A kiss is just a kiss

Guerrero spent a couple of days relocating his son and the kid’s mother and setting up their new identities. The physical re-location was fairly straightforward, but he chose to spend some time running checks on their new neighbours and his ex-girlfriend’s new boss and workmates. Carla had been surprisingly understanding about Guerrero showing up out of the blue and demanding that she abandon her entire life and relocate hundreds of miles away with their son under new identities. She had known from the start that raising Guerrero’s son would carry with it certain risks and relocating overnight was just one of them. She didn’t have much in the way of family, other than their son, and she always put their child’s safety first, so once Guerrero had mentioned that a rogue CIA agent had a file on them, Carla was packing before Guerrero even got to the part where he had dealt with the agent.

Carla took care to familiarise herself with her new identity and her newly fabricated personal history, but after a couple of days of Guerrero still hadn’t left and she was growing tired of the way he kept quizzing her on the details. When she discovered that he was running background checks on her new neighbour’s gardener’s second cousin, she decided enough was enough. She’d let Guerrero hang around for a few days to spend some time with their son and ensure that their new identities were properly established, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

When Carla dumped Guerrero’s bag at his feet and told their son to say goodbye to daddy, his heart sunk, but he knew she was right, it was time for him to leave. He held his three-year old boy in fierce embrace, burying his nose in his hair and committing the smell of baby shampoo and cookies to his memory, until his son began to squirm and giggle at his father’s beard tickling his neck. Guerrero reluctantly handed his son back to Carla and planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek, before picking up his bag and leaving. He always felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind when he left his son, but from the day Carla had told him she was pregnant, they both knew that the best way to keep his child off his enemies’ radar was by maintaining a safe distance. He was still very fond of Carla but they both knew that Guerrero’s job made it too dangerous for them to raise their son together and they ended their relationship on good terms.

Guerrero decided to take his time and drive back to San Francisco rather than flying. The few days he had spent with his son had kept his mind occupied as he focussed on making sure there was no way anyone could trace Carla and the boy back to their old life, and by extension, to him. Now they were safe, Guerrero his thoughts drifting back to his own life, to the team, to Chance. He was going to need the time it took to drive back to San Francisco to work out what the hell was going on in his own brain.

Guerrero had never really considered himself to be anything other than heterosexual. He’d had some limited experience with other men in his teenage years, before he was recruited by Joubert. He’d dealt drugs on the New York club scene and there had been times when he had accepted, or even given, payment in kind for his wares, but a lot of the time he’d been so strung out on his own product that his memories of what had happened in the dark corner of a nightclub were sketchy at best. A near-fatal overdose had provided him with a much needed wake-up call and he turned his back on the clubbing scene and he turned his hand to car-theft instead. He was unlucky enough to be caught boosting Joubert’s Mercedes one fateful day and fought back against Joubert’s men with such fierce tenacity that the man was impressed and offered him a place on his crew on the spot.

Not long after Guerrero began working for the Old Man, one of his men had been caught sucking off the bodyguard of one of Joubert’s associates when he was supposed to be guarding the door to the room where the boss was holding a meeting. Joubert had been so angry when he’d stepped into the hallway and seen one of his men in the middle of a sex act with another man that he’d shot both men in the face without warning. His associate had been so embarrassed by his man’s conduct that he didn’t make an issue out of Joubert’s response. After that Guerrero didn’t dare even to consider looking at another man. Although he suspected that Joubert’s anger had been a result of his employee fooling around on the job, rather than homophobia, Guerrero wasn’t going to take that risk for something he felt largely ambivalent about anyway. When Junior joined the crew a couple of years later, he was careful to ignore anything but brotherly feelings for the kid.

Guerrero had come a long way since his drug dealing days and he hadn’t had a sexual experience with another man in over twenty years, but kissing Chance had brought back memories that he found difficult to ignore. His body still remembered what it felt like to be with another man even if it was something his mind hadn’t focused on for decades. It was all too easy for his subconscious to insert Chance into those memories, and daydream about his friend’s lips on his cock and Guerrero’s fingers gripping his short blonde hair as he thrust into his willing mouth…

Guerrero made sure to stay at cheap motels when he stopped for the night, but they were never so cheap as to not have pay-per-view channels. Every night he’d watch at least one porno before he went to sleep and found some comfort in the fact that he was still clearly interested in women, but as soon as he drifted off to sleep it wasn’t large breasted porn stars he was dreaming of, it was Chance.


Winston couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for the way Chance was moping round the office. He’d been so sure that with a little bit of a nudge from him, Ilsa and Chance would have been a great couple. There had to be more to it than what little explanation he’d managed to drag out of Chance, but there didn’t seem to be much point in pushing it. Ilsa had made her decision and Chance would just have to learn to live with it.

Chance was really starting to worry Winston. He’d seen Chance deal with anger, failure and self-loathing before, but somehow watching him deal with rejection was much, much worse. If pride and common-sense hadn’t intervened, Winston might even have called Guerrero to ask his advice on how to handle Chance’s dejected mood. However, Guerrero had made it perfectly clear that he was unavailable for the time being and Winston doubted that he would even respond to his calls or messages. Winston would just have to wait it out and hope that when Guerrero did return, he’d have some kind of idea as to what to do about Chance.


For the third morning running Guerrero awoke in a sweaty mess of twisted bed sheets with Chance’s name on his lips and a painfully hard erection demanding his full attention. As if dreaming of Chance all night wasn’t bad enough, every morning Guerrero would have to jerk himself off in the shower with the images of Chance naked and moaning his name still fresh in his mind. Jerking off at least provided some physical relief but it also filled him with a deep sense of shame that he was thinking of Chance as he did it, that it was remembering that stupid kiss that always tipped him over the edge to orgasm.

A steady diet of porn and denial obviously wasn’t going to solve his problem. Guerrero decided he was going to have to try a different approach if he was ever going to be able to return to the team and look Chance in the eye again. After his shower, Guerrero got out his laptop and did some quick calculations on a route planner. His plan involved taking a detour, but it wouldn’t put more then a day or two on his journey to San Francisco. Besides, if it went according to plan he might even be able to ditch the rental car and just fly back after he straightened his head out.

Guerrero picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contact list until he found the number he needed. The place where he was heading wasn’t the kind of joint where you could just roll up unannounced,. He would need to book an appointment.


Guerrero was pleasantly surprised to find Lady Heather herself waiting for him in the lobby of what could only be described as a modest mansion. Lady Heather wasn’t a member of the aristocracy in any conventional sense of the word, but she was the proprietor of what was arguably the finest brothel in the western world. Several years ago she had enlisted Chance’s help to deal with a series of vicious attacks that had been made against her clientele when she first relocated her business from the slightly more tolerant former location of Las Vegas. Lady Heather provided the best female company that money could buy, and Guerrero hoped that spending an evening with one of her girls would be mind-blowing enough to push all his inappropriate day-dreams of Chance from his mind. A night at Lady Heather’s was something nobody could forget.

“Guerrero,” Lady Heather smiled, extending her hands to draw Guerrero into an embrace. “It has been far too long!”

“Lady H,” he replied with a sly smile. “Please tell me that this means you’ve decided to entertain me personally tonight?”

Lady Heather smiled and shook her head. “Alas, I have put my days of entertaining clients behind me and I cannot make an exception. Not even for you, Guerrero.”

Guerrero sighed and made a show of taking a long, appreciative look at her figure. She still looked a good fifteen years younger than what Guerrero knew her true age to be, and her curves were as voluptuous as ever beneath her figure-hugging evening gown. Lady Heather had ‘retired’ before Guerrero first met her and trying to coax her out of retirement was something of a game between them.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” she chided him gently, “You know one of my girls will be more than happy to meet your needs. How is Carla by the way? She is sorely missed by her regulars.”

The question caught Guerrero slightly off-guard but he was careful not to give anything away. He knew that despite Lady Heather’s charming congeniality, her eyes never missed even the most minute detail. Her skill for reading people was part of what made her business so successful.

“Carla and I split up,” Guerrero said, deliberately omitting any mention of their son. He was fairly certain that Lady Heather was aware that Carla had left her profession due to the fact she was pregnant with his child, and not because Guerrero was jealous, which was the reason Lady Heather had been given at the time.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied. “But of course, not surprised. You would have no reason to be here if you and Carla were still together.”

She smiled warmly to smooth over the awkwardness of the moment and indicated that Guerrero should follow her into the bar area. It was room that was designed to put clients at their ease whilst they waited to be escorted to one of the house’s many private rooms, with plenty of private candle lit booths that ensured a certain level of anonymity for the waiting clients. The bar area itself was well lit and a handful of extraordinarily attractive women of various ages, body types and ethnicities sat elegantly on bar stools, talking discreetly amongst themselves. They were dressed simply but stylishly in a number of variations on the little-black-dress theme and Guerrero knew this too was to protect the clients privacy. Lady Heather’s girls could accommodate pretty much any flavour of kink you cared to name, but it was always kept to the confines of one of the private rooms and no one but the client, the girl and possibly Lady Heather herself ever knew what went on behind closed doors. Guerrero quite liked this approach as it created a relaxed atmosphere of anticipation that could not be achieved with the girls strewn about the place in lingerie that left nothing to the imagination.

Lady Heather led Guerrero to a private booth, and she rang a small silver hand bell to summon a waitress to take his drink order as he sat down. It wasn’t one of the girls who responded to the delicate chime of the bell, but a blonde barman who’d had his back to the room when they had walked in. Guerrero’s heart seemed to stop dead in his chest as the barman turned around and he saw his face for the first time.

“The resemblance is quite striking isn’t it?” Lady Heather asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement as she watched Guerrero’s reaction.

Walking across the room towards him was a young blonde man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Chance. No, not Chance, Guerrero corrected himself It’s like looking at Junior. The barman was only about twenty-five, and as he drew closer to the table Guerrero began noticing subtle differences between the barman and how Chance had looked at that age. His eyes were brown, not blue, and although he was of a similar height and build as Chance had been, his shoulders were not as broad and his chin was just a bit too pointed. The barman didn’t move with the confidence bordering on cockiness that Junior used to have and there was no sign of that subtle tension in his body that hinted that violence was only a heartbeat away. The attitude was wrong, but at a glance, he could have passed as Junior, and that was doing uncomfortable things to Guerrero’s insides.

Lady Heather chuckled softly as she watched Guerrero stare at the man wide-eyed and speechless.

“Mr Chance made quite the impression when he was working undercover here, and so when I found Paul working for one of my competitors, I encouraged him to consider working for me. I spotted the likeness straight away. I’m afraid he isn’t a natural blonde. I persuaded him to colour his hair in order to increase his resemblance to Mr Chance.”

Chance had posed as a client in an attempt to draw out the person responsible for the attacks on Lady’s Heather’s clientele. Guerrero remembered the disappointment amongst Lady Heather’s employees when Winston had insisted that Chance’s cover would not require him to actually spend any time alone with them. At the time Guerrero had been amused by Winston’s concern for Chance’s moral wellbeing and rather smug that his concern didn’t extend to Guerrero himself.

Guerrero became uncomfortably aware that he was gawping at the blonde man who was waiting politely to take his drink order. As guarded as he’d tried to be around Lady Heather, there was no way she could have missed just how unsettling Guerrero found it to be confronted with a Chance look-alike.

Lady Heather smiled at the barman and ordered Guerrero a bourbon, no ice. It was only when the man nodded and returned to the bar to fetch the drink that Guerrero realised he’d yet to speak.

“Does Chance know you’re pimping out his doppelganger?” Guerrero asked, inwardly cursing how uneven his voice sounded.

Lady Heather narrowed her eyes, and her smile dropped from her face when she heard the word ‘pimping’.

“You might want to choose your words a little more carefully, Mr Guerrero.”

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting…” Guerrero shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I’m trying to get my mind off work at the moment and your barman… surprised me, is all.”

“Apology accepted,” Lady Heather said, smiling again. “I quite understand. I leave it entirely to you discretion as to whether or not you tell Mr Chance about Paul.”

“Is he..? I mean does he…?”

“Oh yes,” Lady Heather said, smiling at Paul as he placed Guerrero’s drink on the table in front of him, before returning to the bar. “Like I said Mr Chance made quite an impression around here, with the clients and my girls. Having Paul around is the next best thing to having Mr Chance. He is proving incredibly popular.”

Guerrero shifted his gaze back from Paul to the women seated at the bar. He knew Lady Heather was still watching him, fascinated by his reaction to seeing Paul.

“Well, he kinda creeps me out a bit,” Guerrero said. “Like I said, I’m looking to take my mind off work at the moment, and that includes Chance.”

He risked a glance at Lady Heather to see if she was buying it. She met his gaze with a smile and a sympathetic nod.

“Of course, Guerrero. Like most of our clients, you have a very stressful job. It was inconsiderate of me to spring Paul on you like that. I was simply eager to see whether someone who knew Mr Chance as well as you do would see the resemblance. Now my curiosity has been satisfied, I shall stop intruding on your evening. May I enquire whose company you would prefer this evening?”

Guerrero nodded and indicated his choice, a petite brunette with long dark hair, a smooth pale complexion and a delicate plump-lipped smile. In short someone as different from a blonde haired, blue eyed, muscular former assassin as it was possible to get.

“Samantha,” Lady Heather said. “A good choice for you, I feel.”


Ten minutes later Guerrero was led to a private room on the second floor by an attractive red-head, who unlocked the door and indicated with a polite gesture for Guerrero to enter.

“Where’s Samantha?” Guerrero asked.

“If you’d like to make yourself comfortable, sir,” the woman said with a reassuring smile, “your companion for the evening will be joining you shortly.”

Guerrero looked at her for a moment before shrugging and walking into the room. It was a bedroom much like the one he’d shared with Carla on his previous visits. A four-poster bed dominated the room and along the opposite wall stood several antique wardrobes and cabinets that Guerrero knew contained all sorts of costumes, props, restraints, toys and lubricants. The room was discreet and sumptuous, with its red velvet drapes, deep piled carpet and mock Victorian wallpaper, but Guerrero knew that tucked just out of sight were all the ingredients to play out a wide range of sexual fantasies.

He sat down on the antique chaise-longue that stood by the window and the red-head opened up what turned out to be a drinks cabinet beside him. Without a word, she poured him a bourbon and placed it within easy reach and smiled brightly at him before taking her leave.

Guerrero was familiar with the way things were usually done at Lady Heather’s, even if it had been a few years since his last visit. He was a little uneasy with the fact that the red-head had led him to the room instead of Samantha. He was beginning to smell a rat, when there was a discreet knock at the door. Guerrero didn’t respond straight away, but when the knock came again, a little louder and more insistent this time, he got up and walked to the door.


Guerrero stood with his hand resting on the door handle for a moment. With a sudden flash of insight, he thought of the calculating look Lady Heather had given him when he first saw Paul, and he just knew that it wasn’t going to be Samantha standing on the other side of the door. Guerrero wrenched the door open suddenly, startling the blonde barman who had just raised his hand to knock a third time, and turned away from the door, cursing as he reached for phone that stood on the nightstand. He heard the door close behind him as he dialled Lady Heather’s number.

“She won’t pick up,” a voice with just a hint of a Southern accent said behind him. “She told me to give you this.”

Guerrero paused, letting the phone on the other end ring, but there was still no answer. Reluctantly, he replaced the handset in it’s cradle and turned to face Paul. His resemblance to Junior struck him almost as hard as it did the first time, and Guerrero snatched the envelope that Paul was holding out towards him. He retreated back to the chaise-longue and downed his glass of bourbon before examining the envelope. A single letter ‘G’ was all that was written on the expensive thick, cream, envelope and Guerrero turned it over and broke the old fashioned wax seal emblazoned with Lady Heather’s initials. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a message written in Lady Heather’s distinctive cursive handwriting.

The writer Lawrence Block defined serendipity as looking for something, finding something else, and realizing that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for.

Lady Heather

Guerrero closed his eyes and fought the urge to howl with frustration. All he’d wanted to do was to scrub all thoughts of Chance from his mind by fucking some insanely hot woman senseless. He should have known better than to visit Lady Heather for a solution to his problem. She prided herself on allowing people to indulge their wildest sexual fantasies, not helping people to suppress them. Guerrero couldn’t have known that she would have a Chance look-alike working for her, but he should have anticipated that she would insist on giving him not what he asked for, but what he really desired.

Guerrero sat with his head in his hands and didn’t look up, even as he heard Paul pad softly across the thick piled carpet towards him. He sensed rather than heard him kneel down in front of him, and he was about to threaten the barman with extreme violence if he didn’t get the fuck out of his face, when he caught a familiar scent on the air. Guerrero groaned as he realised that Lady Heather had gone so far as to get Paul to wear Chance’s brand of cologne. Paul gently gripped Guerrero’s wrists and pulled his hands from his face, and when Guerrero refused to open his eyes, he cupped Guerrero’s face in his hands and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

Suddenly Guerrero found himself back in the memory of being in the office, kissing Chance, but it bled together with his dreams and fantasies, as well as the reality of Paul’s lips and the smell of Chance’s cologne. It was all too much, too dream-like, and yet too real. Guerrero found himself responding to Paul fiercely in an open-mouth kiss, his tongue tasting and exploring the younger man’s mouth, as his hands reached behind the man’s head and grasped at his short blonde hair, gaining just enough purchase to hold Paul’s head immobile as he dominated the kiss.

Paul’s hands dropped from Guerrero’s face and he trailed his fingers lightly down Guerrero’s throat before flattening his palms against his chest and smoothing his hands along the length of his well-muscled torso until they rested on his hips. When Guerrero gave a small grunt of approval, Paul slipped his hands beneath Guerrero’s shirt and began tugging the underlying t-shirt out of the way until he reached the bare flesh underneath. Soon Paul was running his hands over the skin of Guerrero’s chest and abdomen, and when his thumbs lightly grazed his nipples Guerrero finally broke the kiss, cursing softly.

Guerrero opened his eyes and looked at the blonde man kneeling in front of him, his hands still gripping Paul’s hair and his lips slightly swollen from kissing. Despite the similarities, Guerrero knew that Paul wasn’t really Chance, but it wouldn’t take much to let himself pretend, just for tonight, that he was. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to deal with his infatuation, but maybe this could work too. Deep down he suspected that all sleeping with Paul would achieve would be to add fuel to the fire, rather than extinguish it, but Paul was so close to what he really wanted that he ignored that thought, and let himself believe that fucking Paul would get Chance out of his system.

He released his hands from Paul’s hair and slipped his shirt off. He took off his glasses and set them down on the drinks cabinet beside him, and when he began to lift his t-shirt over his head, he felt Paul’s hands join his in pulling the garment free.

“Take off your shirt,” Guerrero said in a low, hungry tone.

Paul immediately unbuttoned his crisp white shirt and took it off, letting it drop to the floor behind him. Guerrero slipped two fingers beneath Paul’s belt and pulled him forward until the blonde man was kneeling between his legs. Guerrero laced his fingers together behind Paul’s neck and pulled him into another deep kiss, and Paul placed his hands flat on Guerrero’s chest again, smoothing over his lightly haired chest. When Paul’s fingers found his nipples and began teasing them with alternating soft flicks and rough pinches, Guerrero broke the kiss and threw back his head with a small moan. Paul’s mouth moved to his neck, gently licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh, whilst his fingers still teased his nipples. Guerrero moved one hand to brace himself against the chaise-longue and used the other to encourage Paul’s mouth to move lower down his body.

Guerrero inhaled shaply as Paul’s hands slipped down to his hips and his mouth took the place of his fingers, teasing, licking, sucking, one nipple, then the other. Paul slipped off his belt but Guerrero was too distracted by Paul’s tongue licking down and across his abdomen until his mouth reached the waist of his jeans to really notice. Suddenly Paul had Guerrero’s flies open and was pulling his jeans down from his hips, while his mouth worked against every bit of Guerrero’s flesh that was revealed, every inch except his straining erection that twitched with each new sensation.

Guerrero managed to lift himself up slightly off his seat, so that Paul was able to strip him of his jeans entirely, removing his boots and socks in the process. When Guerrero sat back on the chaise-longue completely naked, Paul ran his hands up Guerrero’s thighs until he gripped the base of his erection and, with a quick glance up at Guerrero’s face, he leaned in and took his cock into his mouth. Guerrero’s eyes rolled back and he had to bite his lip to stop himself calling out Chance’s name. Paul almost certainly knew that it was his resemblance to the client’s friend that had prompted Lady Heather to send him to Guerrero’s room, but Guerrero couldn’t let himself say Chance’s name in front of a prostitute, no matter how talented the man was with his mouth.

After a while, Paul’s mouth wasn’t enough. Guerrero needed to see him spread naked across the bed. He needed to know if he really was turned on by another man’s body. As good as it felt to have someone’s lips wrapped around his cock, it was in a way too anonymous. Guerrero pushed Paul away.

“Strip. Get on the bed,” he ordered. Guerrero didn’t see the point of whispering sweet nothings to the guy, to make it more than it was, and Paul wasn’t about to take offence at his blunt instructions.

Paul stood up and stripped the rest of his clothes off, neither taking his time about it nor rushing. He seemed to have picked up on Guerrero’s preference not to make a big performance about it, and he kept his movements simple and natural. Guerrero’s heart sank a little when he felt a renewed flush of heat, leaving little doubt about whether or not he was really attracted to other men, or at least men who bore a striking resemblance to Chance. As soon as Paul had lain down on the bed, Guerrero got up and stood over him, not touching, just looking at him, taking in the details of the tanned, lightly muscled body lying before him, surprised that Paul was already hard. Guerrero reached down and trailed one finger lightly down Paul’s body, from the base of his throat down to his navel, silently noting the differences between Paul and his mental catalogue of memories of Chance’s more muscular form. Paul’s breath caught in his throat and Guerrero saw he was trying not to squirm and arch his body towards his touch. Guerrero couldn’t help smiling as he ran his hands lightly up the inside of Paul’s thighs, firmly pushing them apart, making the blonde man moan softly.

Guerrero knelt down on the bed, in the space he’d created between Paul’s legs, and ran his hands up his thighs again, this time letting his hands come to rest on Paul’s hips. Paul let out a soft murmuring sound as Guerrero’s fingers dug into his flesh, his thumbs tracing the ridge of his hips. Paul’s cock lay hard, weeping pre-cum against his belly, and when Guerrero slid his right hand down to clasp it and began to rock his hand in a slow steady rhythm, Paul let out a deep moan and began thrusting his hips to meet Guerrero’s strokes. Guerrero used his left hand to lightly cup Paul’s balls, eliciting another moan from him, before slipping his fingers further back until they were caressing the younger man’s ass. When Guerrero started to apply a little more pressure, Paul grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“We need lube,” Paul explained softly, nodding towards the nightstand.

It took a moment for Guerrero to sort through the numerous bottles and tubes to find what he needed, but soon he had a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms laid on the bed next to them. He wasted no time in slicking up his fingers and working them slowly and deeply into Paul’s ass while his right hand teased more moans from Paul’s lips as he resumed the long slow strokes. He caught Paul’s eye and nodded towards the condoms. The younger man understood his meaning, and tore open the packet and put the condom on Guerrero’s cock with a practiced ease.

“I need more. Before you fuck me.”

Guerrero frowned for a second, not sure what Paul was asking for.

“I need you to finger me some more, to stretch me out,” Paul said, and Guerrero was surprised to find the guy was actually blushing.

Guerrero resumed plunging his fingers in Paul’s ass until it could accommodate a third finger. Paul gasped and Guerrero kept going until he felt the man’s body relax around him. He withdrew his hand and slicked some lube on to his cock. Before he gave himself time for any last doubts to form in his mind, Guerrero was pushing his cock slowly into Paul. He moved cautiously, giving the blonde man’s body time to adjust, as he focused on the tight, slick heat surrounding him. Paul used his hands to lift up and support his hips, until Guerrero pushed Paul’s legs up on to his shoulders, improving the angle for both of them.

Guerrero moved slowly at first, making short measured thrusts but the scent rising from Paul’s skin, Chance’s scent, was doing something crazy to his brain. Even with Paul beneath him moaning and twitching as he thrusted harder and faster into the blonde man’s ass, it wasn’t enough. As good as it felt to Guerrero it wasn’t enough, even when Paul gasped and came, spurting cum on to their sweat slicked bodies. It was good but it wasn’t enough. Finally Guerrero let himself focus on the memory of kissing Chance and the needy little grunt of protest he had made as Guerrero pulled away. Then, and only then, he was able to find his release, groaning Chance’s name as he emptied himself into the poor imitation of the man he loved.