Were-Man

Alta Presion stared, mentally traced the curve of abs with his tongue and the top of those sweats with his fingers. God, that body was utter perfection.

Alta snorted.

“What?” Francel said.

“Just wondering why the powers that be wasted such a great body on a werewolf,” Alta said, and cursed the tiny note of longing in his voice.

Francel raised an eyebrow. Again.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Francel demanded.

“Like I’m … like I’m … ” Crazy, his mind finished for him, but he said, “Whatever. Just stop.”

“Sorry sorry, but who are you, and what have you done with Alta Presion? The Alta I know does not care about how a werewolf likes his coffee and the Alta I know would not toss, not one but two compliments at a werewolf about his body. Even if they’re underhanded compliments, they’re still compliments.”

Alta didn’t reply. What was he supposed to say? Well, Francel, I’m falling in love with you?

Alta’s breath caught. Fuck. And he knew that was true. He screamed in his head,
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