sorrow. I fed upon the wicked and corrupt - there was never a dearth of evil men in any age - and I sated my desires with others, yet always thought of Andros.

I was unique. Of course, I did come upon others like me - the undead, forced to drink human blood. But they were pale and imperfect reflections of myself. No doubt a corruption of the original spell of Apollo. For they were hideous to look upon; these creatures damned to inhabit the night and darkness alone; never to greet Phoebus and his chariot; never again to feel the warmth of the sun on their faces. They feared me as much as I loathed them.

My grief was a terrible burden, and despite the fact that I retained the form of my youth, I struck fear in those who saw my true visage. For I had grown deathly pale over the eons and the only spot of color was the bloody red of my lips. I cloaked myself in glamour to walk amongst the living and to continue my fruitless search.

I was in London. I had recently flown in from San Francisco, and I was irritated. Not a good state for a demigod. A passenger on the flight - a Muslim - was flying into that city to carry out a terrorist plot. I caught the evil stench of his mind as soon as I boarded the plane. Once we were airborne, I casually bent his will to mine and forced him into one of the restrooms. I Fed upon him - not enough to kill, but enough to keep him a slave to my wishes. I impressed upon him the need to turn himself and his co-conspirators into the police. I did not need to have my travels interrupted or hindered by him or his ilk. The plot was foiled as he confessed to the local law enforcement, but my control had not been perfect - the idiot was screaming about a "demon" who attacked him and that news was headlining all the local newspapers.

"Oi, lads - looks like we have another contributor to our charity!"

I had been walking slowly through Regent's Park, deep in thought. I looked up to see a group of three youths - skinhead punks all - blocking my way. They were dressed similarly: snug bleacher jeans cut short to accentuate tight, muscular legs, asses and twenty-eyelet boots; complemented by tight polo shirts highlighting their chiseled torsos and strong arms. The leader - taller than the other two and by far the more handsome, tapped a baseball bat in his hands.

I let a hint of my power flow through my voice. "If you value your miserable lives, leave me!" My eyes blazed and I bared my fangs. Two of them turned and ran. The one in the middle - the one with a black mohawk, stood his ground.

He stared at me and was caught by the spell of my eyes. The baseball bat dropped from his hands and he found himself immobilized. I grinned. Perhaps this was a fortunate incident to relieve my tension. I grabbed the waist of his pants and drew him deeper into the park. We reached a secluded copse of trees.

"Strip." I commanded him. He began to remove his clothes, unable to stop and unable to understand what was happening to him. Naked, he shivered in the cool night air. I looked at him and licked my lips in anticipation at the body in front of me. Firm, chiseled pectorals, a tightly muscled waist and powerful legs were an indication of the pleasure I would soon have. I walked around him, admiring the strong back and firm ass. He had the word "Fucker" tattooed in large, black gothic lettering across his shoulders. He reminded me so much of Andros. Yes, this was just what I needed. My manhood grew painfully erect. I ran a finger down the middle of his chest. He tensed.

"What is your name?"

"G-Guy." he gasped. "What have you done to me?"

"Nothing ... yet." I ran my hands down his flanks. Such smooth skin. I gently held the shaved sides of his head and smoothed his eyebrows with my thumbs. I ran my lips across his jawline and kissed his trembling lips.

"Mister, what do you ..."

"Silence." I continued kissing him. My voice was velvet soft, playing along his nerve endings like the brush of fingertips, warming his skin -- I could tell he wished for an excuse to explain the blush stealing into his face.

"Get on the ground and lie on your back." I commanded. I, too began to undress. I kneeled before him and put his ankles over my shoulders. With a single thrust I buried my tool deep within him. The thief moaned - partly from pain, but mostly from pleasure. I set myself a deep rhythm and plowed in and out of the young man beneath me. Soon, I felt myself reach the point of no return, and with my member buried deep within him, I erupted.

Over the course of lovemaking, I slowly released Guy's will from my own. He held onto me as I took him roughly, urging me to greater and greater passion. Spent, I sank atop him and began to kiss his chest and neck.

"God Almighty, if I had known what you wanted, I would have paid you for the pleas- AHHH!"

I had reached the artery in his neck and bit down. His blood - his essence - began to flow into me. Guy tried to squirm away, but my grip upon him was like iron. Panic gave way to weakness and thence to sweet oblivion. I stopped when he lay cold and still beneath me.

I got up and began to dress again. I looked back at the body I had just drained dry and watched the puncture wounds in the neck close up and heal. I then bent down to search the pockets of his coat for identification. The longer it took for the police to discover the identity of the corpse, the better for me. Guy and his fellow skinheads had indeed been busy this night. I found two wallets in addition to his own. Both were still full of cash; obviously, the trio had not yet divided their spoils of the evening. I put Guy's wallet in my pocket, and whilst I examined the others, I came across a concert ticket; for some odd reason, my eyes were drawn to it.

Royal Albert Hall presents
Bobby Cromwell: In Concert
Seat D24 - Admit One

I took the ticket - having sex with the young crook had indeed been pleasurable, and draining him dry had sated my hunger. Perhaps a bit of music would be a grand end for an unexpectedly pleasant evening.

* * *

Andros paced in his room, waiting for his father to arrive. The young sorcerer had spent nearly four weeks in Olympus and was now eager to return back to earth and to his lover. He heard a clatter of hooves and looked out of the window of the palace to see his father arrive in his sun chariot. Within moments, Apollo came into the room and embraced his son.

He smiled. "You look well, Andros."

The sorcerer returned the embrace. "I feel well, Father. When may I return to earth?"

"Do you find Olympus so boring that you wish to leave so soon?"

"No ... being here with you has been incredible. It just that ... that ... I miss Xiphon."

Apollo grew sombre. "Dearest child, many things have transpired on earth while you were recovering. We should talk about them now."

* * *

The Olympian and his son sat at the dinner table, while servants brought food and drink to them.

"Andros, you were merely scratched by the arrow shot by that pig Thalos and you were near death. What think you happened to Xiphon?"

Andros grew pale. "Is he dead, Father?"

"Yes and no. I could not forestall his death, but I could undo it in a way. With the help of your mother, he has been cursed into a vykrolax - a vampire. Undead, unchanging and immortal until such time that the curse is broken."

"But he has been undead for only a few weeks?"

Apollo nodded. "Four weeks as time passes here on Olympus. Time flows far swifter upon earth, Andros."

"How fast, Father?"

"More than four thousand years have passed below us. Xiphon has sought you unceasingly for all this time ... and still does."

"WHAT!!!"

Andros stood up suddenly. "I must return! I must find him! Help me, Father! Please!"

Apollo took a sip of nectar from his goblet. "Should I do that, Andros, you would be reborn into a new body and your memories washed away. Do you still wish to leave Olympus, live and die and perhaps never find Xiphon? You do not wish to stay here, with me?" The god's face grew sad.

Andros knelt before Phoebus. "Father, you have given me life - twice. My heart shall love you always, whether I remember all or not. But my place is with Xiphon, and I shall search for him as he does for me until Thanatos embraces me for the final time."

Apollo sighed. "Very well, my dearest son. Prepare yourself for a long journey."

* * *

Phoebus traveled through the fog - he feared the meeting he was about to have, yet it was something he needed to do for his son. A tear traveled down his cheek. He had never been as profligate as some of the other gods - nowhere near as randy as Zeus - but he had been with mortals. He had never fathered a child save for Andros - and now he would lose him again - perhaps for eternity.

As he approached the Palace of the Moirae, the door swung silently open.

"Enter Apollo, and be welcome."

He found himself in a great hall. Torches burned on the walls and the Fates awaited him.

"You may approach."

The sun god walked towards the dais at the far end and then knelt on one knee. He bowed his head before the three goddesses. He was trembling.

"Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos - great Fates, to whom even Zeus must obey in all things - I come before you to beg a favor. Not for me, but for my only son, Andros."

"Look upon us, sun god." He raised his head to the three white-clad goddesses. Cold and perfect, beautiful and remorseless, three sets of eyes bore into him.

"You have been quite active of late, interfering in our plans. First bringing your son here, to Olympus to be healed when he was fated to die, and then providing his lover with the forbidden spells of the vykrolax. Why should we do anything to aid you?"

Tears rolled down the god's cheeks. "Forgive me, great ones! Forgive me! Do you not comprehend the pain I felt with my child's injuries? How could I let him suffer in undeserved torment when I could remove it? Do you not understand the love I have for him?" He prostrated himself before the goddess and wept.

"All humanity is our child, Apollo ...." said Clotho softly.

"... and for every mortal, life is full of pain ..." Lachesis chimed.

"... and you have thwarted us in cutting the threads of your son and his lover." Atropos finished.

"Then take my thread! Cut it! Give them a chance to be together once again!"

The Fates looked at each other, shock written across their faces.

"You would do this? You, an immortal, would suffer death for those two?"

"I would!" he cried.

Lachesis produced a spindle. A shining golden filament dangled from the end. Atropos produced a pair of shears and positioned them astride the thread.

"Apollo, this is your thread. Do you swear to give up your life for your son and Xiphon?"

The sun god swallowed hard and nodded. He lowered his head. "Do what you must, Atropos. But give my child and Xiphon a chance to be together again. My foolish anger caused these events to occur - let my death undo the damage and bring them together once more."

The goddesses looked at one another. Atropos put away her shears.

"Apollo ..." Phoebus looked up.

"No god - not even Zeus himself - would have made your sacrifice. Your bravery in approaching us and your willingness to die in Andros' stead has changed our minds. Ask what you will, and we will grant it."

"Will you allow Andros to return to earth and find his lover? To allow him to be with Xiphon once more?"

The Fates nodded. "We cannot permit him his memory, but we will allow him deep yearnings and dreams that will only be fulfilled when he again is with Xiphon."

"We require one thing from you, Apollo ..." Clotho unwound the smallest sliver from Apollo's golden thread. The god screamed in pain, writhing on the floor.

"This piece of life we hold for Xiphon until he again is reunited with Andros. When the curse is broken, he will be given back his mortality."

* * *

Apollo and his son stood beside the Pool of Rebirth. The waters of the pool were fed by the River Lethe; those returning to earth would have their memories washed away when they reincarnated into a new body.

The god embraced the sorcerer. "The Fates have sworn to me that you will be reunited with Xiphon, my son. May Hermes speed you on your journey."

Andros looked at the pool. "But how will I find him, Father? How will I find Xiphon if I cannot remember him?"

The sun god took a chalice and filled it with water from a winesack he carried. "This is water from the River Mnemosyne. It will prevent your deepest desires from being lost when you are reborn."

Andros took the chalice and swallowed the contents. "Goodbye, Father..."

He jumped into the pool.

* * *

A number of men sat in the waiting room. All of them had a worried and expectant look about them. A doctor in surgical greens came through the swinging door. Eight sets of eyes swiveled and locked onto the figure.

"Mr. Franqui?"

Dominic Franqui looked up. He bit his lip.

The doctor smiled. "Congratulations! You have a healthy baby boy! He and his mother are doing fine!"

The mob boss grinned and let out a deep breath. He had not been aware that he had been holding it. The other fathers stood and congratulated him. He received handshakes, hugs and pats on his back. He broke out a number of Cuban cigars.

* * *

I settled myself into the plush seat and relaxed. I thought back. The last time I had attended a concert was in the Weimar Republic in 1921. My, how deliciously decadent that evening had been!

The house lights dimmed and the symphony began to play. A spotlight appeared and a lovely, titian-haired beauty entered from stage left to loud applause. She gave a wide smile and bow. She began to sing.

Quando sono solo
Sogno allorizzonte
E mancan le parole
Si lo so che non ce luce
In una stanza
Quando manca il sole
Se non ci sei tu con me, con me.
Su le finestre
Mostra a tutti il mio cuore
Che hai acceso
Chiudi dentro me
La luce che hai incontrato per strada
Time to say goodbye
Paesi che non ho mai
Veduto e vissuto con te
Adesso si li vivro.
Con te partiro
Su navi per mari
Che io lo so
No no non esistono piu
Its time to say goodbye.

It was a haunting tune and her contralto voice matched her beauty. A male voice took up the song and another spotlight appeared at stage right. The tenor - obviously Bobby Caldwell - stepped into the light.

I gasped. Andros! My lover! My lover had finally come back to me!

Quando sei lontana
Sogno allorizzonte
E mancan le parole E io si lo so
Che sei con me con me
Tu mia luna tu sei qui con me
Mio sole tu sei qui con me
Con me con me con me

His voice - by the gods - his voice! It was clear and strong, a blend of seduction, command, and a throaty purr that nearly stopped my heart. It was as I dreamed, so many eons ago. There was a darkly sensual new thread of power in Bobby's voice - a whisper of sin, erotic and provocative, that made my manhood grow to painfully pleasurable proportions. His head was shaved smooth; the skin glistened and his eyes were the same wine-dark blue as I remembered.

Time to say goodbye
Paesi che non ho mai
Veduto e vissuto con te
Adesso si li vivro.
Con te partiro
Su navi per mari
Che io lo so
No no non esistono piu
Con te io li rivivro.
Con te partiro
Su navi per mari
Che io lo so
No no non esistono piu

I was enthralled. The grief and sorrow of four millennia dropped from me as I watched him perform. By Poseidon, he was incredible! He looked down at the audience as he was singing and saw me. His mouth, beautifully sculpted and sinfully inviting, drew my gaze. Granted, the reflected light from the stage was probably not sufficient for mortal eyes, but he nearly stopped in shock. The woman - Emily Rossum, I discovered - began to sing again and the duet's voices were enchanting; they twined around each other, blending into a whole that I had never before heard.

Con te io li vivro
Con te partiro su navi per mari
che io lo so
no no non esistono piu
con te io li vivro
Con te partiro

(listen here)

The two finished the song. There were several more duets, along with pieces sung solely by the lovely Emily, as well as those sung by Cromwell ... Andros. I could not wait for the concert to end; I wanted to hold my love in my arms and crush his lips against mine.

* * *

It was child's play to get backstage. I needed but the barest whisper of my abilities to pass through the crowded, rushing thong of performers, stage hands, managers and chorus to get to dressing room. There was a bodyguard outside of his door; I merely fogged his mind and froze him momentarily. I knocked on the door.

"C'mon in!"

I closed it quietly behind me. Bobby was washing his face. He had stripped off his shirt, revealing the athletic body beneath. Muscles rippled beneath taut skin tanned golden brown. His stomach was an etched map of rifts and plateaus; his chest was smooth, firm and strong. He finished toweling his face dry and stared at me in shock.

"YOU! I saw you in the audience! I thought I was going nuts!"

"It has been too long, my love. I have waited an eternity for you..."

I wrapped my arms around him. At that slight contact, a whip of lightning leapt into his bloodstream, arcing and crackling, sizzling hot. He returned the embrace. I felt him melt into me.

"All my life, I've seen your face in my dreams. I never knew who you were, or when or where or if we would meet. I only knew that we should be together. Seeing you tonight was a total shock."

"Really?" My voice was low, one eyebrow shooting up. I grinned at him then. A self-assured, know-it-all, wicked smile. It changed my face completely, chasing away the shadows and the deep sadness that even the glamour could not completely mask. He looked young and handsome and delectably appealing. His breath caught in his lungs, and his heart stopped beating. He could only stare helplessly at me. I nuzzled his neck and felt the strong pulse of his blood. I licked that spot where the artery lay just beneath his skin. He moaned in pleasure. I continued kissing him - the edge of his jaw, the hollow of this throat. I stroked his arms as I bent my head to his chest. I swirled my tongue around the firm nipples. His rushed intake of breath was eroding my self-control.

"Who are you?"

I was about to answer when his mouth found mine instantly, hot and possessive. His fist tangled in my hair, pulling my head back. He slid his hands boldly beneath my shirt, wanting to feel my skin. His mouth roamed my face, my throat, hungrily, flames racing through his bloodstream so that he could only think of me. My scent, my taste, my touch.

At that point, my desires had reached a boiling point. After eons of drinking blood, I needed to taste my lover again. I bit gently down into his neck as I was kissing him and let the faintest trickle of blood pass my lips.

"Oh, shit... oh, shit ... more... MORE!" he breathed as he held me even more tightly. His hands squeezed my back and traveled down to grab my ass and crush me against him as I licked the blood from his neck.

"Hey, boss. You want something to eat...?" The door opened to admit the bodyguard. We both looked up. I had blood on my chin, and Andros ... Bobby ... had his neck wound dribbling scarlet onto his naked chest. His protector whipped out a pistol.

I reacted.

I knocked the gun out of his hand in less than the blink of an eye and ran from the room.

I heard my love shout at the bodyguard. "Cristano! NO! Stop!"

* * *

Rather than repeat the same mistake, I uncovered the location of Bobby's hotel and decided to wait for him in his room. I thought it prudent not to appear at the theatre again. After a time, I heard the outer door open. I reached out with my senses and felt my love and the bodyguard Cristano again. This time, I carefully blurred the man's thoughts. As he examined each room with gun drawn, he was unable to see me sitting in the chair next to the fireplace.

"All clear, boss."

"Thanks bud, but there wasn't any need to pull out your piece last night. He wasn't hurting me."

The bodyguard shook his head. "If you're bleeding, boss, you're hurt. I don't take it lightly when anyone tries to do anything to you."

Cristano tucked the gun into his shoulder holster and grabbed Bobby about the waist. He gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

"I'll be outside if you need me."

At that point, I felt a surge of jealousy roar through me. I wanted nothing more than to tear the throat out of the other man. The rage passed.

Cromwell removed his jacket and placed it over the back of the sofa. Regardless of the bright lights in the hotel room, I gathered around me a deep shadow.

"My love..."

Bobby spun around at the sound of my voice. He could make out a figure sitting in the chair, but the lamps could not pierce the gloom around me.

He moved towards me. "Stop." I commanded. There was a grimness to my voice, a hard and implacable warning.

"Sit down, my dearest one. You need to know of your past. Our past."

* * *

"Xiphon, you're telling me that you're a 4000 year-old vampire and we were lovers in ancient Greece?"

"Not Greece, Andros. Crete. Greece was not even a glimmer of thought in men's minds at that time."

"And I was a sorcerer?"

"And the son of Apollo himself. Beloved of Hesphaestus. He took you to Olympus to be healed. We were both poisoned by an arrow from my half-brother. The sun god gave your mother - a powerful sorceress in her own right - the spell which made me as I am. To allow me to wait for your return."

Bobby put his head in his hands. "I just can't believe this ... it's so damn fantastic ..."

"My love, answer me this: were you a sickly babe?"

Cromwell's head snapped up.

"Ah, I can see it was so ... were you near death? Were you cured by a sorceress?"

Bobby swallowed hard. He nodded. "I was dying. No one else could cure me. He was a brilliant geneticist."

"The Fates provide us with a congruence to our lives. I, too was a frail child. Danae, your mother cured me."

I had lifted the shadow from me as we spoke. I had not yet released my hold of the glamour which hid my true visage from him. I sat beside him on the couch and I held his face in my hands as I kissed him.

"The eons have wrought changes upon me which I hide from mortal eyes. Do you wish to see me as I truly am? It may not be pleasant."

I could feel a tremor of fear pass through him. "Yes."

I knelt before him and took his hands in my own. I bowed my head and let the glamour drop from me like a discarded cloak. I raised my head and looked into his eyes.

He gasped, but did not pull away. Bobby stared at my pale visage and my fangs. My eyes glowed but did not enthrall; tears, tinged pink with blood - ran down my cheeks. He shakily traced the line of my jaw with his fingertips and he smoothed the thick sable hair from my forehead.

"Jesus Christ ... you've waited this long for me?"

I rubbed my cheek against his hand. "As I would have waited for all eternity to be with you again."

He knelt down beside me. Bobby bent his head and fastened his mouth to mine. Just like that he created magick, fanning a fire from smouldering embers to flames that raced through my bloodstream; my body throbbed and pulsed in reaction. I felt my fangs scrape his lips and tasted the sweet tang of his blood on my tongue. I grew hard.

I bent his head closer. "Give yourself to me, Bobby, and I swear you will never regret it." My voice whispered over his skin like warm silk, hypnotic, seductive - lethal. Wickedly, sinfully lethal. My lips moved slowly, gently over his, coaxing him to open his mouth to me. And then I was taking him into my world of heat and fire, of pure feeling.

I was everywhere, everything, my hands moving over his body, my mouth welded to his, my hair brushing our skin, sensitizing it even more. He couldn't think for wanting me. He had no idea the fire inside him could burn so bright, rage so out of control.

Within moments, we found ourselves unclothed on the soft rug. With a thought, I made the wood in the fireplace burst into flame. I stroked those muscular flanks as I had centuries ago and licked the hard mounds of his chest.

He moaned in exquisite pleasure. "I want you in me, Xiphon ... now. Please ... oh dearest God, please!!"

I grabbed his calves and positioned his legs onto my shoulders. Slowly, so slowly I entered him.

He cried out. "Deeper, Xiphon! Deeper!"

I urged my manhood further into him. He thrashed about in pleasure. His arms tightened around me and brought us even closer; I began to thrust into him - long unhurried strokes filled with joy and passion. At the zenith of our lovemaking, I felt myself gather and explode within him. A heartbeat after, my lover erupted. As I did so many, many ages ago, I licked him clean. Spent, I lay atop him, cradling him within my arms. I felt his pulse beneath my lips. I licked his neck.

"I know what you want to do, handsome ... go ahead ..." he breathed. He blue eyes looked deep into mine.

I hesitated. "I don't know if my repeated feedings of you will turn you into a vykrolax as well."

He traced my lips with his fingertips. "I don't care. My place is with you. Whichever way that happens."

I pulled his arms over his head and entwined my fingers within his. I held him captive as I bit into his neck. Softly. Gently.

"Ohhhh, fuck ... ohhhh, yeah ...." he moaned. I straddled his body as I opened the vessel in his neck and drank deeply.

But only a mouthful.

I kissed the wounds in his neck until they closed up and healed. I carried Bobby into the bedroom and put him in bed. By this time, he had fallen asleep. I lay down next to him and wrapped my arm protectively about his naked body. And for the first time in four thousand years, I drifted off to sleep as well.

* * *

I had strange dreams - of a grinning Apollo, the three Moirae - their stern visages softened by smiles, of a bright golden thread falling from the sky - twisting and catching the light as it descended.

I don't know what woke me first - the first warm rays of the sun striking my face, or the heavy metallic "thunk" of a pistol being cocked. I opened my eyes to stare at a barrel pointed at me and the harsh mien of Cristano. Bobby murmured in his sleep and pulled me closer.

"Let go of him ... slowly ... and get out of the bed." he whispered. He gestured to me with the gun. "Over there."

I attempted to capture his mind with my gaze, but failed. Odd. Very odd. As I left my lover I noticed that my skin no longer had its customary ashen pallor. I looked at my hands, my arms, down my legs. I saw nothing but healthy human skin - mortal skin - golden tan stretched over my muscular frame. I ran my tongue along my teeth - my fangs were gone.

I knelt down on the floor and began to laugh - at first I chuckled, then full-blown gales of mirth escaped my lips. Bobby woke up and blearily looked at the tableau in front of him: me, on the floor laughing like a madman and his bodyguard, holding the gun on me and unsure how to proceed.

"Cristano, put the gun away."

"But Bobby....??"

"I said - put the gun away. NOW." His tone brooked no argument.

"By the gods! I'm mortal! I'm mortal again!" I laughed. He slithered out of the bed and padded over to me. He lifted me up and embraced me. He crushed his lips to mine; we were both breathless when he let go. He looked hard at me, caressing my face and arms; kissing my jaw and nibbling at my neck. I sighed in pleasure and held him closer to me.

He smiled. "Well, Xiphon - we've got a lot of catching up to do ... about four thousand years worth..."

* * *

Along with masking, vampires always fascinated me. Not the Nosferatu or Count Orloff types - ugly, misshappen beings of darkness, but more along the Anne Rice/Laurell Hamilton ones - handsome, sometimes cruel, sometimes heart-broken, immortal long term planners. When I saw the Vamp mask from Greyland, I always thought of doing a story involving my favorite monster.

I also wanted the character of the vampire to be cursed with his undeath, rather than succumb to it for purely selfish reasons - unlike the Jason Patric character in "The Lost Boys." A similar situation confronted the magician Schmendrick in the Last Unicorn. In that novel, the magician was cursed with immortality until such time he could perform a spell worthy of his true potential.

All along, I had plans for someone to be the foil of the vampire prince. As it turned out, it became Bobby. As I was writing "The Elixir" the plot elements for this story started to sprout and germinate; to twist and turn around each other. Bobby, initially a secondary character, grew in stature until he became an AE in his own right. Along with Phil, Bobby is one of the few characters that I have not yet instantiated with a mask. I hope to do so someday - hopefully soon.

Janus: A Tale of Two Faces

(Finally - the fanboy story is complete. Hope you enjoy it!)

Sir George Packard slammed down the phone. "Damn incompetent fool!"

"More bad news from Downing Street?" Commander William Foote, Packard's adjutant and close friend, entered the room and placed a sheaf of papers on the spymaster's desk.

"Worse. Parliament." Packard sighed. "It seems an idiot cabinet minister has gotten himself into a blackmail predicament with some movie celebrity. And it needs MI5's 'subtle touch' to make things right. Damn, Damn, Damn!"

"Who's the movie star?"

"Henry Cavill."

"You said 'himself' ?"

The spymaster nodded. Foote sat down and ran his hand through his close cropped graying blonde hair. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

"Oh, bloody fuck. That's all the government needs now - another Blackburn affair."

"My thoughts exactly. First, the younger Blackburn went freelance, then we missed killing the older brother and then Ingraham bolted the agency for his Scottish lover. We don't need any more bad publicity."

"Who do you want to put on this?"

Packard tapped his chin. "I was thinking of Delacourte."

Foote stared at him. "Delacourte? He's damaged goods. Rumours are still swirling around that he was the one that got Ingraham the Blackburn data and then helped him skip. Nothing could be proven, but he's still under a rather dark cloud of suspicion."

"Exactly. Let him bollux this up and we can quietly eliminate him. Perfect application of the tipsy coachman doctrine. A roundabout way of getting to the results we wanted in the first place."

Foote shook his head in admiration. "You are one cold, calculating bastard, you know that?"

Packard picked up the receiver and grinned at his assistant. "Coming from one of Her Majesty's top snipers, Will - I'll take that as a compliment." He dialed a number.

"Delacourte? Packard. Get up here!"

* * *

Patrick Delacourte was a strikingly handsome man, made even more so by the years of action he saw in MI5. 6'1" tall, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair, his features had been sharpened by adversity and at times bordered on the cruel. A thin scar ran across his left cheekbone and past his ear, a souvenir of deathly close encounter with a Russian bullet. His well-muscled frame was a hallmark of MI5 field operatives and he carried himself with a lithe and deadly grace. He had always been somewhat of a maverick, and the administration had decided to use him as the scapegoat for the entire Blackburn fiasco. The best deceptions are often peppered liberally with truth, and to some extent, his actions had been the catalyst.

Charles Ingraham had been his former lover, and the ginger-haired operative had played on Patrick's emotions to get the incriminating evidence to warn the assassin and his brother about the deep-cover elimination plot. Their friendship had been well-known; their intimacy had not. That information would have meant a long prison sentence - or worse - for both of them. Despite the demotion he had received - for reasons real or imagined - he would not have changed his actions and given the chance, would do it all over again. There are some people worth dying for - and Charlie was one of them. I just hope he and Jason are happy. These thoughts paraded around in his head as he made his way up to Sir George's office.

He entered the anteroom and saw Foote - the spymaster's official toady - look up from paperwork on his desk and give him a reptilian stare. The adjutant picked up a line and spoke quietly to the other party.

"You can go in, Delacourte. He's expecting you."

Patrick gave him a curt nod and rapped on the door before turning the knob.

"Ah, Delacourte ... come in. Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir. What did you want to see me about?"

"A ... developing situation ... has been brought to the attention of the agency, and I feel that someone with your ... er, proclivities ... would be the best person to investigate and resolve the matter. We have a rather ... delicate ... blackmail situation involving a Cabinet Minister and the actor Henry Cavill."

"And what 'proclivities' would those be, sir?" That you can't ever quite get the evidence to prove I'm gay, you supercilious bastard?

Packard ignored the hint of hostility in the agent's voice. "Before joining the agency, you had been a stage actor for several years. We don't have any other personnel with that background."

"Is this Cavill blackmailing the minister, Admiral?"

"No, that's the odd thing. Both men are being blackmailed by some unknown third party. We need to have that party identified and removed. Quietly. You'll probably need to make use of the novaplasm facilities and go undercover to root out the blackmailer."

"I see. Does the minister and this actor know about our involvement?"

"The Minister asked for our help in resolving this matter. He said he'd make sure that his lover would cooperate."

The distaste when he used the word 'lover' hung in the air between the two. Inwardly, Delacourte wanted to rip the throat out of the man in front of him. Outwardly, he projected an aura of detachment and professional interest.

"Is there any background information for me to read, sir? I'd like to be prepared before I begin any interviews with the parties." Goddamn hypocrite. I'll bet your pet commander outside doesn't know you've been fucking his wife for over a year now, does he?

"Foote will provide you with the information we have. I want a weekly status report on your progress on this situation."

"Of course, sir." Delacourte stood up and turned to leave. As he reached the door, Packard cleared his throat.

"And Delacourte ..." the agent turned back to look at Packard.

"... your reputation is soiled as it is. Don't foul this one up - the consequences will be rather dire for all involved. You in particular."

Delacourte grabbed the sheaf of papers from Foote and returned to his cramped office. He packed the files into his satchel and left the building. The sun was beginning to set and Patrick decided to go somewhere quiet to begin preparing for his assignment.

* * *

The drive had taken over an hour, but as Delacourte pulled into the parking lot, he let out a deep breath and relaxed. He exited the car and approached the small cottage with his satchel.

Key in one hand and silenced SigSauer in the other, Patrick slowly opened the door to the darkened interior. He reached across the doorframe and snapped on the lights. Empty. He holstered the gun and locked the door. He went into the kitchen and put up a kettle to boil. While he was waiting for the water to heat, he sat down on the soft couch and began to read.

A quiet knock on the door brought the spy's heightened senses to full alert. He put down the papers and picked up the Sig. Quietly, he padded to the door and flung it open.

David Caldwell looked at the Sig pointed at his chest. "Goddamnit Patrick! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sorry about that, love. C'mon in." He lowered the gun and turned back into the room. David followed and locked the door behind him. The two embraced hungrily. David rubbed his hands over Delacourte's hard chest and wrapped his arms around the spy's trim waist.

"Damn, I've missed holding you so much ... What is this place? The text message was rather cryptic."

"One of Jason's hidey-holes. One he neglected to 'officially' put on the books. Charlie told me if I ever needed a safe place, I could come here." He nuzzled Crawford's neck. "I received an assignment today and I wanted to talk to you about it."

"I think I'm being set up."

* * *

After the "Blackburn Affair" - the rules against fraternization amongst operatives had been elevated to near-draconian levels. Relationships - like those between Patrick and David - needed to be kept completely undetectable. Absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder, as their lovemaking was slow and intense; both were exhausted after their marathon session.

Patrick was laying on his side, his head on David's chest. The younger agent was stroking Delacourte's forehead and running his hand through the other man's thick sable hair.

"Mmmmm ... that feels so good, love. Don't stop."

"So tell me about this blackmail case you've been assigned."

"Well, it seems that someone is trying to expose the relationship between an MP and this actor. Whoever it is, they're targeting both parties."

"Who's the actor?"

"Some bloke named Cavill."

David stopped stroking Delacourte's face. "Henry Cavill? The one who plays Charles Brandon on The Tudors?"

"I believe so."

David became very quiet. That was always a sign that the young agent was plotting something. Usually complicated and devilishly unexpected. In his own way, David Caldwell was as much a maverick as Delacourte.

"Patrick, this could be our chance to get out of the business. Do what Charlie and Jason did. Go freelance. What information do you have about Henry?"

The spy rolled off of his lover and stretched out like a cat. He put his hands behind his head.

"He grew up in Jersey, in the Channel Islands. Jersey is his home but he is currently, in his own words, "floating around the world." He has four brothers and a pet parrot."

"Go on."

"Henry was a main actor the boarding school he attended. The Stowe School was located in Buckingham. His roles included Oberon in a rendition of Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', and Sonny in "Grease". He also starred as Hamlet in '40 Minutes', which he also directed. He's twenty-five years old.

Since then he has appeared in a couple of well-known movies such as 'The Count of Monte Cristo' and 'I Capture the Castle'. He also has a number of lesser-known movies, and television movies. He delivered a captivating performance as Chas Quilter in 'Inspector Lynley's Mysteries: Well-Schooled in Murder.'

He has worked with the actor Bill Nighy twice, once in 'I Capture the Castle' and also 'Well-Schooled in Murder'. He has worked with the young actor Joe Sowerbutts three times, also in 'Capture', 'Well-Schooled' and briefly in 'Goodbye, Mr. Chips'. He's currently in that historical drama you mentioned. I also managed to obtain all of his performances on DVD. It's going to take a bit of study to get all of his tells and mannerisms down pat."

* * *

To tell the truth, Henry didn't know what concerned him more - the blackmail itself or the fact that Simon had involved MI5 in the matter. A man named Patrick Delacourte had called him and indicated that he was "working on the difficulties yourself and Lord Roderick were experiencing" and had asked to come over to speak with him. The more he thought about it, the more he preferred the blackmailer, whomever he (or she) was. Cavill had dealt with the local constabulary on many occasions; (there were several officers that were rather handsome and randy as hell once they were off the clock) but someone from MI5 - that was something altogether different. These were the people that quietly eliminated problems; although he was sure that Simon did not consider him a problem, there were some doubts gnawing in the back of his mind. He began writing a note to his oldest brother - confessing his sins, so to speak - in the event that anything untoward should happen to him. He would post it before the agent would arrive.

As luck would have it, the buzzer to his flat rang as he was finishing the missive; Cavill nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Who is it?"

"Patrick Delacourte."

The agent was a half hour early. Henry swallowed hard. He stuffed the letter through his shirt and past the waistband of his Clever trunks. If anything occurred, at least the coroner might find it. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Cavill was an excellent judge of character and he breathed a mental sigh of relief. The man at the door was tall, dark and handsome. The smile on his face was open and unforced and it traveled all the way to his bright blue eyes. He felt stupid for being so paranoid. He drank in the sight of the agent in front of him.

Patrick cleared his throat. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"I'm so sorry! Of course!"

Patrick entered the flat and Henry closed the door behind him. He admired the agent's muscular physique and the smooth way he glided across the room. Sort of like a big cat. A big, dangerous cat. He began to grow hard.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Tea would be great, thanks."

Henry went into the kitchen and put up a kettle on the stove. He came back out to Delacourte, who was sitting in one of the chairs near the window.

"Simon told me that he had asked your ... ah, agency ... to resolve the problem we're having. What can I do to help, agent Delacourte?"

"The name's Patrick, Henry. There's no need to be so formal. I'm here to help you and Lord Roderick eliminate this problem. Why don't you tell me what happened? Start at the beginning."

* * *

"So no one knows about your relationship with Lord Roderick?" Patrick held the mug of tea in his hands and took a sip.

Henry shook his head. "We've been extremely discreet. Both of us have a lot to lose if the fact that we're sleeping together was to be exposed. I'd probably never work again, and Simon would be penniless."

Delacourte gave him a quizzical look.

"Simon has the title, but Anouk - his wife - has the money. She's a religious zealot and she'd divorce him in an eyeblink if she discovered he was 'fornicating' with another man. " Henry gave a bitter laugh.

"Patrick, can I ask you something? You're obviously a very experienced agent. Why are you on this assignment? I truly appreciate the service, and I'm sure Simon does also, but this has got to be a very minor issue for MI5."

Delacourte was quiet for a moment. His face hardened. "Officially, I'm uniquely suited for this assignment since I was a stage actor before joining the service. Unofficially, the bastard I work for has been trying to out me for years and have me dismissed or eliminated. This is just another attempt on his part."

Henry was incredulous. "You're gay?"

The spy nodded. "I passed some information onto my former lover to prevent a government-sanctioned murder. He skipped the agency with that information and a load of cash in several Swiss accounts. That raised quite a stink at Whitehall. I'm not exactly in their good graces."

"I think from what you've told me, the best way to find the blackmailer is for me to walk about in your shoes for a little while. That's going to take some preparation on your part and a lot on mine. Let's go and get started."

* * *

Patrick and Henry entered the high-rise complex and took the elevator to the thirtieth floor. During the interview with the actor, Patrick had fought down his growing lust and desire to rip the clothes off the other man and viciously take him. For some reason, Henry seemed to inflame Patrick's more brutal tendencies.

"I still don't understand how you're going to impersonate me, Patrick. We're about the same height and build, we both have blue eyes and dark hair, but you don't LOOK anything like me."

"That's why we're here, Henry. That little detail will be taken care of shortly."

The doors opened and the two walked down the corridor to the last door on the left. Patrick placed his hand on a dark glass panel and with a heavy "thunk", Henry heard bolts retracting. The two entered an airy reception room with a stunning red-headed beauty behind the desk.

"Hello handsome! Or should I say 'handsomes' ??"

Patrick smiled back at the receptionist. "Good morning, Constance. We have an appointment with David this morning. Though I'm afraid you won't be seeing me around for a while."

She looked over at Henry and made a moue. "Well, at least you're going to be gorgeous as ever."

The two men went past the desk and Patrick called back to her over his shoulder. "See you in a bit, love!"

"What was that about?"

"You'll see. Come on."

Patrick gave the door a few sharp raps and actor and agent entered. The room was large with banks of electronic equipment and what looked to be some type of operating theaters behind large observation windows. David had his back to the door, but had turned around at the sound.

"Patrick! Mr. Cavill! Right on time! Have a seat!"

David hooked a swivel chair from another desk and motioned Henry to sit. Patrick leaned casually against the wall. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

"I'm sure Patrick has filled you in about his undercover duties for this operation, correct?"

Henry nodded. "Yes. Yes, he has. But I don't know how he's going to pull it off. Are you some type of makeup artist?"

David smiled. "You could say that. What I do is much more than makeup. We are going to make Patrick into you - down to the smallest detail ... you look a little nervous."

Henry gave the technician a worried grin.

"It's not going to hurt."

Henry laughed. His entire face changed and lit up. David laughed with him.

"First thing I need to do is get a voiceprint from you. Patrick has an implant, right here ..." He tapped a spot on his throat next to the adam's apple. "... that changes his voice based on programming sent to it. After that, we're going to do a holographic body scan and build a full body mask for him to wear."

"He'll look just like me, then?"

"Well, he's a bit brawnier than you in some areas, but essentially, the mask will be indistinguishable from you. Are you ready to start?"

Henry gulped. "S-sure."

"Patrick, why don't you get prepped for your scan while I get Henry's voiceprint done?"

Delacourte stubbed out the cigarette and flicked the butt into a wastebasket. "Fine with me." He winked at Henry. "See you in a tick."

David and Henry went into a small room that resembled a recording studio. Several suspended microphones surrounded a desk and a comfortable chair. David motioned Henry to be seated.

"I'm going to have you read a passage out loud. We're going to do it twice. Once, in your normal tone of voice and again as if you're on stage. All right?"

Henry sighed. "I'm still really nervous about this."

David patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry." He handed him a sheet of paper.

Cavill stared at it and smiled. "The St. Crispian's Day Speech from Henry V? One of my favorites! How did you know?"

David blushed. "Well, I have to admit, I'm a big fan of yours. I really enjoy 'The Tudors' - more for you than anyone else. "

It was the actor's turn to blush. "Thanks, David."

David left the mini-studio and sat outside the room. He flicked a couple of switches and Henry could hear the hum of the electronics warming up. The technician thumbed the speaker switch and his voice came through on hidden speakers.

"All ready, Henry."

The actor gave him a thumbs up. David motioned him to start. Henry began.

This day is called the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispin's:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day.

Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words,
Harry the king,
Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot,
Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.

This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

"How'd I do?"

David shook his head. "Amazing, Henry. Absolutely amazing! You can put Kenneth Branaugh to shame, you know that?"

Henry chuckled. "Well, you're not the first person to tell me that. I just try not to let it go to my head."

"Okay, let's do it again. This time, picture yourself on a misty morning on the fields of Agincourt."

* * *

The actor and technician left the recording booth and proceeded back into the main area of the laboratory. The two were chatting when Henry stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Transfixed.

"David, do you have to keep it so bloody COLD in here?"

Patrick stood in the main lab area, completely naked, his manhood jutting out obscenely in front of him. Except for the hair on his head and the shadow on his jaw, he was shaved completely smooth. His muscles bunched and moved beneath his skin. He was holding a steaming mug of tea in both hands. The technician noticed how Henry's eyes traveled over every muscular inch of the agent and noticed the growing bulge in the actor's trousers. He chuckled.

"It's not cold if you have clothes on, love." He gestured to the leftmost chamber. "Go ahead into 101 and get ready for the scan."

Patrick put the mug down and kept muttering about thermostats. He entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. He stood in the center of the room, arms and legs held slightly apart from his body.

"Whenever your ready!!"

David sat down at one of the consoles and typed some commands into the system. "Scan starting ... now."

Henry watched as several ruby-red scanning beams crisscrossed and traveled up and around Patrick's body. He watched in amazement as three-dimensional image built itself onto the computer screen. The lightshow ended and a complete image of Patrick Delacourte rotated slowly on David's terminal.

"All right, Henry - you're next .... Henry??"

Cavill had been staring hungrily at Patrick through the observation window. "What? Sorry about that. I was distracted." He smiled at the technician.

"Patrick can be quite distracting!! I'm ready for you now. You'll need to do the same thing as he did." He pointed to the other room. "Take off your clothes and we'll scan you into the system."

Henry pulled the sweater over his head to reveal a smooth, hard chest. There was a deep groove between his pectorals which followed through to his six-pack abdominals. He slithered out of his jeans, removing trunks, socks and shoes. He stood naked (and embarassingly erect) in front of David. He looked over to see Patrick staring at him. The agent had his arms crossed; he broke into a slow smile and winked.

"When you get into the room, there are two pieces of tape on the floor. Step onto those, and raise your arms up at about shoulder level"

The actor entered the other lab and heard the door hiss quietly shut after him. He padded over to the spots on the floor and turned around to face the technician. He noticed that there was a large window between the two rooms. He smiled across at Delacourte.

"Henry..."

The actor turned to look at Caldwell.

"We're going to take some hi resolution photos of you first. Particularly face shots. It won't be long. Then we can proceed with the scan."

With that, a circular ring of cameras began to lower from the ceiling. It reminded Cavill of the setup used in "The Matrix" to provide that stop-motion effect. The cameras began snapping images. Sometimes the flashes went off; other times he just heard the click of the shutters. In a short time, the camera ring elevated and again disappeared into the ceiling.

"We're going to start the scan now. Just be patient and relax."

The ruby beams crisscrossed the actor's body, mapping each muscle, each crevice, each hair and each pore on the young man. In a short time, the process was complete.

David thumbed the microphone. "Okay, Henry - we're done. Come on out."

Cavill left the scanning room and began to put on his clothes. David stopped him. "We may need to do some last minute adjustments once the novaplasm mask is on Patrick. It's probably easier if you stay in your birthday suit for a little longer."

The young actor shivered. "Y'know, David, it is cold in here. Do you have something for me to throw over my shoulders or something?"

"I think so ... wait a moment." He got up from the console and went into another room of the suite. He came back with a knobbly blue cardigan. "Here you go. It's not pretty, but it's warm." Cavill slipped the sweater around him.

"Thanks."

In a short time, part of the wall in Patrick's room rolled up and a man-sized pedestal slid out of the alcove. Something flesh-colored was lying atop it. Delacourte picked it up and shook it out. It was a full body mask with some dark hair in the appropriate places. It looked ... unfinished. Sort of like a coin that has not been through it's final striking.

"What is that stuff?"

"Novaplasm. It's something that was developed for burn victims, but we've enhanced the properties and abilities. It's basically artificial skin and muscle controlled with nanotechnology. Once the skin is programmed, it microscopically binds with the wearer. It won't come off until it's programmed to come off. It's base-level programmed right now. Basic anatomy and shape. When it's like this, it's much easier to get on. Once Patrick slips into it, I'll finish the programming and it will build your body onto his."

* * *

Patrick stretched open the back aperture and pulled the mask over his head. Darkness enclosed him. He always approached the requirement to don the novaplasm with a combination of trepidation and exhiliration. The ability to become someone else excited him beyond words. He slipped his arms into the mask and settled his fingers into the built-in gloves. Delacourte then pulled the chest and back sections down a bit and sat on the edge of the pedestal. He flipped the lower portion of the mask to the front of him and stretched the opening again to slip his legs into the body sheath. He stood up and adjusted the mask around his arse and positioned his erect member and balls into the cock and ball area. With a squishy "pop" the opening in the back of the mask closed itself, leaving a smooth unbroken surface. Patrick now looked like some sort of alien or mannequin - eyeless, unformed, and somehow, powerfully sexual in a psychologically unsettling sort of way. He felt about the pedestal and climbed onto it.

"Now the magic begins. The nanites communicate directly with the electronics in the pedestal, and will start conforming the novaplasm to the body coordinates we scanned in for you."

David tapped a few keys on the console and then pressed the Enter key.

Patrick arched his back and shivered. The nanite invasion felt like a million sharp needles poking into his flesh. The pain was exquisitely intense for a few moments and the agent reveled in the sensations he experienced. Within a few moments, he could no longer feel the novaplasm as a separate layer of substance against his skin. It was his skin. It tightened around him, shaping itself based on the instructions coming from the computer beneath him. Soon, he could feel the air currents wafting about and the grooves of metal on the pedestal. He opened his eyes and looked at the hand in front of him. Fine, tiny hairs poked out of the skin and he turned it over to look at the palm and fingertips. He ran his hand down his chest to feel muscular pecs; as he ran his hands over his nips, he felt them grow hard and more sensitive. His fingers tingled from the contact. Patrick swung his legs over the side of the pedestal and marveled at the tool hanging between his legs. It was thick and wide and painfully erect. He turned to face David and Henry outside the room. Leave it to David to make his already-large endowment even larger.

"Feels great, David. How does it look?" The laryngeal implant had been programmed at the same time and he heard himself in the actor's clear mid-tenor.

Henry stared open-mouthed at the agent. He was looking at a perfect replica of himself. So perfect it frightened the hell out of him, yet had him lusting after the man inside the room. David looked at the actor and his response out of the corner of his eye. He smiled. Everything was going according to his plan.

"Patrick, you want to come out here? Or should I say 'Henry'?"

The agent sauntered out of the room. "You should probably start using 'Henry'. I'm going to have to start paying attention to that name."

He turned to the actor. "You're drooling, my friend."

Cavill reached up to touch the agent's face. He stroked his hand down Patrick's cheek and marveled at his own face smiling back at him. Patrick grasped the actor's hand in his own and gently kissed it.

"I always wondered what it would be like to be a twin." Henry breathed.

Patrick gave him a lopsided smile. He duplicated the actor's gesture and stroked the side of Cavill's face. "Well, you've heard the phrase 'go fuck yourself' - care to try it out?"

Henry blinked as the double entendre sank in. He grinned. Patrick grasped the actor's member and began to stroke it. Henry shivered and wrapped his arms around the agent and began to kiss his neck. Delacourte pulled the cardigan off the actor and began to stroke his back, his hands traveling down and kneading the hard mounds of Cavill's arse.

The actor licked his doppleganger's ear. “I always thought it would be a total turn-on to be overtaken by a guy and forced to have sex with him. You could do that - you're an MI5 field agent and you know how to take care of yourself or anyone else.”

Delacourte couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You mean you want me to knock you around a bit, and then have my way with you?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. You think you’re man enough to do that?"

"Well, let's see what you're made of!" Patrick put the actor into an armlock and marched him into the bedroom area of the laboratory. Delacourte hauled off and gave Cavill a right upper cut that sent his 6' body flying backwards, and landed him on the bed. Henry didn’t resist much as the agent positioned his body in the middle of the bed, and straddled him to get an easy road to his upper body. Cavill's chest, shoulders and upper arms were like steel. Delacourte began by pounding his left side, both his arm and his chest, and then did a number on the right side. It took a while but those hard muscles finally turned to mush with the constant barrage of lefts and rights. Henry only winced, moaned and groaned, but never asked to stop. Cavill was short of amazing with the physical punishment he could take and not cry out. This must have been a total turn on for him to take this beating, as his cock was obscenely hard and poking at Patrick's chute.

The agent then began to work on those muscled thighs and it didn’t take long till he knew that the actor would be totally submissive to Delacourte's sexual advances.

“I’m ready for whatever you want to do to me.”

Patrick was done hurting him, and now it was his goal to give him the most pleasurable sex Cavill had ever had. He positioned himself between those gorgeous legs and rested his body atop the actor. Immediately, his legs wrapped around Delacourte's waist and his arms weakly embraced the agent. He moaned with the touch of the operative's body to his. They kissed passionately, and his warm mouth and tongue were eager for Delacourte. Patrick licked the wounded chest and Henry's nipples responded by getting hard in an instant. His chest was still magnificent, and the agent scooted his body up so the actor could take the horsecock into his waiting mouth.

Henry wrapped his lips around the head and he swirled his tongue; it gave Patrick a feeling he had not felt before on any assignment. He began to gently thrust my hips, and slowly he was penetrating deeper and deeper into the young actor. Cavill's throat opened up and it wasn’t long before he had all twelve, wide inches of Delacourte inside him. His hands were all over the agent's arse and thighs, as he pulled Patrick into him in rhythm with the operatives' movement. Delacourte exploded his hot seed into Cavill's throat and mouth; Henry quickly got on top of the agent and kissed him passionately, almost as if to say thank you.

But Delacourte was not done with this stud yet.

He returned the favor and deep throated the actor. Cavill's 11-inch “tool” was so thick; it stretched his mouth and throat to its limit.

“Oh God, that's incredible ... Don’t stop, don’t ever stop,” Henry cried out.

Cavill came and his spunk was the sweetest Patrick had ever tasted. He immediately started to work Henry's pucker with his tongue. The actor's arse was heaven, and then with his fingers, he loosened him up even more. It wasn’t long before Delacourte penetrated Henry and his cock was inside of him. Patrick slowly started to rock and push with his hips until Cavill had all of the spy inside him.

“I didn’t think anything could feel so good...” Henry moaned. “I'm going to explode again!”

Delacourte fucked the stud actor for over an hour. Henry’s cock was ready to erupt, so Patrick increasingly pounded him and plowed his arse as hard as possible, so they could both have their loads shoot together. Delacourte filled up his arsehole, and Henry spewed his white milk all over his model-perfect abs and chest.

The two laid together in a heap for a long while. Patrick rubbed the back of Henry's neck. "Did I ruin you for Simon?"

The actor kissed the tip of the agent's nose. "It's so damn exciting to see you as me." He began to grown hard again. "This would be a bloody hot gay movie, wouldn't it?"

"You are one randy bastard, you know that?" Patrick growled as he flipped the actor onto his back and penetrated him again.

* * *

Patrick/H drove up to the Roderick manor house. Henry had provided him with some invaluable information about the household and as well as some intimate details about his relationship with Simon. He was reveling in the Cavill persona but was a bit apprehensive that his disguise was sufficient to fool Henry's lover.

He rang the doorbell and the massive portal was opened by Granville's 17-year-old son, Jeremy. The handsome young man gave the agent a guarded smile and ushered him into the foyer.

"Simon has two children. Jeremy and Alison. Alison was a bit of an accident as Anouk wasn't planning on having another child and Simon was feeling rather guilty after one of our more, um ... involved ... romps. Both of the kids love you - Jeremy sees me - you - as the older brother he never had and Alison just loves being held by you - I mean me ... oh hell, you know what I mean."

"Henry! Is something wrong? Why didn't you ring ahead?"

"Damn. No, nothing's amiss. I just wanted to talk with your dad. Is he around?"

"He's in the study with Uncle Francis. Mum's out with her prayer group. Probably rolling on some floor and speaking in tongues." The young man gave him a grin.

"I'm off to see David. Thanks for setting up the date with him ... God, I loved his Mark Smeaton character! He's so damn good in bed ... I just wish he'd be a bit more quiet. When he was here the last time, he woke Alison up from her nap. I told her were playing a game and tucked her back in."

"Jeremy plays on the same rugby team as his father, if you get my drift. I had seen David Alpay ogling him when he was on the set during a tour and I hooked them up. The two have been inseparable."

Patrick/H returned the smile.

A brightly coloured blur barreled down the hallway screaming "Hemmy!". Patrick/H knelt down and the little girl ran into his arms. He stood up and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

"How's my beautiful girl, hmmm?? You get bigger and prettier every time I see you!"

The three-year-old wrapped her arms around the agent's neck and laughed. "May I have this dance, my lady?" He spun around with the toddler in his arms and sang to her. She was entranced.

"More, Hemmy! More!"

Patrick/H continued to entertain the little girl until a voice interrupted them.

"May I cut in?"

Simon Granville stood - smiling at the tableau in front of him. Alison squirmed around and held her chubby arms out to her father. The agent put her down and she ran to him. He picked her up and kissed her.

"Did you have a nice dance with Henry?"

She nodded. "He smells good."

Simon laughed. He put her down. "Run along and play sweetheart. Henry and I have some work to do." She gave a pensive look at the agent.

Patrick/H gave her a smile. "I'll see you later Alison. I promise!"

She laughed and skipped away.

Simon grew serious. "Did someone get in contact with you?"

Patrick/H nodded. "A very capable agent. Name of Patrick Delacourte."

Granville nodded. "I spoke with him at length, too. I'd hate to have him angry at me, though. He said he was working on several leads."

The two walked back through the hallway and into the study. Another man was staring out at the garden through the french doors. A nearly empty glass of scotch was in his hand. He turned as the two men entered the room. When he saw Patrick/H, he flinched. The agent's senses immediately went into overdrive.

"Henry, I don't believe you've ever met my younger brother Francis."

"Francis Granville is a professional leech. He's always plotting yet another get rich quick scheme. He'd get a lot further with the ducal title, but being the younger son, he excluded from that - Simon has the dukedom, and afterwards, it will pass to Jeremy. Simon can be too kind-hearted, though - he can't seem to ever tell that fucking wastrel 'no'."

"A pleasure to finally meet you ... Simon's told me quite a bit about you."

A blush crept up the younger Granville's throat and he gave a produced a pained grin. "Simon has mentioned you frequently - it's wonderful that a young actor such as yourself is so willing to give back to the community and encourage literacy and learning. I know that's always been a subject near and dear to my brother's heart." He looked at his watch. "Well, I must be going. It's been nice to meet you and continued good luck on the series."

Patrick/H shook his hand. The agent could see from the tells - the slight flaring of the other's nostrils and the dilation of the pupils - that the man was extremely uncomfortable in his presence and was hiding something. What, he had yet to determine. Francis left.

"I don't know why I put up with him." Simon groused. He put his arms around Patrick/H and paused. "Have you been working out?"

Think quick. "There's going to be a number of battle scenes next season. Hirst wanted me to bulk up a bit."

Granville was a handsome man - he was in his early forties but could easily pass for a man at least ten years younger. He brushed his lips against the agent's jaw.

"Mmmm. I don't know when Anouk is going to be back, love ... and we have some damn garden party to attend today."

"I just wanted to see how you're holding up."

"As well as can be expected. At least I haven't gotten any more demands ... yet. You?"

"No. None since the original." Patrick/H cleared his throat. "Delacourte indicated it may be better if we don't see each other as much right now. We still don't know how the blackmailer got those pictures, and we don't want to provide him any more ammunition."

"All right." Simon looked downcast. "You will be attending the London Literacy dinner, though?"

"Of course I will." He gave Simon a gentle kiss and trailed his lips along the lord's jaw and nibbled his ear. Granville moaned.

"God, I've missed you. I've missed being with you so much."

"Once this is over, we can pick up where we left off. I'd better get going. I don't think Anouk would be too understanding if she walked in right now."

The agent left the study and walked down the hallway towards the foyer. Francis Granville had set several alarms off in his head. He needed to do some forensic accounting as soon as possible.

* * *

MEMORANDUM

TO: G. PACKARD
FROM: P. DELACOURTE
RE: CASE 1033221 - STATUS REPORT

Following background review material and interviews with both involved parties. I have made use of the novaplasm facilities and have assumed the identity of H. Cavill for additional information and leads. Initial results have been positive and a possible suspect has been identified. I will be engaging the forensic accounting team under Article VI of the agency charter.

* * *

"Damn, I'm good..."

"Of course, you are ..." David snuggled closer to Patrick/H in the bedroom of the flat. He nibbled the field agent's ear. "I just love being drilled by a movie star."

"I meant about the blackmailer."

Patrick/H propped himself up on one arm. "I knew there was something wonky about Francis Granville as soon as I met him. The forensic report showed that Simon's little brother has been a busy little bastard."

"Hmmm?"

"We tracked all of the monies Simon has been giving his brother over the years - and it's a lot - but there were some recently opened accounts in the Grand Caymans that had some suspiciously large deposits that were identical to the blackmail amounts from Simon and Henry. And they appeared in less than a day from the withdrawals."

"What are you going to do?"

Patrick/H sighed. "I could just tell Simon and let him handle it - keep it in the family, so to speak - but we don't know if he'd release the information anyway since he had nothing left to lose. I think the original course of action is best - I hate to admit it, but sometimes Packard is right: just kill him and remove the problem."

David began to kiss down the agent's hard chest. "You do realize ... if we handle the ... situation properly ... we can skip out ... like Jason and Charlie." The younger spy had reached Patrick/H's manhood, which was now obscenely erect. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip. The other agent moaned in pleasure. "And no innocents get hurt."

"I can't even think when you're doing that, David."

"I programmed some additional nerve endings in the novaplasm." Caldwell grinned up at his lover. "Well, I do have a rather large problem staring me in the face at the moment. Let me take care of that and then I'll explain what I'm thinking..."

* * *

Francis Granville whistled to himself as he left the nightclub. Everything was going according to plan. Poor, dear, stupid Simon had no idea who was blackmailing him, and his boytoy actor/lover was also in the dark. Neither of them had approached the police, both were too afraid to let any hint of their assignations become public and the fruit was ripe for more picking. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he could drain his brother enough for Anouk to divorce him. He couldn't explain where the money was going, or she'd divorce him anyway. He grinned. Something to think of in a few months time.

As he reached his BMW, he felt a slight sting on his neck. Puzzled, he reached up and removed a tiny dart. At that point, the world began to spin and he found himself falling into a black pool of unconsciousness.

* * *

Francis swam slowly back to wakefulness and found himself tied to a heavy wooden chair. Whomever did so was an expert - he could barely move anything below his neck.

He looked around the near empty room. Besides the chair he found himself in, there was only a videocamera atop a tripod. A blinking red light showed it was recording. He swallowed hard. A knot began to form in his stomach and a chill down his spine.

A door opened behind him. "Ahh ... finally awake. I hate torturing someone when they're unconscious. Spoils all the fun... Uncomfortable, I hope?"

"H-Henry?"

Patrick/H grinned at the look of shock and incredulity on Granville's face. He held a wicked looking pistol casually in his hand. It had a long barrel made even longer by a silencer.

He pistolwhipped the man in the chair and enjoyed watching his head snap to the side as the SigSauer connected with his cheekbone. A large purpling bruise began to form almost immediately.

"You made a big mistake fucking with me, Francis. Simon may have continued to let you browbeat him, but not me. We're gay and we're lovers, but I'm no bloody poof that you can take advantage of. This is the last mistake you are ever going to make."

"Henry ... I ... I'm sorry! It was a mistake! Let me go and I'll return the money! Please! I'll do anything you want!"

The agent pointed to the camera and gave the blackmailer a wicked grin. "You're not the first obstacle I've eliminated Francis, and you're certainly not going to be the last ... I've always been fond of keepsakes for special occasions ... what about you?"

Francis' eyes widened in panic.

Patrick/H lightly tapped the gun on his chin, ignoring his pleas. "Should I cut off your cock and balls and shove them down your throat? ... I think you'd suffocate before you bleed to death ..." he said offhandedly to himself. Francis now had a look of sheer terror on his face and began to scream.

"Oh, go ahead. Scream yourself hoarse. This room is soundproofed." He grabbed the other man's hair and yanked his head back. "Or ... maybe slit your throat and pull your tongue through the opening. That's called a 'Columbian necktie', you know ..." He let go of the other man as he continued to yell.

"Do shut up ... you're distracting me." The agent whipped the gun across his face again. Hard. With a crunching sound, the cartilage in nose broke and several teeth flew out of his mouth. Francis stopped - partly from pain and partly from shock. The silence in the room was broken only by his labored breathing and moans of pain.

"No ... you're a waste of air and space, Francis. You're not going to be a waste of my time either."

With that, Patrick/H raised the Sig and shot the captive man once in the chest. The pistol barely made a sound. Granville looked down in horror at the red stain blossoming on his shirt. He looked back up at the agent. With another quiet cough, a bullet smashed through his forehead. He slumped forward. Dead.

With a satisifed grin, the spy blew some smoke away from the muzzle of the gun. He walked over to the video camera and removed the disc. He took out a disposable phone and dialed the police.

"I'd like to report a shooting. 217 Tottingham Court Road. Apartment 2E." He paused. "No hurry - the bastard's dead." He wiped the phone to remove any fingerprints and threw it across the room. He opened the door and quietly left.

* * *

The Daily Telegraph - front page

"No Hurry - The Bastard's Dead"

12 October 2008. The local constabulary was dispatched yesterday by an anonymous phone call reporting a shooting. Officers found the body of Francis Granville, younger brother of Simon Granville, Lord Roderick, the current Minister of Defence. The younger Granville was beaten and shot twice at point-blank range. No information has been forthcoming about the investigation, but anonymous sources indicate that no evidence was found at the scene to provide any clue as to the motive or perpetrator of the crime. Any persons who may have information regarding this brutal murder are encouraged to ring Inspector Miles Ferran at Scotland Yard.

* * *

Packard read the paper with disgust. He threw it down on his desk. "Bloody showoff!"

* * *

Simon read the article in mute shock. The police had arrived earlier in the morning with the news. He was saddened by the death of his brother, but at some level, he saw Patrick Delacourte's efficient hand in the killing. Even Anouk - normally cold and reserved - had comforted him as he wept. What she didn't know - or understand - was that the tears were of relief rather than of sorrow.

* * *

"It was Francis?" Henry looked at his doppleganger in shock.

"Yes, it was." Patrick/H sipped his tea. The two men sat in Henry's flat. The agent picked up one of the remaining scones on the plate and spread some clotted cream onto it. "He had this planned for a while. Offshore bank accounts, the works. But neither you nor Simon need to be concerned any longer - I found the negatives and destroyed them. Another bitter weed plucked out of the garden of life." He bit into the biscuit.

Henry looked troubled. "But Patrick ... did you really have to kill him?"

Patrick/H looked at the actor. "Henry, I didn't kill anyone. You did."

The full import of that statement took a moment to register. Henry looked shocked. "What ... what do you mean? I was here at home."

The agent removed a DVD from his pocket and slipped it into the player. Henry watched in growing horror as the tableau unfolded in front of him. The screen faded to black after Francis lay slumped in the chair.

"I stopped in and had a few drinks at a pub nearby. Signed a few autographs too. Unfortunately, I have several eyewitnesses that can testify that you were out and about right around the time of the murder. Right near the scene of the crime, too."

"What do you want?" Henry's voice was a strangled whisper.

"I like you Henry. I really do. I like you as a person. I even like your parrot. But even more so, I like being you. I like your life and I want it. I was recruited when I was twenty-two, did you know that? I've killed and I've done unspeakable things for Queen and country. And I'm tired. If I tried to leave MI5, I'd be killed. I know too much. We'll set you up with a new identity and a sizable fortune somewhere far from here and I'll just pick up being Henry Cavill for good."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Myself and David. Otherwise ..."

"Otherwise ...?"

"... Inspector Ferran will get a little package in the mail. Of course, no one will believe you that an MI5 agent who happens to be your identical twin was hired to prevent news of your sexual affair with Simon Granville from becoming public."

Henry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "What do you want me to do?"

Patrick/H held the actor. "We're going to pay another visit to David."

* * *

Actor and agent once again found themselves in David's hi-rise laboratory.

"Don't look so beaten down, Henry. Believe me, it would have been far easier to just have you eliminated. Patrick and I want to get out of the business and you are the ticket. You're an innocent pawn in all of this, and neither of us wants to see you hurt."

Patrick/H snaked an arm around the actor and hugged him. "You're going to get a laryngeal implant like me, and then a new novaplasm body. Want to see it?"

Despite the somewhat coerced circumstances, Henry found himself intrigued and aroused at the same time. "What am I going to do?"

Patrick/H grinned. "Well, you don't have to do anything. We're setting you up with a tidy 5 million pound account. However, you're a great actor - and a great fuck by the way - so we thought we'd combine those two talents. You're going to be a porn star."

Henry looked surprised, but found himself grinning. Delacourte grinned back.

"I guessed as much. Want to see the new you?"

"Sure!"

David turned on one of the computer screens. "We based the novaplasm mask on a porn star named Francois Sagat. He's a bit on the short side, so we had to alter some of the dimensions to accommodate your 6' frame."

The image rotating on the screen showed a heavily muscled, tanned individual with a shaved head, strong jaw, piercing green eyes and a massive cock and balls; even more expansive than Henry's naturally large endowment. With the exception of some well-defined shadowy stubble on the scalp and around the jawline, the figure on the screen was completely hairless, which made his musculature and vascularity even more obscenely apparent.

"Can I make some suggestions?"

The two agents looked at each other. "Go ahead."

"Can you emphasize the cheekbones a bit more? And have the nose look like it's been broken?"

"No problem" David tapped several commands on the keyboard and zoomed the image so the face took the entire screen. He moved his mouse onto the areas on the face. "Like this?"

"A little more ... yes!"

David moved onto the nose area.

"Add a little bump and make it a bit less perfect ... no, too much ... a little less ... good!"

All three looked at the image on the screen. Henry's changes added a slightly rough edge which only served to enhance the sexuality of the man he was to become.

"While I'm at it ... any way I can get some tattoos?"

This was easier than the two agents had imagined. "That's not a problem. What were you thinking of?"

"I always wanted a full black ink tribal sleeve, but I couldn't do it. It wasn't 'proper.' " He chuckled. "However, I think now it's completely appropriate."

David continued to tap commands into the console. "See anything you like?"

Henry looked at the images on the screen. He gravitated immediately to two of them. One was an illustration of a muscular torso with blackwork spread across the shoulder, down the chest, through the abs and around the waist. The other was the side shot of a man with a bold sleeve running from his neck, and down around his arm.

"I like the second one better, Henry. You can always add more tats later."

The actor nodded. "You're right. Let's start out with the sleeve."

David gave the actor a sly grin. "What about something complementary up the opposite leg?"

"Can I see?"

Under David's keystrokes, another similar tat crawled up the model's leg. It cupped one cheek in an embrace of graceful curving lines which accentuated the muscular arse. As a final touch, David added a starburst around the navel.

"What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to be amazing ..." he whispered as he stared at the screen. "What about an agent? Or a studio? ..."

Patrick/H answered. "All taken care of ... You're already signed up at Thor Entertainment in California. I called in a favor from my ex-lover..."

David turned to Henry. "I need to put the implant in first. Are you ready?"

Henry nodded. Caldwell took a pneumatic gun, very similar to those for injecting vaccinations. He gently felt around the actor's neck and found the proper spot. "Hold very still Henry..." he squeezed the trigger.

With a slight "whump" the implant pierced the skin and embedded itself in Cavill's larynx. The pain was fleeting, but intense.

"That hurt." His voice was hoarse.

David patted his face. "It'll pass in a few moments. Since this is going to be a permanent cover, Henry, it's a good idea to completely depilate your body. It'll make putting the novaplasm on easier too. "

"I'll help Henry while you get the mask fabricated." Patrick/H offered.

* * *

About half an hour later, Patrick/H and Henry reentered the laboratory area. With the exception of his eyelashes, Henry was completely depilated. It was amazing how arousing the site of his muscular hairless body was - Patrick/H had drilled the actor after the depilatory had done it work. He had loved the feel of the slick, smooth skin beneath him. The young actor, too, enjoyed the feel of his hairless body; he kept stroking himself and his arousal was impressively large.

"You can take care of that once you're in your new body." Patrick/H promised. "I want to feel that huge, porn star tool up my arse!"

"Ready to go?" asked David.

"I can't wait!" Henry grinned. His voice had returned to normal.

"C'mon Henry, I'll help you into the suit."

Patrick/H helped the actor don the novaplasm sleeve. It was a bit heavier than he was used to; this model was bulkier due to the sheer amount of artificial muscle that would conform itself onto the actor. Henry had panicked a bit when the material covered his head and encased him in darkness. The agent held him until he calmed down, and then assisted him into the lower portion. Finally, he placed the actor on the computer pedestal and left the room. The door hissed shut.

Patrick/H watched in amazement as the novaplasm shaped itself onto the actor's frame. "I've never been on this end of process before ... it's incredible."

"That it is ... after we finish Henry, I've got to clean myself up and get into my new skin as well. It's already processed and queued up."

Patrick/H raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

David grinned. "Oh, you're going to enjoy it, love. You're going to enjoy it a lot!"

The process finished and Henry - or the man he had become - sat up on the pedestal. He stroked his now bronze skin stretched tightly over large muscles and traced the tattoos running down his arm and up his leg. He looked at the massive cock and balls hanging at his crotch. His tool was larger, wider and if possible, more erect than before the process started.

He smiled. His teeth appeared even brighter against his darker skin. "This is incredible!" He looked surprised at the huskier timbre of his voice. "I even sound like a porn star!"

"You're a sex god, Henry ... get used to it!" Patrick/H grinned.

Henry stood up from the pedestal and left the room to join the agents outside. Within the span of a few heartbeats, he found his new center of gravity and adjusted to his now-herculean frame. He crushed Patrick/H to him and gave him a brutal kiss. "I believe you owe me something, Mr. Cavill."

* * *

"I can just imagine the fun you're going to have." Patrick/H said from the bed. Henry had taken the agent again and again and the pounding left him sore and exhausted.

"I can, too! Thanks to you and David." Henry had slipped on a thick, stainless steel cock ring which pulled his massive tool up and out; he then stuffed himself into a thong which barely covered his huge package. He then pulled on a pair of black track pants with a crimson stripe which clung to every curve of his legs. A pair of red Nike trainers covered his feet and the porn star was pulling a short-sleeve crimson UnderArmour shirt over his muscular torso. The elastic fabric was straining over the hyperdeveloped biceps and triceps and his tattoo rippled as he smoothed the material down. A large diamond stud winked in his ear and he smiled at the agent. He slowly crawled onto the bed and his massive body covered the actor beneath him. He lowered himself gently down and gave Henry a soft kiss.

"Thank you, Henry."

A light knock sounded on the door and David entered. Henry seemed a bit shocked to see the other agent completely hairless also.

"Henry, all of your papers are outside. IDs, passport, airline tickets, everything. You're booked on a first-class, non-stop flight to Los Angeles. You'll be met at the airport. All's set. Your name is 'Henry Steele' by the way. You'd better get going. A cab is waiting for you downstairs."

Henry swung a small knapsack over his massive shoulder. He grabbed the other agent around the back of the head and gave him a deep kiss.

"Thanks for everything - I take it you're going to 'vanish' too?"

"In a matter of speaking ..."

"Good luck, you two ..."

"Godspeed, Henry! Can't wait to see you again on the silver screen!"

Henry grinned and waved to the two as he sauntered out of the room.

David put his hands on his hips and gave his lover a mock serious look. "Are you going to lay there all day, or help me? We've still got a bit of work to do!"

Henry smiled and rose from the bed. He reached for something to put on.

"Oh, don't bother with that ... we're going to making use of the facilities in a short while anyway!"

* * *

David had been absolutely correct - Henry was amazed at the new body of his lover. David had developed his novaplasm cover using a composite of several drop-dead handsome Bollywood actors. The new David - "Vijay Khan" - had thick black hair and a faint, 5 o'clock shadow carefully trimmed around a squared jaw. Deep brown eyes were surmounted by strong, straight brows and his deeply sculpted muscles were covered in a smooth, golden skin. A tightly defined six-pack, small, hard nips and slabbed pectorals highlighted his torso. He had tossed on a pair of loose jeans as he finished planting the viral timebombs into the consoles. The waistband of his Clever trunks peeked above the pants riding low on his hips as Henry kissed his neck.

"What about the auditing safeguards and the remote backups?"

Vijay laughed. His voice had changed too - it was a deliciously low blend of sensuous and rough. It seeped into Henry's pores and lit a fire in his blood.

"I broke into those months ago. They've been receiving sanitized copies of whatever I felt like giving them ... There! All done." He straightened up and pulled a thin cotton sweater over his head. It hugged every curve of his torso and left little to the imagination.

"What about the C4?"

"Primed and set. All the transfers complete?"

Vijay nodded. "Henry has his five million, and we - rather me - has our fifteen million - courtesy of Whitehall. Charlie really came through with that computer worm."

"Actually, he got it from his friends across the pond. There's a hacker par excellence that works for the bloke who owns the porn studio. Charlie called in a few markers on his own for us."

Vijay looked around the laboratory. This had been his second home for many years. He sighed.

"Ready to go, love?" Henry asked.

Vijay nodded. The two left the empty suite of offices and headed to the elevator bank. By the time the car reached the street level, they felt a muffled vibration from above. Henry gave Vijay a deep kiss.

"We've past the point of no return, sweeheart. There's going to be some adjustments for both of us now."

The handsome desi nibbled his ear. "Well, as long as that flat of yours has a big enough bed, I'm fine."

"I've got one more card to play in this game." Henry had a cold smile on his face. "If all goes well, we should be seeing some additional fireworks."

* * *

William Foote was in a foul mood. It had started early - a row with his wife Violet, then inhumanly bad traffic on the M1 and finally, someone had spilt coffee on his trousers. When he finally reached his desk, he saw the stack of paperwork that Packard must have completed the night before and he cursed under his breath.

As he pulled out his desk chair, he saw a thick manilla clasp envelope on the seat. He sat down and opened it. A typewritten note was clipped to the top of a folder.

Dear William,

If you are reading this, in all likelihood I am dead; either by accident, or more likely, by your hand at Sir George's behest. While you have never disguised your attitude towards me or my "predilections" as Packard has so snidely put it - I felt the enclosed information was something that you should have. Consider it what you may - my final revenge upon you from the grave or a gesture of sheer malice - but act upon it.

It was signed Patrick Delacourte.

Foote opened the folder and took a deep breath. He saw numerous incriminating pictures of Violet and George Packard in the throes of passion; his wife and his superior having sex; records of times and places where they had met for their assignations, as well as other information which proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the spymaster had cuckolded him for well over two years. There was also a DVD. The ex-sniper swallowed hard. He could only imagine what was on that disc. A cold determination swept through him. He knew what he had to do. He put on his coat.

"William? Is there a problem?" Packard asked as he left his office.

"Violet just called, sir. There's a family emergency with her mum. I need to get home."

"By all means ... I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if you need additional time."

"Thank you sir."

Foote left the floor. Packard picked up some papers and turned to reenter his office. He stopped. I thought Violet's mother had died a year ago. He shrugged.

* * *

The Daily Telegraph - front page

Murder and Mayhem at MI5

18-October-2008. Scotland Yard released further information today about the double murder of Sir George Packard, the somewhat shadowy head of the country's MI5 intelligence organization and his paramour Violet Foote. The alleged perpetrator of the shootings has been identified as one William Foote, the murdered woman's husband and an employee of Sir George. Commander Foote was also a former Royal Navy sniper.

A raft of unsubstantiated rumours have been circulating at Whitehall regarding a connection between the murders and the supposed misappropriation of over 50 million pounds from several government accounts. The Minister of Finance has not responded to numerous requests for further information on this developing situation.

A massive investigation has been initiated by the Prime Minister into the internal workings of the intelligence organization.

* * *

A slow smile split Vijay's handsome face as he read the article. Henry came into the kitchen and gave his Indian lover a deep kiss. "You are one vicious bastard when you want to be, love. That was a bloody work of art!"

Henry returned the kiss and sat down. He poured himself a cup of tea. "After I finish shooting this season of 'The Tudors', I was thinking we could take a vacation for a week or so. That sound good to you?"

"Any place in particular?"

Henry smiled. "I was thinking of Los Angeles ... I'd like to catch up with an old friend ..."

* * *

Well, the fanboy and I have parted ways - amicably - but David did light a fire under me to try a different type of masking story that involved historical fiction. The largest obstacle I had in writing was - at first - I really didn't want to write it. It was out of my "comfort zone", I wasn't sure how things would turn out, etc. - a whole raft of reasons for just tossing the story and doing something "regular".

But a promise is a promise. That, and the fact that I had already mentioned that I would be writing it in an earlier blog entry. And I didn't feel like modifying the earlier entry. I can be a lazy bastard, OK? Sue me.

I had originally thought of Patrick's character (name sounds familiar, doesn't it?) as the more scheming and manipulative of the two agents, but as I was writing, I found that David could be equally as black-hearted. I found I liked the dynamic that created, and the story began to take off. This story did seem to have more than the normal share of writer's blocks, but I attribute that to the newness of the genre I was writing more so than anything else.

My (former) fanboy was far more into just the masking and assumption of identity than the story - me, I needed to understand why something was happening and giving the readers several glimpses into the various levels beneath what was actually going on.

I also simplified the blackmail plot considerably. At first, I was thinking of having at least three possible suspects - Francis, Anouk and Henry's agent - but I think that would have added nothing to the story except more words.

With one exception, there are no masked pictures in the story itself. The closeup of the novaplasm face is actually a silicone mask called "Smooth" from Composite Effects. That mask will also play a major role in another AE story.

I don't know if I'll do another story like this ... it was hard, it was fun, and it was different. I'll depend on the feedback here to make the final decision ...