Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire (12 page)

"Hunter?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"We really need a shower. Seriously."

Hunter began to chuckle. He buried his nose carefully against Fisher's neck, his tongue laving the area where two tiny wounds could just be seen, already puckering, sealed against further bleeding.

"Want to take one together?" Hunter asked.

"Only if I get to wash first."

"How about I wash you?"

Fisher still possessed the ability to blush. The things that man could do to him. He couldn't wait to see what else they could do together. "Sounds like a plan to me," he agreed. They raced each other to the shower, laughing all the way.

Epilogue—Halloween Night

"Are the candy bowls filled?"

"Yes, dear."

"What about the outside light, is it on?"

"It's on."

"Good. Did you use all the candy?"

"Yes, dear."

"Think we should get some more?"

"No, dear."

Fisher stuck his head out the door of his room. "You dressed yet?"

Hunter stood there, leaning against the wall, grin affixed upon his lovely face, watching his fussy lover nitpick about the Halloween preparations. The ones he had never wanted to participate in before. Not until this year. Hunter couldn't stop smiling.

"What does it look like?" he asked, smirking.

Fisher blushed, taking in the sight of his beautiful lover who was, indeed, quite dressed. And dazzlingly so. No pun intended. He was garbed as a vampire, but not one of the popular ones that were currently making the rounds, either in film or television. No, Hunter Long was, and always would be, his own man. A true original.

He looked like he stepped out of a period film about the French Revolution. Lace and frills and gold threaded suit, powdered wig. Even a beauty mark beside his lips. Fisher couldn't help but whistle in open admiration.

Fisher stepped out of his room. Their room now, technically. Every room was theirs, of course, but they had decided they would share this one, since it was slightly bigger, and the bed was definitely bigger. And the bigger the bed, the more… Yes, definitely they were going to share this room.

Hunter had tried to talk him into going as Marie Antoinette, but he had given Hunter a no-nonsense look and refused. And yes, on the actual day of Halloween, for those who procrastinated until the last minute, all they were likely to find at the costume outlets and rental stores were slim pickings. But Hunter had connections, and so Fisher was not left having to choose between going as SpongeBob SquarePants (he didn't even know who that was, not being a cartoon aficionado) or a French maid in a frilly apron (Hunter even vetoed that one). Instead he ended up dressed as a Confederate soldier in a light grey uniform, with gold buttons, and a red sash, complete with rifle and bayonet. He had spent some time admiring himself in his mirror, impressed with the overall effect. He liked the way it looked. Now he wanted to know what Hunter thought about it.

"The uniform fits nicely," Hunter noticed, straightening up from the wall, as he leaned in for a kiss.

"It does," Fisher admitted. "I like it."

"You look good in it," Hunter complimented him.

It had been an unusual day for them both. Fisher had considered calling in sick when the alarm went off, rather than having to deal with what he knew awaited him at the office. Or what Lana said awaited him. He wouldn't know if was true until he went. It was Hunter who convinced him to go, actually.

At breakfast, Fisher was too keyed up to eat, after the events of the previous night. Hunter made him some toast and didn't press him into eating anything else. Toast was better than nothing.

"Why don't you go to work, see what the old man wants?" he suggested. "Listening doesn't cost anything, you know."

"Why? I already know I don't want to transfer to San Diego, or anywhere else. I want to stay right here. With you."

Hunter drew the obstinate Fisher into his arms, and held him close, as they swayed together lightly. "Why? I'll tell you why. Because it never hurts to find out what you're worth in someone else's eyes, that's why. Then you know how much to ask for if you decide to go with someone else."

Mister Long was certainly being logical today. Kudos to him for that.

"I guess that makes sense." Fisher frowned, creasing his forehead.

"It does." Hunter's breath was so warm on his ear. Damn, he was making it hard to get going. As usual. But at least now it was nothing Fisher had to suffer through alone, it was out in the open. Finally. "We can talk more about that after you talk to him."

"Why? What about?" But Hunter refused to say.

They compromised on a half day of work each, meeting at home for lunch and costume shopping for Fisher.

At the office of MWH&F, he knocked on the editor's door promptly at 9 o'clock, and was admitted into the presence of the man himself, Mr Sheldrake, Lana's father, although he tried to forget that, and focus on the fact that this was his boss. The meeting was cordial, and didn't take very long. Due to economic pressure and nothing personal, he told Fisher, he was downsizing this office, but he had openings in some of his others. Including the San Diego branch. And he would like to give Fisher the opportunity to transfer to one of them. He didn't specifically mention the managing editor position which Lana had spoken of. Fisher took that as a definite sign that she was, and always would be, a liar.

The decision was a no-brainer. He thanked his now former employer, shook his hand, and then went to his desk and gathered up his stuff, almost in a state of shock. Not only because he was unemployed, but because he'd actually found the nerve to say no to someone. He had considered what he wanted, for a change, and because of it, he was out of a job. He hadn't been unemployed since he was a teenager; he'd always worked at something. He ran into Holly on his way to the elevator. "Come by the house tonight," he told her when she clamored for details and she promised that she would.

Once he had met Hunter back at the house, and told him of the morning's events, he felt himself folded into those strong arms. Hunter didn't seem unduly upset, despite the fact that their income was cut in half, and they had bills to pay. Fisher didn't understand that attitude, but there was no time to discuss it. They had things to do, places to go. No time to discuss a bleak and/or uncertain future. Besides, they were together, right? That had to count for something.

Hunter'd already bought his costume, some time ago. He reminded Fisher of this, as they zigzagged about town, searching for Fisher's costume until they got a lucky break, "If you weren't so damn stubborn, I could have got one for you too."

Fisher had no ready answer for that, other than to stick out his tongue, which proved to be a mistake, as Hunter took it into his own mouth and kissed him until he was weak in the knees.

Now it was Halloween night, not a cloud in the sky and no mention of any rain in the forecast. They were preparing for the onslaught of costumed youngsters seeking sweet treats, no doubt expecting Hunter's usual Halloween extravaganza. They would be arriving any moment. Fisher's stomach was doing flip-flops. He worried that he wouldn't be able to pull this off. Maybe Hunter should do it alone. He made the mistake of suggesting that very thing.

"Nonsense, you'll be fine," Hunter reassured him. "Let's talk." He pulled Fisher onto his lap on the sofa, one eye trained on the door, despite Fisher's protestations that they had no time.

"We'll make time," he said, and Fisher realized he couldn't wriggle out of it, so he gave up.

"Look," Hunter began, "I know you're upset about losing your job, and rightly so. What he did was wrong."

"I bet Lana put him up to it," Fisher conjectured.

"That could be, I think you may be right. It wouldn't really surprise me."

"Hunter?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"Last night, when we were standing outside, just before Lana and her band of pyros came out," Fisher had wondered about this ever since, and he wanted to find out the answer, "what were you going to tell me?"

Hunter chuckled, a sound that was almost a purr, and Fisher thought it seemed like a rather complacent purr at that. "I was trying to work up the nerve to tell you I loved you and always had," he admitted.

Fisher was completely stunned.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then, when Lana came out… I mean, the way she acted, I was sure you and her were together, why didn't you… "

"What could I do? You ran off, remember? I called you, but I guess you didn't hear me, over the crowd."

So Fisher hadn't imagined what he'd thought he heard. "What was Lana doing, saying you were engaged?" he wanted to know, frowning.

"I dunno, she never mentioned it to me. I think she knew better. Probably something she came up with to entertain her friends. As soon as you left, I shook her off and went inside, but I couldn't find you, not right away. Not until I caught you on the patio, literally."

Fisher leaned his head on the shoulder of Hunter's ornate costume. "I was afraid you were going to tell me you loved her and wanted to marry her," he confessed in a small voice.

"Fisher, you can be damn silly at times," Hunter admonished him, catching his lips with his own. Which handily ended anything Fisher had been about to say.

They were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell, the signal that children were out and about. And ready for tricks or treats. Their first visitor turned out to be about three years old, wearing a ballerina costume. She stood proudly on her tippy toes, or as close as she could get at her age, and when her mother said dance, she pirouetted prettily for them, earning her extra candy. After she left there was a gap, as it was still early in the evening, so they returned to the couch.

"About the bills," Fisher began, "I'll go out and get something tomorrow, don't worry about it…"

Hunter cut him off. "You'll do no such thing."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What you told me last night."

In the small hours of the night, as they lay cuddled in Fisher's bed, too excited to sleep, Fisher had confessed to everything that had happened to him from the moment he hit his head at Lana's house until he found himself in Hunter's arms. He left nothing out, no matter how embarrassing. Not like Hunter hadn't lived through most of it the first time too. When he asked Hunter why Arthur Rimbaud should look like Leonardo di Caprio, Hunter had an easy answer. "Because Leo played him in the movie, Total Eclipse."

Fisher had never seen the movie, so he hadn't known that. Odd. But at least that explained that. Somewhat.

"Haven't you gotten it through your thick head yet?" Hunter gave him a stern look.

"Hey, I'm not thick-headed," Fisher protested. He knew what Hunter meant, he just didn't believe it.

"You're a great writer, Fisher," Hunter told him, softly stroking the hand he held within his own. "It's time you got the chance to prove it. Start looking for a publisher for your novel. I have some money saved up, so we'll be fine, I promise."

Fisher shook his head adamantly. "Hunter, no, that's not fair. And how can I sell what I don't have? It's gone, I threw it away years ago."

The doorbell rang, cutting off Hunter's response. "Think you can handle this one?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he left the room,.

Fisher nodded, perplexed, but he went to the door. The little ones must come out first, he decided. Standing there were siblings, a boy and a girl, dressed as the most adorable little animals—a baby tiger and a baby lamb. Just as precious as could be. Their mother thanked him kindly. "I don't think I've seen you before," she commented, "Doesn't Hunter live here anymore?"

"Yeah, he's still here. I'm helping him out this year." Fisher smiled.

"Cool. See you next year, happy Halloween." She waved to him before ushering the children from the porch, heading toward the house next door.

By the time that he returned to the living room, Hunter was back and sitting on the sofa once again, a bundle of paper in his hands. Fisher gave him a perplexed glance.

"Did you do okay?" Hunter asked.

"Yeah, fine. What's that?" He stepped closer to Hunter, almost warily, wondering what his friend was up to. Surely it couldn't be what he was thinking it might be. No, the possibilities of that were slim to none.

Except that it was exactly that, which sent the law of probability straight out the door.

"What? How? I mean, how could you? How did you get it? I threw that away. It's trash, not worth the paper it's printed on."

"Stop it!" Hunter's voice broke into Fisher's rambling. "No, it's not trash. It's good. Sure, it needs a little touching up, but damn, you were in high school when you wrote it. I couldn't let you throw this away. I rescued it the day you tossed it. Don't listen to your mom, she doesn't understand. You are one talented man, Fisher Roberts, and don't you ever forget it. Now you've been given the chance to explore your potential, and you're going to take it. Do you understand me?"

Fisher couldn't believe what he was seeing. His novel. It still existed, when he thought it had long ago been consigned to the landfill. But it was saved, after all. By Hunter, no less. How did that man manage to always save the day, somehow?

"I love you, Mister Long, do you know that?" he asked, throwing his arms around Hunter, and clinging to him tightly.

"And I think you know by now how much I love you, Mister Roberts," Hunter replied, holding him close. "And you know me well enough not to argue with me anymore, right?"

"Right," came the reply, muffled by Hunter's chest.

"All right then, are you ready to give them what they want?"

"I am."

"Then let's do it."

One more kiss—or two—or three. Finally, out the door to await further arrivals.

Hunter had set up a good-sized area of the front yard as a cemetery, complete with tilted headstones in assorted sizes, draped in stretchy grey cobwebs and decorated with assorted Halloween paraphernalia—a witch's cauldron, a black cat, a few hands seemingly erupting from the ground, a mummy, a Frankenstein's monster, and assorted bats which hung from strings. He had draped spider webs in the trees, planted plastic spiders on them. The effect was enhanced by the lights which Hunter had carefully placed to increase the eeriness factor of the chilling tableau. Nothing too frightening, but enough to make the casual visitor shiver.