The chainmail coif made the hangers hooked in his fingers unusually heavy. Ryder, with the costume flung over his right shoulder grinned again as the steps to the porch groaned angrily under his footsteps. The chainmail glistened against the afternoon sun in flashes of brilliant light. It was something he admired, the chivalry of knighthood, and all that its legends entailed. What better to be for an evening, he thought, than a nobleman? He stepped into the house, hung the package carefully on a chair and went to work.

With the second day drawing to a close, he had accomplished several of the tasks he had planned and decided it was time to turn in. A few small tasks left and the time would be come for the masquerade to begin. He fished the key once again from the depths of his pocket, and stepped toward the door. He turned, looking back into the room. Something about this place comforted him. Its warm lighting soaked though him as he spent his time making preparations. Tomorrow night the laughter of his guests would fill this room. He dropped the key back into his pocket, grabbed the costume, and headed to the staircase. Spending the night in this place wasn't in his plans, but plans change, and Ryder's were no exception.

She had watched him during the day, her presence always at a distance. He was as she remembered, diligent to his tasks, and even if this was different time for him, she could see the time that she knew of him, in his eyes.

The bedroom was that of lovers. Soft light filled the room. The bed, large and solid, took command of this room. His costume deposited on a nearby rack, he moved into the bath, and turned on the shower. Steam began to fill the mirrors as he stepped inside. The water cascaded over him. Its heat relaxing as he stood under it. His thoughts drifted like the steam that rose from the shower walls. They drifted to the night to come; they drifted between reality and fantasy.

He didn't know she was there watching, standing in this steam filled room. Unaware she watching his silhouette, broken by the droplets of water against the glass door. Watching his hands move over his flesh as hers had done so long ago. Watching as he stepped from the shower. Watching as he toweled himself dry. Watching that towel fall to the floor when she touched him.

His fingers unknowingly begin to follow her touch. His mind filling with thoughts of a dream. Here in this mist of steam, a lover, real and imaginary combine. She guides his thought, she guides his touch. His mind striving to bring this lover into focus but he can not. All he knows is that she is there, with him. She knows him; she knows how to take his breath.

Standing the mist that clouds the mirrors like a dream, she takes him. His fingers follow hers. He leans against the wall giving into the realness of his fantasy, her presence only a dream to him. Images of this lover bring his fingers to the base of his swelling cock. In his mind her fingers find the tip, swollen, and wet with wanting. Images of her lips, surrounding him as his fingers trace them fill his mind. This woman in the mist has his every thought as she touches, licks and kisses. His back rests against the wall. His eyes closed to her thoughts. His fingers trace her every move, driving him closer and closer. He feels her moans as she pulls him into her mouth. The tension builds as she guides him. She guides his thoughts and his fingers as she drives him breathless into release.

When he returns to the bed, his mind is shaken from his dream like haze. It is turned down, something he had not remembered doing. Tired, Ryder dismisses his shock, and climbs into the bed. As he drifts into sleep, his fingers subconsciously brush over a scar on his chest. That scar, one that had never existed until tonight, he would notice for the first time in the morning.