by Taylor Law
“Where is that? What city?” Samael was not looking forward to the imminent conversation. Who does not know where they are?
Brandon’s eyebrows went to his hairline and he just stared for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice made it sound like he was speaking to a crazy person. Sam did not blame him. “We’re in L.A….umm….Los Angeles.”
Samael chuckled, raised his eyes upward and then shook his head. “The City of Angels. You always did have a sense of humor.”
“Who?” The kid’s voice drew him back.
He was young, early twenties, if that. Skinny and lanky, he had some muscle, but it was long and lean. No bulk about him. He had jet-black hair, cut short in the back and long in the front, so that it hung over large chocolate eyes rimmed with kohl. High cheekbones, long lashes, full lips. Attractive looking man. He was wearing all black; the kid must like the color.
“Never mind. Thank you for your help, but I must go now.” Samael stood, and groaned. Pain radiated around his body. He almost fell over, but Brandon steadied him.
“Hey, are you okay? Well, of course you’re not, you just ….erm… What happened to you?”
“I fell.” He didn’t know a better way of explaining.
“Okay, well, maybe you should go to the hospital and get checked out, because you…um… ‘Fell’ pretty damn hard.” The man didn’t seem like he believed the excuse. Sam looked up and saw a decent drop from the top of the building. He glanced back at Brandon and realized the kid had thought he was trying to kill himself.
“No, I didn’t….I really did fall. I don’t need a physician. I’ll be fine.”
“Uh, whatever you say, man.” He started to walk away, but the kid stopped him again. “Listen, I don’t think you should go anywhere like that, you’ll be locked up before you could snap your fingers.”
Samael blinked at Brandon, and then looked down at his nakedness. Oh, right. No clothing. Humans had laws about that sort of thing.
“I don’t have any clothes, so I really don’t have a choice.” The man looked as if he was doing some thinking, an internal battle of some sort that flashed in his eyes. He bet that if he knew the man better, he would be able to read all the thoughts on his face.
“Listen,” Brandon sighed. “I was just going to get my car, when …umm…I was interrupted. It’s just around the corner in a public lot. Stay here, and I’ll go get it. I'll pull up front of the alley, and you can jump in. I think I even have a jacket in the back seat, so you can cover up. Not that I mind the view or anything.” The kid’s eyes sparkled at that. Oh, no…this wasn’t any child. He was definitely a man. He just seemed young to someone who was eons old.
Without any other option, Samael nodded to the ki…. to Brandon. “Alright. Thank you.”
The man left him standing, still a somewhat unsteadily, at the entrance to the alleyway and ran over to a parking lot. When he could no longer see his would-be rescuer, he just stared at the wall. What was he going to do? He had no money, no identification, no history, no job, nowhere to sleep, nothing. It was nice that he’d found one of the rare humans that gave of themselves without asking for anything in return, but what was going to happen when Brandon didn’t want to help him anymore? It was just a matter of time before he was left to his own devices. Then what?
****
Brandon had lost his ever-loving mind! That was what happened. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten brain damage, and he hadn’t realized it until just this very moment. He had enough problems. What was he doing bringing a naked, big – damn but the guy was huge – hot stranger, into his car? Especially, because he was pretty sure that the man was suicidal and had very recently taken a header off a building. Why was he the one cursed with a freaking conscience? Part of him felt like he couldn’t just leave the guy there, he obviously needed help. He just hoped that the help he needed didn’t drift to the sociopathic type.
He jumped in his red piece of shit, and started the car. He could just leave. Just go home and forget the hottie in the alley. Go and try to bail himself out of the shit his life was going to be in twenty-four hours. Bran banged his head on the steering wheel, which helped boost his already pounding head into overdrive. Damn but he was hurting. He needed a handful of ibuprofen, an ice pack, and a nice long sleep. But he didn’t have time for any of that. He had a shitload of phone calls to make, starting with DJ Fucktard.
The more he thought about it the more he realized that he couldn’t do it. He could not force himself to walk away from the guy. Something about the man called to a part of him deep inside that had never been touched before. The moment he looked into those indigo eyes, some intrinsic piece of himself had snapped into place. He felt like he knew the stranger, even though that wasn’t possible.
The man was drop dead—with a hard-on the size of the Empire State building—gorgeous. He was better looking than anyone Bran had ever seen, and this was L. fucking A. Movie star capital of the world. When the guy had been on top of him –even with the knife to his neck—he’d had to fight a growing erection… had felt a loss when the man moved away. Weird!
He had to go back, had to figure out what the connection was, and help the person that somehow had formed it. Decision made, he turned the car around and headed for the alley entrance. Once there, he opened the passenger side door, and called out. The hottie jumped in, and they were on their way.
“So, where am I taking you?”
Silence.
“I…umm… I’m sorry; I don’t even know your name.”
“Samael.”
“Okay, Samael,…umm… nice to meet you. Where did you want me to take you?” Bran hazarded a look at his guest. He seemed lost. It just wasn’t right for such a big, strong guy to have a look like that on his face.
Finally, he whispered. “I don’t know.”
Bran wasn’t sure he heard it at first, but the words were there, hanging over his head. Then, during the next stoplight, Samael looked dead into his eyes, as if pleading for understanding. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
There only seemed to be one thing to say to that, one answer that came to Brandon and just seemed right, beyond all rationalization. Even though it was stupid, and crazy, and he knew he should get his head checked. “You can come home with me.” Maybe he had a concussion.
The man seemed to relax and his breath came out heavily.
****
As they parked the car and got out—Samael with the jacket wrapped around him like a sarong—Brandon had never been more relieved to be getting home at an ungodly hour. At least none of his neighbors would notice him letting a large, mostly naked man into his apartment. Not that they didn’t think him strange anyway, but it would just cause problems that he couldn’t deal with right now. Not with so much on his plate.
“Welcome to me casa.” Bran shut the door behind them and threw his keys on a nearby table. It was a small apartment, one bedroom with an efficiency-like kitchen. Only the necessities, but it was home and he could afford it on what he made doing Creative Design from his couch. Hopefully someday, he would make it big doing album covers for the rich and famous, and be able to move into something nicer, but for now it worked.
“I think I have some shorts that’ll fit you. They’re the stretchy basketball kind, and they might be tight, but maybe they’ll be okay for now.” They weren’t actually his. He’d swiped them from his foster brother. They were huge on him, but comfortable as hell, and he was only able to keep them on by tying the string as tight as he could.
Samael smiled his thanks, and Bran froze. Damn, but the man was gorgeous.
“Umm… thank you?” That didn’t sound like he was thanking him for clothes. Oh, hell! He said that out loud? He felt the heat take over his face and knew he was probably the shade of a ripe tomato.
“Sorry. I…um…”
“No, don’t worry about it.” The man smiled again, and Bran could swear his knees went weak.
“So, umm… let me get you those shorts.
” He had to get out of there, before he embarrassed himself further. He went to his bedroom and called out from the door, “Would you like a shower?”
“Oh, yes, please. That would be fantastic!”
Oh Francis Ford Crapola, he was getting hard thinking about the hottie in his shower, all steamy and wet and…. He groaned. He needed to put the brakes on that train of thought, immediately. He breathed in a few times and tried to think un-sexy thoughts. Finally, he grabbed the shorts, stopped by the closet to get a clean towel, and headed back to the main room. Samael was standing where he left him, looking around.
Brandon practically shoved the stuff at him. “Here you go, bathroom’s there.” He pointed to the door next to his bedroom. The guilty look on the big man’s face, made him feel bad. Bran didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome, even if that was somewhat true.
He tried to smile and knew it fell flat. “Sorry, rough night. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.” Samael nodded, walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Brandon closed his eyes for a minute. Okay. What to do first? Ah, yes. Call DJ Fidiot. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, and dialed while walking. It was ringing by the time he flung himself on the couch. One. Two. The asshole better pick up, dammit. Three.
“Bran, baby… whatuaaaaahh!”
Bran rolled his eyes. Of course, Chris was drunk. What else was new?
“Guess who I saw tonight?”
“Who, baby? Tell meee?” God, the douche was so trashed he was practically singing all of his words; and Bran could hear lots of party noises in the background, so obviously the night wasn’t nearly over.
“Stop calling me baby,” he snapped, losing his temper. “Carlos, Chris. I saw Carlos, and two more of Master C’s goons. No, let me rephrase that, I saw their fists and guns.” Brandon growled out.
“Awe, that’ssss too b—oooo ….” The voice was still talking, but not to him. He was telling someone to come closer, and there was high-pitched giggling. Huh, a woman tonight, then.
“Chris!” Bran yelled into the phone. “Chris? Don’t you get it? You’re going to get me killed!”
Dial tone. The asshole hung up on him! He yelled out and almost threw the phone, until he realized that he would need it, so he grabbed the pillow next to him and chucked it instead. “Fuckin’ Asshole!”
“Are you alright?” Brandon looked up to see Samael come out of the bathroom, still partially wet, wearing only the black shorts. And they were slightly tight, enough so that he caught more than a glimpse of what lay underneath. Samael's hair was combed back, still dripping. Bran finally got a good look at his face, until a drop of water caught his attention. It was all downhill after that, literally. The water droplet skirted around a strong peck, before bumping over and down the eight pack and disappearing into the low-riding shorts. He thought that maybe he was drooling. Knew for sure he was staring, but couldn’t help himself. Samael was a wet dream come to life.
The sex god cleared his throat, which brought Bran’s gaze back up to indigo eyes, sparkling with humor. His lips twitched and he repeated, “Are you alright?”
“Huh?” Brandon looked at the phone still in his hand. “Oh, yeah, I mean… no. I don’t know.”
He buried his face in his hands, trying to think of what to do next. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get the money from Chris. Twenty-four hours was not a lot of time, and twenty thousand dollars wasn’t chump change. Who could he call? No one he knew had that kind of money lying around, and they wouldn’t give it to him if they did. Shit!
Bran felt a hand land on his shoulder, and peered over to see his guest seated beside him on the couch, face full of concern. “What’s going on?”
He put his head back down again. He didn’t even know this guy, and didn’t really want his business out in the open. But honestly, what could it hurt? He would be dead soon if he didn’t deal with it. Maybe Sammy boy could help him figure out how to fix his little problem. Two heads were better than one after all.
Sighing, he sat up and turned toward his new friend. “I’m in crazy-big trouble, and I don’t know what to do.”
The man grunted, “Sounds familiar. What kind of trouble are you in?”
“The guy I was dating got busted with drugs, and was charged for possession with intent to sell. The dude, Chris, called me to bail him out of jail, promising me that he would pay me back, but I didn’t have that kind of money, man. It was insane.” Bran ran his hand through his hair, and then flicked his neck so the bangs covered one of his eyes again. “So, he told me to call the man he got the drugs from, said he would loan me the cash.” He could hear the bitterness in his voice, loud and clear. “Convinced me that he had it and would pay it back no problem. And I believed him.”
“I am assuming he lied?”
“Yeah. Yeah, he did. I had a week to pay it back. The second day Chris was out, I went to get the money. Found him in bed with two groupies. Not one, but two. So, he double cheated on me, I guess.” Bran shrugged and loosed a self-depreciating chuckle. “When I looked surprised, Chris laughed in my face. He asked if I actually thought he was faithful, then cringed and said that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.”
Brandon could still hear him in his mind. “Me? Come on, Bro? With all the fine ass I get thrown my way, I am supposed to… what? Give it up? For you?
“When I asked him to pay me back, he laughed again and practically threw me out. I haven’t been able to get it from him, and don’t think I will.”
Brandon flinched at the light touch of fingers on his bruised cheek. “I am assuming that the man you borrowed the money from, came to collect and did not leave it with just humiliation. He gave you this?”
“They. There was three of ‘em.” He observed his guest, and watched as anger, severe fury, spread across Sam’s features. He backed away as Sam jumped up, like the couch had burst into flames under his ass.
“Cowards! Gutless, spineless cowards!” Samael was pacing the floor in front of him, fists clenched, jaw muscles pulsing. “You are no warrior that you could take on three men.”
Ummm, what?
“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure somethi….”
“No!” The big man interrupted. “You’re a good man. You don’t deserve this. You’re a helper. Backing that scum you called ‘boyfriend’, aiding me, a stranger you knew nothing of.” Samael’s hands were now flinging around in agitation as he spoke, making Bran more and more nervous. Before he knew it, he was huddled in on himself in the corner of the couch, cowering.
“Those who help others in need, without any gain for themselves, are more precious than gold. They are as rare as a pure, flawless diamond.” He turned to Bran as he said this, and as Brandon watched, the anger left and his shoulders slumped.
****
Shit! Samael had scared his rescuer. He had not meant to, he was just so angry! Angry at his exile, furious about Brandon’s situation; frustrated that just because you were good, loyal, and true, did not mean that you received your due. It didn’t protect you from being wronged, from getting the short end of the stick. Life happened, no matter who you were. It had its ups and downs, and sometimes even went sideways. All you could do was hang on for the ride and try not to crap your pants. Keep holding on, be yourself, and not let it take your pride away. Not let it change you.
Everything he said to Brandon was true. The man was special, and he deserved way more than what he’d been given. Now, Sam was adding to his distress. He was such an oaf!
Cautiously, as if approaching a spooked horse, he walked up to the human and sat down on the couch. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
As Samael reached his hand over, Brandon jumped before he'd even touched him. “You have no need to fear me. I would never harm you,” he said softly. “I know you don’t know me, but I am loyal to those that deserve it. You have earned that and more by assisting me, when you could have left me
to rot.”
Brandon searched his features for long moments, saying nothing, before finally taking a deep breath and relaxing some. This time when he touched the man’s forearm, there was no flinch. “I want only to help you, as you did me. I don’t have much to give - no money, nor belongings, but I do have my body, and I will protect you and assist as much as I can.”
Bran’s hair was in his eyes again, hiding him, even as he nodded his acceptance. “Okay, thanks,” he said with a shy smile, and Samael’s chest felt lighter.
“What was your plan?”
“Oh, ummm…. I don’t know.” Brandon’s voice was small and he looked at the floor. “I have twenty-four hours to come up with the money, or …” He swallowed hard.
“Or what?” Samael knew, his gut told him that it was bad, but he wanted the words.
“Or… I die.”
Sam took in a gulping breath. Yeah, that’s what he had thought, but to hear it aloud had done something in him unexpected. His heart sped up, and he felt sick. A world without Brandon in it, felt wrong somehow.
“No. I will not let you die.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was going to say, but they were exactly right. He would not allow anything to happen to this extraordinary man, who was so full of life and heart. Brandon was different, unique; and Samael didn’t know why, but he was drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. He just hoped he didn’t become engulfed and turned to ash in the process.
“How are you going to stop it? These guys are no joke.”
Samael grinned wickedly. “Nor am I. Tomorrow, we shall go and visit this man you were dating, and see if we cannot talk some sense into him.” His smile faded, as he became uncomfortable. “I will need some clothes, and a few supplies. Could you…I mean, would you mind…” He couldn’t continue. He’d never asked for necessities before in his long life, and now he was beholden to this human. It was a very humbling experience, to say the least.
