Nothing was more lovely than the way Jasper went about eradicating himself, as though he were the heir to some criminal blood, some sick drive to empire, and he’d swallow poison and steal and get on his knees and wear my clothes and take beatings from Declan, bear a broken arm or a slashed face or a knock to the head and still stay right where he was.

He gave us something we couldn’t have taken from him if we’d tried. Jasper was the kind of rich boy you could respect. The kind who would kill himself in front of you.

Deep-pink light was beginning to spread itself out along the horizon, making silhouettes of the huddled shapes of buildings. Milo came out to the balcony and put his arms around me, his chest against my back. I turned and held him tight and kissed him soft and deep, the way Jasper kissed us, and felt his warm skin against mine. Drank the kindness in his shining eyes. We knew I would leave them there.

The air was cool and smelled of car exhaust and I rested my forehead on his chin, then slid down and took his cock in my mouth; looking up to see his hard, scarred beauty; belly hairless and tacky with sweat. His strong hands gentle in my hair, pressed against my head, as he pushed in to fill my throat. Then pulled away. When I stood again to kiss him, he guided me back into the room and down onto our bed, his full weight upon me.

Jasper lay unconscious on the floor in the dim room, skin white as ruin. I wrapped my legs around Milo and pulled him into me with my heels, pressing myself tight against him, our hipbones flush and bruising, our bodies slick with sweat, sealed. The sleeping stranger we’d wanted for ourselves breathing vapors at our backs, a spark about to ignite and bloom.