Monstrous Love Bites Back - Short Story Anthology

SOME MONSTERS LIKE IT HOT

written by neverfakeit

A vampire, a werewolf, and a banshee walk into the restaurant at the end of the universe, which happens to have a decent bar. The adjacent hotel needs an update though, ever since that asteroid took out half the signage. Now it just reads HOT.

But let's back up a few ticks. Kip, a vampire since his thirtieth birthday, is the first to arrive on scene. He's sat at his usual spot at the bar waiting for his friend with benefits and staring at the day-old pie under the glass case. He can't remember the last time he had pie. And despite the restaurant's assurance that the pie is out-of-this-world, he suspects it's made from questionable ingredients.

This doesn't mean Kip isn't hungry. Fortunately, he has evolved enough that his body tolerates shots of cinnamon Schnapps, which helps curb his appetite for blood. And keeps his breath fresh. But compared to the other restaurant patrons, like the pungent Uranians with their blue scales and insatiable quest for methane, Kip is pretty damned normal. And he does whatever he can to protect his gorgeous ass because he still has shit to live for...like sex, or at least the company of Earth borne species like himself.

As if granted a wish, Claude, a werewolf in shabby clothing, shuffles through the door like something the dog dragged in. A mop of mousy brown hair covers his dark, half-lidded eyes, and a toolbelt is slouched across slender hips. He hasn't shaved since New Year's Eve, and he's still wearing that ridiculous t-shirt with the orange face of some long dead leader. But at least he looks human.

"You look like hell, and I don't care," Kip says as he kisses Claude on the mouth. "But that stubble."

"Save your snobbery. I traveled across the universe to see you. You know how many worm holes that is? And the gate at Pluto took hours." Claude takes his seat just as his drink arrives, and he air toasts the bartender, a Martian named Tab, before dumping it over his lips.

"It's always bad at Pluto. What else has you riled up? I detect more in your scent than a long trip in that crap ship you call a home."

Claude grunts and shakes his head. "Nearly getting my dick blasted off. Does that count?"

"Do tell." Kip perches his chin atop his gloved hands, and a stray lock of golden hair falls against his cheek. But Claude is too interested in his drink to notice Kip's ethereal visage.

"Some lunatics were shooting lasers at each other on the last stretch here. The fuckers nearly took out my satellite while I was attached it."

"If you paid a professional to fix that stupid thing, you wouldn't have to climb outside to make repairs. Let me help you with the cost."

"I've told you no a thousand times."

"Well, I don't want to see you, or your dick, blasted off. It would be a gift to me. And you know how much I enjoy giving myself gifts."

A loud bang thunders outside, and everyone turns as red light ricochets off the restaurant's laser-proof windows, shooting in all directions like exploding neon.

Claude shakes his head again and returns to his drink. "It looks like the lunatics aren't done with me."

The light show continues outside until the coppers show up, flashing their greens and giving Claude some peace of mind, although like everyone else, he's already lost interest. A few minutes into the quiet, a woman strolls through the door. Vapor billows from her vest like she's come from a fight, and she pats her chest, sending white plumes into the air. With single-minded swagger, she walks to the bar and sits down just two stools away from them.