So Good to See You

Ordinarily I’d have the decency to hold my tongue

Then eventually I’d wind up opening a vein

Rather pointedly you asked me if I planned to turn and run

That’s a certainty when I’m this close to the drain

But it’s so good to see you

(Song lyrics by Shawn Colvin)

For the thousandth time George reminds himself to count his blessings. He sits down with a plate of toast, buttering it liberally, nodding gratefully to Annie as she pours him a cup of herbal tea to accompany his breakfast.

Mitchell is back with them again. There had been such an emptiness here without him. It had been like a family reunion when they'd gone to meet him at the airport.

But George wonders again what really happened to Mitchell in New Zealand, and if his friend really is better off here at all. They know something serious happened, but they haven't been able to get him to talk about it. They only know from his screams that echo through the house at night that his sleep is being deeply disturbed by dreams they can only imagine, and that weren't occuring before he left. Now Mitchell occupies the chair opposite him as though all one hundred seventeen years of his life have caught up to him. His eyes are hollow and unfocused and seem to be directed at George’s right elbow, his thick lashes blinking slowly. His spoon scrapes around the curve of his cereal bowl aimlessly, joining the sounds of George’s knife against the toast, and the coffee Annie is pouring into a cup by Mitchell’s wrist. Annie gives George a worried look, the same one they have been exchanging ever since Mitchell returned from New Zealand.

They have seen Mitchell’s full range of emotions, of course. They both remember fondly the times when they’d seen Mitchell happy, laughing with his full heart, his eyes drawn to merry slits with crinkles at their edges. They have seen him down as well, saddened and racked with guilt and self- loathing. They have seen the demon in him too, the dark side of Mitchell, so angry and enraged that they’d even been a little afraid of him.

But they have never seen him like this. Whatever Mitchell had felt in the past, he had always been passionate about it. But the heart seems to have gone out of him. Something has defeated the vampire. One would have thought he had become a ghost himself.

He’s been like this for weeks.

“So! What are you up to today, mate?” George breaks through the silence with an effort.

“hmm?” Mitchell surfaces.

“Yeah, isn’t it your day off?”

“umm, yeah, it is.” Mitchell frowns into his coffee as though looking for a possible plan to fill his day in the swirling black liquid, then seeming to realize the real purpose of the drink, brings it to his lips for a sip. He looks back at the two, who are regarding him with that look he knows very well. Annie is shuffling from foot to foot, her hands gripping the coffee pot a bit too tightly, her eyebrows raised with anticipation.

Too much anticipation.

If he tells them the truth, that he does not really have any plans for the day, they will pounce on him with a dozen ideas, each more cringingly unpalatable than the last.  Bingo at the community center, arts and crafts at the church, Tai Chi lessons.

He loves them for it, he really does. But he cannot bear another evening of Karoake with them at the bowling alley. Watching George and Annie perform “Don’t Go Breaking my Heart” together had been enough to cure him of ever enjoying karoake again, especially as the audience could only see and hear George’s part of the duet and not Annie since she was a ghost. And George’s voice…well…

“Well, actually,” He struggles to come up with a lie, quickly, “I was thinking I might—“

Abruptly there is a knock at the door. Annie jumps as though someone has stuck her with a pin and practically leaps for the front door.

Mitchell eyes her suspiciously, then feels George tapping his arm,

“yes? What were you thinking?”

George has the same look on his face that he had the night he and Annie had planned that dreadful surprise party for him two years before. Mitchell frowns at him, then turns back to the door.

Annie is enthusiastically welcoming someone into the front hall, someone in a long camel skin coat and leather gloves, someone in tailored pants and shoes who is smiling at her and brushing flakes of snow out of his mop of golden hair…

“Son of a fuckin’ bitch…”

Anders turns and smiles brightly at Mitchell. “Can’t argue with you there, mate.”

He doesn’t move at first, just sits staring with his mouth partly open. He slowly rises from his chair and moves through a strangely elongated sequence of seconds towards Anders whose arms open to receive him in an embrace that knocks the breath out of both of them. The blond smells of autumn leaves, soft leather and something deeper and yeastier like baked bread; his arms are rock hard against Mitchell’s back which brings a tightness to the brunet’s throat.

It’s been a long two months.

Mitchell has not been eating well or sleeping well, and depriving himself of blood has never been so difficult. But depriving himself of Anders has been the worst. He had left Anders’ apartment (their apartment) on that terrible morning without saying goodbye, without getting to see for himself that the blond was all right, that he had indeed been healed of those terrible injuries he himself had given him. Ty had assured him that Anders had been completely healed, that he would have no scars and he wasn’t in any pain. But even Ty had asked that he leave, that Anders was just barely conscious and still in shock, and seeing Mitchell that morning would be too much for him.

So he’d agreed to leave right then, to let Mike drive him straight to the airport. Partly he was riding his rage against Herrick, but under the fragile surface of that anger floated his last image of Anders, unconscious, his face swollen and bleeding and barely alive. The horror of it still screams at him, that it had finally happened, that Mitchell had finally done violent harm to someone he loved. Yes, he’d been drugged and manipulated into doing it, but it didn’t dull the guilt of it for him. Images of his attack on Anders now joined all the other memories of his victims that had haunted him all his life, taking up residence in his nightmares and pushing themselves constantly into his waking thoughts.

So he remained in Bristol, far from New Zealand so he wouldn’t be tempted to see Anders again, so he’d never put Anders in danger again.

But now Anders is here in his arms, whole and well and smiling at him. He holds him at arm’s length, barely believing it, lightly touching his face which is smooth and shows no marks of his attack at all.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I had some business in Norway so I thought I’d drop by and give you another chance to show me around Bristol, since you did such a shit job of it last time.”

He hears George clear his throat and looks over into the kitchen where Annie is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, grinning so broadly her face might break, her hands dragging George’s sleeve down his arm.

“Well it looks like you guys need a room—I mean, some room!” George stammers as both Annie and the two men turn to stare at him, “...you know, to catch up and talk, and do whatever you …need to do.” the werewolf blushes brilliantly.

Annie begins dragging George up the stairs, “So good to finally meet you!” she says to Anders, who smiles and nods back at her, “come on George weren’t you going to show me that, uh, that new book you got?”

“What? Oh, yeah, Angels and Demons.“

Their voices drift up the stairs.

Mitchell turns back to Anders, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. “They’ve been in contact with you haven’t they?

Anders’ blue eyes twinkle at him. “That’s a fine thing to say to the man who’s rescuing you from another night of karaoke.”

Intermittently I have to tell myself we had no past

And essentially that wanting you is just insane

There are those who say that it’s customary for a man to ask

In actuality I have been known to jump the train

But it’s so good to see you

(song lyrics by Shawn Colvin)

Anders takes another gulp of vodka, looking with some consternation at Mitchell who sits opposite him in the booth of the Shakespeare. The vampire is lounging against the dark wooden side of his seat, one knee pulled up, still regarding him with that same liquidy expression as though Anders had miraculously returned from some deadly spy mission…

And he looks bloody awful.

Well, as awful as Mitchell could look. He’s paler than Anders remembers, and thinner, and there are dark circles under his intense hazel eyes.

And he’s drinking a god damned ginger beer…??

They’d spent most of the day wandering around town, finally ending up down by the pier where the sea breeze had tossed the boats in their moorings and played glorious havoc with Mitchell black curls. Anders had found himself babbling on about J:PR, and Dawn and Ty’s recent engagement, and the weather in New Zealand compared to England, while Mitchell had mostly listened. Anders couldn’t help noticing that even with the cold wind lending a brightness to his eyes and cheeks, Mitchell still looks so damned sad…

Not that he can’t relate.

For Anders the last three months have veered between emotions he’d never experienced for anyone before. He’d woken up that awful morning with his body healed, but his mind still terrorized, his heart hammering, afraid first that Mitchell was still there and then shocked that Mitchell was gone… He wouldn’t even admit to himself how much he had relied on the skyping with Annie and George once they had initiated it. Skyping, and drinking, and trying not to sleep too deeply…

“So let me get this straight,“ he begins, “You're not drinking blood. You aren’t drinking alcohol either—“he nods at Mitchell’s drink with a twist to his mouth as he takes another sip of his own nearly finished vodka, “You don’t appear to have been eating…are you even fucking anymore?”

Mitchell smiles. “Nice to see you haven’t changed, mate.”

“You’re not are you?”

“Not what?”

“Fucking anyone?”

Mitchell laughs softly, shaking his head. Anders leans his head forward, resting his chin on his fist, looking at the vampire with wide eyes.

“My god you’re not even fucking yourself are you?”

“Anders…!”

The waitress who had been approaching their table turns on her heel towards a different table upon overhearing them, but Anders calls her back. She steps up to their table hesitantly, her eyebrows raised.

“What can I get for ya then?”

The blond turns the full strength of his smile towards her. “Yes, my friend and I would like to order a great deal of food. What are your specials?”

“Ahhh well, the kitchen doesn’t open for another 45 minutes, but we can do soups and salads for you in the meantime?”

Anders shakes his head, “No, no that won’t do.” Smoothly accessing Bragi, the blond gazes charmingly at their waitress, “You go back in there and tell them two expensive looking gentlemen are requesting full surf-n-turf meals right away, and if they are resistant send them out to talk to me, there’s a good girl.”

She blinks and smiles, “All right, I’ll be right back.”

“And on your way back could you bring a Guinness for my friend please?”

“Yes, of course.”

Anders turns back to Mitchell, tossing back the rest of his drink, a look of pure joyous naughtiness on his face. The brunet has folded his arms across his chest and regards Anders with a permanently fixed eyeroll.

“’expensive looking gentlemen’?” he says, picking at his worn flannel shirt.

“I HAVE offered to help you with your wardrobe in the past. It’s never too late you know…”

“Anders…”

The blond leans forward, grasping one of Mitchell’s arms and prying it loose from its folded position, then pulls Mitchell’s hand in its fingerless green glove across the table and cradles it in his own hands. Anders hooks his index finger into the space between the knitted glove and Mitchell’s wrist and slowly pulls the glove from the brunet’s hand.

“You are riding on way too many wagons, mate.” Anders whispers, his thumb circling against the skin of Mitchell’s bare palm. “And I am going to really enjoy causing you to fall off of as many of them as I can while I’m in town.”

Mitchell walks with Anders to the blond’s hotel through the snowy streets. Christmas lights are twinkling in people’s windows and doorways, as the Holiday is only days away. He wishes he could feel as merry and carefree as the people they are passing, their breaths blowing mists over their colorful scarves. One group of young women stumble by them singing a slightly slurred, giggly version of “Good King Wenceslas”.

Anders is merry, too, and dragging Mitchell by the hand urging him to walk faster. The brunet would not have this change. Not a single fleck of snow in Anders’ beard, not a square millimeter of blush in his cheeks, not one dumb joke or crass comment about figgy pudding. He loves every moment.

But he is on edge, too, his senses bristling ever since it got dark. He should have timed their exit from the restaurant better. Herrick hasn’t bothered Mitchell overly much since he returned, alone and so obviously suffering. He knows only too well Herrick likes it just fine when Mitchell suffers. But if his sire were to find out Anders was here… He knows the vampire leader has eyes everywhere and even suspects Herrick’s connection to him may be powerful enough not to even need spies.  He’d had inklings of that over the years, that somehow Herrick always knew where he was, and who he was with.

They are vulnerable out here. The vampire knows that he is weak, having not fed in many months. He could take on two of them, maybe, if he were by himself, but with Anders here Mitchell’s heart seizes at every shadow.

He can see the hotel just up ahead, and pulls Anders closer to him, his arm snaking around the blond’s waist. Anders draws in a breath to make a wise crack, but then bites it back when he looks at Mitchell’s darkened eyes and furrowed brow. He goes a bit pale, remembering, just for a moment.

“What is it Mitchell?”

The brunet looks at him and tries to smile reassuringly. “Nothin’, It’s just best we get indoors.”

They walk on in silence.

When they finally reach the door to Anders’ room they are both trembling with relief. The blond fits the key into the lock and turns it, pushing it open and stepping inside, pulling Mitchell with him—

Only to feel the brunet pull back, remaining in the open doorway.

Anders turns, dismayed, but Mitchell tips his head to the side and smiles his warm Irish smile that always goes straight to Anders’ core.

“You have to invite me in, remember?”

“Oh god!” the blond’s hand flies to his forehead as his eyes close in disbelief. Mitchell begins to laugh. “Of all the god-damned ridiculous--- paradoxical--! A vampire needs permission to enter your residence before he can rip your throat out! How could I forget something so fucking obvious!”

They are both laughing now, the tension of their walk dissolving into something warm and familiar that belongs only to them and that swims back and forth between their eyes.

“Get your genteel vampire *** in here.”

Mitchell steps inside, closing the door firmly behind him with relief.

When he turns back Anders has already peeled off his winter coat and scarf and is reaching for him, hooking one hand in Mitchell’s belt loop and pulling him towards the bed as the brunet unwinds his own scarf from his neck, letting it slither to the floor. The blond grasps Mitchell by the hips and turns him so they fall together onto the firm hotel mattress. Anders covers Mitchell’s body with his own, digging his hands behind the brunet’s shoulders and possessing the tilt of his head before pressing his open mouth down onto Mitchell’s parted lips. Anders tongue licks deeply into Mitchell’s mouth, a long breath exhaling out of him as though he’d been holding the air in his lungs all these weeks, his fingers threading through Mitchell’s dark curls.

He doesn’t see Mitchell’s eyes crinkling, his brow furrow into a wince at Anders’ lack of guile, lack of fear. The blond’ s total trust in him brings a trembling ache to his gut that travels up his forearms and into his hands, and sets his mind at war with his body. He revels in Ander’s touch, his mouth opening to accept Ander’s kiss, but his own limbs feel paralyzed and he caresses the blond curls and smooth shoulders tentatively, as though he could somehow apologize with his fingertips.

He had broken a promise. He cannot forget how much stronger his own body is compared to the precious blond body that makes love to him now, a gift he is still not certain he deserves. Anders touches him as though he has already forgiven Mitchell for an act he hasn’t even apologized for.

They haven’t even talked about it yet. And it doesn’t look like they will be talking about it right now.

Or more likely, knowing Anders, the blond is choosing to forget it ever happened, burying it deep, barricading it firmly away from interfering with his need for Mitchell to be the rational, unimpeachably good-hearted Mitchell he has known, and definitely not the psychotic, sadistic Mitchell Anders experienced on that terrible night some months ago.

For the moment, Mitchell closes his eyes and decides to join him there in that land of sweet denial.

He presses his mouth against Ander’s jaw, tasting and breathing in the rich bristly musk of the blond beard. Their bodies grind together through several layers of clothing and they breathe hard, their heat rising, their heads angling around each other and their mouths seeking warm skin wherever they can find it. Anders traces a hand down Mitchell’s chest and feels the brunet moan and shudder under him as he reaches the rim of his jeans and traces his fingers firmly against the hard shaft beneath the denim.

“So tell me you missed me,” whispers Anders, still stroking him and tracing his tongue along Mitchell’s bottom lip.

“I missed you, yeah.” Chokes Mitchell as he reaches for the buttons on Anders’ shirt. The blond sits up and pulls the shirt off, then works at the fasteners of Mitchell’s coat and flannel, tearing the sleeves only part way down the vampire’s arms so that he is effectively pinned at the elbows. Anders curls one arm under Mitchell’s waist, arching his body upwards, and uses his other hand to push the brunet’s black T shirt up to expose the long torso. The blond runs his hand over the cool skin of Mitchell’s chest, brushing his fingers across hardened nipples and dragging his lips and tongue down the smooth stomach. The vampire doesn’t need to breathe, but he still lets out a ragged set of breaths as Anders works his way down to the fly of his jeans, undoing it and exposing a hard bulge under black boxers.

“Honestly, Mitchell,” says Anders as he mouths the brunet’s cock through the cotton fabric, “do you have any clothing that isn’t black?”

“ahhh…” breathes Mitchell, craning his hips upwards as Anders blows his hot breath against him, “well, you know, it’s so slimming.”

Anders grins, finally dragging the boxers down, He wraps his hand around the shaft and pumps slowly, eliciting another shiver from the brunet. Anders looks up at Mitchell’s gorgeous body for a moment, taking in his closed eyes and partly opened lips, his hands with their long tapered fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. The sight of him brings a small moan from Anders’ own throat and he suddenly dips his head down to catch one of Mitchell’s fingers in his mouth, pulling it deep inside and tracing his tongue over the seam between index finger and thumb.

“Oh god, yes.” whispers Mitchell. Anders need no further inducement, and finally slips his mouth fully around Mitchell’s cock, wrapping his tongue around him once, and then takes him as far down into his throat as he can.

Mitchell’s head flies backwards, his mouth opening into a passionate groan as his hands paw at Ander’s shoulders and he pedals his long legs against the coverlet.

“gnnnhhh…Anders…I’m so close.”

The blond takes his mouth off Mitchell, quickly unzips himself, and brings both of their erections into his warm hand, pumping them together as he brings his body down and presses his forehead against Mitchell’s where his wide blue eyes stare down into equally wide brown ones.

When Mitchell’s back arches and his eyes squeeze shut it pushes Anders over the edge, too, and warm come collects between them before they both collapse against each other.

“Well that’s a first,” says Anders once he’s managed to catch his breath, as Mitchell chuckles softly under him.

“We never even took our boots off.”