Paranormal Days

by Megan Derr

  Astor snorted. "I’m sure in your day you never had fewer than two, Matilda. Thank you. Send someone to fetch us should we be needed."

  Cackling, Matilda waved him off and went back to handing out orders to her resigned-looking fellow employees. "There's some candles there on the table," she called out. "Almost forgot. Matches too. Save your flashlights."

  "Thanks," Astor said and went to the indicated table, helping himself to the candles and matches set out there. He walked back down the hall to his room, heart thudding in his ears. Once inside, he went about lighting candles, making himself do the practical thing when really all he wanted to do was grab Tennyson and shake him for answers. "It's going to get cold in here," he said. "The power is out indefinitely." He finally turned toward Tennyson on the bed—

  And only then did he realize that his laptop was not where he'd left it on the desk. "You weren't given permission to touch that!" he snapped, trying to tamp down on the panic that flared up as he realized he'd left his novel open, too distracted by Tennyson finally waking up to close it.

  "Shut up, I'm almost done with chapter four," Tennyson replied, flapping a hand at him, not bothering to look away from the screen.

  Astor glared at him, and started to speak again—but realized that Tennyson really was interested in it, and he wouldn't keep reading if he thought it was bad.

  More restless and distracted than ever, Astor went back to fussing with the candles, gathering up extra blankets and glaring at the snow outside. That did not take nearly long enough, however, and so he was left sitting around with nothing to do but sit and fret as Tennyson read.

  The laptop closed with a soft click a couple of minutes later, and Tennyson set it aside on the nightstand, somber expression clear even in the weak light of flickering candles. "You never told me you were working on a novel. It's—Astor, you're amazing. It's even better than your nonfiction, and that's nothing to sneer at. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "To hell with my damn novel!" Astor said, even though he really wanted to know what Tennyson thought about it almost as much as he wanted to know if Tennyson had meant that bit about wanting him back. "Damn it, Tennyson! Did you mean what you said?"

  Sighing, Tennyson slumped back against the pillow, bandaged arm lying at his side, left arm propped on one drawn up knee. "Of course I meant it, Astor. I wouldn't say it otherwise. I came up here to get you back, whatever that took."

  Astor just looked at him, annoyed that Tennyson wouldn't look at him. "Why?" he asked, and he didn't just mean why this, why now.

  Tennyson finally looked at him, and Astor could see he understood all the whys Astor was asking. "I mixed business and pleasure before, you know. It went badly. He was a vampire, too. He never really liked or trusted the way I knew so much about paranormals, and was so comfortable with them, when I'm completely human."

  "But you just told me four days ago that your stepmother is a vampire," Astor replied. "It makes perfect sense that you're familiar and comfortable."

  Shrugging, Tennyson said, "He still didn't trust it, though that never stopped him from biting me and getting off on it." There was bitterness there, but Astor ignored it. Given how well he remembered how much Tennyson got off on being bitten, the bitterness was clearly for the ex. "His first novel did wonderfully, but his second novel tanked. I was still a peon in those days, but he blamed me for it—for not magically fixing it. After that, it all went wrong. He couldn't separate his lover from his work. I broke up with him, moved to a new city, new job. Seven months after that I met a hottie in a bar, and the next day he walked in the door as my new writer."

  Astor said nothing, but some of the anger and hurt that had been tightly coiled inside him for nine months began to ease. "You could have mentioned that nine months ago. We could have talked. What changed your mind?"

  "I miss you," Tennyson said, toying with the ugly coverlet. "Every now and then, I get glimpses of the man I met in the bar, but mostly that man just isn't there and it sucks. I sat in my office all morning, planning to call you for a real date, to see if we could go past one night, to hope I hadn't screwed myself by slipping out. Then you walked in and I panicked; I didn't want to go through that disaster again. Turning myself into a workaholic to try and forget what it was like to know you as a lover hasn't worked either." He let out a shuddering sigh so heavy Astor swore he could feel the burden of it himself. "It hasn't worked at all. If anything, I just think about you more."

  He finally dragged his eyes up and spoke again before Astor could finish deciding what to say. "The problem was that I couldn’t read you. As far as I could tell, you had gone to strictly business and no longer gave a damn. But I knew you would be here for a month to work on your book and wouldn't be going anywhere, so I thought—"

  Tennyson trailed off as Astor moved to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. "You could have just asked, you fucking idiot," Astor said. "You didn't have to come all the way up here on a stupid pretense to ply me with fancy coffee and whatever the hell else you were planning. Have I mentioned you're lacking in the brain cell department?"

  "Astor, if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you like gestures. A few more days of fancy coffee would have thawed you considerably, don't even pretend otherwise. Wait until you see your Christmas presents. Those will definitely sway you."

  Astor absolutely refused to admit Tennyson might be right. "I think you're acting cocky and presumptuous in the extreme if you really think—"

  "Shut up, Astor," Tennyson said with a smile, and leaned in to kiss him.

  Astor immediately kissed back, feeling like himself for the first time in nine months. Tennyson tasted spicy and sweet, and a bit like medicine, but Astor didn't care because Tennyson was kissing him and wanted him—

  He tore away. "So do I need to get a new agent? Would that make you feel better? Because—"

  "No, you're not going anywhere, business or pleasure," Tennyson said. "And I told you to shut up." He gripped Astor's shirt and dragged him down into the bedding, making a pleased noise as Astor landed on top of him.

  "Watch your arm," Astor muttered, drawing back enough to settle himself more comfortably and well out of the way of Tennyson's bandaged arm. "In all the mess, we still haven't really discussed the fact that you're a werewolf now."

  Tennyson frowned. "Does it bother you?"

  "Could that question possibly be more stupid?" Astor snapped.

  "I'm not saying I'm thrilled about it—in fact I'm actually rather pissed off, but I'm not ignorant. I know what I'm in for, more or less. I know I can't fix it. And even when I was looking at the mess the werewolf made of my arm, all I could think about was the fact that he had completely ruined whatever moment we'd been about to have. Being a werewolf is going to be extremely aggravating at first, I know that. I can't promise I'll be cheerful or even calm while I adjust, but eventually I will get used to it. Right now, there's nothing I can do about it. I would much rather ignore my wolf problem and explore my chances of getting you naked."

  Astor scowled at him—then just laughed, wholly inappropriately, but he didn't care. It was cut off when Tennyson yanked him back down and kissed him with intent. Astor shivered, kissed back with equal heat. "Power's out, we were advised to stay in our rooms. I was told to stay in bed and keep you company, in fact."

  "Good advice," Tennyson murmured, then drew back enough he could lightly touch Astor's face with his fingertips. "I can't believe you're willing to take me back."

  "Strictly speaking, I don't think I can 'take you back' when it was just the one night," Astor replied.

  Tennyson rolled his eyes. "Writers, so fussy about every last damn detail."

  "Details make or break—"

  Tennyson cut him off by palming Astor's cock through his jeans. "Do you know how hot you look in casual clothes? You're always in your fancy threads, like it's beneath you to wear anything less than khakis and a polo and even that's dressed down for you. When you wear jeans—"

  "I'd
rather not be wearing anything," Astor cut in, nipping at Tennyson's lips, hot with satisfaction, anticipation flooding his veins at what that did to Tennyson.

  "Get—" Tennyson licked his lips, eyes fastened on Astor's mouth. "Get your clothes off, then mine. Lord in heaven, how did I go nine months without you?"

  "Severe case of Incredible Stupidity," Astor retorted. "You had better hope you're immune now and do not contract it a second time." But even as he spoke, he stood up and stripped off his clothes, too eager—and cold—to take his time about it. Once he was naked, he worked on Tennyson's clothes, nipping and biting as he went, always careful of Tennyson's arm.

  Groaning, Tennyson dragged him back into the warm bedding and tangle of blankets. Astor still found it hard to believe this was actually happening, but was not inclined to think much about it—was not inclined to think about it at all.

  Instead, he just went with it, going easily as Tennyson tugged him close for a kiss, the press of their bodies both familiar and new. Not one for wasting time, especially after all the time he'd already lost, Astor grabbed Tennyson's cock and gave it a few quick, rough strokes. Tennyson jerked, hips moving, making rough, needy little noises that Astor had never forgotten, had thought about a lot because he clearly liked to torture himself.

  Kissing him again, Tennyson shifted them, pulling and shoving blankets until they were on their sides and pressed together, cocks rubbing, sliding, leaving wet trails. "Shit, Astor—you—" Clearly unable to form the words he wanted, Tennyson just settled for another kiss, bad arm lying carefully across Astor's hip. "Get us off, Astor. Fuck, missed you—" He just kissed Astor harder, hungry and eager, bruising their lips, teeth scraping, messy and wet.

  Astor could only match it while he got his hands around their cocks, shifting to settle his weight and stroking them hard and fast together.

  They were both too eager, too impatient, to last long. As it built, threatened to break, Astor tore away from Tennyson's mouth and sank his fangs into Tennyson's throat, biting deep and sucking hard. He moaned low and deep in his throat as Tennyson's blood filled his mouth. The familiar, bittersweet flavor was still there, but it was richer, heavier, with the changes wrought by the werewolf venom. If he'd though Tennyson addictive before…

  Tennyson's shouts filled the room, his fingernails digging into the skin at Astor's hips as he came. Astor followed him, but didn't stop feeding until Tennyson's shudders eased. Slowly he unwrapped his hand, wet and sticky with come, from their cocks. He drew back, carefully extracting his fangs, sucking at the blood that leaked out as he lapped at the wound to heal it. He nuzzled Tennyson's warm skin, reveling in his scent, the slight changes to it now that Tennyson was a werewolf. He liked better the way their scents were mingled, and fuck, how much better it was going to be when they were so tangled together it was impossible to tell what their original scents had been.

  "Do you know how often I tortured myself thinking of you like this with others?" Tennyson said suddenly. "It drove me crazy, thinking of someone else with your bite marks, fucking you until you forgot to be all condescending and know-it-all. It's hot as hell when you do that, but it also felt like something rare. I fucking hated the idea someone else got to see it. I hated myself more for throwing it away."

  Astor sneered. "I do not leave marks; I'm not that sloppy." He nipped Tennyson's shoulder then added, "I can promise that you are the only idiot I've encountered who finds my so called attitude problems attractive, and contrary to popular belief, most people don't actually like being fed on, least of all during sex."

  "Their loss," Tennyson replied. "Just wait until I can use both my arms again. I'll fuck you until you turn polite and I need a blood transfusion."

  The words startled a laugh out of Astor, and he buried his head in Tennyson's throat as he laughed and laughed in a way that no one had ever made him until he was hit on by a hot geek in a quiet bar.

  He was still smiling when Tennyson finally eased away and went to get something to clean them up. Once they were clean, he dove back beneath the blankets and bundled as close to Astor as he could get. "So how long will the power be out, do you think?"

  "Days," Astor replied against Tennyson's skin, nuzzling at it again before closing his eyes and simply relaxing. "This high up, nothing will get cleared for ages."

  "I suppose I should be more concerned, but really I'm not," Tennyson said.

  Astor nipped him again, then sat up slightly, propping himself on his elbows. "At least I know you can't go anywhere and leave me with just an empty bed."

  Tennyson grabbed his hair, pulled his head down, and kissed him long and slow and sweet. "I'm sorry."

  "Forget it," Astor said. "I should have just gone with my first instinct and thrown a hissy fit. This is what I get for acting like everyone tells me I should. This is why everyone should listen to me."

  Rolling his eyes, smiling, Tennyson replied, "I'm not going anywhere until I can read the rest of what you have written of that novel. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

  Astor shifted to lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling, sinking his fingers into Tennyson's hair as he sprawled against Astor's side, head on his chest. "I wasn't saying anything to anyone until it was done. You did not have permission to poke your nose into my laptop."

  "Whatever," Tennyson said. "You like to hoard and hide, and if I didn't get nosy half of what you write wouldn't get published. That snotty tone only turns me on, so you may as well stop unless you're going to follow it up with a blowjob."

  Snorting, Astor replied, "Oh, yes, that's incentive to stop sniping at you. Have I mentioned lately you lack intelligence?"

  Tennyson chuckled. "Several times. I suppose, while we're on the subject of what I am, I should finally hear why I'm a werewolf." He raked his fingers lightly along Astor's skin, making him shiver.

  "Anti—stop that!" Astor growled, catching the offensive hand. "Antibiotics. The idiot actually took antibiotics."

  Tennyson groaned. "Are you kidding me? That's a 'Being a Werewolf for Dummies' basic for fuck's sake. I'm a werewolf because he was too stupid to get the proper treatment? He should know better! I'm going to break his damn nose."

  "I won't stop you," Astor replied, letting go of the captured hand to lightly stroke over the bandaged arm. "Not really necessary though; he's been a well-behaved mongrel since I yelled at him."

  Snorting, Tennyson said, "Yelled, right. I bet you gave him a Werewolves for Dummies guide you cobbled together and gave him phone numbers and gave him silver serum because you're the crankiest, fussiest, bossiest, and most well-dressed mother hen to ever walk the planet."

  "Whatever," Astor muttered, hoping he was the only one aware of his ears turning red.

  A warm kiss was pressed to his chest then Tennyson gave a soft sigh of satisfaction. "I think a nap sounds good, and then I guess we can see how things have changed."

  Not bothering to reply, Astor simply wrapped his arms around Tennyson and settled more comfortably into bed, dozing off easily.

  He was jerked awake some time later, only barely noting sunlight slipping through the curtains as he heaved himself out of bed, tripping and nearly crashing into the chair, swearing colorfully before he finally reached the desk and snatched up his loudly ringing phone.

  "Mother—" He stopped short as her flood of words registered. "What?"

  "I said your cat had kittens. Why did you put her in the shed, Astor Wellington Wheaton?"

  Ignoring that question because it was stupid, Astor asked, "Did you move them?"

  "No, she seems quite happy—"

  "Move them immediately! It's cold out there, damn it. How is Casper?"

  "She's fine, dear. I'll move them if you want, though she doesn't look like she'll be very happy about it."

  "Are you certain she's okay? Don't you dare leave them in that shed! They need to be warm, and—

  "I'm moving them, Astor. Stop shouting at me. I'm old, not deaf. Do you want me to ask around for owners to take the kit
tens when they're big enough? Since you're going to be up in that mountain forever?"

  "What do you mean, ask around? No, they are staying—

  "Astor, you can't take care of a cat and three kittens. I'll just—"

  "I said they're staying! Check on them twice a day!"

  She huffed in irritation. "You're being a fusspot, Astor."

  "No, I am not being a fusspot, mother. Do it. Thank you." Clicking the phone off before she could argue with him more, he dropped it on the nightstand beside his laptop, then climbed back under the covers.

  Tennyson pulled him close, threw a leg over Astor's legs to cuddle even closer, and kissed the corner of his mouth. Astor almost forgot the entire conversation, utterly captivated by a sleepy, rumpled Tennyson. "So what was that about?" Tennyson asked, pulling him back to the phone call.

  "I thought Casper ran away the morning I left to come here," Astor replied. "Apparently the brainless feline decided to go hide in my shed to have kittens. I didn't even notice she was pregnant, how did I miss that? Stupid cat. Why would she go out there, in that cold, damp shed, when my house was warm and dry and safe? I'm surrounded by idiots at all levels." He rolled his eyes.

  "How are the kittens and their mother?" Tennyson asked with a laugh.

  "Stop laughing at me," Astor groused. "They're fine. There's three of them."

  Tennyson laughed outright. "And you're probably keeping all three of them."

  Astor cast him a scathing look. "What else am I supposed to do with them? Trust them to other idiots? They're Casper's, which means they're my responsibility. Shut up," he added sourly when Tennyson just laughed harder. "This is not the correct way to make up for being a heartless jerk for nine months."

  "I'd make you another mocha, but the power's still out," Tennyson replied, nibbling at his jaw, foot rubbing along Astor's calf. "How about a blowjob instead?"

  "I suppose in lieu of coffee that will have to suffice," Astor said dryly.