WeHaveTheSameLeft
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Whoever this was was definitely an angel. With pale skin, perfectly coifed hair parted neatly to one side, a pair of thick eyebrows, a sharply pointed jaw, and large, gorgeous eyes that looked at him with genuine concern — yeah. There was no doubt about it to Charles's punch-drunk mind: this guy had to be Heaven sent.
Crouching down, looking over Charles with clear concern, he finally spoke. "I'm Edwin Pain, and I promise, I shan't harm you."
It took a moment for the name to click. This Brit was the Edwin Pain? The one Crystal had been going on about? The one the entire school seemed to fear and loathe in equal measure? Charles had to have been more out of it than he thought, because this didn't make a lick of sense. This guy couldn't be the monster from Haunt School!
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Welcome to Haunt School, better known as the Academy for the Dead and Supernaturally Gifted. It's a place for the most gifted of supernatural beings to converge, learn, and become the best--or worst--they can be! Charles Rowland has no desire to become anything exceptional, but the appearance of Edwin Payne might well change everything. -
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Edwin swallowed, that low, lascivious intonation in Charles's words more than enough to go straight to his cock. Really now… Clearing his throat, he shifted so he could pull Charles after him, looping his arm with his. "And what sort of … celebrating do you have in mind?" Edwin could certainly think of more than a few things they could get up together— but he was equally eager to hear what Charles himself was thinking about.
"You'll find out firsthand soon as we're home."
Edwin made a small sound, but quickened his pace, which was more than telling. "Very well—I redact my earlier statement of having enough merry making, so long as it's only with you."
Now where the hell was the portal they'd arrived through? He wanted to get back to the office, stat. His impatience, it seemed, could be felt—for Charles gave a pleased laugh. "Little eager there, are we, mate?"
"Do you really want me to dawdle?"
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In which the Dead Boy Detectives leave one holiday party only to start another--but instead of donning ugly sweaters and hosting obnoxious guests, they strip down and entertain one another instead.
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"Charles, I—" Edwin's voice sounded as shocked and unsure as Charles was feeling. Charles felt his hands grip onto his shirt, could feel the way his entire body quivered against him. "That was quite irregular."
Charles almost gaped. Of course Edwin would sum up that as simply irregular. "Mate, we both know that was fucked up," he stressed, leaning in to brush the tip of his nose against his hair. "Are you okay? Should we move you to the couch?"
Edwin seemed to hesitate, glancing at his hands. At least his flickering had stopped. "Whatever anomaly that was seems to have passed," he noted, which Charles was pretty sure was code that no, he wasn't feeling great, but he wasn't going to grouse about it because Edwin had suffered worse things in Hell. Well, Charles was here to fuss, and he wasn't going to feel better until Edwin was legitimately comfortable.
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In other words, something is amiss with Edwin after the events of Port Townsend. Can Charles help Edwin solve this mystery?