Dylan – [Once Bitten, Twice Horny]

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Everyone was saying the same thing. "I'm so sorry for your loss", accompanied by a completely unwelcome hug. Was a hug going to bring him back? No, it most certainly wasn't, so stop touching me, you stupid assholes. I didn't say any of this. Mom told me to be nice, not to cause a scene.

I wanted to cause a scene. Theo, my father, was dead because some stupid idiot didn't know how to drive. Jesus, it wasn't like he was that old. The man was hardly in his fifties, and now he didn't have a chance to see life anymore. He wouldn't be around to stop my mother from asking "So when are you going to get married?" He wouldn't be around when I finally came out to my mom (I know, I know, I shouldn't keep her in the dark, but I just don't have the heart to tell her that grandkids aren't coming).

"It must be hard for you," the nameless relative said, squeezing me again. I held my breath, afraid to inhale that overpowering perfume she was wearing.

"Dylan," I heard a familiar voice, and pulled away from perfume lady to see my aunt Starla and her husband, Michael. Starla was my mom's younger sister, and she had gone through a Goth phase in high school, and apparently never left it. Of course, her black clothes were appropriate for the current setting, the funeral reception for my father. Her husband Michael tall and blond, a complete opposite, yet they were a beautiful couple.

"How are you doing?" Starla asked, pulling me in tight for a hug. I hugged her back, not minding it quite as much when it came from someone I liked.

"I just wish people would stop apologizing to me," I told her, "Like they had something to do with it. It's kind of weird."

"Yeah, babe, I know how it is. Listen, where's your mother?" she asked. I shrugged.

"She was hijacked by Grandma about ten minutes ago, and I haven't seen her since." I shrugged. I didn't mind Grandma, but she could be a bit overbearing, since I was the first grandchild, and all that. Starla nodded. She patted my shoulder and took her husband off in the other direction. I decided to go back into the house, hoping there were less people inside.

I was right. Everyone was outdoors with the food, and only a couple people were inside with the photo display Mom had set up on the kitchen table. I took a brief look at it, but I didn't like seeing all those pictures of Theo smiling and looking happy and alive.

I took a beer out of the fridge and went to sit down in the living room with the television. Luckily, the room was empty, so I flipped through the channels until I found something vaguely interesting – a marathon of The Golden Girls. I wasn't really watching the show, but it was easier to have the show on to distract my attention from thinking about my dead father.

"Here you are!" Another recognizable voice came from the doorway. I turned. It was my uncle Foster, and his 'husband', Edgar. They weren't actually married, but they had been together for a sickeningly long fifteen years, since he was my age. They were like a normal heterosexual couple, except that they were both men. It wasn't really anything that I strived to achieve in any of my relationships. I didn't have relationships, to be honest.

"Is someone looking for me?" I asked, taking a big gulp of the beer. I wondered how many I could have before someone said something. My mom knew that I drank, but she didn't know how much.

"Your mom, for one," Foster said, "But, I can see why you'd rather not be out there," he added, gesturing to the television, "Mind if I join you?" he asked. I shrugged, but scooted over to the far end of the couch, leaving room for Foster and Edgar to have a seat.

They were quiet during the show, but when it went to a commercial break, Foster spoke again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, glancing at me. His hand was clasped with Edgar's in between them. I swallowed. How could they do that, and not feel at all strange or uncomfortable about who they were?

"What do you think Mom would say if..." I paused. This hadn't been what Foster was talking about at all, but for some reason, this felt like the right time to tell everyone what I'd been hiding, "If I said that I was gay?" I held my breath, waiting for the response.

Foster grinned. "I think she would be happy that you finally feel comfortable telling her," he replied. He didn't look at all surprised, as though he had been expecting this.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Dylan, she already knows," he said, "She's known for a long time. She was just waiting for you to tell her. You aren't exactly hiding it so well," he added.

"Are you serious?" I asked, "She knows? Did Theo know? Does everyone know?"

"Do you honestly think you were hiding it?" Edgar asked, "Aside from the way you dress, what about all those 'friends' you had in high school?" He was right about that. I thought I'd done a good job concealing all my random encounters with older guys by explaining them as 'friends'.

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" I asked.

"How many straight men do you know that wear clothes that tight?" Foster asked, raising his eyebrows. He had a point. Tight clothes emphasized my muscles and made me look sexy. I liked showing off the way I looked and attracting guys that way.

"I wish I had a chance to tell Theo before..." I couldn't finish my sentence, because I didn't want to think about Theo being gone. I would have liked to have been able to tell him about myself, to have a discussion about all of that stuff, even if he didn't have any personal experience with it.

"Oh, Dylan," Foster reached out and rubbed my shoulder with his hand. "I know it's hard, but you had a legitimate reason for not telling him, and he would respect that, if he were still alive."

"Is Mom outside?" I asked, standing up from the couch, as the theme song for the next episode began to play. Foster nodded.

"Go talk to her," he said. I adjusted my shirt and took a deep sigh, before I left Edgar and Foster in the living room and headed outdoors to find my mother. Through a sea of black clothing, people I'd only met once or twice in my life, including people my father had worked with, I finally found my mother, talking to her mother.

I came up to stand next to her, and I slid my hand into hers. She squeezed my hand back and leaned into my shoulder.

"Dylan," she said, "Are you all right?" she asked me. Grandma gave me a sympathetic look.

"Aren't you cold in that top?" she asked. It was a black tank-top with fishnet sleeves, and yeah, I was a little bit cold. But I didn't want to say that to Grandma.

"I'm fine," I replied, "Mom, can I talk to you?" I asked. Grandma gave me a look, but she didn't say anything, turning and walking away to leave Mom and I with some semblance of privacy.

"I know this really isn't the place to tell you, but I really don't want to be hiding from you anymore," I said, "I wanted to tell you and Dad, but I never got a chance." I took a deep breath to prepare myself again.

"Honey, what is it?" she asked, looking concerned. I closed my eyes for a moment. Why was I making such a big deal about this? Foster said that she already knew, and was just waiting for me to say something. Still, it felt like a huge deal, and I almost wasn't sure that this was the right place or time to say this, at the reception for my father's funeral.

I opened my eyes again, ready to tell my mother about my sexuality, but what I saw when I opened my eyes was more shocking than what I was about to tell my mother. Walking across the lawn toward us, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a ratty jacket was my biological father, the stupid jerk that had left my mother when he found out she was pregnant, who had never done anything worthwhile in my life.

"Mom," I said, keeping my voice low, "Don't turn around." Of course, that was a dumb thing to say, because Mom turned around. She saw Frankie coming toward us, but she didn't look angry or upset in any way. Meanwhile, I wanted to punch him in the face.

"Regan, sorry I'm so late," he said when he was close enough to talk. He pulled my mom into a hug. I growled. I hated the way he touched her like he'd never done anything wrong in her life.

"Dylan. Wow, you're looking..." he began, "Aren't you cold?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, "So, what the fuck are you doing here?" I asked, masking my anger with a falsely positive tone.

"Dylan!" Mom exclaimed, sounding shocked.

"No, I'd like to know. He was absent through my entire life, but now that my dad is dead, he decides to show up and play nice? I don't fucking think so."

"Don't talk to your father that way!" Mom exclaimed, grabbing my shoulder. As much as I didn't want to disobey my mother, I was so angry with Frankie that I could explode.

"Father? You've got to be fucking kidding me. That man," I pointed to him, my hand shaking with rage, "is not my father. He has never done anything for me. He's a fucking sperm donor."

"This is no place to be making a scene!" Mom hissed. People were starting to look at us, but I didn't care.

"You know something, kid, I'm twice your age," Frankie said, taking a step toward me, "I may not have been around when you were growing up, but fuck if you're going to treat me like I was some kinda asshole that only comes when I want something." He shrugged. "Maybe I've realized that I was a jerk, and I'd like to spend time with my son."

"Well, I don't want to spend time with you, so you can go back where you came from," I said. I turned to walk away, but Frankie took another step forward and grabbed my arm, hard.

It didn't even take a second for me to react, wrenching my arm out of his grip and reeling back, firing a punch right into his gut with my free hand. He reeled back, but didn't fall over. Mom gasped, and then Frankie came forward, tackling me to the ground. He pinned my arms back on the ground and sat back.

"You want to fight me?" he asked, "You think you got something I don't have?" He didn't have my knees pinned, though, and I pulled my leg up quickly, getting him right between the legs. When he reflexively pulled back, I pulled up and shoved him back, punching his face with my hand. But I made a stupid mistake, tucking my thumb inside the fist. When it connected with his nose, I felt my thumb crack, breaking. I pulled my hand and cradled it against my chest. Fuck, that hurt. My knuckles were bleeding, too.

Frankie's nose was bleeding profusely, and I sat back, grinning. The cuts on my knuckles were healing, but I'd have to set my thumb before it healed incorrectly. I stood up.

"Dylan!" Mom exclaimed, her hands clutched to her chest. A bunch of people had gathered around, and I was dismayed to see they included Grandma and Uncle Foster. I'd get hell for his later. But, as I looked down at Frankie, bloody nose, hands clutching his stomach, I decided that it was completely worth it.

[&]

I loved the way being drunk felt. The liquor was hot and sweet going down my throat, and the burn was delicious, just like the painful pleasure that came with being fucked. My kind of feeling.

"Another," I said to the bartender, slapping money on the bar. He shook his head.

"You're drunk," he said, "I can't serve you no more."

"Just one more, please?" I asked, "One more," I repeated, raising my hand and holding up first two, and then one finger. "One more and then I'll go home." I sighed loudly and folded my arms on top of the bar. My head was nice and fuzzy, and thoughts about Theo were pleasant. At least he hadn't been there to see me beat up Frankie.

"I punched my dad in the face," I told the guy next to me, "Broke his nose. Felt good, too." The guy just stared at me. I turned back to the bartender.

"One more shot, please?" I asked, giving him my best grin, "I'll suck you off if you let me." This didn't seem to affect him at all. He picked up the bill and placed it in my hand.

"You can come back for your keys in the morning," he replied, "But you're leaving." He signaled, and a moment later, one of the bouncers approached and grabbed my arm.

"All right, all right," I said. I shoved the money in my pocket and stood up from the stool. I let the bouncer lead me out of the club, leaning on him a bit because I was so drunk; it made it hard for me to stand up properly.

After he let me go and walked back in, I stood up straight, looking around. It was dark out, and I wasn't quite sure I could make it back to my house on foot. I wondered if a bus came through this area. No, not at this time of night. Not many people were out this late, except the pub-crawlers.

I wandered around, disoriented, until I ended up, for some strange reason, in the forest. The trees were so pretty in the dark, illuminated by the full moon, and I kept stopping to stare up at the stars and admire their beauty. I could see why poets and musicians wrote songs and stuff about the stars.

There was a noise, a rustling through the bushes, and when I turned, I saw movement. Quickly, I snuck behind a tree and waited. Into the clearing came a large black wolf, carrying a rabbit in its jaws. I watched, in awe and disgust, as it sat down and started chomping on the rabbit, ripping its neck off.

My mouth was wide open, unable to look away. The wolf continued eating, oblivious of its surroundings – at least, oblivious of me. As the wolf finished eating the rabbit, it stood up. I watched in awe as it continued rising, from four feet, to two, stretching, the hair disappearing as the wolf turned into a person. I'd heard of werewolves, but I had never seen one, and certainly not a wolf turning into a naked man. When the wolf had fully transformed, I realized that I recognized the face of the man. It was Warren, sexy cop guy Warren, from Ramon's house.

Of course, at Ramon's house, he'd been fully clothed, and wasn't quite as delicious looking at he was currently. Without a stitch of clothing on, I could examine his muscular physique at leisure. He had broad shoulders and a wide, muscular chest. Curly dark hair was spattered on his chest, narrowing to his waist and pooling around his rather impressive manhood. And his legs – oh god, he had strong muscular legs, so delicious and beautiful.

He walked towards a tree on the opposite side of the clearing and bent down, picking something up. I watched him pull on a pair of white briefs, and I couldn't keep myself from gasping. An instant later, he had darted across the clearing and had thrown me against the tree, his arm across my chest holding me back.

"I could kill you," he said, and then he looked at me, really looked at me. I saw recognition dawning in his face. "You're Ramon's toy," he said. But he didn't release me.

"Uh." I couldn't talk, because, hello? Naked guy?

"Were you spying on me?" he asked, his voice a low growl. Was it wrong of me to want him to strip my clothes off with his teeth and fuck me against the tree? Maybe that was the drink talking, though.

"Not on purpose," I answered, "I was trying to get home."

"You live in the middle of the woods?" Warren asked, disbelieving.

"No. The bartender wouldn't give me my keys back, even though I told him I'd give him a blowjob." I shrugged. Warren released me. My head was getting a little bit dizzy as I tried to concentrate.

"How much did you see?" he asked, stepping back. I gave him a slow, obvious once-over, admiring his entire body all over again. God, those legs were so sexy.

"Enough to know I like what I'm looking at," I replied, licking my lips. He sighed and shook his head, clearly exasperated. I still wanted him to fuck me hard and fast. God, I needed to get laid.

"I meant..." he trailed off. Yeah, I knew what he meant.

"I saw the werewolf thing," I replied, "if that's what you're so worried about."

"Look, I can't have this getting out. I have a good position on the force, and if people find out, I could lose my position, possibly even my job." He looked pained, and I wanted to give him a hug. How ridiculous is that? The only person I've ever hugged is my mom.

"Relax. I know how it is. Nobody knows about me, either." Then I shrugged, "Except at work, but I only got my job because of my, uh, thing." Yeah, way to be eloquent, Dylan. You sound like a fucking fifth-grader or something.

"You?" He looked surprised. I guessed mine wasn't exactly obvious, probably why most people didn't realize. For some people, it was easy to tell that they were para-human, because they sort of radiated it. It was hard to explain, really, but you could get a feeling, especially if it was something like mind-reading or super-speed. But for other people, it was so subtle, you didn't even notice. No one ever got the feeling about me, because my power was passive – I had no control over it. Not sure why I hadn't gotten a good read on Warren before, but maybe 'cause I'd been too focused on his sexiness. Or maybe werewolves could hide it better?

"Yeah. I'm a super-healer," I explained, "Nothing special, but useful in fights." I grinned.

"Does Ramon know?" he asked.

"Ramon?" I hadn't talked the guy since the morning after we'd fucked. I liked him, but I'd left for the funeral shortly after, and I'd only been back in town for a day – I'd driven straight to the bar, without stopping at home first. Lucky I still had a couple days off work.

"Aren't you guys...?" Warren asked, not finishing his sentence, letting his outstretched hand do the talking.

"We fucked once," I said, "It's not like we're a thing. I'd fuck him again, but I don't do relationships or anything like that." I shrugged. "Why do you think that I should tell him?" I asked.

"Well, I thought you would have known. He's a... well, I mean, I guess he should tell you, but he's a werecougar," Warren said, "We have a couple of people from work that are all in the same boat."

"A werecougar? Are you fucking serious?" I'd never heard of anything like that before, but it was definitely exciting to think about. I hadn't thought of Ramon as being particularly feline, but now that I thought about it, the thought got me kind of hot.

"Yeah. Jesus, it's not something I'd really have to lie about, is it?" he asked, "Um do you mind if I get dressed?" he asked, "It's kind of cold out here." He gave me a pointed look.

"Hey, I'm not stopping you," I replied, holding my hands up defensively. Warren rolled his eyes, but he turned away and walked back to the tree where he'd apparently hid the rest of his clothes. I didn't bother looking away as he pulled his jeans on over that tight ass, and slipped a black t-shirt over his chest. He pulled on his socks and shoes, and then turned back to me.

"Are you going to need a ride home?" he asked me, "I don't know if you should be driving," he added, "If the bartender took your keys..." he trailed off.

"I would love a ride home," I replied, giving him a big grin, as long as you're offering." I wondered if I could get him to fuck me. That would make tonight a whole lot better.

"Yeah," he said. I followed him out of the woods and down a path until we reached his car, nestled in an otherwise empty parking lot. It was a black Chevy Malibu, an otherwise average looking car, fitting with that whole personality vibe that I got from him. Though I'd initially suspected him of being a married man with children, I wasn't so sure that a wife would let him out this late and not having something to say. If I was his wife, I'd want him home in bed with me, in case I woke up and wanted to fuck. But maybe that was just me. Girls didn't think about sex as much as men did.

Once we got in the car, I leaned back against the head rest, my eyes closing involuntarily. I'd been awake since ten am the previous morning, and it was going on three the next day.

"Where do you live?" Warren asked. I murmured something, unable to remember quite what to say. Besides, the head rest felt so soft, and it was so nice to have my eyes closed for a moment. I felt his hand on my arm.

"Dylan?" he said, "Where do you live? I can't take you home without directions." His voice seemed further and further away. I heard him sigh, loudly, "Fine. I'm taking you to my place. But you aren't getting into my bed." I smiled to myself but kept my eyes closed as he started the car up.

I fell into a restless sleep about wolves and cougars and bears running through the forest and turning into naked men. It was delicious.

A short while later, I roused as the car shut off. I was still tired, but I tried to keep my eyes opened as Warren came over to the other side of the car and opened the door. He helped me up from the chair and I leaned into him as we headed from the garage into the house.

Warren smelled really nice, I noticed, like sweat and musk, and a bit woodsy, too. He released me once we'd gotten into the living room, and I dropped down onto the couch, leaning back.

"I'll get you a blanket and a pillow. Don't fall asleep yet," he said. I nodded, but my eyes drifted closed again. And a moment later I was back into dreamland, joining the naked guys running through the forest. And then it ended up in a delicious orgy sandwich, in which I was the central piece. What a wonderful way to sleep.

[&]

I stretched and opened my eyes. A delicious smell came floating to my nose, and I inhaled. Yum, bacon. I sat up on the couch, pushing off the blankets that I had somehow acquired during the night (thanks to Warren, I supposed) and stood up from the couch.

I found my way into the kitchen. Warren was wearing only a pair of black sweatpants, and I could see his muscles flexing as he flipped the bacon on the grill.

"Good morning," he said, "But it's not really morning anymore," he added, "I hope you don't have to work or anything." I shrugged and pulled a stool up to the island in the center of the room.

"Naw, I'm not supposed to be back at work until Wednesday," I replied, "I had to go out of town for a funeral, and I didn't stay as long as I thought."

"A funeral? Was it someone close to you?" he asked, turning around. He set a plate of bacon down on the counter in front of me, hands on his hips as he looked at me for a long moment. It made me uncomfortable, the way he blatantly stared, meeting my eyes.

"Uh, my dad." I was a bit reluctant to say that, because I knew he was going to give me his sympathy. I didn't really want it. I'd just spent three fucking days at that funeral and the reception getting sympathy from people that I didn't even like. It was so fake most of the time.

"I'm sorry to hear that. He must not have been very old," he said. I shook my head.

"He wasn't, but I don't really want to talk about this," I said, picking at my fingers, refusing to look at him for any longer. Thinking about Theo made my eyes prick up with tears, and I didn't like anyone seeing me that way. It was embarrassing.

"Okay, yeah. No problem. Um, do you want your egg scrambled or fried?" he asked, deftly changing the subject. It made me feel better to know that he didn't press the issue.

"Scrambled." God, was it weird that it felt totally normal for him to be cooking breakfast for me? I hardly knew this guy, having spent a maximum of three hours together. But part of me wanted to get to know him even more.

We spent breakfast together, until Warren drove me back to the bar and I picked up my keys from the bartender. We said goodbye and I climbed into my car to drive home, and he drove back to his own place. Shane's car was gone from the driveway when I returned home, but I just assumed he was working. That was – until I got inside and saw the answering machine light blinking.

I pressed the play button. "Shane? You're not answering your cell. I hope everything's all right!" It was Emmalyn's voice – Shane's girlfriend. The next three messages were from her as well. They got progressively more panicky as she called, wondering where he was. In between was a message from his boss, asking why he hadn't attended work.

I started to panic a bit, too. Where was Shane? He would never just disappear like that without telling, at the very least, his girlfriend. I deleted the messages off the phone and dialed his cell number, hoping perhaps I could get a hold of him somehow. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message before hanging up.

There was no note on the fridge, though I had been hoping there would be. My first thought was that Shane had been abducted. Would the Vampire and his crew have taken Shane? This didn't make any sense because Shane was not a para-human. They wouldn't have any reason for kidnapping him.

The phone rang, and I jumped to answer it.

"Shane?" I asked.

"No, it's me," Emmalyn said, "I guess you haven't heard from him?" she sounded worried, which I guess I would be, too. I mean, I was, in the first place.

"No, I was out of town. How long has he been missing?" I asked her. Please don't say a long time. If it was a couple days, there was a high chance that he was not coming back. I'd heard the reports. Missing people that didn't return within a certain period had a higher percentage of a chance of not coming back alive. I didn't want that to happen to my roommate, no matter how often we fought over stupid things, and how he judged me for drinking and having random sex.

"Since Friday, I think. We were supposed to go to dinner together, and he never came to pick me up. I thought maybe he was sick or something, but he never answered my phone, and a couple days later, I still hadn't heard from him. Dylan, what do you think happened?" she asked.

"Honestly, Emma, I have no idea. Have you called the police?" I asked her.

"They said it was too early. I have to wait until Tuesday, and if I don't hear from him, then they told me to come by," she said. It sounded as though she were about to cry – or she'd just finished crying or was in the process of crying. It was heartbreaking, really. Even though I wasn't a big fan of sappy romantic relationships, Shane and Emmalyn were one of those happy couples that never had any problems. Until now, of course. I wondered if Shane had perhaps run away.

"Well, I guess we'll have to wait. I'll call you if I hear from him," I assured her, "And you can always come over here if you want to just hang out. I don't have to work for three days, so I'll keep you company if you need." God, why was I being so nice? Maybe it was because I had a soft spot for Emma. She was a sweet girl, a good cook, and she fit Shane like a glove.

"I think I'll take you up on that," she said, "I don't like being alone over here." I didn't blame her, really. After we hung up, I sat down in the living room and waited for her to show up, and thought about what kind of situations Shane could have gotten himself into that he wouldn't show up at home or call or go to work for three days. I hoped it wasn't anything serious, and that we were worrying for nothing. I didn't want to think about the worst possibility, but the thought lingered in my head, even so.