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The door slammed shut, reverberating all through the empty library.

The librarian, with his pants still hanging under his sore tail and his shirt held closed just by his hand, contemplated it, expecting the wooden barrier to open up again by his lover’s hand, demonstrating it had been just a momentary lapse of judgment, of allowing himself to fall prey to paranoia.

Any moment now.

Any moment.

“Goddammit Beckett, if you expect me to run after you.” Porter spat, his heartbreak turning into frustration every passing second. The more he waited, the clearer it was that Beckett wasn’t coming back.

It didn’t make any sense. The entire event hadn’t made any sense, but now… he thought it was fixed. Yeah, they had fought over it, over what happened all these years ago, but getting punched in the face by his twin was better than five years of silence and avoidance.

Had he teased him? Yes, perhaps. He was joking at the start. But Beckett had reciprocated him. God, he sure had. He could feel it, the wetness was dripping down his tail, which would be a very pleasurable distraction were it not for what had happened next.

Why flee? This wasn’t just “a mistake”. A mistake is bumping into someone. Fucking each other to completion is not a mistake, it’s a series of planned, deliberate choices. Or at least… he believed it worked like this.

Still, he had allowed it. He had let his brother fuck him. He had encouraged him to… they had kissed. They had caressed. Beckett was… caring for him, he had even given him his hat. They could have talked it out, talked of what had happened, of what they wanted to happen next.

What did he want?

Porter took off the hat, contemplating it. It was a dark gray, similar to his own suit. It fit their black scales. He liked it, even if it was much more humble than his usual attire. He placed it against his face, noticing the smell. So close to his own. Same scales, same reptilian musk. This one was mixed with dust, dirt, and a bit of machine oil. Beckett’s smell.

The gila monster sobbed. He wanted his brother back.

It took him a while to regain his focus. He had a small basin where he could at least wash his face and check himself on a mirror. His lip was swollen from the punch before, and pressing on it made him taste the bitter venom spilling from his gland. Beckett had a good aim, and quite some strength behind his punch. He didn’t fear the venom -he was immune to it- but it’d be annoying until the glad healed and could close.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Beckett…” The gila monster complained for the hundredth time to no-one in particular. His shirt would need to be stitched and many of the buttons reattached, but thankfully the pants had been spared, if some cum stains would need a deep cleaning soon. He hopped to wait until late enough so as to not run into anyone on the way home.

He had other reasons to stay, of course. He was waiting for someone; it was the reason he had come so late to the library. Meeting Beckett had been purely a coincidence. A very handy one, he had planned to meet with another man, yes. And to take him to his bed too.

The lizard tried to stretch his back, groaning as he felt something pop in there. He wasn’t that young anymore, and getting raw dogged on top of a hard library table wasn’t something he’d recommend anymore.

Still, he had to blush when thinking of his twin’s eagerness. It was a good thing that he had been ready to take a man. He rubbed his head, feeling Beckett’s hat on it again. Shit, that was his TWIN. What was he thinking? How could they…

But, actually, who cared? He was already sleeping around with other men. He enjoyed men. And apparently so did Beckett. They were clearly hatched from the same egg. There was no risk of endogamy, and they were having fun and enjoying the company of a fellow man. Why should he care they were siblings or not? Society’s rules had no power on what they did behind closed doors.

He smiled, confidence returning to his snout. Maybe there was a path forward for him and Beckett. He’d certainly have to talk with him soon. His brother was a decent man, not one who’d fuck one night and then disappear from your life. He could let him know he’s willing to keep seeing each other, to make amends. And, if he wants to learn more about being with a man on his bed, that was on the table too.

Like his ass had been on the table a little back ago. He had to chuckle at that. Next time he’d insist to Beckett they move to the bed first. Perhaps the importance of some cuddling before and after too. Cuddling would be nice, it had been way too long since he had held someone scaly against his body. Or been held by one.

“Fuck, Beckett, you’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you.” He mumbled, closing his eyes to try to burn the memory in his mind. That muscular body his twin had, towering over him, taking control. It had been scary, but turned out to be so delicious right after that. He couldn’t help himself. HIs hand traveled down, caressing his exposed chest between the halves of his shirt, so tempted to just rub one out with the memory of…

A knock pulled him out of his daydreaming. The lizard practically ran to the door, smiling smugly as he turned the key.

“Hah, I knew you’d be back in…” But rather than the scaly visage of his brother, there was the red and white fur of a fox, one who smirked at him.

“Of course I’d be back, one doesn’t pass an excuse to meet with such a good friend.” The vulpine smirked. One could say he was undressing him with his eyes, which to be fair the job was halfway done. “Oh, so eager to start?”

Murdoch’s hands reached for Porter as the lizard took a step back, followed closely by the fox. As soon as he was under the artificial light his friend could properly see the state he was in, and the mood turned cold in an instant.

“Porter? What happened?” The photograph couldn’t miss the broken shirt he was barely wearing, or the swelling bruise on his face. “Did someone attack you? Are you hurt?”

Murdoch’s hand reached by instinct to Porter’s face, worried about the obvious bruise, but the lizard caught his wrist and kept him from touching it.

“Don’t. Venom.” He warned coldly. “I’m fine, it was just a momentary strife of no consequence.”

“No consequence, says the guy with his mouth filled with venom.” The fox crossed his arms and stared at the taller reptile, but soon his look relaxed and he raised an eyebrow. “So, was today purely professional? You’re usually clean and ready for me when we get a chance to…”

That got a chuckle from Porter. The Byrnes Boy was always eager for a roll in the hay, and while Porter had a closer relationship with his sister Dahlia, he enjoyed the male sibling in a different sense.

Dahlia was good to share notes on their latest readings. Murdoch was good to fall to the urges of the flesh. He appreciated each of them for very distinct reasons, but an evening with either would usually be satisfactory, be it intellectual or physically.

That said, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for another romp, especially with the certainty that the fox would feel his ass freshly used. To be fair, he imagined his keen sense of smell would’ve already caught that, but the vulpine was polite enough to not mention it.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, I’m just not sure I’m prepared right now for…”

“Mr. Moore, please. You’ve clearly been in some sort of altercation, as much as I enjoy our… meetings, I wouldn’t push you to it.” Murdoch placed a dark paw on the librarian’s arm, softly caressing it. “You sure you don’t want me to fetch the Sheriff?”

“I’m positive, it was just a… private argument that escalated out of my control, but it’s all in the past now, and I’d hate to turn that into some sort of public scandal. I’m no child who needs to cry to papa when… never mind.” That had been way too close to the actual truth.

“Sure. Em, so, my sister asked me to bring you some books she had borrowed, and apparently some notes and requests she had for you? I don’t know how the children at her school can keep up with the number of books she borrows.”

“Oh, Mrs. Dahlia is such a dedicated teacher, she prefers to personally check every reading before handing it over to the small ones.” A blatant lie, that was. None of those books was ever intended for the students. But it was no place for him to disclose where Murdoch’s sister’s interests lay. Not for free, and not while they aligned with his own.

“I will endeavor to procure her requests with the utmost haste, and…” He returned the fox’s caresses by softly combing his cheek’s fur with his scaled fingers. “I will make up for our missing appointment twofold next time. How about I invite you for a late tea at my home, perhaps some drinks, and… we go over those fun ideas you had been inquiring about?”

“You mean… you’d let me try -” Murdoch beamed with eagerness, but a single scaled digit on his lips cut him out.

“Don’t tell me. There has been much we haven’t had a chance to try yet. Next time, surprise me with whichever you desire the most, and I promise I’ll give up myself to it. Deal?”

Handing out a blank check to Murdoch. He could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. Either he had promised himself to have the most fun he could have in one night, or he’d wake up the next day so terribly sore. Either way, he had a list of all the games and kinks the fox had admitted, and allowing himself to be surprised by which one he’d pick would be a fun dare.

Murdoch seemed to be satisfied with that. Tip toeing on his paws he reached for Porter’s face and gently placed a kiss on his healthy cheek, giving him a friendly smile.

“Thanks a lot Mr. Moore. I’ll make sure to prepare for a very long night together.” He chuckled, soft furred paws caressing the scaled jawline.

“Not too long, you have a store to manage.” Porter’s eyes wandered down the fox’s back as he walked away. Oh, the fun things that long wagging tail promised.

“Oh, I’m sure my dear sister can cover for me. She loves her big brother. Be seeing you soon, Mr. Moore.”

The door closed behind the fox, leaving the library feeling, once more, strangely empty. Empty enough for Porter to hear whispers on the wind currents. Probably just his imagination.

“Dahlia loooves her big brother. I wonder how long it’s been since Beckett quit saying that.”

“Ah!” The lizard hissed like he had been burned with a hot iron. But there was no point turning to find the source of the voice. He was alone, he knew. There wouldn’t be anybody there.

“I’ll admit: as much of a messed up FUCK you are, this has been a brand new type of low. Absolutely unexpected. You’ve outdone yourself, my dear Porter.”

“Shut up.” He hissed, apparently to no one in particular. “You’ve no right to…”

“I can add depraved brother-fucker to the list. It’ll fit nicely next to treacherous, underhanded…”

“Stop it. You’re not real. You’re not here.” An affirmation, or maybe more of a prayer.

“...cold-blooded, premeditated, unrepented KILLER.”

“Shut your venomous mouth Amos!” Demanded the gila monster, slamming his fist on the desk, so hard some of his stacked books tumbled to the floor. “Shut… shut up. Just shut up.”

He needed to get out. He needed to put some distance, and he needed a drink. The Stag. He needed a drink at the Stag. He left in a rush, locking the door with trembling hands as he tried to put distance between him and that voice.

He knew there was no point. The voice didn’t come from the library. That didn’t keep him from rushing down the dusty roads, trying to keep away from peering eyes. At least with his jacket on he could hide his broken shirt, so he seemed somewhat decent.

It was considerably late at night. Which meant that the Stag was packed to the brim with men dancing, partying and having all sorts of rowdy fun that would have been indecent in broad daylight. Men were dancing with men, sharing drinks and kissing when they believed none was looking. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he saw two miners leave for the other barns, their hands in each other’s pockets.

Right now, he had something to top all of these men’s experiences. It had been so different from his playful romps with Murdoch, some late night groping after a long philosophical discussion over drinks, or the odd visit from some rich tourists looking for the freedom of being far away from any other known face. It had been visceral, it had been intense. Hell, it had been… lovely. He couldn’t believe how good it had felt to meet his brother again after these five long years, and for it to turn so… carnal.

“Maybe I should have offered you some fucking, since you love incest this much. Maybe then you wouldn’t have stabbed me on the back if I stabbed your ass with my cock.”

“Shut up.” He whispered over his drink. The whiskey here could barely be called that, he’d had better moonshine spit into his mouth, but the alcohol burned just right, and that was what he needed.

“Oh, so your twin is all fine and dandy to seduce, but not me? I guess you’re so full of yourself you could only love someone with your same face. Everyone else is your inferior to be used and discarded, even your own cousin.”

“You are not my cousin.” He grumbled, his voice hidden by the loud music and louder partygoers. “And him being family has no bearing on…”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have loved to fool around. You’ve always been a slut, imagine yourself, held down by your older cousin, moaning my name over and over. Oh Amos, yes! take me Amos!”

“You are NOT Amos!” His grumbles were getting louder, but he ignored the glances his way and just downed the entire glass, slamming it on the bar and signaling the barkeep to serve him another.

“I’m pretty sure I sound just as you remember him. For a man so versed on the occult you seem to have a hard time believing in ghosts. Did you really think your sins would go unpunished?”

The drink they served him was almost clear. And despite the fact there was a tiger sitting on the stool next to him, in the reflection of the glass there was something else instead. Dark and red scales, nice clothes. A stain of…

He grabbed the glass, downing half of it without daring to look to his side.

“Telling the truth has never been a sin. What if your illness flared while you were in office? The stress of it would’ve made it worse way sooner.”

“Ah, you were doing me a favor, then?” The voice would ignore the fact Porter had started acknowledging it as his elder cousin. No need to poke that hole. “Just a concerned citizen, looking for the good of his town and his cousin’s health. And here I thought you were a vulture, feasting on the rotten meat of the corpse you so happily waited for it to die and rot, and then swoop in and take its flesh without any effort.”

“Don’t act like you’re innocent. I know what you are.” The gila monster’s throat burned. So many hours without even a glass of water, and then this rancid drink without even a sad peanut to accompany it. He knew he’d regret it. Such a sad excuse for a penance. “You’re just looking for your next meal, are you?”

“We are at a bar. I’d say I’d be getting a drink instead.” Oh, how well it knew to imitate his cousin’s sarcastic voice. “Unless the snack mix is especially good?”

“You’re not a person. You’re not even a spirit. You’re a THING. You feed on misery, on pain. You steal faces to remind us of our mistakes. That’s why I refuse to play your game, I learned the rules long ago. You’re just an echo. You can starve for all I care, fade already. You’ve been going on for far too long.”

“Oh, you think you’re starving me? Silly Porter, he always thinks he knows everything. You and your little collection of secrets to sell and trade.” On the reflection, he saw the blurry shape of the arm caressing his face. He could feel it. A breeze, or perhaps a bug had brushed on his muzzle. It felt just so WRONG. “All the contrary. You’ve just served me a brand new meal, so delicious.”

That gave him pause. What was the voice talking about? He hadn’t hurt anyone else. He had been careful, he knew how dangerous secrets were. It had to be a trap, a lie…

“I don’t even need to find a new face. Heck, I’ve even gotten so used to looking at you, reading him is almost too easy. You think he’d be as twisted as you? You think he’s at home, reminiscing of your shared night, beating his meat like a horny teenager with a crush? Don’t you think he’s torn by the taboo he just broke, feeling like a disgusting deviant, a rapist who beat and forced his cock into his own twin?”

“No…” Porter turned, very slowly. There should be a tiger happily chatting away with a sable in a foreign language, but instead he saw his form. The fancy clothes. The dark scales. Those eye-catching feathers growing on his head, a soft red, almost rose. His smile, prideful and sure of himself.

The gaping, bleeding hole where his right eye used to be, where the bullet had exited his skull, tearing flesh and brain and jaw and teeth, some bits still hanging by stripes of scaled skin turned inside out. The long streak of blood that fell down the side of his neck, the stains on half of his clothes from the puddle of his own blood and venom.

Porter heaved, the cheap drink threatening to violently exit his body.

“Don’t you dare.” He whispered, his sure voice now a desperate plea.

“You wanted me to leave you alone, didn’t you?” _ When he spoke, bits of his jaw dangled from the side. He could see his tongue moving under the hole. _“You tried to stonewall me, to act like I wasn’t here. Well, you’ll get your wish. I’ve got a brand new Moore twin to toy with.”

“No! Leave him the fuck alone!” This time he had shouted, standing up, ready to fight whatever that thing was. Instead he found himself facing a large, muscular tiger, who’s body covered a shocked smaller sable behind him.

“Excuse me?” Asked the foreigner. He had a very good pronunciation despite his accent. “I do not think it is any of your business what company my friend or I entertain tonight.”

Did Porter know how to fight? A bit, the bare minimum. Did he stand any chance against such a large and angry man? No, no amount of alcohol in his body could convince him otherwise. It would be a somewhat quick way to say goodbye to this world if he needed to go; but right now, despite how much Amos’ voice insisted on it, he planned on clinging to his sad, miserable life.

“S-Sorry, excuse me sir.” He slurred. Seriously, did the alcohol hit him so bad? He needed some fresh air, fresh water, and maybe fresh bread. This had been a massive mistake. “I think I mistook you for someone else, I…”

Sure, tell the Asian man he had trouble telling them apart, for sure he wouldn’t take it even worse. He felt the silent tiger’s eyes scan him all over, and despite how unreadable he appeared, Porter could guess that look was shifting from anger to disgust.

“My apologies. I-I should go.” He rushed, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket and slammed a few coins on the counter without even checking what they were. Either he had short-changed the barman, or bought a round for everyone at the bar.

“Yes.” The tiger’s voice was curt, almost scolding. “That seems wise.”

The gila monster made it twelve steps out of the old barn before he bent over and vomited on the side of the dirt road. It burned even worse on the way out.

He had overindulged enough times to know the remedies. Lots of fresh water, ginger, toast and maybe some eggs for breakfast. And a strong herbal tea. Some memories of his Mormon upbringing scolded him for taking a hot drink, but the more he stayed in Echo, the less he believed in the holy book.

Afterall, the things he had done the night before weren’t exactly very Christian of him.

It was late. Way too late to just be getting up. If people in town liked to read, there would be an angry line at the library. That was unfair, they had a school, they were trying to attract learned people to be a center of science along with all the mine workers.

The mine. It would probably have started operating by now. Meaning Beckett was at work, unless he had skipped it. He looked at the coat hangers next to his main door. Beckett’s hat hung there, a reminder he still needed to talk with his twin.

Could he visit him at work? No, way too noticeable, he needed to discuss with him calmly, not in an open space where anyone could hear them, and with the ticking clock of Henricks waiting for him to get back to business.

All he could do, for now, was to begrudgingly open the library, and try to use the calm and silence there to the best of his ability. His head throbbed painfully, but by the afternoon it had gone back to normal. Just as his lip did, too. It still felt sore, and he could feel a half-healed wound if he rubbed his tongue there, but at least he didn’t look like he had been beaten and robbed.

He owed Murdoch a better explanation, and a roll under the sheets. The fact he was shelving some slightly scandalous novels in the fiction area had nothing to do with those thoughts, or so he’d argue. Not like he wasn’t aware Murdoch’s own mother was fond of reading those, but that was hardly worth keeping track of, nothing illegal here. Maybe slightly hypocritical of someone so opinionated as her.

There was someone else in his fantasies today. He thought back at Beckett, the way he had… could he make it work? They were family, that was a taboo, even if they weren’t both men. Cousins was a hard sell already. Twins? No way in hell. But he was good at lies and secrets. They could argue his brother was just visiting. He had a guest room. Hell, he could pretend they moved together to save on cash. Nothing weird there.

But, could he do that? It meant they’d never have a wedding, they’d never have their own children to raise. No dates, no dances at parties. An entire life of secrets, not even among the queer folks of Echo. Who could he trust with such a secret? Murdoch? The fox was open to different ideas, but THAT open?

No, he was being stupid. When did romance enter into all of this? It was his brother, for goodness sake! Did he really miss him that badly? Perhaps. He wanted him, in some way or fashion. He hadn’t realized how badly he missed his twin, like half of him had been torn. The thought of him keeps every waking hour busy. Worries of what the echoes of the town’s depts might be whispering to him; sweet memories of the fun times they shared in their youth, thick as thieves; and shameful visages of his more mature and imposing body towering over him, his face focused on the pleasures of breeding his abused tailhole.

Oh, how did he shudder whenever that memory resurfaced. Yes, he couldn’t deny he wanted more of that. And he’d get it. When his patience ran out he checked his pocket watch for the millionth time that day. It was late, late enough to justify closing the library. He could put the books back in the morning, no-one would care for a few loose textbooks on tables left by a handful of students.

He knew where Beckett lived. Of course he did, even if he hadn’t personally been there. He knew everything in town. It was a humble apartment. Utilitarian. He knew Beckett could afford better, despite how cheap his boss was. His brother was probably storing his money away, waiting to build cash and experience to get a better job elsewhere. Perhaps at a railroad company, or a car manufacturer. There was good money to be made there for a man with skills in engines.

There was only one problem: the home was lacking its owner. No lights in the windows, no-one answering his insistent knocking. Porter knew everything there was to know in town, but he wasn’t a seer, so where his twin had run off to was anyone’s guess.

“Maybe he’s already fled town. Maybe he waited until the lake got cold at night and dived as deep as he could. How quickly would that kill one of your kind?”

“Shut the fuck up, or at least get better lies. He isn’t a coward.” The lizard hissed under his breath as he walked, now more aimlessly. That had been a monumental waste of time. Would he need to try again in the morning? And more pressingly: what was he supposed to do with the rest of the night?

“You can always stick your tail up your ass and pretend it’s your dear brother.”

The librarian refused to be offended by the ghostly voice. He whispered back to it.

“See? That was a useful suggestion, for once. Thanks, ‘cousin’.”

He glanced at the buildings around. Too late to do some shopping, and he had cans at home to cook, so no need. A fur dresser, sadly useless to their kind, although it did remind him he needed to buy some more cream for his scales. He hated when they got dry and scratchy.

Oh, the Hip. He didn’t feel like drinking, not after yesterday’s shameful display, but he could always order something sweet and bask in a bit of company for a while, all the while he listened to the rumors not-so-whispered by the other patrons.

The place was busy and teeming with energy, as usual. Dances, laughter, way-too-friendly waitresses. Oh, they had that handsome handyman of theirs. He could always see if he was available for something else. He didn’t hire Mr. Ayers for those needs, he preferred the discretion of some of his other lovers, but it couldn’t be denied that the albino puma had some very specific talents.

He scanned the room for the tall puma. Shouldn’t be hard to find with that white fur. Not among the dancefloor, not among the tables… a flash of white, just turning around the corner towards the stars. He barely got time to see the tip of a white-furred tail, along with another. Thicker. Scaled. Black with orange-red stripes.

“No way in hell.” His first instinct was to rush after them, but he knew that was a massive faux pas here. Way too many people who valued their privacy as they had their privates wet by their hired mistresses. But he had his ways; instead he confidently walked to the bar, where the older rabbit tried to scrub the latest batch of clean pint glasses.

“Mr. Moore, fancy seeing you. What will it be?” The gray rabbit barely looked at him as he focused on his work.

“Just a lemonade this time.” Porter had taken out his wallet and pulled a small coin. Damn, he had indeed overpaid at the Stag the night before. He placed it on the counter, and the rabbit quickly served him his drink. Bitter and with bite, just like he liked it.

“I’d also like to ask a question, something a bit more private.”

Finally, the waiter’s eyes gave him his full attention. The artificial light reflected harshly on those large round glasses of his.

“Depends on the question. You know our clients…”

“Don’t worry, nothing too damning. I just want to know who has hired your handyman for an extra job, just now.”

Despite the ruckus of the other patrons, it felt terribly silent between the two. The hare glanced at the access to upstairs, swallowed, and then shook his head.

“No, can’t do.”

To be expected. How much would an answer be worth? This wasn’t exactly the sort of information he would buy, this was a personal expense. But he needed answers. Checking his wallet again, he pulled out a bank note and placed it on the bar.

“My apologies Harlan, I forgot my tip, I believe this should be enough gratitude.”

The rabbit’s eyes glanced nervously at the bill, and then at him. That was way more than some gratitude for a drink.

“Mr. Moore, seriously, you don’t want me to answer.”

The gila’s humor was running dry, and his lemonade was getting warm.

“Mr. Perkins, seriously, you don’t want me to ask your boss. I am unsure if Madam Dora looks kindly on all of your interests.”

Blackmail already? He was certainly getting desperate. He lashed his tail, half tempted to hush Amos’ voice, before he realized that was actually his own thoughts. At least now the rabbit looked at him with proper terror in his eyes. Oh, the rush of the predator catching his prey. No wonder they hired a coyote-wolf as a Sheriff.

“... I did warn you, all right? And no-one will know I said anything. But I believe his current client’s name is Beckett. Moore, I imagine, considering the family resemblance. A first timer, but he’s paid for a full night.”

At first, he smirked. He knew it. The rush of confirming a suspicion. Maybe he should run for Sheriff? No, way too much risk, and didn’t enjoy the smell of gunpowder. He took his lemonade and left the money behind. It tasted like the sweetest victory. Until he tasted the bitter jealousy.

Beckett is up there, probably right on top of his head, probably fucking that cat. Getting his cock swallowed by that sandpapery tongue or burying it right into that rosy asshole. Goddamnit. If he wanted some, he could just ASK. Did he really prefer to pay for a whore than to just TALK to him?

“I can’t say I blame him. It’d probably be less degrading to take Samuel’s job than to be anywhere near you.”

He left the way-too-expensive lemonade on the bar. He didn’t feel like being in anyone’s company anymore.

Again, another near-sleepless night. He had tried with some calming teas, he had tried a cold shower. Hells, he had even tried the cursed voice’s advice about his tail and where to shove it. When he realized the noises outside were the first workers starting their shifts right before the break of dawn, he knew he needed to discuss it with Beckett. It might be unfair, he had literal dirt on him. His twin couldn’t deny he liked what had happened if he had rushed the very next night to hire a male prostitute.

After a quick bath to avoid stinking like he was in rut, the gila monster contemplated himself as he dressed. He had his reasons to keep the mirror hung on the inside of the closet door, away from sight and mind unless it was strictly needed.

Would he do himself? Considering he was eager to have another go at his twin, he had to admit the look was nice. And the cut on his lip was healing, it just hung a bit low. A bit too much? And there were some red stains on his clothes…

He quickly shut the closet door. No, not the same old trick again. Playing with his own looks and the family resemblance. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain that simulacrum of a ghost’s tricks. Instead, he just looked at himself, no reflections this time. Just to be sure.

He had some nice clothes that would tightly hug his best assets, all the while seeming like a perfectly distinguished gentleman. Perhaps it’d be best to just be seen, tease him for a few days? No, in just 24 hours he had already ran to another man’s arms, and even paid a pretty penny for it. Getting Beckett any more pent up would just push him harder, it was too much of a risk.

Also, let’s be honest: he wasn’t willing to wait anyway. Keys, wallet, all ready. But he stopped, looking again at that hat, hanging right next to the door. He smiled and placed it on himself. Still not his style, but he felt closer to his objective already.

The walk to Beckett’s apartment would be quick, direct. No side tangents, no distractions. He would even ignore the people around; no point in trying to stay informed on the goings on of town this morning, he had an objective and nothing shall stop him from knocking on that door.

And then he was stopped when a strong, webbed hand firmly held him by the chest.

“Sorry there, Mister, afraid I can’t letcha in right now.” Deputy Bronson, the short and broad otter informed him. Good thing the gila had a good poker face, because his very first instinct was to bite that hand off and maybe stay just long enough to enjoy the views as the damned otter cried in agony as his very flesh felt like it was on fire.

No, he was above that. Maybe he could dig up some dirt on him. Large Mormon family, lots of angles to absolutely ruin him and anyone he loved. He was about to voice his threat when the deputy spoke again:

“Sheriff Adler’s interviewin’ a gentleman inside. Gotta maintain that deductive objectivity, so….”

“... Adler is interrogating my…” Should he use the name? No, no need, anyone with eyes could tell they were twins, no point in acting dumb. “... brother?”

“Well, I ain’t allowed to tell you that it’s him…” Bullshit. That man couldn’t lie to save his sorry tail. “Say, yer the fella as runs the library downtown, right? So you’d have some real learnin… is it called bein’ a “detective” on account of it bein’ “deductive?” Sure sounds like it’s the same word, almost!.”

“When?” He demanded, no patience left on his voice.

“When what?”

“When can I speak with my brother?!”

“Ah dunno how long the Sheriff‘ll take, sorry Mister…”

Porter could feel his tail lashing in fury. The sheriff, interrogating his brother? Why? What did he have against him? Was it about Samuel? No, no way in hell. He knew for a fact the Sheriff paid regular visits to the same prostitute, if he presented a case for sodomy, his favorite cumdump would get it even worse. Maybe some other incident at the mines?

The gila grunted, taking a step back and not even bothering to look at the deputy otter as he turned back the way he came. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him.

Only when he tried to scratch his head did he realize he still had the damn hat.

Beckett Moore hadn’t slept much either. It was his own fault, of course. Or, more like it, an albino puma’s fault. By the time he had regained the ability to walk and could wash into a semblance of decency, he had sneaked out of the brothel and wobbled back to his own bed, where he could crash for just a couple of hours before he was rudely awakened by a very insistent knocking.

His mind went over the few people he knew could knock with such ferocity. Not Porter, thankfully. One of the miners? That was a probability, Nik, Dimitri or Yao were quite large and strong men. Which reminded him, he needed to thank Nik for the recommendation. Maybe Samuel was knocking? He was a large man too, but didn’t seem the sort of person who’d bring this type of attention onto himself.

Putting up his pants and confirming yesterday’s shirt didn’t reek too badly, he opened, and realized he had missed an option. Sheriff Adler, whom he had run into a couple days ago. He had to slowly gaze up (oh wow that was a LOT of coyote chest barely contained by those suspenders and buttoned-up shirt) and meet his stern face.

“Sheriff Adler? Is there a problem?” It wasn’t common for him to receive a visit. He suspected some incident at the mines, but that should be reported to Henricks, shouldn’t it?

“We need to speak.” William’s words left no room for discussion as he just stepped inside, softly closing the door behind him. Wasn’t he supposed to ask first? No, there wasn’t any need, was it? The coyote knew he wouldn’t refuse him, it’d just make him seem more suspicious.

“Well, here I am.” The years in his position had taught him how to keep a straight face, even when faced by a larger, stronger man. Jesus, he was bigger than Samuel. That did break his focus. No, bad brain! No lusting for every man you run into, no matter how amazing gay sex is.

“I’ve heard you’ve been busy these days. Visiting new places, making new friends.” Keeping his tail from lashing nervously was an impressive show of restraint. If Will wasn’t considering him an enemy for working under Henricks, they’d be good friends over a game of cards.

“I don’t think trying a new bar is against the city laws. Nor did I see any sign saying ‘no reptiles allowed’, did I miss any?” He crossed his arms. Stubborn, but the sheriff had way too much experience reading suspects.

“I’ll get to the point, since neither of us want to stay here all morning: you have been reported for hiring the services of one of the club’s workers. Then, taking him to the bedrooms upstairs, and staying until nearly dawn. Do you need me to make it any clearer, Mr. Moore?”

“You’ve had me FOLLOWED?” He stepped closer, indignantly. Yet William didn’t move an inch, barely acknowledging his reaction. He surely expected it.

“Honestly? You are an associate of my main suspect in this case.” The bastard seemed to enjoy this. “But no, I had no need to waste my very thin resources on that. A little birdie told me.”

Little birdie? Who the fuck did he mean?

“Perhaps Porter felt so vengeful as to chase you all over town and then report you to the police. That, if he could still walk straight after you had your way with his asshole.”

No, no. He shouldn’t think like that. Be practical, doesn’t matter whoever snitched on him. He needed a way out.

“Let me guess: your suspect is Mr. Henricks.” Not a difficult deduction. “He’s the owner of the mine, whatever bad blood you two have against each other is none of my business; I’m just his employee. Are you going to pester Dimitri Popov, or Nikolai Krol? They’re his workers too.”

“You’re the foreman. These men are under your responsibility, Mr. Moore.” William sounded like a teacher scolding a little boy for not doing his homework. It was infuriating to the Gila.

“Please, that’s just on paper. I’m there to keep the damn machines from breaking down. Henricks loves to have his finger over every detail of the operation, makes him feel useful or something. He just uses me as his mouthpiece so the workers don’t complain to him directly, and he doesn’t need to dirty his shiny hooves on the dirty mines.”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Your job there is to shield him.” There was proper venom in Will’s voice now. The coyote was getting to the heart of the issue. “Something goes wrong? An accident. Someone gets hurt? They were clumsy. They mine too deep and it collapses? They forgot to place the proper reinforcements. It’s NEVER Hendricks Mining Company’s fault, isn’t it?”

Beckett’s hands were still crossed, but his fingers gripped his shirt like it would give him some sort of lifeline.

“Sheriff Adler, are you accusing me of causing those accidents?”

“No, Mr. Moore. I’m accusing you of engaging in sexual activities with a male prostitute. Which, honestly, I don’t really give a damn what you do on your bed. But you do, don’t you? You come from a nice family, you have an important job, your faith… I respect that. Seriously, I do. And I really don’t feel like having to present a case where I have to explain cocks being sucked.”

Extortion. That had to be, purely and simply, blackmail. William wanted something out of him, and right now, he was between a rock and a hard place.

“... what do you want?”

“I want you to do the right thing. I want the accidents at the mines to end. I want the good workers of this city to come back home on their feet, not in boxes. And for that, I need Henricks to suffer. To make it more expensive for him to keep hurting people than to hire fresh workers each time he kills another batch. I want you to help me.”

“Oh, look. One night with the town’s bitch, and now you’re HIS bitch! What a twist! Maybe you should learn to stop thinking with your slit, Beckett.”

That didn’t sound like an invitation; to Beckett it seemed outright extortion. His tail lashed, as he made his best effort to show indignance, rather than the dread inside of him.

“Don’t you think I know? I’m the one who’s down there. I’m the one who has seen those men crushed, their limbs torn. I’ve begged Henricks again and again to be more careful, to ease on the pressure, and --”

“And yet the mine keeps on as it always has. And Chang Fulin has to resort to illegal imports to calm the pain on his mangled hand. And Li’s tomb has an empty casket because that panda’s body is still somewhere under tons of rocks, and we don’t even know who to contact to notify his death. I could go on.”

“I am PAINFULLY aware, sheriff Adler.”

“I don’t doubt that. But what I want to know is if you care at all. If you’re paying attention to the patterns. Henricks gives his best jobs to the local men, while he hires migrants for the most dangerous parts. People without the resources or family contacts to face him in court. Desperate people who don’t have anywhere to fall back to.”

“Is it illegal to hire people who badly need a job?” What did the sheriff expect to get out of that? That Henricks and Briggs were a couple of rich racists? Shocker, amazing revelation.

“Sadly no, it’d make my job a hell easier if I could arrest assholes for being dicks to good people who come here just for a shot at a good life. But look at the signs. Hendricks has no problem getting rid of those he deems different. Even if I don’t present charges, how long until he hears rumors about you? How long until he finds another engineer, and sends you to do dangerous work on crumbling machinery until something happens?”

“Oh, remember the sound of Chang’s bones crushed under that wagon wheel? Like peeling a ripe banana. Imagine the symphony your body would do if someone accidentally turned a machine on while you’re tinkering inside its guts.”

It was insane. William had to be joking, or perhaps paranoid. Henrick wouldn’t… not to him, no?

“So what do you propose, sheriff? That I pack up and flee town? Do you think it’s so easy?”

“I am perfectly aware how hard it is. I wasn’t born in this town, you know?” He shook his head, arms crossed. He didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes seemed to look somewhere away before he came back. “I can help you, and I’m not asking for much in return. Get me something good, get me some proper documentation on Henricks’ mishandling of the mines, and I’ll erase all about your indiscretions.”

The lizard took a step back. It was insane. How did this man expect him to be able to come up with something out of thin air? He shook his head, but didn’t dare to meet his eyes.

“You’re asking for the impossible. Do you think he has handwritten notes saying he wants workers to die for a few nuggets of gold? He’s a jerk, but he’s not stupid. I can’t give you what you ask me for!”

William smirked at this, taking a step forward. But rather than head for Beckett, he went to the door instead, all the while he took a cigarette out of his pocket.

“Look Mr. Moore, men like… like you, need friends. I can be your friend, if you trust me.” The clang of a lighter, and a column of smoke son raised from between his lips. “But trust needs to go both ways. I need to know you’re on the right side of this, rather than looking out for the big boss hoping he’ll feed you the leftovers like you’re his pet.”

William didn’t wait for him to find an answer for that. The sheriff was already lighting his smoke as he left.

“I’ll be waiting for you. I’m sure you know how to find me.”

A few hours later, Beckett had basically torn out most of his little “office” at the mines. He really didn’t have that much paperwork there for him to examine. Maps of the mines, schedules of the workers… Most of the important paperwork was at Henricks’ office, and he couldn't just waltz into it and start taking out papers as he pleased.

Seriously, what did the sheriff expect of him? It was insane, he didn’t have anywhere near the authority to command such important documents. Why did he expect there to be any document that could implicate the bosses? What, some written order of “send the miners I don’t like to a shaft and collapse it”? Even Henricks wasn’t so much of an idiot to leave such an evident trail of mismanagement and voluntary manslaughter.

Unless… What if it happened? He did have orders, didn’t he? He eyed out some of the memos his bosses had sent him. Notes on which tunnels to push forward. Where they expected to find more gold, urges for results.

But, the tunnel choices were logical. There was pressure, yes, but the tunnels had safeties. At least a semblance of them. Weight-bearing beams every so feet to keep them from collapsing, an inspection by geologists from time to time, mostly to look for possible veins of gold, but also to make sure the entire mine didn’t fall on their heads.

He looked at the maps. There were some newer shafts. Untested. Unsteady. Rushed. His eyes wandered over the room. There were some tools there, spares to sell the miners if they broke their own. Spools of rope, pickaxes, shovels…

Some boxes of dynamite.

His heart quickened as he walked towards it. Despite having skipped breakfast, he felt his stomach turn at the mere sight of the wooden box. HIGH EXPLOSIVES. DANGEROUS, read the side of it. He needed to check it, despite what he already knew he’d find inside.

When he tried to reach for it, he realized how badly his hands trembled. If he were a mammal, they’d probably be covered in sweat by now. Good thing, because the last he wanted was to drop a box full of dynamite. No matter how stable it was supposed to be, he couldn’t get over the nagging fear of them going off on their own.

He could collapse the tunnel. Make it seem like an accident. Evidence that Henricks was pushing for work on unsafe conditions, not giving enough time to set up proper load-bearing beams and all those other problems sheriff Adler believed they had. It’d be easy, he had the maps, and they weren’t yet updated. He had markings of where the beams should go, but only some quick notes of the ones that had been built. Burn the notes, pretend the map was up to date…

“And bury your workers alive.”

“No… just the tunnel…” Beckett uncovered the box, kneeling to examine the contents. A series of tubes, wrapped in bright red paper. Instruments of destruction.

“You’ll have to do this during the day. It’d be very obvious if a single blast went off in the middle of the night, and you just happen to be in the mines when it happens. Someone will be working there. Someone you’ll kill.”

The gila monster’s eyes darted towards the shift table drawn on a blackboard on the wall, but he pulled them back before he could even read the contents.

“I-I don’t even know who’s turn it is today. They might… they might find other routes out. I’ll just place it away from all the work…”

“The work on the new, still-unstable mineshafts. Sure, so either they die crushed by rocks, or they suffocate or starve. But, I imagine you’re fine with that, aren’t you? It’s a necessity, after all. How many more have you sent to their deaths? How many times have you followed that Ram’s orders and told those men to dig deeper, deeper still to feed his greed? How many of them were digging their own graves unknowingly?”

“I’m just the foreman. I just…” He closed his eyes, unwilling to think about it. Unwilling to acknowledge how the red from the dynamite sticks was pouring out, flooding the ground beneath his knees on a bright, sickly crimson.

“Yah, I know. Like every soldier says. ‘I was just following orders, sir.’ Makes it easy, doesn’t it? You spit on your brother’s face, call him a murderer because his cruelty led to a man taking his life. And yet you pretend to be free of guilt, when your hands are absolutely soaked with blood.”

They were. He blinked just once, and his instinct to pull them toward his face was held back by the disgusting feeling of the thick liquid staining his hand, seeping under every scale so he’d never be able to wash them no matter how hard he scrubbed.

“I’ve killed no one!”

“But how many incident reports have you filled, Beckett? How many times have you given the sheriff some document stating than this or that poor soul now laid trapped under tons of rubble, or his flesh was spread all over a wall after a faulty stick blew on their face? Can you actually give me a number?”

His muzzle opened, but no sound could come out. He didn’t actually have that number to tell.

“You don’t know. You’ve never had the guts to actually count them. Because if you did, you’d start crying and praying and begging for forgiveness and you could never, ever stop. Am I right?”

A sob. And another. He didn’t dare to look, but he could feel it, the blood, somehow cold as ice, gripping to his feet, pooling over his tail and soaking his pants. The voice was right, wasn’t it? He had no right to look at Porter over his shoulder. He had his own sins to drag him down, to drown him in the blood of all those people he should have fought for.

And then, another cold touch. But softer. A scaled hand, caressing his cheek from behind. It sent a shiver down his spine until his whole tail shook. As he noticed that his long limb hadn’t splashed a bunch of blood, he finally saw through the illusion. No, he wasn’t drowning in blood in his own raggedy office. That was simply not possible. But someone had rescued him from it. Someone real.

His own hand darted and took the other, holding them there, as he feared turning and realizing it had been but another dream. No, not this time. He only knew of a gila monster who’d come to his rescue down there.

“Porter?” He realized just how fast he had been breathing, and tried to force himself to slow down. The answer made him stop completely.

“Not quite.” He knew that voice. He had been hearing it for days, whispering dark ideas in his mind. He knew it before, years ago, in the real world. “Family, but perhaps not so close.”

Beckett had frozen, long enough for the stranger’s hand to wiggle free of his grasp. He heard steps walking away, his chair being dragged into position, and a weight sitting on it. He could remember how often he’d do it. Whenever they needed to consult with him, he’d bring in a chair and sit, to give you his full attention. It had been five years since the last time, of course.

Beckett turned, very slowly. He saw the gila, his body facing the wall, only showing him his left side, but his eye was turned on him, nearly at an unnatural angle. Just as he remembered him. His sharp angles, his beautiful scales. Those dashing pinkish feathers that grew along his crest.

The dark-red stain on his right sleeve, probably coming from a wound hidden by his position. He was exactly as he remembered him.

“Amos.” A slight smile on the apparition, satisfied to be recognized. Beckett turned quickly, checking the dynamite, fearing a terrible idea. “Am… am I dead?”

Amos’ smile turned into a chuckle. His clean hand clasped the blood-stained one as he bent down, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Don’t be melodramatic, cousin. You’d know if you had died. Trust me, it’s not as quick as they make you believe.” Oh, the certainty in his voice. The other lizard stayed there, sitting on the ground transfixed by the apparition. “But I figured out, since I was hanging around here, dealing with my unfinished business, I might as well give you some life advice. Hopefully you don’t end up like me, you know?”

Advice? What did he…? Oh. Now he got it. Beckett made an attempt to stand, but his legs still felt impossibly heavy.

“You have been whispering in my mind, haven’t you? Those… those awful thoughts, it was you!”

“I mean… somewhat? The little nagging voice? Yes, that was me. You’re old enough to endure some tough love from your cousin, don’t you think? Now, those mean, mean ideas? Those were all yours. I’m impressed, I always thought you’d be the good twin.”

“You’ve been whispering all those awful things to my mind. You’ve been… driving me insane!”

This time the undead vision let out a proper laughter. His flesh didn’t seem transparent, but the light would shine oddly inside his mouth. Like it had another way to enter. Beckett knew what it was, and prayed to any god who’d listen for the ghost not to turn his head towards him.

“I’ve been telling you the truth. Being dead is quite liberating, you know? No more politics, no more pretend politeness just to appease those who don’t even care about you. Honestly, my dear Becky…” How much he disliked that childhood nickname. “I am quite proud of you. You’re living your life, getting what you want.”

“What I want?” The living lizard blinked, somewhat lost in the ghost’s ramblings.

“You wanted a good job, you studied hard and you got it. You wanted payback on your brother, and you raped his ass. You realized you wanted more sex with men, and you bought yourself one for the night. See? You’re properly living.”

“I didn’t!-” Did he? He shook his head. “I would never… force someone. He wanted me.”

“Oh, he wanted it. Well that’s alright then!” Amos stood so forcefully his chair fell on the ground with a loud clatter, ignored as the lizard rushed to the closest window. His hands gripped the frame as he took a deep breath. “Attention ladies and gentlemen!” His voice bellowed down the mines, the echoes reverberating on the stone walls. “Beckett Gaius Moore was offered the ass of his twin brother Porter Tiberius Moore, and they willingly and eagerly consummated their carnal union to completion! A cheer for our newly minted buggers, may their incestuous union bring forth many years of sexual pleasures!”

If something could break Beckett’s spell and get him to stand up, it was the other lizard’s screaming. He rushed to try and pull him away from the window.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” His voice almost a feral hiss. “Are you trying to get me killed?!”

“Silly boy, I’m just a voice in your head.” Beckett froze when he noticed how wet Amos’ right sleeve was. Not with water, something thicker and warmer. Very slowly, his cousin’s head turned to look at him. Revealing the gaping hole where the right side of his face used to be.

The living gila had to let go, turning away from the horrible vision and holding himself against a shelf, his entire body trembling. That look. That awful look, like the time they had found him. He prayed again. That wasn’t how he wished to remember his cousin. He wanted to think of the smart, fun man they loved. The one who always listened with a warm smile, not that mutilated look of…

“What do you want of me?” His voice was reduced to a whimper, his body once again frozen, unwilling to look at that shape. When the apparition placed its hands on Beckett’s shoulders, he whined even louder.

“I told you: I want to help you.”

“Don’t you lie. You’ve told me… you’ve told me to kill!”

“Of course I did. My dear cousin Becky, if you want something, it’ll cost you something. This is a dog-eat-dog world. In your case, a coyote-eat-gila world. You want him off your track? You need to make him happy. Give him a bone thick enough for him to gnaw at. It’s the only way you’ll be able to be free and pursue what you truly want.”

What he wanted. He wanted to be free of this nightmare. He wanted…

“Porter?”

“I’ve visited him too. He’s not very happy to see me, but you can ask to confirm I’m telling you the truth, that you’re not going insane. And more importantly: He’s been missing you terribly. And he wants to have you just as badly. You better make good use of this while you’re alive, sex isn’t that fun without a body.”

“And all I have to…” He dared not to finish that thought. He flinched when the cold hands let go of his shoulders with one last caress on his cheek.

“Give William the tragedy he’s looking for. He’ll have the rest of his life to chase that rich bastard, and no one will bother to check where you’re dumping your loads. It’s that easy, my little cousin.”

Beckett needed a few more minutes before he dared look back and saw that the apparition had left. He was all alone in that office, with only the scattered papers and the open box of dynamite as proof that anything had happened here. Perhaps he had imagined it all. Perhaps his own mind was making up excuses to justify his needs.

Perhaps this town was way more cursed than he knew.

But he was sure of it. It was his time to be selfish. He grabbed an old burlap sack and grabbed half a dozen sticks, along with a long fuse to set them up. Taking in a deep breath he headed outside, his eyes never unwavering from the route he had to take. He didn’t look at the workers on the way. He didn’t want to think too hard about that. If he started taking notes on which ones were safe from the blast, he’d be able to guess which ones he was about to condemn.

He could try to justify it. Sheriff Adler was right: Henricks’ management of the mines was a disaster, and it was bound to cause more accidents and death. Maybe two or three would die today, but if that got Henricks removed, it might save a dozen, or twenty, or God knows how many down the line.

A turn, another turn, some stairs. The access to the new tunnel. The electric lights were flickering, were the connections faulty? The cover of darkness would be perfect for this act. He eyed the wooden beams holding the rock in place. They felt fresh, way too new for a mine covered in dust and grime all day long. In the distance the constant banging of pickaxes, the natural rhythm of the mines.

He kneeled, looking for some space between the rock and the beams. Would it be too obvious? If the blast left shards of wood with scorch marks it’d be too simple to prove it had been sabotaged. He moved further in, tracing the sides of the wall with his fingers. The rocks were a bit more loose in some points. Maybe if he hid the dynamite deeper in?

“Amos, I could really use some help here.” He mumbled. He waited, not sure for what. A sign? His voice? Perhaps him walking in all mysteriously from some impossible dark corner? It’d been very theatrical, but no. He was utterly alone. “Well fuck you too, I guess.”

He looked around again. How deep had he gotten into the tunnel yet? Could he run away if it began to collapse on him? He needed at least a few minutes to set the sticks, connect the fuse to them all, light them, and then run as far as he could. But if the shocks dislodged some rocks on the way, they could very well fall on him, trapping him in his own crime.

“That’d be fitting…” He chuckled, surprised at his own dark thoughts. But he’d deserve it, wouldn’t he? What was he doing? Condemning some men to an almost sure death just to avoid the embarrassment of having been caught going to a prostitute? Sure, a male one, but, maybe he could argue the Sheriff couldn’t prove he had slept with Sam, no one would bat an eye at him enjoying one of the ladies, like any other miner with some coin to spend.

And instead of taking his chances, he was about to make it everyone else’s problem. And he had the gall to look down on Porter? Hell, his brother had been forward on his own hand at leaking their cousin’s medical history. He was sneaking in the dark to…

“Boss Moore?” A voice called him, starting the lizard so badly he nearly dropped his bag. His own scream of shock echoed down the corridors, as he turned to see who had found him mid crime.

“Nate?” He covered his eyes to protect them from the lamp on the blue jay’s hat. “Dear god I didn’t hear you come in, you scared the shit out of me!”

The bird chuckled, but he simply patted his leg with the shovel he was carrying.

“Hollow bones. I’m a lightweight actually. What were you doing here, boss?”

Oh, the accursed question. It could have come from a judge themself right before being given the capital punishment. What would be fitting for a monster like him? Simply hanging? Or perhaps drowning him in the lake would be more fitting for his crimes?

“I was…” He felt the weight of the bag in his hand. The sticks of dynamite, as good as a bloody knife. And then it came to him. “... bringing some more explosives for the team here. I got the feeling they hadn’t taken enough this morning, the big bosses want this tunnel to progress quickly.”

“Oh! That’s so nice of you boss.” Nate’s smile seemed genuine. A trusting fool, or a trap right before he’d hand him to the Sheriff? “I can bring it to them myself, I have a shift here. We need your magic touch with the old generator, it’s died on us again.”

“The generator?” He eyed the electric lights. They were completely off, indeed. But it gave him an excuse to flee this place as quickly as he could. “Yeah, I… I noticed. I’ll get right to it, probably just a slipped belt, as usual. It’ll be an easy fix.”

It was not, sadly, an easy fix. Actually it took him most of the day, having to disassemble half of the machine before he could identify the fault and find a fitting spare to get the blasted machine up and running again. He had to crawl on the dirt beneath it, stick his hands up his elbows in old, dusty grease and work his tail off until the darn thing was up and running again, the lights coming up right as the sun was setting on the outside work.

The physical labor wasn’t the worst part. It was loneliness. All those hours with no one but himself and his thoughts. His guilt. He had been about to kill men. Nate was right there, if he took a bit more to set up the explosives, the blue jay would be among the men who’d find themselves trapped by rocks, or maybe even crushed by them.

And if he had been too quick to set them up, Nate would have found him mid-job. Right in the commission of his crime.

He was exhausted, frustrated, and desperate. His tired legs, sore from so many times kneeling and standing around the broken machine barely had the energy to drag him to town. Or perhaps he feared he’d run into the sheriff or his deputy, ready to arrest him unless he handed them the impossible evidence to use against Henricks. Not to mention, he still wasn’t sure if he had spoken to his dead cousin, or perhaps his mind was slipping with all the stress and paranoia.

The day seemed like it couldn’t get any worse.

And then the skies darkened, and with a single distant thunder, God brought down upon the city of Echo rains like those of the days of Noah.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He groaned, trying to rush on the dirt streets quickly turning into mud and avoiding falling into the largest puddles. Why did he bother? Well, the cold water wouldn’t do any favors to his cold-blooded biology. But beyond merely survival, he was running out of reasons to keep himself safe. It seemed like everything was against him. The sheriff, work, even the supernatural seemed to have turned against him.

Who did he have in this town? Amos was dead. At least the Amos of flesh and blood. He didn’t have friends, not the kind he could confess such sins to. The only person left to come to was…

Porter Moore swore as he removed his soaked shirt. This was ridiculous. Such a short walk between the library and his home, and somehow the heavens decided it was the right time to rain like it hadn’t rained all season. The farmers would be happy, of course, but it left him soaked and miserable.

Well, the miserable part wasn’t new. Even if he had been dry, his mood wouldn’t have improved. He had half a mind to go see the sheriff and demand explanations on why he was interrogating his twin. After it finished raining. For now he needed a towel and -

A knock. So late? He wasn’t used to receiving visits at home. Usually the library was the best place to exchange information and other business, his home was more of a sanctuary. Still he decided to open, against all caution. If someone had come all the way there under that rain, they probably had a very good reason.

And then he was met with his same face. Only soaked, panting, and apparently on the verge of crying. He didn’t need to check twice to confirm it wasn’t a mirror delivered to his home, he had known that face all his life. He had been waiting to see it again for days now.

“Beckett?”

The other gila hesitated, his eyes darted to the sides, almost considering fleeing again. Porter reached with his hand, about to take his twin and force him to shelter from the rain. That was enough to tip the scales.

Beckett rushed forward, crashing into his twin as Porter had to take a couple steps back. Strong arms wrapped around the bare chest of the librarian. He realized the swallow breathes coming from Beckett, how he trembled like a scolded child. He could count with one hand the times he had seen him cry, truly cry. Last one had been fives years ago.

He didn’t need to close the door to give him the privacy to let go. An icy cold but very welcome gust of wind slammed the door shut and made the twins jump from the surprise. Still Beckett wouldn’t let go, he simply held him tighter, his nails almost digging into his back.

“Porter… I…”

“Sh, sh.” He softly caressed his twin’s head. It had been way too long since he held him like that. “It’s ok, I’m here.

That did it. Beckett’s wails came in long, sorrowful cries, only muffled by the fact he was hiding his muzzle between their bodies. Porter didn’t mind. He could be the strong one tonight, even if he too was close to joining him. He wanted to ask him what had happened, if someone was hurt, or if it was regret from their last meeting and all that happened since.

But that could wait. First he let him cry it out. It just took him a couple minutes, even if it felt like an eternity. Soon he’d have calmed down, enough for Porter to fetch a somewhat dry handkerchief from his pocket and offer it to his twin, who wordlessly thanked him with a nod as he cleaned his eyes.

“Let me get this off of you.” Porter reached for the buttons on his twin’s shirt, but he found his hand harshly slapped away by an irate Beckett.

“Jesus Christ, Porter! Do you really think I came here for that? Do I look like it’s something I’d be in any mood for?” Beckett spat, almost turning to leave already. This had been a mistake, he was sure. Porter wouldn’t have any of it.

“Beckett, you’re soaked to the bones, and covered in dirt and grease and God-knows-what. I love you, my dear brother, but before I let you sit on my damask silk couch, you are getting undressed and washed.”

Beckett’s anger quickly dissipated as he looked at himself. He was, indeed, an absolute mess. And now so was Porter, who had decided to start removing his own pants, seeing as they were now both wet and dirty.

“Sorry, you’re right.” The largest twin agreed, disrobing as well. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, I…” He hesitated, unsure on how to explain it all to him. Porter just shook his head and headed for the kitchen instead.

“You clearly need a hand. And despite our past differences, I’ll be damned if my brother can’t come to me for help at any time, for anything. But first let me fix us a hot bath, the cold won’t do us any favors.”

Beckett stood awkwardly, holding a ball of his wet and dirty clothes while Porter set a large pot of water to boil on the stove. He glanced at the surroundings of his twin’s home. Impeccable taste, as to be expected. It made his apartment seem like a rundown shack by comparison.

“Nice place you’ve gotten.” He tried to make small talk, even if awkwardly. Porter was trying to focus on the heating water, even if he’d rather be admiring every detail of his brother’s body instead.

“Oh right, I bought it after…” He coughed. After the incident, he meant. “... four years ago. First time you visit.”

Again the awkwardness between them. Thankfully the water had started boiling, so Porter turned off the stove and grabbed a couple mitts to carry the pot to the bathroom. Puring the scalding water on the bathtub and adding some cold one from the tap would allow for a decently warm bath.

Both twins looked at each other, before Porter finally chuckled and decided to get in, pointing at his twin to join him. “No sense in one of us getting cold while the other washes. And the water will be filthy once you’re done.”

There was no arguing with that. The tub was big enough for them both to sit inside, even if cramped. Porter handed his twin some floral-smelling soap, and they both began to wash in silence.

The librarian would enjoy this part. His brother’s body was as muscular and lovely as he remembered it from a couple of nights ago, when he was being rutted by him. It took some self control not to get hard right there.

“We should talk about what happened at the library.” He finally pushed the issue. Beckett grimaced as he was trying to rub a dark patch on his arm.

“While naked in a bath? Quite the timing.”

“At least we’re already naked, you won’t have to rip off my shirt this time.” Smirked Porter, getting a chuckle and a shake from Beckett. “Look, I’m not asking you to rut me again. I just… I guess I want to know what happened, and where we stand.”

“You teased me, and I… don’t know why I went on with it.”

He had figured out as much.

“I think I realized you were looking at me all over, when you broke my shirt. I had missed you and I wanted you in… any fashion. And either I got you in… that way, or you’d be so repulsed that you’d let me go. Or perhaps you’d beat me to death.”

“Porter! I would never!”

“Nah, I would have deserved it. You’d finally gotten justice for Amos.”

Beckett grunted, and gave him a soft kick under the water, right at his ass.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m… yes, I did blame you. But I already lost my cousin. I don’t want to lose my brother.”

Porter rushed to wash his face, just to hide how close to tearing up he felt right now. What an idiot he felt. All this time, and he was still trying to hide his feelings for Beckett.

“You’ve already been five years without me. I didn’t think it’d make too much of a difference.”

“It’s been way too long, Porter. I don’t… I think I don’t want to be apart anymore. If you’d have me back?”

The thinner gila gave a weak smile, unused to showing sincere ones. Still his hand reached and took his brother’s.

“I’d like that a lot. I’ve missed you too.”

Realizing they had cleaned as well as they should, Beckett stood, taking Porter with him and holding him tightly in an embrace. He could hear his brother giving out a relieved sigh right against his ear as their bodies pressed together, even their tails twisted around their legs to keep them closer still.

Once they finally parted, Porter handed him some soft towels, and they both could get dry. He didn’t have much spare clothes for Beckett, but at least a bathrobe could do the trick for now.

“I’m not much of a chef, but I can warm up a mean canned soup.” Offered the librarian, getting a nod from his twin.

“Canned soup sounds lovely right now.” Nodded Beckett. Again they fell into a sort of awkward silence, broken only by the sounds of one lizard opening cans of soup while the other looked for plates and spoons to set a table for two.

It’d take some more minutes until Porter dared to break the spell. He tried to put on his confident mask, like he did on any of his other dealings with information.

“I think we have two topics to discuss. I wager it’s proper I allow you the order in which to handle them.”

Becket’s head turned, after way too long staring at the floral drawings on the kitchen’s wall. “Yeah, I guess we should. Two topics… one is why I’ve come here. It’s sort of a… long story.”

“I’ve got all night.”

“The other is, our… em… how to say it.”

“Our opinions on the sexual encounter we shared two nights ago?” Smirked Porter, managing a blush from Beckett.

“Quite a way to put it.”

“Would you prefer I call it something like… ‘The other night when you ravaged my ass like a beast in rut?’, that’d be crude, but just as accurate.”

Even with his embarrassment, Beckett couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother’s venomous tongue. It was always shocking to hear such a cultured and well-spoken man use such vulgar language.

“Yeah. I’m… sorry. I should have controlled myself better. I don’t know what came over me.”

So, they were going for THAT topic. Porter made sure to keep the soup at low heat, that’d take a while.

“Allow me to make an assumption: it was your first time with another man.” Beckett nodded. Just as Porter imagined. “And I probably stirred some feelings in you, a desire to… possess me, but you were mad at me still, and also wished to punish me somehow.” Another nod. “I don’t blame you. I too craved companionship, and… I missed you being close to me. Having you carnally was a close enough satisfaction for my wishes.”

“I see. We both were… overtaken by our emotions?”

“In a way. Lucky me, you weren’t my first man.” Beckett’s eyes widened at the revelation. Porter smiled at him, happy to share such a fun secret with him. “In fact I had planned on meeting with one of my… lovers, let’s say. That was lucky of you, that I had prepared beforehand.”

“Yah, I… guess so. I…” He swallowed, his eyes wandering over the form of his brother’s body, only covered by the warm thick bathrobe. To think of other men taking him, a stranger pressing him against that marble countertop and forcing their manhood under his tail… he couldn’t help but shudder. Disgust? No. Closer to jealousy. “I mean, it was… pleasurable.”

“I hope so, you finished inside of me. And made me finish all over myself. At the time it seemed like we were quite into it.”

Did he need to be this nonchalant about it? Beckett had to swallow again.

“I have something to admit. It’s… Jesus Christ, it’s not easy to explain. I… couldn’t get over what we did…”

Porter nodded, chuckling. “Not an everyday occurrence.”

“And I… sorta got advised that, if I were to… want to try similar experiences, I might… em…”

“Let me do this easier for you: You couldn’t get over how good fucking another man felt, so you went to the local brothel and hired their sexy handyman who is secretly a prostitute for homosexuals to spend an entire night in his muscular, snow-furred arms.”

Again, silence filled the space between them. Beckett couldn’t help but stare at him, incredulous.

“How…?”

“I am a trader of secrets. Give me a couple hours, and I’ll have a report on how many times and in which holes you came yesterday.” He let his brother suffer a bit more, before he chuckled. “I actually went there myself, and I saw you leaving with Sam, it was just a casualty. I am curious about what you did, though.”

“I… eh… I used his ass, but then ended too soon and he… taught me how to suck and how to take another man.”

“Oh!” Porter’s tail raised a couple feet in surprise. “I didn’t take you for the submissive. Color me impressed.”

“I didn’t take myself for a f… a… man-lover. There is a lot I’m finding out about myself. And about you, it seems.”

“Yep, it seems we’re twins in more ways than one would expect. A shame we didn’t realize sooner, think of all the fun we’ve missed.” Without a worry, he took the small pot and carried it to the table, carefully filling their plates for dinner.

“You… you mean you’d…?” Beckett followed, incredulous. Hopeful perhaps? He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to hear from his twin.

“Look, if you’d rather leave that as a… one-time mistake, just tell me. I won’t force you to do anything. But… I liked it. You liked it. You liked it enough as to go hire a man to fuck some more. So… since we both enjoy it, and it’s not anyone else’s business, and I’d certainly love to make up for the lost time… let’s just say the offer is on the table. And talking about the table…”

He pointed at it, inviting Beckett to join him for dinner. Coming out of his stupor, the larger gila sat next to his twin, still processing the offer he had made.

“Would it mean we’d be… lovers?”

Porter served him a glass of water while he considered it. Such an open-ended question.

“Define lovers.”

“Like… husband and… husband?”

He gave him a kind smile. That was adorable.

“I’m not sure about that yet. But we could see with time how we feel about it. I was thinking of… like friends who enjoy having fun. Except we’re brothers. Perhaps we could see it as brothers who care a lot for the other and express it in… sexual ways.”

Beckett thought about it, and then nodded. That seemed reasonable. As far as offering incestuous homosexual carnal relationships went. Porter added:

“Would you be jealous if I keep meeting my… other friends who also do this sort of things?”

“I… mh. I’m not sure? Maybe a bit, but… we’d just… be having fun, no? Not like we’d be a faithful married couple.”

“Believe me, I could point at many couples who love to sleep around and compare notes. Who knows, perhaps you’d like to hear about the men I’ve had under my tail, and the ones I’ve been under theirs.”

“M-maybe. I don’t think I want to keep you from… your fun. Would you be mad if I… dunno, went with Sam another night? Or I meet some of the miners?”

“Oh, me being mad about you having hot, passionate sex with other strong, rough men? I’d ask for front row seats. Or maybe to be allowed to join. Would you like to meet some of my lovers too?”

“I… ah… I-I mean, they’d know we’re…”

“I don’t trust them all with that fact. I… actually I can count with one hand the ones I’d tell them, and still have fingers left. But one or two might find it deliciously perverted.”

Beckett drank some water, he needed some extra seconds to process it all.

“Let’s put that on the ‘maybe’ list for now.”

Porter nodded, his best trader smile on his face. That man could sell sand in the desert.

“So… the main question, what do you say?”

Beckett gave him one last look all over. His twin, his brother. He loved him. And… he found him attractive, yes. And the sex had been… something else. Different even from Sam. Like they were made for each other.

“Yes. And we will figure out the rest… later.” Oh, how wide the grin on Porter's face became after that. “But, can it be some other night? I don’t think I could focus tonight on…”

Porter’s hand found Beckett’s again. His twin’s fingers softly caressed his rougher scales, as his brother looked at him lovingly. It was easy to tell the meaning behind it. It was ok not to be ok.

“Any time you feel up to it. I’m happy just having you around.” Beckett almost choked at his brother’s words. The bastard… he felt that too, he couldn’t, no, wouldn’t deny it. It had been five years of bitterness festering inside, and now he had a chance to build back those bridges. And then some more, that was a… strange development, but he was finding he welcomed it.

Sam had been nice. Sam had been very nice, no doubt about that. But Porter… he could get someone to freely explore these new feelings of his. Porter had the experience for it, they shared a history together, and they were even the same species.

Plus, it’d be cheaper.

The soup was very welcome after the long and cold day, even if he had lost most of his appetite with all the commotion. That led him to think about the other topic at hand, what he had come to talk about.

“There is that other thing. I guess they’re related. You see, this morning sheriff William came to visit me.” He grunted when he recalled the unwelcome visit, but was surprised when Porter chuckled instead.

“You’re going to hate me.” Porter warned, unable to contain his smugness.

“I’m trying not to, but I’m starting to remember how irritating you can be.”

The lankier twin raised his arms, surrendering.

“Apologies, my dear brother. I was also aware of your visit this morning. I… happened to run into them when I tried to visit you. I wanted to… I guess I was the first to want to make amends. But they told me they had to talk to you and barred me from entering.”

As if Beckett lacked any more reasons to be cross with William, now it turns out the sheriff’s untimely visit had kept him from getting an apology from Porter? That stupid mutt.

“Did you know what he wanted?”

Porter shook his head, before taking a sip of water.

“No, as far reaching as my intel networks are, it’s hard to pry on the sheriff’s investigations. Pushing the issue would have painted a target on my back, and discretion is paramount in this line of business.”

That left Beckett with a sour taste in his mouth. Such unscrupulous dealings…

“He knows what I did.” That certainly got Porter’s attention, getting him to sit straight and watch him with wide open eyes. “About me and Sam, not… I don’t think he knows about us. I ran into him after our… encounter, but I don’t imagine he can tell the smell of two twin gila monsters apart. Probably thought I had rubbed one out.”

His twin slumped back into his char, scratching his chin.

“Prostitution is not illegal here. Not yet at least, there are calls for that. And I have firm word that the sheriff is on quite friendly terms with the local brothel. I wouldn’t expect him to actually jeopardize such a contact just to get you in trouble for buggery.”

“So… you don’t think he’d actually arrest me…?”

“If my suspicions are correct, he’s a common client of Samuel. I haven’t been able to confirm. As you can imagine, the Hip doesn’t keep a record of men who enjoy those acts. I could attempt to pry harder, but it’d be quite a task to get one of them to testify against the sheriff in court.” That’d probably require pulling a lot of favors and blackmails, all at once. It might very well blow in his face. “I imagine he wasn’t visiting just to give you a friendly heads up, wasn’t he?”

“No, I think… I think he was blackmailing me.” Was he? His words had been vague, to say the least. “He insinuated that he could make this all go away if I got dirt on Henricks for him.”

A chuckle and a shake. Porter should have seen it coming. What else if not?

“Yes, Mr. Adler can’t stand your boss. He’s been trying to get dirt on him ever since he arrived at Echo. I imagine this is all old news to you.”

“He’s been up my ass each time a miner has gotten even a scratch on them.” Porter couldn’t help but burst a silly laughter. “Not in that way, you idiot. You sure we’re twins? You seem like a child at times.”

“Sorry, sorry. That was quite the… mental image. I wager that you don’t have anything substantial to placate the sheriff with, otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me.”

“I’m not even sure why I came to you.” Beckett sighed, dropping his spoon on the half-consumed soup to press on his eyes, trying to ease the pressure.

“I had assumed you expected I’d have dirt on him, among my considerable collection of dirt and rumors, and that I would help you out of this mess.” Porter’s scaly brow raised as he put on his best salesman smile.

“I guess? Honestly, I think I just needed someone I could truly trust to ask for help and support. It all felt… overwhelming.” Oh, and someone who’d believe him when he said he was seeing ghosts. He hadn’t even gotten to that part yet. The lizard bent down, groaning. If the earth would swallow him already, it’d be appreciated.

“Wait… you trust me?” Now that was a truly incredulous tone of voice from Porter. “After… you know, all the family drama and the ‘I’d rather slit my throat than call brother such a treache…’ --”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Beckett cut him. “I know what I said. And… I’m sorry. I…” What? He didn’t mean it? He did. Porter didn’t deserve it? He did. “I didn’t understand how hard it’d be to keep hating you, ok? I was hurt and angry. I still am. But you’re my twin, so I guess I love you more than I hate you.”

It was hard to read the reaction on Porter’s face. Such a mixture of things happening behind the mask he had practiced so much. He was hurt, yes. Despite all, Beckett still hadn’t quite forgiven him for what happened to Amos. But also relieved and hopeful. Five years ago, Beckett would have never admitted to still care for his twin.

It was true what they say, time away makes the heart grow fonder.

“Thank you, I guess.” Shit, his voice was cracking more than he’d admit. Had Beckett noticed? Yeah, he did. The larger man placed his hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging rub.

“Don’t you get sentimental on me, will you? I’m the one that’s supposed to be a wreck right now.”

Stupid Beckett, always the rock he could lean on. Porter answered with a smile.

“Hey, it’s my house, I get to be as mushy as I please. But… I missed you too, you hear me? And I’ve had a lot of time to… think of what happened and regret some choices. Sadly, I can’t go back and fix it. But I can use what I have to help you.”

What he had. Again, he sounded like a salesman. Probably didn’t sound like he intended, or as Beckett would have preferred. Judging by how he pulled his hand back, again putting distance between them.

"How much will it cost me? I’m not exactly swimming in riches working under Henricks.” The other twin’s voice had quickly turned drier.

Yeah, rebuilding what they had wouldn’t be so easy. Porter had probably been naive thinking that a fuck on the library and some crying at his doorstep would bring them back what they had five years ago. There was still work to do.

“Come, you big dummy.” He told him as he stood up, walking then to the small office he had built on the corner of the house. Shelves filled with books decorated the walls, except for the west-facing window, and a nice-looking fireplace.

“Close the curtains, will you?” Beckett did as instructed, while Porter kneeled next to the fireplace and stuck a metal poker up the shaft. A bit of wiggling, and then a metallic click announced the release of some hidden mechanism.

Free of the lock, he revealed how one of the shelves was discreetly hinged, hiding a thick-looking safe behind. Next was a numeric combination, his hands turning the knob with expertise until the thick metal door was released.

Where other men would store money and jewels, Porter had folders. Folders upon folders, all neatly organized, labeled with the names of different people written in wonderful calligraphy. Beckett tried to look at names, curiosity making him look for a “Moore, Beckett” among them. He thought he saw some “Moore” name among the bunch, but before he could inquire further, Porter had already pulled a folder.

‘Henricks, James III’ read the label. It had been placed next to ‘Henricks, James I’, but sadly for Beckett, the grandson’s folder was considerably thinner than the grandfather. It was pretty telling.

“Before you ask, while the contents of the old Henricks’ file are extremely distasteful and scandalous, none of that can be actually traced to our current Henricks. Those are personal crimes of his grandfather, none from which the grandson profited, so sadly we can’t use those to placate the sheriff. Plus, someone else already paid for those crimes, so it’d be hard to even have the cases reopened.”

Beckett stared at the half opened safe, wondering just how many horrors each of those folders contained. And that name was of the founder of the mines he now worked at. Just how deep the rivers of blood ran? He decided to focus on the pragmatic for now.

“You still haven’t told me your price.”

“I wouldn't charge my family. You’re my twin, what hurts you, hurts me.”

“So, I’ll owe you a massive favor that I’ll never be able to repay?” He crossed his arms, indignant. He would go from being under Adler’s paw, to Porter’s. Not a good deal for him.

“I… Beckett, I know you might find this hard to believe, but I want to show you… no, I need to prove to you that I can do better.” The gila slapped the hard metal door in anger. “And if that goes by using my best ammunition against your current employer to save your scaly tail, so God help me I’ll employ every file in this library to keep you safe, you hear me?”

“You’re serious? You want to help me?” Beckett’s arms slowly lowered, as he began to believe his words. “For free?”

“Pro bono. At my personal expense. I know you think I’m some sort of cold-blooded soulless creature, but shockingly, I do love my brother, and wish for no harm to fall upon him.” He handed him the thin folder, while he rested his back on the shelves, trying not to look at him too directly.

“Honestly, I know you think I’m the worst scum of the Earth, but at the very least understand I too am capable of feeling some fraternal affection.”

Good, he had hurt his feelings. Way to go, Beckett. The larger lizard rubbed the back of his head as he tried to come up with an answer. He did want his help. Hell, he wanted him, all of him, back on his side. But how could he say that without sounding like he just wanted to use him to save his sorry ass?

“Porter, how… How about you tell me what’s in there? This is your expertise, I wouldn’t know the first thing about… well, blackmailing a rich mine owner.”

A sideway glance, followed by a prideful smirk. Yep, there was his jerk of a brother, the same old Porter.

“All right, I guess we both need some time to get used to this. Let’s call it a truce for now. I can’t quite help you if you end up jailed for indecency and sodomy.” Sure, that was an… acceptable deal. Beckett nodded as Porter continued.

“Sadly, I don’t really have much. Besides a full list of every employee who has lost their life, something both you and the sheriff already have, most here are anecdotal visits Henricks has done to the Hip. By comparing the availability of the local girls, the brevity of most of his visits, and some hushed rumors… seems he’s been trying to hire our good boy Samuel, but for some reason he never quite finds a time where he’s available.”

“... Henricks likes men?” That was… actually not so unexpected. He seemed a pretty aloof and flamboyant person, him having… strange tastes would seem fitting to his character. Not like Beckett could judge him for that, he had enjoyed Sam’s company already.

“That’s my deduction. And I suspect someone is keeping him out of Sam’s reach. Either the owner, Madam Dora, is keeping him out of the client list because of some personal grudge, or perhaps someone else with access to a lot of cash is buying Sam’s slots ahead of time. In any case… none of this actually helps us.”

“It doesn’t?” There went Beckett’s hopes. It would just have been so easy…

“You can hardly mount a case with an accusation of ‘Henricks wanted to fuck this man, but didn’t’, if that were a crime most of the town who Samuel walks by into would be in jail by now. And furthermore, as we discussed, I suspect the sheriff has a fondness for the prostitutes. He’d need something way more substantial to put them all in danger just to slightly annoy Henricks.”

“So, you’re basically saying, I’m screwed.” Beckett slumped into a wall, throwing his head back until he felt the paper wall on his scales.

“Don’t give up so easily, Becky.” Porter would always use that hated nickname when he needed a reaction out of him.

“Don’t call me that, Port boy.” His brother also knew how to push his buttons. But at least that made him stand straight again.

“This set back only means I need to dig deeper. I don’t have enough dirt on him, and his business partner is also an extremely private man, but I have a lot of intel on different men from his circles. Some of his mercenaries have some sordid history behind them, and that dog you have in the mines, Benjamin, he’s done some things I suspect were for the benefit of your bosses.”

That sounded like a plan. And also confirmed his bad feelings about Ben. That canine was always too angry, and seemed to enjoy too much the misery of others.

A smile returned to Beckett’s lips, as his whole body could finally relax. He hadn’t realized how insanely tense he had been all day long ever since sheriff Adler had visited him. But now the weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“You’re a lifesaver. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Porter considered it for a moment, taking a few steps towards the window. He parted it, ever so slightly with a finger, confirming it was still raining cats and dogs out there.

“Would you stay the night? I can set up the guest room if you’d be more comfortable. Or we can share my bed if you’d prefer.” For such a sly lizard, Porter realized he sounded like a shy teenager with a crush. Beckett’s surprised look gave him second thoughts.

“Never mind, I’m just…”

“No, no. It’s fine, we could… huddle up for warmth.” Offered his twin, patting his brother’s back. “I trust you won’t stab me in my sleep, you know?”

“Oh, do I? I recall being called a backstabbing snake…”

“Porter…”

“I know, I know, we’re moving on. Come with me then, it’s been a long day and we both need our rest for tomorrow.”

After quickly washing the leftovers of their quick dinner, Beckett found himself under the soft and warm cotton sheets of his brother’s bed. Compared to his own cheap one, it was like sleeping on a cloud.

“You spared no expenses. I didn’t know librarians were so well paid.” He said while watching the beautiful figure of Porter fully undress and turn off the lights.

“My city hall position is. Plus some extra income from the information trade.” His silhouette was almost imperceptible in the dark, but he felt his weight on the bed, at a respectable distance.

Beckett would not allow that. Strong arms suddenly surrounded the thinner gila and pulled them in. Porter’s back fit perfectly against the toned chest of his brother, while his tail could sneak between his twin’s smooth crotch.

“I’ve learned it feels quite good to cuddle with another man.”

“Sam’s fur is so soft.” Porter agreed.

“Yes, but I think I like your scales better. I wish I had appreciated them sooner.” His hand traced along the bumpy skin of the other lizard.

“I wished you’d stayed for cuddles after we…” Their recent incident, yes. “But I admit this is more comfortable than a hardwood table.”

Beckett wouldn’t answer. Porter could already feel his soft breathing right against his neck as his twin had fallen asleep. It wouldn’t take long for him either. Being between his arms was probably the best rest he could ever get.