by Pandora Pine
“You know that for a fact?”
“No, but you do. You’re just not willing to admit it to yourself.”
Ronan nodded and cleared his throat. “So these spirits came home from crime scenes with me like hitchhikers?”
“Yeah and from bars too, I’m guessing. Spirits often return to the places they were most happy before they passed. For some people that’s their local watering hole.”
Ronan shivered in the near-darkness. “I’m so glad that wasn’t me.”
“Me too.”
“Did I hurt you earlier?” Ronan brushed his thumb over Tennyson’s still swollen lower lip.
Tennyson gasped at the intimate contact between them. His pulse sped up and his cock came to immediate attention. “You could never hurt me, Ronan.”
“I was so rough, taking what I needed.” Ronan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Who says I didn’t need it too?”
Ronan shook his head and pulled away, the spell broken. “Good night, Tennyson. Get some sleep. I’m going to show you the full case file in the morning and we’re going to get to work on finding Michael Frye.”
“Good night, detective.” Tennyson shivered when Ronan stood up and strode toward the bedroom.
“By the way, Ten, I’m gay too.”
“I didn’t need to be a psychic to figure that one out.” He’d figured that out the second Ronan’s lips landed on his, not to mention the fact that it had been a pretty easy vibe to pick up from him the longer they’d been together. It was nice that Ronan trusted him enough to come out to him.
“Oh yeah?” Ronan fisted his hands on his hips. “How’s that?”
“Your gun was digging into my hip.”
“I wasn’t wearing my gun belt when I kissed you, Grimm.” Ronan sounded confused.
“Duh…”
11
Ronan
Ronan hadn’t slept well after his midnight confessional with Tennyson. He was conflicted over being so close to Tennyson and not kissing the maddening man for a second time.
Although, he had to admit their late-night conversation had been their best one so far. One that hadn't ended with either of them being angry at the other.
Tennyson had still been sleeping when he'd gotten up for good around 5am. Ronan had taken that time to get outside and shovel out the Mustang from the ten inches of snow that had fallen overnight.
He knew the minute the plow truck came by, the car would be snowed back in again, but this kind of physical activity was good for him. He certainly wasn't going to be able to go out for his morning run in this weather.
Being outside in the cold was also keeping him away from the very hot man sleeping on his couch. Seeing Tennyson dressed in his clothes last night, lying on his sofa had loosened something inside of him. Something he didn't really want to examine too closely at this moment in time.
Suffice it to say he was stupidly attracted to the psychic. He'd wanted nothing more than to take the man to bed with him last night and kiss him until Tennyson was begging to be fucked, but that was the last thing their tenuous working relationship needed right now.
That option was certainly worth considering once they'd found Michael Frye's remains and his killer was locked behind bars.
Tennyson was sitting at the dining room table typing on his phone when Ronan came back upstairs fifteen minutes later. He was fresh from the shower, his curly hair damp and smelling like Ronan's shampoo. "Wow, you're up and ready to go."
"Figured you'd be eager to get back to work. We got a lot more snow up by Salem, so the ride back might take longer. I didn't want to hold us up."
Ronan nodded, touched by Tennyson's thoughtfulness. "We'll grab coffee and breakfast once we get on the road, okay?"
"Sure. I’ll text Brett and let him know our plans while you're in the shower."
Ronan was about to head off to the bathroom when he caught a good look at his guest. Tennyson looked like shit. "You get much sleep?”
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Ronan knew the psychic was lying. Instead of calling him out, he raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Tennyson sagged a bit. "I spent most of the night trying to cross over the spirits who live here with you. Some of them didn't want to go..."
Before he knew what he was doing, Ronan was across the room and cradling Tennyson's face in his large hands. "Did they hurt you?"
Tennyson shut his eyes, as if Ronan's touch were somehow comforting him. "No, they were just being stubborn. Some crossed over, some didn't. I listened to the ones who stayed and tried to reason with them, but..." Tennyson shrugged. “I'll pack sage and the other things I'll need to cleanse the house for you on the off chance you ever invite me over here again."
"I don't need you cleaning my house for me, Grimm." Ronan's hands tightened on Tennyson's face.
"I don't mean cleansing like with Windex and a Hoover, detective. I mean cleansing the house of spirits."
"Oh." The harsh look in Ronan's eyes softened. "Thank you." He leaned closer, looking like he was going to kiss Tennyson, before he shook his head and backed off.
Christ, less than twenty-four hours ago he'd been ready to throttle the curly-haired psychic and now he could barely keep his hands or his lips to himself.
Running the water in the shower, he stripped off his wet clothes and hopped in. His cock was already half-hard, and it didn't take much coaxing to get it to come the rest of the way to attention.
Ronan set a punishing pace over his heated flesh, figuring this was the only way to get Tennyson out of his head. He shut his eyes and pictured the maddening man on his knees in front of him. He'd wrap both hands around the psychic's head and shove his cock down his throat.
He had no idea if Tennyson enjoyed getting his face roughly fucked, but Dream Tennyson fucking loved it; his dark eyes telegraphed it to Ronan and even begged him to go harder and faster.
Ronan was more than happy to oblige. "That's it. Fucking take it, Ten," he muttered to his dream lover, increasing the pace of his hand on his cock.
Ever since his marriage ended, he took care of his body's demands, but this was the first time he'd done so with another man's face in mind that he knew in person, rather than with some random hot actor.
Dream Tennyson moaned like a whore, fondling his balls with one hand and teasing his entrance with the other. Ronan couldn't help probing his back door just the way he knew Tennyson would do it if he were here now.
He was getting closer to his end and he knew Tennyson would finally breach the snug ring of muscle to find his prostate.
"Fuck, yes!" Ronan yelled, his cock spurting over his fist and coating his chest. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The coppery tang filled his mouth as blast after blast of sticky release landed on his chest.
When his cock twitched for the last time and the last trickle seeped out of his slit, Ronan braced both hands against the shower tile, offering a silent prayer that his houseguest hadn't heard him jacking off in the shower.
Although, if he were being honest with himself, there was a part of him that hoped Tennyson had been listening at the door with his ear pressed against the cold wood, his own spent cock in his hand.
12
Tennyson
The long ride back to Salem was made even longer by Tennyson's traitorous mind replaying Ronan's shower spank session second by agonizing second.
It had started innocently enough with Tennyson returning the clothes Ronan had loaned him for the night. He was in the process of folding and leaving them on his host's bed when he'd heard a low moan come from the bathroom.
Unable to resist Ronan's siren's song, he'd crept to the bathroom door like a thief in the night, pressing his ear against the door, almost desperate to hear that sound again. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind what had caused Ronan to make that sound.
He didn't have long to wait. Not only was Ronan moaning like a champion porn star, he was whispering dirty encouragements to his dream lover. Tennyson c
ouldn’t help hoping that dream lover was him.
Tennyson's cock had gone rock-hard the second Ronan's first moan had reached his ears. By the time Ronan was crying out a steady stream of "fuck yeahs," his own cock was in his hand and he was stroking along with the cop.
He'd never been a voyeur in his life, but fuck if he was going to miss out on the hottest moment of his entire life.
If he was a braver man, he would have opened the bathroom door and asked Ronan if there was something he could have done to help him out.
Unfortunately, Tennyson wasn't that brave. He'd settled for jacking off and coming all over the bathroom door. Thankfully he'd been able to clean up the evidence before Ronan had come out of the bathroom.
Instead of leaving him feeling more settled, Tennyson felt edgier than ever.
He was sure most of it had to do with digging back into the Michael Frye case rather than with sitting six inches away from Ronan. At least that was what he was trying hard to convince himself of. It wasn’t working.
Ronan had barely said two words the whole way back to Salem. It was just as well, Tennyson figured. They were both so tired that the slightest thing was bound to start them arguing again even after the fragile peace they’d seemed to forge in the middle of the night.
“Here we are, Princess Grimm,” Ronan grinned as they pulled into a shoveled parking space in front of West Side Magick.
“My hero.” Tennyson rolled his eyes and hopped out of the car.
“Thank God you’re safe!” Carson pulled Tennyson in for a tight hug the second he walked into the store.
“Uh, you’re a psychic. Shouldn’t you have known he was safe all along?” Ronan shot Carson a glib smile.
“Are you always this charming first thing in the morning, detective?” Carson asked, winking at Tennyson.
“They got his coffee order wrong at Dunkin’s…” Tennyson shrugged.
“I can remedy that.” Truman grinned. “Come with me, Ronan. We’ll get you fixed up next door and leave the girls to gossip.”
“I’m standing right here, husband.” Carson fisted his hands on his hips.
“I can see you, wife!” Truman laughed.
“Jeez, you’d think after I took a bullet for the guy he’d treat me with a bit more respect.” Carson laughed and pecked Truman’s lips.
“A bullet?” Ronan shot Tennyson an alarmed look.
“I’ll tell you all about it over coffee,” Truman offered.
“It all started with a vision of love, detective. I’m sure the story will be right up your street.” Carson was all smiles.
Ronan looked confused, but followed Truman into the adjoining bakery.
“Okay, spill all the juicy details and don’t you dare leave anything out!” Carson was bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Tennyson raised an eyebrow at his friend. “You’re psychic. You know all the juicy details.”
“Hand to God, I don’t.” Carson held his hand up. “I’ve been working on those blocking exercises you gave me. They sort of work.”
“What do you mean sort of?”
“I know he kissed you, but that’s it!” Carson started to laugh.
“Then you know it all.” Tennyson shook his head. “For a minute there I didn’t know if he was going to kiss me or kill me.”
“He didn’t either,” Carson said softly. “I mean don’t get me wrong, he’s wanted to kiss you and kill you in equal measure since the minute he met you but… I should really stop talking now.” His mouth snapped shut with a clack of his teeth.
“Oh no, this is truly fascinating. Please continue.” Tennyson rolled his eyes.
When Tennyson had first started working with Carson, his sight was spotty at best. Carson would get tiny glimpses of things, but more likely than not ended up frustrated with his lack of sight. Now, images and answers flowed freely like water out of a hose turned on at full-blast. What his friend was struggling with now was how to shut the flow of images off.
“You like him. I don’t need to use my gift to see that, Ten.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like him or not. We’re partners on the Michael Frye case. End of story.”
“Bullshit! I want to hear about that kiss!”
“What kiss?” Brett McCabe asked from behind them, his hazel eyes sparkling.
“I said bris. Friends of ours just had a baby. Clean your ears out, Brett. Sheesh. That’s how rumors get started.” Carson rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I have a handsome husband to kiss. I’ll send Ronan your way. Sounds like you guys are ready to start filming.”
Tennyson took a deep breath and turned around to face the television producer. They hadn’t spoken since what happened at the Frye house yesterday. “Hey, Brett.”
“Tennyson.” Brett’s eyes were still shining. A clear indication he thought Carson’s story about the bris was pure bullshit.
“I’m sorry about the way things ended yesterday at-”
Brett held up his right hand. “Don’t say another word. I want you and Ronan to talk about that on tape. Explain to our viewers what the hell happened.”
“Explain what?” Ronan asked.
“Why I didn’t have any answers for the Fryes.” Now that he’d explained the way his gift worked to Ronan, he knew the cop would have his back, but he still felt like he’d failed the Fryes.
Ronan frowned. “We’re going to figure this out, Ten. Michael’s been dead for seven years at most and that’s a long time to go without talking to anyone. I’m sure the silent treatment he was giving you yesterday isn’t going to last long.”
Tennyson was stunned at Ronan’s change in attitude. He would have believed this of the soft-around-the-edges Ronan of last night, but this version of his partner in the light of day was quite a shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my grumpy Irish cop?”
“Sounds like someone read your book!” Carson enthused. He sounded positively giddy.
Ronan turned a ferocious look on Carson. “I had a hard time sleeping last night. I like to read, so sue me.”
“You make a good point, Ronan.” Tennyson had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like a fool. He’d written that exact thought in his first book dealing with spirits and loss.
It’s not every day a spirit runs into someone capable of speaking to them and when that happens, usually the spirit is so anxious to talk that they run off at the mouth, speaking so fast that the medium has to tell them to slow down.
That hadn’t been the case at all with Michael Frye. Tennyson had almost wondered if Michael’s spirit had been controlled by another force, but he’d finally been able to work out that this child’s spirit hadn’t been ready to talk yet.
“Now that we all know the riveting fact that Ronan’s a bookworm, can we get started with filming?” Brett headed toward the reading room without waiting for an answer.
“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.” Truman snorted.
Carson nodded. “Got into a fight with his boyfriend and had to sleep on the couch. Then he was jerking off this morning and lost his boner when…”
Brett stopped dead in his tracks and turned to stare at Carson with his mouth hanging open.
“I should shut up now.” Carson’s face was beat-red.
“I want to hear the rest of that story later,” Ronan whispered to Carson on his way past.
Tennyson shook his head sadly. That was one of the dangers of not being able to shut off your gift. You wound up watching a vision of your boss getting caught jacking off by his future mother-in-law who’d shown up unannounced with bagels and coffee. Surprise…
13
Ronan
Ronan settled himself in at what he’d come to think of as his usual spot at the table in the shop’s reading room. He couldn’t help but think of all of the people who’d visited this room in the hopes of contacting a dead loved one. Would he ever sit in one of these chairs for that reason? A chill raced down his spine.
“You okay?” Tennyson set a
hand on Ronan’s shoulder before sitting down next to him.
“Fine, just thinking about something.”
“We can have a private reading anytime you want. It doesn’t have to be in this room.”
Ronan opened his mouth to tell Tennyson to stop reading his mind, but shut his mouth quickly when Brett walked in. There was no need for him to be present for another personal exchange between the two of them.
“Guys,” Brett started, “What I’d like to have you start with is a recap of what happened yesterday. The more emotional, the better. Ronan, I know you want to show Tennyson the case file. I like that idea, but the problem is that we have no leads. We’re no further along in this case than we were yesterday.”
“I know that,” Ronan said tightly. He’d been in this exact position from day one. He’d wanted to bring Tennyson in on the off chance that the psychic would be able to offer up a clue that would break the case wide open, but so far, this had all been a colossal waste of time.
Tennyson set a hand on Ronan’s thigh. “Why don’t we just see where today takes us, huh?”
Ronan was oddly comforted not only by Tennyson’s touch but by his words. He wasn’t a man given to flights of fancy or hope, but at this moment in time, he was willing to place his faith in Tennyson.
“Cameras are rolling, guys. Whenever you’re ready to start,” Brett said.
As far as Ronan was concerned, he and Tennyson had said everything that needed to be said about yesterday’s visit with the Fryes. He was going to start today where they should have started yesterday: with the case file. “I think the best place to start today is with the police file on Michael Frye’s disappearance. I know you wanted to meet the Fryes before you saw it, but we’ve done that now.” Ronan slid the file from where it sat to his left over toward Tennyson.
The psychic set his hand on top of Ronan’s, but his attention was focused on the empty chair to his right. “We have a visitor.”
“We do?” All Ronan could see in the room was himself, Ten, and Brett.
“Good morning, Michael,” Tennyson greeted with a smile.
“He’s here? Doesn’t he have to stay with his parents?” Ronan had no idea how spirits worked or how they were tethered to places or people.
