Chapter 2
Horatio
Horatio Slice woke to the sun in his eyes and a stab of loneliness in his gut. After a shower hot enough to burn away the numbness in his soul, he brewed coffee and sipped it while watching the sunrise from the front porch of his cabin in the woods.
Naked.
Living alone sucked, but it allowed him to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and today, he wanted to jack off while communing with nature.
With one hand on the mug and the other on his dick, he leaned back in the wooden Adirondack chair and stroked.
Relaxed and lazy, his mind slipped into fantasy mode.
Maybe that evergreen shrub didn’t shiver from the wind. Maybe a stranger crouched there, knees crushing moss and dry leaves while they perved on his solo sex act.
You like watching me?
Maintaining eye contact with his imagined voyeur, Horatio fucked his hand between sips of dark roast. Debauched and bold, he didn’t hold back his grunts, which echoed across the yard and past the tree line.
Want a show?
He set the mug down and scooted forward, feet braced on the armrests.
Thighs relaxed and open, the crisp morning breeze licked his asshole and sent a dirty thrill prickling up his spine.
The fantasy deepened as the stranger transformed into a well-hung, bearded hunk.
He stripped off biker gear while walking toward Horatio, lubed cock glinting in the sun.
Fuck yeah, give it to me. Right here.
The stranger was inches away when his appearance shifted. The stomping gait morphed into a cocky swagger. An auburn ponytail replaced the bald head. The sly grin turned into a condescending smirk. Ugh. Horatio gritted his teeth.
Get out of my fantasies, Beau. I’m not that lonely.
The hot biker returned, smile like a dare. Hands on Horatio’s knees, he moved in for the kill. Horatio could almost feel his fat dick spreading him open. Could almost smell his bergamot beard oil. Could almost hear—a raucous shriek froze his hand and stole his breath.
Shit.
He hustled to the front door, but it was locked.
Double shit.
He zipped to the back entrance, erection bobbing, but before he could reach the knob, the ground dissolved, and he tumbled into the unknown.
Not this again.
Floating in the strange, green luminescence, he wasn’t sure if he’d cracked his skull on a rock or if that damn bird had finally caught him. The light vanished. Seconds later, Horatio slammed onto his back.
“Owww,” he howled. “That hurt like a motherfucker.”
Regaining his senses, he smelled a mélange of damp basement, slept-on sheets, and male musk. Pushing up, he noticed a twin mattress beneath his feet.
“Your seduction skills are pathetic, Meridian.” After two years of running, Horatio was itching for a fight. He raised his fists. “Come on out and face me, you red-haired freak!”
There was no sign of his arch-nemesis or anyone else. A tangle of wires surrounded the mattress, many connected to car batteries and computer parts. An open laptop glowed green, eerily similar to the light he’d floated in moments before.
“Don’t make me wait all day.”
Silence stretched.
Horatio couldn’t decide which scenario frightened him more: being alone with an unhinged psychopath or simply being alone. He scrutinized the bizarre contraption.
“Man, that’s a lot of duct tape.”
He crept through the modest space. The tilting stacks of books, cheap furniture, and mini fridge covered in band stickers all screamed college dorm—but the equipment didn’t fit.
How could a student afford this much tech?
Then again, out in the universe, rules weren’t just broken—they were steamrolled.
He found a desk and slid open the top drawer.
“Headphones and an EarPod? I must be back—no. No way. That’s impossible.”
He stuffed one earbud in and pressed play, shocked to hear his own voice. “What the fuck?” He shoved everything back in the drawer and slammed it shut. The familiar smell and vintage music player suggested he was back on Earth. But how? And why?
“Where the hell am I?”
An unfamiliar voice answered. “New York State, um… the campus of Branford University, to be exact.”
“Who said that?”
A masculine hand waved from behind a heap of furniture. “Me. I’m a big fan. Uh, actually, a huge fan. I can’t believe you’re here.” He exhaled. “I can’t believe you’re alive!”
“Makes two of us.”
Horatio moved closer and leaned over the pile.
The face peering up at him was equally feminine and masculine, a combination that always left him weak in the knees.
Long, tousled hair swept across broad shoulders.
Full, curvy lips topped a strong chin. Thick brows framed heavily lashed, dark chocolate eyes—deep enough to swallow a man’s soul.
“Hell-o-o-o hottie,” he blurted.
“Um, hi!” He took a furtive glance at Horatio’s dick and blushed. “You made one hell of an entrance.”
Even his voice was hot—clear and melodic, with an East Coast accent. Horatio struggled to respond but blamed the spinning in his head on his startling re-entry. “The impact almost shattered my spine, but I’m okay.”
Horatio offered a hand to help him up. The skin-to-skin contact grounded him in reality. Holding tight, he pulled him close and stared deeper. “You don’t work for Meridian, do you?”
“No, I’m just a college student,” he stammered. “I don’t work for anyone.”
“Then why were you hiding?”
“Because a portal opened in my ceiling, and… yeah, I built a machine to do that, but I didn’t expect it to work.” He paused. “No, actually, I kinda did.”
The realization was a slap. This doe-eyed, curvy-lipped college kid brought him here on purpose. He broke eye contact only long enough to glance at the machine. “You made this… just to bring me… home?”
“Yeah.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if creating a history-making machine was something he did every day.
Horatio reluctantly released his trembling hand. “Why?”
He stared for a few breaths, face tight. “Because… I watched you disappear.”
“You were at the gig that night?”
“Right up in the cheap seats. Great show, by the way, up until, uh, you know.” He swiped away tears with the back of his hand. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you’re standing right there.”
Horatio fought the urge to kiss his wet lashes. “You did the impossible, literally.”
“Tell me about it. You dropped through my ceiling, and I still can’t believe it, even though my ears are ringing.”
“Portals are usually quiet. Did you score a nuke to power that thing?”
“Maybe too many car batteries?” He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “But was I right? Did you fall into an alternate dimension?”
Horatio nodded. “I landed on my ass then, too. At least you put a mattress down. Meridian let me crash onto cold concrete.”
“Who or what is Meridian?"
“He’s the psychopathic leader of a dimension called Clairidia. I was supposed to land there, but I ended up… somewhere else. He’s been chasing me ever since.”
“What does the psychopathic leader of another dimension want with you?”
“Oh, he wants to kill me.”
Those big eyes got even bigger. “What? Why?”
“No one’s figured that out yet.”
His face paled. “I think I need to sit.”
Together, they freed the battered couch. Horatio lounged sideways, back resting on the armrest, legs outstretched, bare feet on the floor. Being unclothed didn’t bother him, but his cute companion sat stiffly on the opposite side.
“Sorry about this,” he gestured to his body. “Got any clothes I can borrow?”
“Nothing big enough.” The shyest of smiles lit up his face. “But no need to apologize. You look… fucking amazing. Besides, I sort of kidnapped you, right?”
“Meridian’s the kidnapper. You rescued me.”
“Can I ask where you’ve been for the past two years?”
Horatio blew out a breath. “It’s a long story, but I met a space pirate named Snake and I’ve been hiding on his ship ever since.” He chuckled. “Sounds insane, right?”
“Only a little.”
“Snake and his crew have been protecting me from Meridian, and in exchange, I help them with… well—”
“Stealing things?” He sat up straighter. “Pirates steal things, right?”
“Hey, you know what? I never asked your name.”
“I’m Gunner. Gunner Wilkes.”
Damn. Even his name is fuckable.
Horatio wasn’t surprised a dude so damned good-looking had a name befitting an action movie star. He bombarded him with questions. Gunner was twenty-two, lived alone, and judging by the goofy grin when Horatio asked if he had a boyfriend, probably bi or gay.
That hot and single? Fucking hell yeah.
“Pretty big dorm.” Horatio lit up inside when he spotted a guitar hanging on the wall. “Nice six-string. Do you play?”
“I wish. Do you recognize it? It’s yours. I bought it from an online auction house.” Gunner retrieved the guitar. “They guaranteed the autograph, but I’ve always doubted.”
Touching the Gibson Fireburst brought back an intense memory: sitting in a dim corner of the music store, guitar on his knee, fingers vibrating with magic. From the first strum, he knew. Music was about to take over his life.
He flipped it over. “You can’t call this an autograph—I signed it before I was famous—but it’s mine. What a dork I was.” It was Horatio’s turn to blush. “I bought it for my fifteenth birthday. Mowed a lot of lawns to get this guy.”
“Do you maybe want to play something?” Gunner’s voice quickened. “But it’s cool if you don’t.”
Of course, he wanted to play, almost as much as he wanted to get Gunner out of his pants. Was playing a good idea, though?
“What’s your favorite Monotony song?”
“Fighter.” The pink returned to Gunner’s face, highlighting the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. “But you can play anything you’d like.”
“But I want to play something you like.” That adorable smile flashed his way again. Horatio’s cock pressed against the guitar’s back. “I might be a little rusty.”
Or something might explode.
He began the intro, exhaling when a soft melody sighed from the strings.
“Fighter” was his only ballad, but it fit the moment somehow.
Back in New York, strumming his old guitar, Horatio eased into this almost forgotten version of himself.
He glanced at his audience. Gunner sat motionless, gaze locked on Horatio’s hands.
Some fans flinched at eye contact, so he kept his on the strings.
“Clumsy fingers, damp matches, can’t make a fire to save my soul. Empty spaces, unfriendly faces, I just want to get back home to you, to you, to you.”
His voice was rusty, too, but the purity of singing—especially a song with such deep meaning—heightened the exhilaration of the moment.
“Winding highway, empty gas tank, the shortest journey has no end. But as I wander, alone and somber, I’d still fight for one more day with you, with you, with you.”
He was about to play the bridge, but the awe in Gunner’s eyes made him pause. How long had it been since he’d performed this way? Not from a hundred feet, but from here?
Fuck, he’d missed this… connection. Sharing something he’d created and seeing it resonate in someone else. Letting the guitar rest in his lap, he slid closer to Gunner, riding the buzz trailing from his fingertips to his chest.
“Thank you for that.”
“No,” Gunner whispered, “thank you.”
It could have been the hint of adoration. Or the way Gunner’s lips parted to reveal slightly oversize front teeth that only made him hotter. Or maybe it was the familiar scent of home. Whatever the reason, Horatio had to kiss Gunner.
Had to. Like his life depended on it.
“You have the sexiest mouth.” He brushed his thumb across Gunner’s pouty bottom lip, lingering longer than necessary. “Wanna make out?”
Instead of leaning in, Gunner shrank back, fingers trembling as he caressed a pendant dangling from a worn leather cord.
Too fast, too soon.
Horatio was sure he’d already blown his chance.