The loss of my copy of Gone With the Wind still irks me. What kind of person stumbles into a random, secluded house and steals a book of all things? In fact, it doesn't just annoy me in the niggling way, I'm fucking pissed. She walked past a perfectly good television, she was in Alice's all brand-name, top designer closet, she could have stolen the more expensive records from Mindfuckers room for all I care. But no, she takes my original copy of Gone With the Wind!

I've never been much of a man for fiction, but standing in the bookstore in the summer of 1936, I thought why not? The nod to the civil war would interest any vet, surely. And I bought it, quite happily. I've read it hundreds of times since. On trains, in cars, at every home that I've lived in with those vegetarians, in school even. And now...now its gone.

I'm extremely tempted to hunt the girl, follow her scent just to get my book back. I might struggle a little because of the car, but my determination will not falter. I almost do, in fact. With my nose against a jersey that she must have held against her from Alice's closet, I'm ready to give chase. Then that fucker calls me.

"Hey dude, I know you don't want to hear this right now, but how about no?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Peter?"

"Your book. It's safe, being cared for. You don't need it."

I nearly throw my phone. I am the one who told him about the book, had discussed its contents time and time again with him every visit, had introduced him to the damn thing. That book was in my bag every time we moved, was placed gently on every bookshelf and bedside table I had, accompanied me through every shitty high school I attended. It is my crutch, my escape, my link to the world. I was the one who showed him what a piece it was and he's telling me that my wrongly dated first batch print is something I don't need?

"Calm down, Jas. I have a copy here at home for you, okay?" he purrs down the line.

The way he says that...this man knows me so well. I smile and lean against the wall, hand holding the hair out my face. It doesn't occur to me that I hadn't told him I was coming back. No matter, I'm happy. Still wouldn't be my copy, but close enough, I suppose. Although, I could always buy my own down the road.

"Better be, you know I hate not having something to read."

He laughs, a sound that sends shivers down my spine.

"I know. Just don't exceed the piddly humans travel limits just to get to it sooner, okay? I'll see you soon," a slow smile brightens my face, "and don't exhaust yourself too much before you get here, okay Sir?"

My eyes snap open. Dear lord, that went straight to my cock… I've missed him calling me Sir. Lust hazes my vision for a second before I blink it away to answer.

"We'll see. Say hi to Char for me."

Her voice sounds in the distance, something about hurrying the fuck up because she misses me. We say goodbye and I end the call, tossing the phone onto the counter. I try not to think too hard about Peter spread over it with his smart-arse comments and hot mouth and-

Trying to distract myself, I turn back to the matter at hand. But thinking about my stolen book frustrates me, and the boner stretching my jeans isn't helping. When did I last wank even? Must have been a while ago for it to be this bad. Laying on the couch, I unzip my jeans, lifting my hips up to push them down, and pull myself through the fly of my boxers.

With a groan, I begin.