About Fortune Cookies are Better in Bed
by AR Moler
SIS Agent Evan Garrett has plans for his partner, John. Chinese food for two, to start with. Maybe more. In fact, Evan thinks it might fun to try a few games that he and John never have before, including dessert in the elevator with a bottle of chocolate syrup. When the plan backfires, with embarrassing results, Evan has to figure out how to save the night. Are fortune cookies better in bed?
Evan Garrett settled on the beige carpet of his partner’s den. He folded his lanky six foot frame down by the coffee table and crossed his legs. Running a hand through short curly brown hair, he began to unpack the Chinese take out that he had picked up - steamed dumplings to share, General Tso chicken for him and Moo Goo Gai Pan for John. His partner, John Benchley, hadn’t gotten home from his latest Friday meeting with the “Grand Poobahs” of Homeland Security that kept an ever watchful eye on SIS.
SIS, also know as Special Investigative Services, was the tiny government agency operating in the DC metro area to deal with … the weird. How else would one categorize demons, werewolves, spiritual possessions and the rest of the stuff they had dealt with in the past couple of years? John was the Director of SIS, and lived in an apartment on the top floor of the office building the agency occupied.
Evan glanced at his watch. 7:38. John had called him a few minutes ago saying that he was on the beltway and nearly back to Crystal City, where SIS was located. Plates would probably be a good idea. Beer too. Evan got up and went into the kitchen, fishing some plates and forks out and snagging a couple bottles of Sam Adams from the refrigerator. As he started back into the den, he heard John coming up the stairs. The building did have an elevator, but slow was a monumental understatement, and both he and John, and the rest of the staff for that matter, usually took the stairs instead.
John Benchley trudged out of the stairwell and into the open door of his quarters. Also six-feet tall, he had dark hair, almost black, cut military high-and-tight. He was heavier built than Evan, without going so far as to be an obvious gym junkie. And he was gorgeous. Every time Evan looked at him, it brought to mind images of Pre-Raphaelite artwork. Straight nose, lush lips, with a smooth sweep of jaw line, if Rosetti had drawn male figures… He looked both tired and frustrated. Uncharacteristically, he was wearing a suit, a tie dangling from the coat pocket where he had stuffed it on the drive home. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the long blue sofa of the den, before flopping down on the cushions. Besides the sofa, the den held a coffee table and numerous bookshelves. On the far wall, hung a plasma screen TV, overtop an entertainment center filled with expensive stereo equipment.
Even from eight feet away, Evan could sense the tension radiating from the other man. An empath of reasonable talent, he used his psi skills as a complement to other observational tools. John was psi too, but more strictly telepathic. His skills were made more reliable if he touched the person he was “reading.”