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“The senator told me to guard the store as you both went off without locking the door,” Mr. Beefy Biceps replied. “Now that you’re here, I’ll return to the hotel. The senator would like to hear from you before he and his wife leave town tomorrow morning at eight.”

Phil grunted as he moved past the big man, tossing open the store door with such force that it bounced off the wall behind it. I winced. Phil released my hand and stormed inside. Feeling as if I needed to say something to the hired hand with thighs that could crush my head, I paused in the doorway, Phil’s hold on me slacking then disappearing.

“Thank you for looking out for the shop,” I said. Politeness is drummed into Chinese children from a very young age. Even though I was raised here in America, Yeye would brook no disrespect from me toward himself, any elder, or anyone in a position of authority like teachers or senatorial bodyguards.

“You’re welcome. The senator would like to remind you that his time here is very short, so he expects a rapid reply from you and his son.”

“Yep, got it.”

He gave me a nod. A dark sedan pulled up, and he got in and sped off. Okay then. Feeling like a speck on a windshield, I slumped into the store. Phil was nowhere to be seen nor was Reggie. The day was pretty much shot, so I opted to just close early. With a sigh, I pulled the sign I’d taped on the door telling customers we’d open after the Lions Home Opener and crumpled it into a ball. I locked the door, tossed the paper ball into the trash by the register, and climbed the stairs to our apartment. Outside the door, I toed off my sneakers. They seemed puny beside Phil’s large cleats. Entering the small but homey space, I spied his uniform tossed to the back of the sofa and followed a trail of underthings to the bathroom. Steam rolled out of the open door. Pushing inside, I took a moment to admire the outline of my boyfriend through the sheer curtain. He wasn’t washing, just standing under the stream, letting it pepper his face and chest. The aura of confusion and pain was nearly as visible as the steam filling the room. His eyes opened, and he turned to gaze at me through the shower curtain. Green toads playing leapfrog took up the bottom half.

“You still want your back washed?” I asked, feeling a little unsure of where he was mentally at the moment.

“Yeah, please. Join me.”

I stripped down to skin in no time, leaving my clothes in a heap on the chilly tile floor. I tossed my step tracker and glasses onto the chipped porcelain countertop. He pulled aside the curtain Monique had just purchased for us and slipped an arm around me as I stepped inside the large shower. Thankful for space since Phil took up a goodly amount of room, I let him pull me into his embrace, his mouth falling over mine in a desperate kiss. I slid my hands into his sodden gold hair as our tongues tangled.

The kissing got more frenzied as our cocks plumped. Usually Phil was chatty. Well, Phil was always chatty, but when we were making love, he got even more talkative. I loved that aspect of him so much that I pulled back twice to allow us to catch our breath while letting him speak, but he seemed unwilling to say anything. Perhaps he just needed less talk and more show, so I sealed my mouth over his then broke away, hands sliding from his hair down his chest as I went to my knees.

“Arch, show me…” Phil gasped when I fisted the root of his thick cock. Water streamed over his shoulders and down over his abs, a waterfall sluicing over his cock. Angling myself back an inch or two, my knees squeaking on the wet tub floor, I led him out of the stream. I had a terrible fear of water running over my head. I never took baths. And even my showers were speed runs when I was washing my hair or rinsing my face. He came with me without complaint, knowing my past and my water phobia. “Show me how much you love me.”

The poor soul. I took the purplish head of his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it just as he liked. His moan floated up to mix with the mist while I began showing him just how much I cared. Sometimes a person needed physical touch and others an emotional one. I was getting to know my man pretty well. Right now I sensed he wanted connection in a sexual way. Afterward, we could cuddle, and he’d talk. I loved sucking him off so offering him this release without deep conversation or touching on emotionally volatile things was my distinct pleasure. I adored the taste of him, the way his cock got even fatter when in my mouth. He began pumping his hips gently, his head tipped back. I rubbed his stomach and then reached higher with one hand to pluck at a nipple. My other hand found my prick and started to stroke it rapidly. The sounds Phil was making combined with the steady leakage of precum on my tongue had me close to the edge already.

“Close…” he called out and came down my throat. I tugged on my dick with a frenzy, my balls drawing up as he continued to pump wildly into my mouth. I pulled off with a pop, panting, and took a moment to lap up every last drop that oozed out of him as my spunk disappeared down the drain. “Arch…shit…baby…so good.”

“Mm, delicious,” I purred like a cat who’d enjoyed some cream. He reached for me, easing me up to embrace me, warm, wet skin like a slick man blanket. His lips found mine. The kiss was sweet, gentle, and filled with so much affection that I hated to see it end. But end it must. The water was chilling rapidly. I gazed into beautiful blue eyes. “I love you so much. Always know that. Even when I fuck up or say stupid things or do stupid things, my love for you is strong.”

“We all do stupid things, Arch.” He angled me back another step, using his body to shield me from the water beating down on his strong back. “No one more than me.” I started to argue. He kissed me into silence. “I love you too. Can we get into bed and snuggle?”

I smiled up at him. “I would love that.”

He nodded, stole another kiss, and handed me the soap from the rack. We rushed to lather and rinse, the water cold when we were done. Wrapping up in clean towels—go me for doing wash yesterday—we made our way to my bedroom. Phil pulled me into the bed, yanked the covers over us, and enveloped me tightly in his arms. There was no escape. Not that I wanted to go anywhere. Phil needed me here, and so here I would stay.

“We face the shit that life, and sometimes the afterlife, heaves at us as one,” I whispered as he dozed off, wrapped around me like a clematis vine. I liked being his trellis when he needed it. He’d been my support through some pretty nasty supernatural events, so it only seemed fair that I braced him when it mattered most.

***

Coming awake next to the man of your dreams was doubly amazing. Phil was out cold, snoring softly, having spent himself physically in the shower but mentally before that. Lying next to him, his thick biceps keeping me close, I lay there for a long time, eyes closed, lost in bliss until my bladder decided it was time to rise. So, like a snake who had to pee really badly, I slithered out of his grasp. We both had late classes today, Asian studies, so sleeping in would do him good. Me too, if I were being honest, but neither one of us would lie around. I had research to do for my term paper, which was due in four weeks. Plenty of time. Not. So very not.

I pulled on some clothes, a fleece top and bottom, and made my way to the bathroom and then the kitchen. Phil would be up soon and wanting a protein drink. Being a sweet and adoring boyfriend, I wanted to have it ready for him so he could get the day off with a smile, a kiss, and a thick banana shake filled with bodybuilding powder and ice.

While I peeled overly ripe bananas as coffee perked, my mind drifted back to school and my damn finals paper. Putting aside the situation with Phil and his father for a moment, I forced myself to focus on what I would present to Professor Hayashi. She did not brook fools. Or shitty papers. I’d have to narrow down my options. I had some vague thoughts. Whispers really. The strongest was a paper about the line between ghosts and ancestors. It seemed apropos for me to analyze whether ghosts, known as gui in Chinese culture, and ancestors, known as shen, are made of the exact same spiritual matter. Speaking from my experience, and that of my ancestors as detailed in the Kee family journal, I’d have to propose they are not at all the same. I’ve had dealings with many ghosts. Some are pleasant, some aren’t, and that difference in core personality and its effect on how the spirit interacts with the living is huge. Many specters were lovely things, happy to share a home with the living, to guide them along with a smile and a pleasant demeanor.

A box of cereal appeared in front of my face, startling me so badly I dropped a half-peeled banana to the floor. Reggie appeared then with a soft pop of otherworldly energy.

“Archimedes, I fear we need to discuss this penchant of yours for these boxed breakfast crunchies you’re so fond of…” he said as he shook the box at me. “There are boxes in the cupboard that are mildly—no, that is not a strong enough word—incredibly upsetting to one such as I and several others who frequent this establishment.”

“Reg, can we not do the whole cereal rage topic today?” I asked, pushing my glasses up my nose with a finger slick with banana and bending over to fetch the fruit lying on the floor.

“First off, young man, I am not raging. I am making a request, one which has been presented to you at least twice before but one you seem to find to be flummery. There are a trio of boxes on the shelves that reflect quite poorly on vampires, the undead, and specters such as myself. Surely you can see I am not fruit flavored! The audacity of these boxed breakfasts to gally wag like a high kick! It simply cannot stand. Then there is this one.” I rose to find said cereal box right in my face. “This is not at all a fair likeness of a leprechaun. Why it’s simply slanderous! An affront to all those from the Emerald Isle who walk these American shores. I would call out those who manufacture these atrocities for their gross misrepresentation of fey folk. You, of all people, should be more sensitive to the true natures of those who live behind the veil. Surely you have met at least one leprechaun?”

“Honestly, I have not.” I chucked the dirty banana into the trash and stepped around the affronted ghost to pick up and peel another.

“Well, then you should make a point of it. I’ve met several. One I chat with on the internet every week. Lovely bloke, tall, ginger, lives with two gay vampires in a little polyamorous trio near Lake Erie.”

I blinked at him, leaving the banana peeling for a minute. “How are you talking to leprechauns who live with vampires online? When?”

He huffed. “Honestly, Archimedes, sometimes you ask such frivolous questions. I speak with him on your phone when you’re sleeping.”