Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

31. Strong Tea

Once in the shower, Volya closed his eyes, letting the warm water drizzle over him. It felt like lips brushing his skin. Or like the raindrops in Moscow. Where there is a will, there is a way, the water sang with Liam's voice.

Volya shut it off and leaned against the wet tiles. Not every way was equally good to get to your destination. The journey mattered. The shared past mattered.

Imagining making out in a locked bathroom stall or grabbing Toshka, while shaking his other fist at some passer-by, hoping Toshka wouldn't notice... it made Volya's skin crawl with revulsion. He couldn't even describe how bad it would have been to Liam. It was so much outside this reality that Volya might as well have waxed poetic about life on Alpha Centauri.

Delayed gratification, right. A guy had to preserve his dignity, particularly when someone he loved deserved so much more than he could offer.

He opened the shower door and released a cloud of steam into Liam's bedroom. "Yes, there was a way, but it was a lousy one."

"Okay," Liam agreed.

Volya emerged from the bathroom, rubbing moisture out of his hair. The t-shirt, he hastily pulled on, glued to his dump skin, the jeans chaffed. He squirmed. "Erm. Good night?"

"You can crush here if you want."

Volya stared at him incredulously from under the towel, but Liam only laughed. "What? It's been a long day."

"You're not angry?"

"Relax. I'm a big boy. But next time you ask for a kiss, you'll have to be very, very sure and very, very convincing."

"There won't be a next time." Volya tried to say this firmly, but even to his own ears he sounded dubious.

At least sixty percent of him wanted Liam. Singing in the shower could only help a guy out so much.

Luckily, the remaining forty percent of him went like, dude, calm the heck down. His brain fought through the haze surrounding it, and pushed his dragging feet step after step to the door. What his poor overwhelmed brain couldn't do, was to stop him from throwing a parting glance at Liam.

Even ensconced in his blanket, Liam looked... disconsolate. Like he too needed to be held more than anything. And why should he be happy? Volya was his last resort for helping Anabelle—and Volya had failed.

He had failed as a magic werewolf, he had failed as a singer, he had failed as a lover... maybe he could at least save their friendship. He trusted himself with an apologetic smile. "In Russia we say that mornings are wiser than evenings."

Then he shut the door behind himself softly, leaving Liam alone. He probably wanted to be left alone after all this, right?

Instead of going straight to bed, Volya made his way to the opposite end of the hall where the dining hall was. He was ravenous after skipping food and the satiation of the alternative kind.

The area was dimly lit by the fireplace. A small electrical backlight was also on, illuminating the huffing kettle on the gas-burner. Apparently, Damir was still up and making tea. The homey scene soothed Volya's itching eyes.

"Want some tea?" Damir asked him, without getting up from his chair.

"Yeah. And food."

"Lydia left a plate for you in the fridge."

The plate was an understatement. Sized to Texan appetites, covered with a tight-fitting cloche and ready for the microwave, the tray-sized platter weighed his arms pleasantly. His mouth flooded with saliva. Microwave? Hell no!