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August 1 - August 2, 2020
The cafe was called Bean There, Froth That, because the owner was an idiot.
“Well, this escalated quickly.” Colin pretended extreme boredom and examined his fingernails. “Just so you know, our pack allies include a kelpie, several powerful kitsune, and one sublimely bitchy Magistar. Not to brag or anything.”
It felt right to be there, held by someone stronger. Leaning on someone else. It also felt scary.
“You are beautifully intelligent, infinitely precious, and profoundly lovely,” Judd said. “And if you’d let me, I’d tell you that every day until you believed it.”
Colin sighed. Introspection was exhausting.
He loved a twink with a big cock, the juxtaposition of fragility and weaponized pleasure.
“No one else, promise. As if I could look at anyone else while sharing your bed. Ridiculous man. Remember, you take up all the oxygen in the room.”
Colin, amazingly, laughed. Judd felt like he was king of some very small ginger castle.
What happened to protect and serve?” “That’s not our motto, that’s the cops’.” “So what’s yours? Successfully bother innocents?”
San Andreas is now the most powerful pack in the country, full of gay dudes and mages and mermen and all kinds of shenanigans.”
Americans didn’t have the concept of afternoon tea, a fact that, even all these years later, Judd still found a grave character flaw.
Everyone blinked at him. No one else knew what a coprolite was. Colin seemed pleased with it, though. So it must be pretty bad.
That a beard on your face, or one of those air plants?
“Holy cocktrumpeting cheeseballs!”
A scent of lush forest, honey chamomile, and predator assaulted Colin’s nose – Hang Ten Viking.
Judd exchanged glances with the rest of his pack. “It’s weird for a selkie mobster to have a crush on a country music singing Alpha werewolf, right?”
People thought the worst thing about Max was that the man could tear apart the fabric of reality. But that wasn’t it. No, if bad guys came into his café, Max would simply stand up, saunter over and activate his true power – sublime, capital Q, Queeniest Cattiest Bitchiness. He might not actually be a werewolf bitch, but Max had a beastly tongue, and admirable skill at applying it. He was a weapon of mass discussion. Colin lived in fear and awe.
Isaac was sensible like that and brought a backpack full of snacks and other useful things when shopping with a female. Smart dude, Isaac.
Knitter Floyd was the only human still inside, because Floyd was part of the furniture. Plus, if there was about to be a rumble, Floyd wanted to see it. Frankly, Floyd would probably survive the vampire apocalypse by simply sitting, right the fuck there, knitting forever.
The Alpha had mint. Because Alec was occasionally really bad at being a werewolf. What self-respecting wolf drinks mint tea?
“And what are you?” she asked, voice fierce. Floyd gave her the most baleful look ever. “I’m Floyd. I knit. And that jacket is a fucking travesty.”
Trick wasn’t remotely weak. Trick was just small, and cheerful, and fabulous.
“I’m the weirdo,” shot back the old man. “You just had a wolf’s head on a nerd’s body. You’re wearing plaid, for fuck’s sake.”
So what if his hands were gay as fuck, because he was gay as fuck. Maybe even a tiny bit fabulous.
