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Mitchell woke slowly and groggily. He didn’t really need to sleep, but he liked the luxury of it. Unfortunately when he’d been drinking he slept hard and tended to wake one atom at a time until he could finally open his eyes.
Fucking hell, how much did he have to drink last night? He remembered starting with stout, switching to whiskey neat at some point. He thought he remembered Jaeger bombs and some arsehole who handed him something that nearly burned both his tonsils and adenoids out of his throat. If he hadn’t been so blasted he would have ended that jerk on the spot.
Of course that also would have depended on him being able to pick him from the sea of faces that surrounded him. Fortunately for the jokester, by that time they all looked pretty much alike. All he could do was force the black out of his eyes and laugh along with the rest of them.
His eyes didn’t want to open and he lay still, trying to remember more of the evening, but it was a fog. Shit, he hated to get black-out drunk. That was for kids and idiots. Apparently it was for vampires who were far too old for this shite as well. He wanted a smoke and he needed to pee; now all he had to do was convince his body that moving was a good idea.
He rolled onto his back, ready to sit up when his elbow hit something next to him.
Holy fuck – who was that?!
Mitchell slowly rolled his head to the left and saw only a burrito of blankets with a tuft of golden hair peeking out at the top. Christ, there could be anything underneath. He hadn’t had a coyote date in a long time, but black-out drunk is a sure recipe for being less than choosy about a bed mate.
He had the urge to leap out of bed, pee and then slip out the door. He more wisely settled for slipping out of bed, peeing and then…not going any place.
Where the fuck were his clothes?
He looked around the strange bedroom. It was nice enough, so at least he hadn’t picked up a skank. It was also obviously male…
Another big WTF moment.
He occasionally jumped the fence,but not often and it took a really special man to attract him. He didn’t remember seeing any particularly spectacular men last night. Well, scratch that…he didn’t remember last night so who the fuck knows what his whiskey-addled brain had decided was special.
He looked around the bedroom, then under the bed and then the living room.
Still no fucking clothes. Well…he found his boots, but he could hardly catch a bus buck-ass naked.
Shit fuck!
He went back into the bedroom and out of the corner of his eye noticed that there was one of those apartment-sized washer/dryer combos in the corner of the loo.
Moving stealthily, he went back in and felt his heart drop when he could see the washer was full of wet clothes. He opened the door and there were his shirt and pants and briefs as well. What the bloody hell had he done last night?
To his great relief, a quick sniff didn’t reveal any lingering scent of blood. He could detect alcohol, so at some point he, or someone, must have dumped a drink on him. The guy who was still snoring softly must have brought him back to clean him up. Maybe that’s all it was, no strings, just a nice Auckland bloke offering some help.
Feeling a little relieved, he put his clothes in the dryer and set it for a half hour. If they weren’t done by that time, he’d wear them damp. Hopefully, his savior would still be asleep and he could then make his escape.
He punched the Start button, turned, and nearly screamed.
The burrito had come to life and had managed to navigate to the loo quietly enough so that Mitchell hadn’t heard him. For a vampire, his nerves really were shite. There was nothing like getting the bejesus scared out of him to finish waking a bloke up.
The burrito was also startled and stood there staring at Mitchell, blue eyes wide, a soft “oof” of surprise escaping his lips.
He was nude, sporting impressive morning wood.
And he was gloriously beautiful.
The golden hair matched the light gold of his skin, which flowed over a compact body that was one of the most gorgeous Mitchell had ever seen. Artists would kill to sculpt this man. A mat of tightly curled reddish-gold hair covered his chest and belly, trailing down to an erection that bobbed forgotten in his surprise.
It was Mitchell’s turn to say, “Oof.”
“Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my loo?” The burrito’s eyes narrowed and his chin firmed as he challenged the taller man.
Mitchell shrugged, palms out, looking as harmless as possible. “Fuck if I know. I just woke up here and found that my clothes are in your washer. I thought you’d know how I got here.”
The idiocy of the idea of two naked men standing in a loo, each asking the other why they were there was not lost on the burrito. The firmness in his chin gave way to a quirk of his lips and the look in the brunet’s eyes made it slide all the way into a smile.
Fuck, he has dimples!
Mitchell smiled in return. Then he laughed, full-throated, head thrown back, curls bouncing and then cascading over his face to cover one eye. He didn’t notice the gulp the burrito gave, having no idea how gorgeous he was at that moment.
“Why don’t I let you pee and maybe we can figure this out together?”
The burrito nodded. “And I need drugs, or maybe another drink.”
Mitchell shook his head. “No more booze for you. Drugs it is. I’ll go out in the kitchen and get you something to eat so they don’t make you sick. I’m stuck here until my clothes dry and I don’t really want to be around if you decide to puke.”
The burrito gave him a disgusted look. “I don’t puke.”
Mitchell cocked his head, a brow arched quizzically. “All humans puke.”
Another disgusted look. This one higher tone and more disdainful.
“I’m not human.”
“Oh ho, then what are you?” This was amusing. Apparently Golden Boy had done more than drink last night.
“I’m a god.” The reply was succinct and without humor.
“And I’m the bloody Queen of May,” Mitchell retorted. “Piss and come out and get something to eat.”
Before the golden burrito could reply, Mitchell exited the loo with as much dignity as his bare arse would allow. He found some bread that looked eatable and popped it into the toaster. He wasn’t up to doing more than that. The small ache behind his eyes was getting stronger. He didn’t want to be making toast for a naked nutjob, no matter how good-looking he was. He wanted his clothes to dry so that he could go the fuck home.
When the toast popped, he found some butter and marmalade jam in the fridge. Anointing the toast liberally, he grabbed a bottle of sports drink and headed back into the bedroom.
The not-human/god was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He looked so miserable that Mitchell set the bottle down quietly on the nightstand and sat on the bed next to him. Honestly, did this man not understand that gods didn’t get hangovers?
“Honestly, eat something so you can take the paracetamol.”
A hand reached out for the toast and it was consumed it without him ever looking up. He tried to wash down a handful of pills with the sports drink, but Mitchell stopped him.
“Two. If you take more you’ll only prove you’re human by puking. I can’t take puking, so don’t fucking do it. Just take the pills and lie back down.”
The burrito/Golden Boy/not-human/god/whatever looked at him, frowned and slowly and succinctly said, “Go fuck yourself.”
If anything, he was even more gorgeous hung over. Mitchell chuckled and reached out to wipe a tiny smear of jam from the corner of his mouth, suppressing the impulse to kiss it away. “Seriously, lie down and let the drugs work.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea with a naked stranger in my house,” came the snappish reply.
Mitchell grinned and shook his head. “The ‘naked stranger’ has fixed you toast and jam, do you really think if I was going to do bad things I’d be trying to feed you?”
“I suppose not. I’ll just sit here and wait for you to leave if it’s all the same to you, though.” His voice sounded ragged and he was looking paler by the minute.
Mitchell got up and walked around the bed, then slid in next to him. “Come and lie down with me. I have a headache, too. We’ll sleep it off.”
“Did you take some paracetamol?”
“Naw, they don’t work on me. I’ll be fine. I just need some more sleep.” He held out a welcoming arm and was a little surprised that his offer was taken. The man lay back with a groan and threw one arm over his eyes.
“If you are by any chance an axe murderer, I give you permission to kill me.” His voice came out husky and the statement ended with a soft moan.
Mitchell chuckled. “I’m not and I won’t, so come over here and relax.” He slid over a bit until he could reach the dying god. He gently dug his fingers into stiff neck muscles, making tiny circles that let the tension release a little at a time.
“S’wunnerful,” came the muffled appreciation.
Mitchell started to reply, but he realized that his bedmate had already fallen asleep. His clothes would be dry any minute now and he should get up and leave, but he didn’t want to. He took another look at the golden burrito, who had turtled back under the blankets. Just as the vampire was thinking that this creature next to him was adorable, Mitchell fell asleep.
The vampire woke to the tickle of someone playing with his curls. He forced his eyes open and looked at his bedmate. The hangover was gone and he hada decidedly less pissy, more questioning expression.
“Where did I find you?”
“I think,” Mitchell said groggily, “on the floor of a bar somewhere.”
“It must have been a good bar.” Another curl tweak. “Am I bothering you?”
Mitchell smiled. “Not a bit. It feels nice.”
“Since we’re in bed and all, I suppose introductions are in order. My name’s Anders. Anders Johnson,” the former burrito said cheerfully.
“John Mitchell, but people just call me Mitchell.” He purred. “I’ll give you about a year to stop that.”
Anders pulled a curl out and let it spring back. “Did we do anything last night?”
Mitchell shook his head, finding that his headache had vanished. “I highly doubt it, we were both pretty pissed.”
Anders looked relieved.
Mitchell reached out and traced long fingers down Anders’ arm. “I wouldn’t object to a little morning glory, though, if you’re up for it.”
The answer was a chuckle. “I think it’s more afternoon delight at this point.”
“Call it anything you want,” Mitchell said in a low soft voice. “You’re gorgeous and I’m glad it's daylight so I can see you.”
“You’re full of shit, but I like hearing it, so don’t stop.” Anders felt his body responding to Mitchell’s looks and touch. He smiled a little. Even hammered out of his mind he could pick them.
“Oh, I have no intention of stopping.” Mitchell leaned over and placed a light kiss on Anders’ perfect lips. The former burrito slid his hand up to tangle in dark curls and pulled him in as the kiss turned erotic.
The fire kindled quickly with both men lost in each other, brown eyes looking deep into blue, watching as they darkened with desire. The clothes in the dryer were forgotten, there was no need to be any place else, or any desire. All of Mitchell’s desire was right here next to him, with questing hands and burning kisses.
This was going to be a long slow hot afternoon and the two of them were going to put skyrockets to shame.