Free The Gift by A.F. Henley

concept annoyed him to no end.
    "I don't get you, August. You can't tell me for one goddamn second that you don't want this. And I don't care what the fuck you say, you can't tell me that you weren't dreaming about me before I came in. So what's your problem?"
    August slumped against the wall, gripping the blankets to his guts as though they alone were responsible for his ability to stay upright. "You can't do this, Doren. You can't come in here and do this. Don't you understand that? Don't you see how fucked up that is?"
    Doren slumped back on the bed, defeat all but overwhelming him. This was so ridiculous. Did he really know August's mind that much more than August did? Or was he just losing his own? Had all the attention he'd been getting lately turned him into some kind of crazy self-obsessed idiot? Had he imagined the sound of August's voice? Could it have just been a dream? He'd never been wrong before but … Doren turned and looked at August, holding eye contact until August looked away ... No. He hadn't. Even now the urge to be touched burned on August's face. And that made Doren want to hurt something—August, himself, cute furry things that might get in his way.
    He swung his legs and sat on the edge of the bed. Fine then. He had no intentions of playing this game forever.
    "Wait," August stepped forward and grabbed Doren's shoulder in a grip that surprised him. Though August's voice trembled, there was no questioning the ferocity of August's words. "If you ever do something like this again I will quit. No—fuck quitting, this is your issue, not mine. If you ever do something like this again I will have you taken out of this hotel in cuffs. You do not get to pull that shit on me because you're some kind of star. Do you understand what I'm saying? You keep your hands and your body out of my room and away from mine."
    Doren stood. He walked to the door. Then he stopped to stare at August while August did his best to appear stoic and hostile. Even still, the only thing Doren could hear was humiliation and pain. But for the fear. That was definitely fear. Not for him, Doren figured, but for something. A deeper something. Perhaps even a fear of sex itself? The thought made him feel like a total ass.
    "But he called me," Doren told his pinging conscience. He might not have done it consciously but he'd still done it. Even if August refused to acknowledge it—he'd still done it!
    Doren lowered his eyes and turned the handle of the door. "Fine. If that's what you want, then that's what you'll get. But you and I both know the truth, Aug. You did call me. You wanted me to be here. So be careful." He took one last look at August. "Next time you do I might not bother to listen."
    He shut the door behind him and when he heard the ominous click of the lock on August's side he lifted his fist in frustration and put it through the wall. The rush of pain filled his mind and forced out the other emotions.
    Pain was much easier to deal with.
August
    He heard Doren hit the wall. Then he dropped on to the bed and cocooned himself in blankets. He wanted to shout through the divider, "You don't get to be angry!" He wanted to have enough balls and power to throw himself through the door and beat the snot right out of the bastard. He wanted to shake Doren until sanity and humanity made an appearance in those damn blue eyes of his.
    But the most awful part about how he felt—the very, very worst thing—was that he wanted to walk into Doren's room, drop to his knees, and beg Doren to finish what he'd started. And that was all kinds of scary.
    That was all kinds of nuts.
Morana
    She watched the rain fall with glee.
    "Yes," she whispered into the night, "keep going. Fill it up."
    She pulled the picture of the bridge in front of her and continued to work her fingers over it, stroking the image, rubbing the page, until the photo began to distort and twist. Beads of sweat broke out on her skin and dripped on to the paper. She rubbed until she