Lay Your Prompts On Me - 1. 303 - Sanctuary

“How did you get into my room?”

I stared at the rather good looking young man from my position on the carpet and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Bloody hell, you’re soaked.”

He wasn’t much better in that sense, standing in the doorway, coat dripping onto the parquet floor of the hallway, hair dishevelled, looking generally damp and messy. The young man ran his fingers through his hair again and disappeared to hang his coat in a room which smelt and echoed like a bathroom.

“You coming then? You’re gonna leave a wet patch on my carpet!”

I got up, and wandered across into the bathroom, leaving wet marks wherever I put my feet. He was shirtless, belt undone and the top stud of his jeans open. There were wet clothes and a damp towel in the bottom of the bath being dripped on by the coat which hung on the rail. I stood on the bathmat and dripped while he rubbed me down with a big teal fluffy towel. I burrowed out from underneath it to look at him.

“You’re a mess. ‘spect both of us need a decent comb eh?”

I yawned.

“Dinner first?”

I nodded. I followed him through the little flat and into the open plan kitchen. It had been hell getting here through the rain, the sky had opened up like the overflow of a giant’s bath. And then I discovered that the flat was on the first floor, and scrambling up the fence onto the flat swamped roof of the shed was annoying. It had been leaping through the cracked open window which had been painful, and I’d scraped the skin of my ankle coming through. I flopped on the sofa as my young host began to clatter about with pans and ingredients, and after a bit there was the scent of meat and the delicious sound of things frying. I looked him expectantly.

“Yes, it’s steak. You are lucky. If you’d come in yesterday it would’ve been mash and cheap sausages. I treated myself for the weekend.” He scraped the pan a bit and poured in something which smelt like meat juices and fizzed before filing the room with a thick gamey aroma. “You want onion gravy?”

No, I did not.

He ate sitting at the breakfast bar and I ate standing. I had steak and gravy and chewed the cartilage and gristle between my back teeth, and he had his with bright green broccoli florets and a glass of wine.

“I’m Peter, by the way.”

I smiled, and kept on eating.

Afterwards I lay on the sofa, and Peter sat at the far end. Warm, sated and happy, it would have been easy to go to sleep, but Peter took my ankle into his lap and pulled out a little green medical kit from under the coffee table.

“Let’s have a look at that foot. You came in through the window? I wish you’d waited.” Peter began to dab at the scraped skin with an antiseptic wipe which stung and made my grit my teeth. “Mam told me you’d be coming, but she never mentioned you’d be quite so… beautiful.” He wrapped a clean white bandage

I glanced at him, head on one side, pillowed against the corner of the sofa. He stroked the top of my foot with warm fingers. It was pleasant, warm, safe, and I was tired from travelling and breaking in. Peter turned his stereo on low, but it was hard to concentrate on the music, and I drifted as he picked up a book, continuing to stroke my foot and bandaged ankle. I was too comfortable to stay awake, and dozed while Peter read.

He shook me awake very gently. It was dark out, and not the dreary dark of rain, but the black of proper night time, and the wind rattled against the windows, whistling through the tiny gaps around the frame.

“It’s late bud. Bed time, come on.”

I followed him without thinking. Peter brushed his teeth, turned down the quilt on the bed, and left his jeans and socks in a puddle by the side of the bed before climbing in. I waited, blinking, for him to get comfortable, before climbing up, sneaking under the covers and curling into a ball. I wasn’t really awake, and it was easy to fall back into deep sleep.

I woke sometimes in the early hours of the morning, too early to be awake, stretched and rolled over, to find Peter awake and looking at me.

“Hey.”

I yawned, but now my jaw didn’t creak. It was colder without fur.

“Your bed is comfy.”

“Thanks.” Peter reached out and stroked the side of my jaw. My hair was completely disarrayed. “You are really beautiful.”

“Umm…”

“Mam never told me your name.”

“James.”

“A werewolf called James? A bit incongruous isn’t it.”

“Sure, ‘cause ‘Peter’ is such a cool name for a Rectory Officer.”

Peter laughed, a tiny chuckle, and blushed when I ran a hand up his arm.

“You’re naked.”

“That happens.”

“You never actually said the words you know.” Peter smiled, his cheeks pink and his eyes sparkling with lust.”

“I was sort of incapacitated.” I pushed closer to him, getting my head on the pillow, pulling him closer to my new body.

“Say it.” Peter’s voice was husky and low and full of tones that made me ache. He closed the distance between us, less than inches between our lips and no space between our bodies. “Say it.”

“Sanctuary.” I smiled, tilting my head to kiss him, feeling the phantom wag of my long-gone tail. “I claim sanctuary.”