Page 80 of Darkness

Farren showered, dressed, and changed the bedsheets, telling himself it needed doing and not that he held out hopes to end the evening there—and not alone. He pulled a previously frozen pizza from the oven.

He put bowls of popcorn and M&Ms on the coffee table, paced, and then strapped himself into his webbed bed to meditate.

Morrisey knocked on the door promptly at seven. Farren glanced around his apartment. Nothing out of order. Of course, from what he’d seen of Morrisey’s organizational skills, the man likely didn’t expect an unlived-in museum—how Arianna described Farren’s home.

Farren eyed himself critically in a wall mirror and opened the door.

Morrisey stood there dressed casually, possibly in the jeans and T-shirt he’d worn to work earlier, but then again, judging from the clean scent and damp , he’d taken time for a shower too.

He’d not shaved, though. Good. Farren liked the scruff.

Damn, but Morrisey looked and smelled incredible. Never before had he worn cologne, at least not to Farren’s knowledge. He’d even combed his . An attempt to impress?

If so, it worked. Morrisey didn’t strike Farren as the type to style his for just anyone.

“Come in.” Farren swung the door wide, discreetly checking out Morrisey’s ass as he walked through the door. Yep. Worth writing sonnets about.

Morrisey handed Farren a bottle of .

Wow. A rather fine Moscato. “How did you know?”

“Well, given your sophistication and refinement…” Morrisey kept a straight face for a few seconds, then guffawed, an honest sound that did warm things to Farren’s insides. “I asked Arianna. She told me the rules only prohibited liquor, not wine or beer.”

Which meant Arianna planned to make a claim if Farren didn’t drink the stuff. Morrisey carried a six-pack of beer in his other hand. Ah, not a wine drinker. Farren took the beer. “Make yourself at home. I’ll put these in the refrigerator.”

Morrisey pulled a device from his pocket and gave the room a critical eye. For the first time, Farren felt the heat of embarrassment at his impersonal abode. He’d always found the lack of personal effects practical before. Now it just seemed cold and uninviting.

“What are you doing?”

“Sweeping for surveillance equipment. Call me old-fashioned, but our business ain’t nobody’s but ours.” Morrisey stood firmly at the center of the living area, studying the combination of living/dining room and kitchen. “Not one for personal touches?” He returned the bug detector to his pocket.

Farren set the drinks on the counter and gave the same lame excuse he gave any human who’d been in his rooms. “Like pictures and things? No. Most travelers have incredible memories. We keep them here.” He tapped his temple, then uncorked the wine, poured a glass, and placed the rest in the refrigerator.

He returned to the living area, his wine gripped tightly in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. He sank down onto the couch, putting the drinks on the coffee table beside a bowl of popcorn, a plateful of pizza, and a dish of chocolates. While he worried about how Morrisey might like his home, he couldn’t help but remember the cable reel parked in front of Morrisey’s couch.

Morrisey raised a brow.

A flash of heat rose in Farren’s cheeks. “The original Farren liked popcorn and M&M’s whenever he went to the movies as a child before he saw both as carb or calorie-laden enemies. I find the combination agreeable, too.” Agreeable? The ghost of the former Farren scoffed. Who talks like that?

Morrisey perched on the couch, not too close, but not too far either. Just ambiguous enough to make a mystery of how this night might end.

Until this past week, Farren had considered nothing else but friendship as an option. Were Morrisey's efforts a subtle invitation for a replay of the previous evening? More than once Morrisey had studied Farren when he thought no one was looking.

Farren mechanically went about the process of selecting the movie on the remote. “I thought you might be interested in seeing Men in Black since you haven't, and Leary and I referenced it.”

The opening scenes came on.

“Works for me.” Morrisey settled back with his beer and a slice of pizza, intent on the large screen TV Arianna insisted on. Manspreading put his knee inches from Farren’s. “Is that some kind of sex swing or hammock over there in the corner?” he asked between bites of pizza.

Sex swing? Farren had meant to take the webbing down. No use trying to hide now. “It’s a bed.”

“A… bed.” Morrisey studied the contraption briefly, tilting his head sideways like some humans and many dogs did when confused. “Are you sure? Looks like a macrame project gone wild.”

Farren choked on a laugh while making a mental note to research macrame. “Quite sure. I slept suspended in my native form. Although my human body isn't tolerant, I take comfort occasionally from the familiar position.” Like this afternoon, when he’d fretted over the evening. They'd been by themselves together frequently in the office, but having Morrisey in his rooms seemed so intimate.

“How did your partner sleep with you? How’d you manage sex?”

“We normally slept separately, and sex didn’t occur in beds.” Farren joined Morrisey in scrutinizing the non-human bed. “For obvious reasons.” How much hotter could Farren’s cheeks get without bursting into flames?

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