Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire Page 3

  On the short walk out of the building and across the street, Fisher took time to school himself on the proper responses to make when Hunter told him the joyous news. He practiced his reply aloud, including several variations thereof, with the intention of sounding natural when actually required to say something.

  "That's wonderful. I'm very happy for you. Congratulations." All trite responses. All of them perfect for the situation as well as for hiding his true feelings. The ones he was desperately attempting to lock inside of him, even as he walked to his imagined doom, unconsciously fingering the cell phone in his pocket like a security blanket. Keep it on just that level. Impersonal, yet friendly. Close, yet distant. Walk that fine line, dance that tightrope, and wear that happy goofy grin of perpetual friendship. Just keep on smiling, Fisher, and pretend like everything's okay. Then maybe it will be. Some day. He sighed, choking back his tears.

  He found Hunter just where he'd said he'd be, his long frame stretched out on one side of the table, taking up an entire bench. His eyes were closed; his head rested on one hand, while with the other he was making strange gestures in the air. Almost as if he were talking to himself, punctuating his statements with the movements of his fingers.

  Taking advantage of the fact that Hunter couldn't see him, Fisher took a moment to memorize that beautiful face, inch by lovely inch, as if he were taking mental snapshots that would have to last a lifetime. A lifetime without his friend. Why was that thought so painful? Just then, those clear blue eyes snapped open, and Hunter quickly rose from his prone position, smiling at the sight of Fisher. Throwing his legs out of the way, he patted the bench, indicating that Fisher should sit there. He took a deep breath and did so.

  "Hey, Hunter."

  "Hey, Fisher."

  There was a moment of silence between them, the air fairly crackling with electricity, as if a storm were brewing. Indeed the wind did seem to be picking up. Nothing unusual for this time of year. More often than not, Halloween was a rainy night. Whoever thought of sending kids out in costume on the last day of October obviously never had kids.

  "Are you okay?"

  Fisher was surprised at the question. That's what he'd come to find out about Hunter, he hadn't expected to hear the question being routed back to himself.

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "You were already leaving work, when I called. That's not like you. I just wondered."

  "Nothing serious. Lunch didn't agree with me, that's all."

  Fisher could see now that Hunter appeared nervous. That was so unlike him. His friend was the epitome of laid-back cool. Hunter seemed to be debating something with himself. Fisher gave him his space, using the time to surreptitiously watch the other man while Hunter's attention was focused on his hands. The easy smile was not in evidence now, and the normally twinkling eyes appeared cloudy.

  Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Even though he was wearing a suit, Fisher shivered. He transferred the case with the laptop in it to the top of the picnic table, wishing Hunter would say something— anything to relieve this unbearable tension. When at last his friend began to speak, Fisher was ready to sigh with relief.

  "Fisher, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. I just wasn't quite sure how to do it. I mean, I didn't want to upset you or anything."

  Fisher prided himself on not giving anything away, keeping his voice calm and steady, even as he said, "Just tell me whatever it is. I'm sure I'll be fine, as long as you tell me the truth." He gave Hunter a smile of encouragement. A smile that cost him a great deal of effort to achieve. They say that it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. Fisher guessed that only pertained to true smiles, not forced ones, 'cause this one hurt like hell.

  There, that seemed to have worked a little bit, the clouds were lifting from Hunter's eyes, and the smile returning to his lips. Fisher's heart gave a great leap, but he hid it well.

  "You remember when I told you this morning that I'm a vampire?"

  "Yeah, I remember, and I told you how lame that was, everyone's doing vampires. Did you find another costume?" Somehow Fisher didn't think that was the case, but he felt compelled to ask.

  Hunter turned so that he was sitting astride the bench, one leg on either side, scooting closer to Fisher as he did so. Without thinking, Fisher imitated his movements. They were now face to face, with only a few inches of space between them. The thunder rumbled again. A quick glance upward ascertained that clouds were indeed rolling in, and if they weren't careful, they might get caught in a downpour.

  "I wasn't talking about costumes."

  Fisher heard the words, but they didn't make any sense. He pursed his lips, thinking through the various meanings he could attribute to that simple sentence. None of them registered. "Does this mean you don't want to go tonight?" He wasn't sure if the idea made him happy or disappointed. He guessed it would depend on the reason.

  "No, I want to go tonight. I have our costumes, remember?"

  Now Fisher was more confused. "Okaaaaaaaaay," he said. He glanced up from his own hands, and straight into those gorgeously blue eyes. "You also told me that Leonardo di Caprio is a vampire. What is this, international declare you're a vampire day?" That was totally lame, but it was the best he could muster on short notice. It did earn him a small smile, though, so it was totally worth it.

  "No, of course not. I was kidding about Leo."

  Fisher waited, in vain, for the rest of that statement—the part that went 'and me'. But it never came. Hunter had yet to mention any woman, or being in love, or getting married, or any of the several dozen fears that populated Fisher's fertile imagination ever since Hunter had called. That must be a good sign, right? As for the rest—well, that was just Hunter being the warped individual he'd always been, having fun with Fisher on the night before Halloween. Though why he felt compelled to come down here and call him out of work early, when they were attending a party together tonight where they had all night to talk, was beyond Fisher. He relaxed a little, though, managed a small genuine smile of his own, going along with Hunter's game.

  "So what you're saying is that you're a bloodsucking creature of the night, and you want to drink my blood?"

  "Well, I wasn't going to ask," Hunter replied, "but if you're offering, that's a whole 'nother matter."

  "Sure, any time," Fisher snorted. Hunter surely did have a strange sense of humor. "Don't we have a party to get ready for? I trust they're feeding us, right? We don't need to get dinner first, we can eat our fill at this shindig?"

  "Fisher, I'm not kidding. I am a vampire."

  "Okay, if you say so…"

  Hunter interrupted him. "It happened about six months ago. Remember when I was supposed to meet you at the theatre? We were going to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror?"

  Of course Fisher remembered. He was still steamed about it, deep down, 'cause Hunter'd never showed, when it was entirely his idea. He had given him some lame excuse the next day for why he hadn't. Fisher had chalked it up to good old cherchez le femme, no matter how much Hunter had protested that was not the case. "I believe you gave me a story about a flat tire and being stuck in a ditch or something, if I remember correctly."

  "Look, Fisher, it wasn't a story. I would never stand you up, I hope you know that."

  Hunter sounded so sincere that Fisher felt himself falling for him on the strength of his voice alone. But he managed to hold himself resolute. "It doesn't matter, that was months ago, what's done's done…"

  "Except I didn't tell you the whole truth of that night," Hunter continued, running his hands through his hair as he spoke, in evident agitation. "I… I couldn't bring myself to say it yet. It was all too new, and I was still trying to adjust."

  "Adjust to what, a flat tire?"

  "No, to becoming a vampire."

  Again with the vampire joke. It was definitely growing thin. Fisher made a move to get up, deciding that if he left, then Hunter would get the idea and follow, and they could be done with th
is nonsense. But that obviously wasn't meant to be. Hunter reached out, gripping his arm in his urgency, restraining him, and Fisher felt all the will to move drain out of him in one fell swoop.

  "I did have a flat tire that night. Remember I went out to my mom's that day, for a little while?" Hunter's mother, Lisa, had retired to the country, and now lived a good two hour drive away. "I was on my way back when it happened. I must have hit something. I dunno, a rock or something, 'cause suddenly the tire almost exploded, and I'm almost run into a ditch. So here I am changing this stupid tire when a car appears out of nowhere and pulls over. And not just any old car, it's a stretch limo, a big black one. I know, in the middle of nowhere, what are the odds, right? Well, this strange man wearing like a uniform or something gets out of the car from the driver's side, comes up to me and asks me what the problem is, then goes to the back of the car for a minute before he comes back to me. Then he tells me that if I'd care to step inside the car with the master, he'll be good enough to change my tire and send me on my way. Naturally I say sure. I mean, it's a big black stretch limo. How many chances in my life do you think I'll ever have to be inside one of those?"

  Fisher had to admit that the likelihood of that happening was not great. He also felt a great warmth from where Hunter's hand still touched his arm.

  "I get into the back of the limo and straight away, this guy, who's wearing a tuxedo and looks like he stepped off the cover of some magazine for hot millionaires, offers me a drink 'cause he has a wet bar in this thing. He introduces himself as Ramon and hands me this drink. Of course I drink it—"

  At this point Fisher interrupted. "Was it alcohol?"

  "What?"

  "The drink he gave you, was it alcohol?"

  "Yeah, that's the idea of a wet bar, Fisher, it's not meant for fruit juice, it's for the hard stuff."

  "That wasn't very responsible of you, knowing you had to drive when the tire was fixed."

  That produced a torrent of unexpected giggles from Hunter. He doubled over toward Fisher, laughing so hard that he ended up having to wipe his eyes, leaning on Fisher's shoulder. Fisher saw nothing funny about the situation, or Hunter's reaction to it. But Fisher's indignation was pushed away by another consideration. "What do you mean 'hot millionaire'? Are you saying you thought this guy was hot?"

  Hunter straightened up as he calmed down, turning sober at Fisher's question, catching his breath. "Yeah, I mean he was pretty hot for an old guy. Know what I mean?"

  "No, what do you mean?"

  "Look, it doesn't matter. It's what happened next that I'm trying to get to."

  "What, did you sleep with him?" Where were these questions coming from? Fisher found himself becoming unraveled for no good reason, and he didn't like it, fighting to take back control of himself. Why did he sound like such a jealous shrew, even to his own ears?

  Hunter gave his roommate a confused glance. "Do you know nothing about vampires, and how they're made?" he asked. "Seriously?"

  "I just meant…" Fisher's voice trailed away as he actually considered the question. "Of course I know, everyone knows that. You have to be bitten."

  "Precisely. Bitten, Fisher. Bitten as in having someone's canines sink into your neck. The only place where having sex turns you into a vampire is in very bad pornos, or very bad books."

  Fisher was struggling against so many things at this moment, while trying to make sense out of what his roommate was saying. Of course he didn't believe any of it. Any of it that pertained to the vampire portion of the story, that is. There were no such things. But as for the rest—he wanted to believe that Hunter didn't have sex with a complete stranger, a man at that, but there was a part of him that protested. It whispered what do you think he does with his women? Play Scrabble? There were too many women for him not to… surely… The question was, did he really want to know the truth?

  "You don't believe me."

  "Hunter," Fisher protested, "that's not a fair question."

  "It's not a question, it's a statement. You, Fisher Roberts, my best friend in the whole world, the person I trust most in the world, don't believe me. That hurts."

  Fisher winced at the words, wishing he could alleviate the other's obvious pain. But how? Pretend to believe in an idea that was so impossible it was patently absurd? Give in to Hunter's lame Halloween-fueled joke, laugh at it and then deal with the issue of the hot man in the stretch limo? Could he even do that without giving himself away? That was something he never intended to do. Ever.

  And yet the very next moment the most incriminating words in the world had left his lips, albeit in a very small, very tight voice. "Did you have sex with him?"

  He felt the movement before he saw it. Hunter's face was closer to his than ever, those light blue eyes boring into his own. Fisher could do nothing but look back, speechless, as Hunter seemed to dive into his very soul through his eyes. "Never," he replied softly, his voice a husky whisper, "I could never do that to you."

  Fisher trembled, an expectant trembling, as if he were waiting for something to happen. He didn't have to wait long. Suddenly those beautiful lips were touching his, and then they were kissing, truly kissing. No, it wasn't Fisher's first kiss, but it was his first with a man. His only kiss with a man. And he was amazed at what a difference there was between this kiss and the others. Not because of gender, but because it was with Hunter. Because Hunter was someone special.

  He felt himself giving in to those lips, melting into that touch, with a heat that penetrated his entire body, vibrating in its intensity. Now Hunter was nibbling at his lips, soft tender kisses that shook him to his very foundation. His head was reeling, and he was on the verge of losing all sense of self when he felt the first raindrops splash upon his upturned face.

  What the hell. He pulled back at this sudden insertion of reality into a very unreal scene, his mouth forming a large "o" of amazement, his eyes going into saucer-plate mode. But even as he did, Hunter moved forward, sliding his hips until their knees were touching. From this position, luckily, they couldn't get much closer, or Hunter would realize what else he had raised beside's Fisher's blood pressure.

  He was going to do it again. Fisher just knew it, he could feel it, and oh god how badly he wanted it, as he felt a whimper rising in his throat, indicating a neediness he wasn't aware he even possessed. But the drops were turning thicker now, more of them, and they were brutally cold. A definite shock to the system. His brain was screaming to him to get out, get out now.

  Even though this was what he wanted, exactly what he wanted. He was afraid of things that he couldn't even explain to himself.

  He practically threw himself backward from the picnic table in his haste to get away, landing on the hard ground that would soon be turning to mud if this downpour kept up. A steady rain it was now, and lightning crackled angrily above their heads.

  "Fisher?" Hunter rose hastily, reaching for him. So Fisher did the only logical thing he could do—he gained his feet and ran, as hard and as fast as he could. He hated himself with every step that he took—and he knew he had never loved Hunter Long more.

  Chapter Five

  It struck Fisher within moments of his hasty departure how foolish he had been in running off into the pouring rain, but as he had already done it, it was the proverbial done deal. So what now? He also realized he had left his laptop behind, but his choices at this point were rather limited. He could tuck his tail between his legs and go back and retrieve it. He considered this option entirely out of the question, as it involved too much swallowing of his foolish pride. And perhaps an admission of something he wasn't ready to admit. Or he could trust to Hunter to take care of it for him. He chose door number two.

  Blind running isn't all it's cracked up to be, he thought, as he plunged through the wet park in his panic. He was becoming more soaked with each step, coming out on the opposite side of the park. It was raining heavily now, and it seemed pointless to wander in the downpour aimlessly. Just on the other side of the intersection
he spotted the Starbucks, and the thought of something warm and liquid seemed to fill a need in him, so he waited for the light to change, and crossed the intersection. When he entered the coffee shop others were shaking themselves as they milled about, glancing at the menu. Fisher waited his turn, ordered the medium caramel macchiato, with extra sugar, and found a table in the corner of the room in which he could sit and think.

  Now that he could actually think without his erection attempting to do the thinking for him, he decided to analyze the situation. Cupping his hands about the cup, he warmed them as well as his shaky interior as he took sips of the sweet liquid, trying not to drink too quickly lest he upset his digestive system again.

  So, what had actually happened, other than Hunter kissing him? The vampire story was just Hunter's annual Halloween madness. But the kiss, that was something different between them. Very different. Or was this another facet of that same Halloween prank? If he hadn't taken off like a bat out of hell, would Hunter's next move have been to clamp down on his neck, perhaps wearing a pair of fake fangs, chuckle Happy Halloween, and then move on to the next topic? He'd never know, would he, 'cause he hadn't waited for the punch line. He had assumed things that were not in evidence, drawn all the worst conclusions he possibly could, and fled the field.

  So, to sum it up, this was probably nothing more than a joke on Hunter's part.

  But what about on his end?

  Fisher's thoughts were all over the spectrum, as he tried to corral his feelings into coherency, tried to forget the feel of Hunter's lips against his. Forget about the best kiss he'd ever had. Life wasn't about kisses and it wasn't about love. It was about doing the things that were expected of you, being the best person you could be. Not in flights of fantasy such as the ones Hunter Long regularly indulged in. Perhaps that made him a poor choice for a boon companion, at least for Fisher. But the thought of not having his friend in his life was too painful to contemplate. So Fisher effected what he felt was a sufficient compromise. In order to hold on to Hunter as a friend, he would simply push the other thoughts and feelings aside. He knew Hunter didn't mean anything by the kiss, so he'd pretend he hadn't either. Things would go back to the way they were, everything would return to normal. And once this fantasy-ridden holiday was over, it would be easier to do. And life would go on.