Edward considered just walking up to the front gate of the yard and sending his calling card to Gideon via the carbine-carrying Red Indian guards, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately.  Such a re-introduction to his friend after so long an absence would seem so . . . mundane, and worse, unstylish.  Edward had always been a bit intimidated by his chum’s affluence and social position, and even more so by his indifference and disdain for it.  Gideon’s indefatigable self-confidence and boldness was infectious and alluring, but it could also be overwhelming.  Edward could not match it in volume, so he had always sought to complement it with his own, more subtle accomplishments.  A common handshake at the gate just would not do for the occasion of their reunion.

by Dimitri Markotin
Of course, it caught Emerson by surprise when the young gentleman stepped into his office and up to his desk, slipped a hand behind his neck, and kissed him full on the mouth.
      Emerson stood with a start, knocking papers to the floor before regaining his composure and studying the interloper’s face more carefully. “Adalia?” he asked. He looked the guest over. Her breasts must have been bound, her hair swept up into her bowler, but he was certain it was her. His Robin Hood, the burglar he had met amorously weeks prior and not seen since.

by Dimitri Markotin
It certainly wasn’t what I planned, I must confess. What sort of person would I be if I were to attend such a lecture—the nature of chaos in contemporary mathematical philosophy—with the intention of entering into such a liaison? This I can tell you in truth: I had no idea how the weekend would turn out.