...Mark’s Muse was not only back, it was up and running full throttle.

He tried to imagine Tony as one of the crooks—a member of a gang who’d pulled off a similar heist to the one in the movie? The Brits were great at that kind of thing; take The Great Train Robbery as another example. Maybe the gang had robbed a bank. Turin was a large industrial city full of money and rich people, so why not a bank? And what if, instead of going north into Switzerland, they’d come south to Genoa where a boat was waiting to take them to safety in some extradition-free country?

Just then, what felt like a toe, moved down the back of Mark’s left calf, and he kept perfectly still, almost afraid to breath. A moment later, it retreated upward and paused in the area of his knee before ceasing its explorations and moving away.

Mark wondered if Tony might be gay. There was that slight, almost infinitesimal something about him, and it wasn’t the obvious things some people automatically assumed marked a man as gay. Things like the long-fingered pianist’s hands, the fine-boned, almost girlish body, or the feeling Tony wasn’t big on football or drunken nights out with the guys. It was this weird, crazy feeling they were on the same wavelength somehow. That meeting like this on a dark, rainy night in the middle of nowhere had been preordained or whatever. The good thing was he didn’t know for sure, and he didn’t want to know.

Despite the tiny zing of attraction that hovered in the air between them, he was content to leave it at that. The same with Tony’s story about being a businessman who’d had his car stolen. It didn’t matter to Mark who or what he was. However, if he had to lie here, wide awake, and pass the time working on story ideas, it was safer to cast Tony in the role of an evil, bank-robbing villain rather than a fabulous lover.

The only problem with that was if Tony the bank robber was fleeing the scene of a crime, what was he doing out here in the back of beyond alone and without money or transportation?

Mark concentrated, hard. Maybe the whole gang had hidden out here for a few days until the heat was off and Tony had been accidentally left behind? That could account for the current condition of the house. No! No way would that happen. Crooks hung together; they wouldn’t have left him behind.

Something—he guessed it was probably the same toe—touched Mark’s other leg. With no place to go and still stay in the bed, he kept his thoughts firmly fixed on Tony the Villain.

Supposing the gang got into an argument over the division of the spoils? The driver of the getaway car had stopped, one of the other gang members had settled things by pushing Tony out, and then they’d driven off? No, that wouldn’t work either because in that case Tony would still have his wallet. Unless he’d only pretended he didn’t have it to back up the stolen car story when the owner of the house showed up.

Tony’s pants and shirt were soaked and the blanket had no pockets, so they weren’t in any of those. Anyway, Tony would have had no reason to hide anything. He was alone in what he’d thought was an abandoned house. But what if Tony had been kicked out of the car sans jacket and possessions. No way could he tell that to the house owner. A stolen car made for a much better story.

Suddenly, Tony moved in closer, and Mark felt a hand move over his body and begin stroking his cock.

Fuck! Now what? Thankfully, he was fully clothed. Should he assume Tony was dreaming and push his hand away? Yell at him to cut it out? Get out of bed and go for a walk? Or just stay here and enjoy it?

Before he could decide what to do, the stroking stopped. It took a while for the tension in his body to recede, but when it did, he felt really sleepy, like he might even manage to grab an hour or two’s sleep. He’d even started to drift off, but then Tony started getting really aggressive.

“Pete? Wassamatterwivyou? Whydoanyoumuvme.” Tony mumbled something else, groaned, and to Mark’s dismay began messing around with the zipper of Mark’s pants.

Mark pushed away Tony’s hand and gave him a hard nudge. “Hey, man, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”