Oberon, though, was sweet. So brilliant, so courageous, so alone. So generous, even in his need. He was so . . . He was so . . . Ángel couldn’t think of words to express how much he admired him. Respected him. Loved him?

He squirmed out from under Oberon and, wrapping himself in a sheet, went over and curled up on the purple chair. He needed to think.

“So perfect,” Oberon had said. But no, Ángel could never be perfect for Oberon. They were two different beings, from different worlds. Ángel couldn’t give Oberon the communion he needed. But Ángel was the only thing around. Years of abstinence, and then one willing body? Of course Oberon was happy for it, was grateful for it.

That didn’t mean he loved Ángel. Not the way Ángel loved Oberon.

Loved Oberon. He loved him.

Oberon, alone in the bed, began to purr.

Ángel knew that Oberon found him attractive. He believed that Oberon liked him. He knew the fae didn’t see him as an available hole, and he didn’t begrudge Oberon the use of his body. Obviously. Oberon could have him whenever he wanted. Whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

But he didn’t want to be told that he was perfect, or beautiful, or beloved, when he wasn’t. He was just a session man.

“That’s okay,” he whispered in the darkness. “It’s okay.” Oberon didn’t love him, but by God he needed him. No one had ever needed Ángel before. His mother had left him when he was a boy. His father certainly didn’t want a fag musician for a son. His friends were fine without him. Miami was crawling with competent guitarists.

But Oberon, this one great, strange, lovely creature, Oberon needed him.

“You are thinking hard, beloved,” Oberon murmured.

“Bad habit.”

Oberon opened his eyes and gazed at him like a lazy tiger from the welter of sheets.

“So . . .” said Ángel. “If you were home. You’d be in a house with lots of others. And when you had sex, everyone in the house would sense it?”

“Yes.” Oberon stretched, then relaxed again. “Well, of course, they would probably be the ones I’d be having sex with.”

“Oh.” Ángel had never had group sex. “Like, five or six people?”

“Sometimes.” Oberon rolled onto his back, his lean shoulders shifting. “Before I came here, all my friends came to say goodbye.”

“Wow.” Ángel’s imagination grappled with the image of a group of fae, all as beautiful as Oberon, having sex together. “And your magic feelings would all meld and harmonize together. Like a chamber ensemble.”

Oberon’s eyes drifted closed. “Yes. That is a nice metaphor.”

How lonely Oberon must be, stuck with just him.