Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 6

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 mi 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 a little 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 other 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 a little tight, enough so that he caught more than a glimpse of what lay underneath. His 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