The urge, though, was too strong. I might discover, folded up and sealed with a handful of mothballs and left on an upper shelf, the real him. I'd jus... take a moment, I told myself, just a glance.The second to top shelf was just about his eye line. I had to teeter on my toes. At its rear, behind, his collection of hats, were a dozen black video cases. I wouldn't have paid them any particular attention except that the paper labels had been removed and in their place, he had lettered in red. His shoulderblades stood out from his back, tendons making hard ropes under his skin. For the first time, Brentt heard Sarachan breathe. "Brennnntt..." Sarachan hissed, as he began to move his hips, driving himself deeper. Brentt found himself pushed against the tree, his back arched so his chest was flat against the trunk, while his legs were still half a yard away from it. He felt Sarachan's nails dig into the soft hollows by his hips, the slight pop of released tension as they cut into him,. More

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