Sunday, August 11, 6:30 a.m.
Blake stirred in bed, feeling a warm body against him. He smiled, for once happy with what was in his bed.
He was drunk last night. He had fucked up and failed a client, who was going to go to jail for sexual assault. It didn’t matter that the girl who was assaulted was 15, just below the age of consent, and that he was 19, within the four-year rule. It didn’t matter that she had asked him to shift, and he did; terrified, the girl ran off onto the main drag and told the driver that a werewolf was going to eat her. The driver took her to the police, where the now ex-boyfriend found her…it was a mess. The boyfriend admitted to being a shifter and was too corn-pone honest for his own good. The girl had no bruises, no physical evidence of trauma. But this case was based on emotional trauma, according to the lesbian bitch of a defense attorney.
Blake was going to ask for the minimum, and he had a firm case in that – but he lost. He hated losing. He was a very sore loser. He took it personal to himself and to the bias against shifters everywhere. So after cleaning out his own not insubstantial liquor cabinet in the office, he tackled the one at Caprice on the way home.
And that’s where Scott found him. Blake was certainly not the man to publicly blubber over someone, but once he got Scott in his apartment, he wanted to. He wanted a hug, then more, and he got more. Most of the night long.
He slowly disengaged himself from Scott, making sure not to wake him. He pulled on a pair of shorts and went downstairs to get the papers. New York Times, LA Times, Detroit News, Millennium City Journal. He picked them up, bringing them inside, and set them on the kitchen table. The plate from the night before was still on the counter.
He had a pretty good memory for conversation…did he actually say that he wanted Scott? It was true that he hadn’t taken any clients’ wives since meeting Scott – he put them on a payment plan, something he hated doing because that meant more work for Trixie. Hell, it was true that he wasn’t attracted to other men – women, he was like any horny male Beta and would happily take what was offered. But he hadn’t been offered, and he hadn’t gone looking.
“Okay, so I’m bi,” he said to no one in particular.
He nodded to himself, as he made that decision. And Scott, well…he smiled. He hadn’t seen Blake in his wolf form yet, so he couldn’t say that he would be a even a semi-permanent lover. They had to cross that threshold. The most recent case had sealed it for him.
He was settling down to the NYT Book Review when he heard someone come down the stairs. Blake looked in the direction of the stairs to see Scott coming down, rubbing his eyes, and wearing the clothes he wore yesterday. “Well, hello, Sunshine,” he said with a grin.
“Yeah,” Scott said.
Blake put the paper down. “Want some breakfast? I make a mean smoothie.”
He shook his head. “I’m used to real things for breakfast.” He gave Blake a grin.
“I’ll put eggs in it.”
“No,” Scott shuddered. “No, I have to get going.”
Blake stood up from the couch. “Wait.”
“Hm?”
“Can you come back, say, in a couple of hours? There’s…an art studio I’ve been wanting to check out.” It was the quickest thing he could think of.
Scott turned to stare at him. “Art studio.”
“Yes. In New York.”
“In New York.”
“The firm has a flight service they use.”
Scott grinned, “I can get us there faster.”
“Or, um…teleporting. Would you like to come with me? I know squat about art and I’m looking for something new.” He looked at his bare walls.
Scott looked like he was debating the idea. Blake would have to think of something else on the fly. A picnic, maybe? A walk in Destroid park? Another session upstairs? Anything to keep him here, with him.
“Okay. Let me get some clothes and I’ll be back.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Scott smiled, “Don’t mention it.”
“Hey, wait.” Blake went over to Scott at the door, and then planted a heated kiss on his lips. “See you in a couple of hours or so.”
As the door closed behind Scott, Blake did a small fist pump and dashed upstairs to get his best suit.