Disclaimer: Real people slash - I don't know any of the people in this story, everything is made up.
Warnings: explicit language, (not much) sex between men (it's left to your imagination to fill out the blanks), preachers, breakage of china, ill-treatment of an endangered species - and the main character reveals his dark side.
Lots of thanks to Cas for her help.
Response: Please, yes.Morgenfryd
The Tail of the Tiger, Chapter 18
"The Texas Ranger still keeps the gun locked up?" I stood in the nice clean kitchen. Straight beams of light were streaming through the windows and making shadows play on the nice clean curtains. I had a working telephone in my hand, the scratchy sounds and fall-outs were all from Tom's shaky end of the connection. The dishwasher was hissing quietly, powered by a delightfully reliable source of electricity.
"Fuck, yeah," Tom said, and I pressed the phone to my ear to hear him better. We had lost the connection once already. "Last thing he wants is Crazy Cityboy, that's you, coming back to haunt him. We're fine, really - you know, figuring things out."
I bent down to look through the glass to check on the breads in the oven. They hadn't really begun baking yet. I'd called Tom right after I put them in.
"With Bitch too? You remember to watch that dog; it's-"
"- not a pug. You told us that already; you're a fucking mother hen sometimes."
"Mikkel!" The roar shook the house from the basement to the roof. "What happened to that drink?"
"Was that Granny?"
"Yes." I held the phone away. "I'm talking with Tom," I yelled, and put the phone back to my ear. "She is in the Den. I forgot that I had promised to bring her a drink."
"That came from the Den? Shit. Not getting that cast off - she's really pissed off, man."
"Yes. She wanted it off - and the doctors wouldn't do it. Rita said they met a guy out there with a contraption on his leg like one they are going to give her."
"I've seen those things. Maybe she's scared."
"Yes. Probably she wants it over and done with. If they tell her no again next time...."
"Maybe you should bring her that drink and call me back. I've got a problem, man."
"Yes?" The stove was gleaming white. Nice. Even the glass in front was clear. And Rita had washed the floor before she went home; the edges on the checkers were sharp and clean. "Mormor can wait."
"It's your bacon, man. Okay. Granddad just said that if I don't cook then we're gonna have baked beans from cans to go with cold ham because he doesn't know what to do about the fancy city-stuff we brought. I don't have any fucking recipes on me. Could use some good bread, too. There's dry-as-hell toast but no fucking toaster."
He calls that a problem? It's an emergency! I had to swallow: the images flickering over my taste buds were not good ones. Fancy city-stuff? Was that the pasta? Or the roast? The vegetables, it has to be the vegetables; men can be like that. "Got a pen?"
"Yeah. I'm ready. Maria cleaned the oven like you said, so we can use that."
It took a couple of broken connections and re-dials before he had the simple pasta dish and the bread down. The second break came right after Tom's "Fuck! What do you mean, there's sour cream in the yogurt container?" I kind of liked the timing of that broken connection. It wasn't that I had really tried to cheat him; I had thought of it as more like an objective test of the capabilities of his impressive test buds. The test object would probably have tasted the sour cream no matter what kind of container the offending substance had come out of. He did not buy my explanation.
When we had finished talking, I placed the civilized telephone back in its snug cradle; an odd... wistful? feeling fluttered in my belly. What's that? I can't be missing being up there. Just missing Tom, that's it, that and gossiping with Maria. It can't be that crazy Texas Ranger; no way can I regret that I'm never going to meet him again. Impossible!
"Mikkel!" The grumpy dragon was getting really impatient.
"I'm on my way." I fixed a plate with snacks, likely she would choose not to eat it, and jump at the chance to snort at something - she was in that kind of mood. If there was no snack then she might go to get it herself - and there would be heaps of broken china.
And so what? Maybe breaking china is good for her. I almost put the snacks away again.
It really would have been fair to call Sara to give her a warning and a chance to cancel her visit. Mormor would take Sara apart. On the other hand, I really longed for the support; never mind that the support wasn't going to last for long before it was flatter than a wall hanging.
I didn't dare leave Mormor alone when she was like this; she would empty the liquor cupboard, and practice "hit the decor with the useless crutches", or something equally stupid. That left Chris! - who would be home early in the evening. I can't leave until she's in bed. Blast. She's going to be awake all night. My hand shook involuntarily, adding more liquor to the drink than I had intended.
"Hey - I just thought of something." I said as I put the tray with the drink and the snacks down next to her.
She oomphed and kept brushing Violet, who was floating somewhere in the seventh heaven and was utterly dope-eyed.
"I'm going to line up some of the china and you can throw crutches at it." She had been dragging the crutch with her all day, even though it kept getting in the way. Right now it was leaning against the wheel chair. Maybe it was some eerie craving for self-punishment that made her lug it around.
She glared at me.
Now: plan B. "How about we go to a bar tonight? Get a good bear on, both of us? Maybe we can get Sara to drive." Sara, in vain attempt at not ending up as two-dimensional as a wall hanging, would do anything Mormor that told her to do.
This glare was not quite as sharp as the first one.
"Well, think about it?"
She snorted and went back to brushing Violet.
After lining up the patterned china that Mormor didn't care much for, I needed something to do, something that did not need to be done sitting down and was outside her yelling range: I vacuum cleaned the cars in the driveway, using the old vacuum cleaner that was really noisy.
That's why I didn't hear the car arriving in the street and didn't see Jennifer and the man with her before they were walking up in the drive. The excessively groomed stranger was wearing a small and very clerical collar. His thick gray hair had about as much bounciness as the wavy nylon hair of a very cheap doll.
She brought a robot priest?
How did they get in?
Mormor had told Jer in the guard booth that Jennifer was not welcome any more; he should at least have called to warn us.
Hurriedly I turned off the vacuum cleaner and stood to block their way. There had to be huge big clouds building in the sky behind me. "If you are here for what I think you are for - the smartest thing you can do right now is to run before hell breaks loose," I said to Jennifer. I hoped she could see the clouds building, and would take the hint and get out of here. She likely can't see a thing - she saw neither dog-speech nor gun at the Texas Ranger's place. Blind. But she did listen to Maria.
"I've come to see Tom. Will you please move out of my way?" She was tense - which was no surprise: I was, too. There were bruised bags under her eyes as if she hadn't slept for days.
"No. I want to talk with you."
"Well, I don't have anything to talk with you about, mister. I want to see my son; now get out of my way."
My son? Is she claiming ownership, now? "And do what to him this time?"
"That is none of your business. Talk, if you really want to know."
"Oh, but I do want to know, Aunt Jennifer." She stiffened at that. Surprised? She hadn't figured where I belonged in this? Well, now she knows. "Tom is my favourite cousin," I said, just to make sure she got it exactly right, trusting she would guess where my accent came from and that the rest would follow. "I'm very privileged and lucky to be one of Tom's friends, and I'm rather protective of him."
A purple streak at head height pulled my attention towards the street. Ian? Whoever rode the bicycle had the sense to veer off, away from this driveway. The movements were jerky and fast; I did not look to see what exactly was happening. Jennifer might look, too, and recognise Ian - if that hair had been his.
Once again the trouble of Mormor's house spilled into the impeccable Connigan garden. There was a crash - it could have been the result of the front wheel of a bike ramming the curb. It was closely followed by the sound of a large plant taking fatal damage getting hit by a heavy body. Ian's "Fuck!" was muted but very sincere.
I hope it wasn't a rose that he used for landing pad.
"You have to talk your way past me, I'm the second line of the defence" I said to Jennifer, willing her not to step back and look over her shoulder. "Only, today is a very bad day for you to come here."
"So? The second line of defence is too busy perhaps?" She waved an exasperated hand at the car that I had been cleaning.
Ah. She has humour? Perhaps there is hope?
The collared fellow put a gentle hand with built-in blessings emitter on her shoulder and, zap - she relaxed. For a heartbeat I wondered if a mindless happy-smile would take over her features. It didn't. "Young man, this woman is here to reconcile herself with her son. You cannot stand in the way of that, not if you take an honest interest in what is best for Tom. Please, show mercy and understanding; she is his mother."
All together too much talk about ownership. I spoke to Jennifer. "You would probably have more luck if you stood on your own feet and stopped dragging uncontrollable armies with you. Oh, yes, and left the teargas at home. Why did you bring that guy along?"
Her eyes widened - she took affront, perhaps on the robot's behalf. "Listen Mister Nephew, you have no right to turn me away at my mother's door. I want to talk with Tom and I want to talk with him now!"
The windows were open. Jennifer had, not surprisingly, been speaking in the typical way of North Americans - loud and clear enough to be heard even through closed windows.
Also, Mormor had very good hearing when there were things you did not want her to hear.
The faint bump from the living room was a sound full of ominous portent.
We had perhaps ten seconds. "You better get out of here fast if you don't want to mess things up a lot."
"What are you talking about?"
"She didn't get the cast off." I waved at them. "Go on, leave. And stick to letters in the future - just a friendly piece of advice. Love, ink, paper, and the postal services - a very good place to start. Some day he may read them."
Jennifer looked at me as if she thought I was crazy. The priestly robot had some smart sensor; maybe it recognised my urgency for what it was. His zap-hand was back on Jennifer's shoulder but this time the zap didn't work.
On the other hand - the twack of Mormor's crutch on the screen door worked very well: the door slammed open, wham, into the wall, and would have closed again at almost the same blurry speed if she hadn't, thud, parried the back swing, using the crutch like a lance against the frame.
And guess who is going to have to deal with the marks on that door and wall. Maybe I should reconnect the pump.
"Oh, my God." Now Jennifer could speak in a low voice. "Ma! Why are you in a wheel chair?" While that maybe spoke of some proper and daughterly sense of priorities, it was not a smart thing to say; it was too closely associated with the Cast. Also it was likely to be received as some kind of attack with the weapon of mothering. The dragon's heavy and searing attention certainly flared even hotter, and it came to rest on Jennifer.
"Don't mention the Cast!" I muttered, trying not to move my lips.
Without glaring away from Jennifer, the Dragon manoeuvred its wheeled throne outside, its claws worked the controls on the armrest with unconscious ease. It stopped at the top of the ramp, likely unwilling to give up its advantage of height by moving down the ramp. The claw not resting on the controls still held the crutch - a weapon to be thrown with great power, if not accuracy. "How did you get in?" Smoke and small flames curled out of its nose and ears.
Jennifer swallowed. "We... through the gate."
"Then you can leave by the gate, too. And take that soul-mongering devil with you. None of you are welcome here!"
"But - Ma-"
"You, you're lucky I don't have concrete steps! Twenty-two stone-hard steps of concrete and nobody to pick you up at the foot of them! Left to be picked up by the garbage men for all your apparent care. Use your imagination, you utterly despicable, spineless, whimpering disgrace to motherhood! Mikkel! Remove them both!"
"Shall we?" I motioned towards the exit. For all Mormor would have enjoyed it, I was so not going to use physical force.
"But..." Jennifer's face was white and her eyes could pop any second.
"You're really pushing your luck here," I muttered, thinking of lawsuits, an uneasy peace gone to pieces, and Maria who had said she couldn't take any more. And hoping that Jennifer was here out of some honest if warped wish to bridge gaps.
"You-" Jennifer blinked and stepped back, suddenly wary of me; the soul-monger put a protective arm around her, and eyed me angrily - while he walked both of them backwards.
Didn't they listen to me at all? Frustration sought a way out. I couldn't stop myself; I made a small, sudden move and, "Buh!"
They turned and hurried out of the drive. Not nice, Mikkel - shame on you. I went to the curb and watched them leave, memorising the make and licence plate of the white float with tinted windows.
"Yes. I'll go talk with whoever is on duty."
"And fix this door." Said door slammed shut. I checked the sky - it was still heavy with clouds. I hope the lawyers have all gone home for today.
Ian's bike was left to a lonely existence in Connigan's drive, a bent front wheel pointing skywards. The hedge around Mormor's place was thick; I had to walk along it to catch sight of bit of purple hair and pale skin. "You can come out now, Ian. Better come through the hedge in case she's looking out the window." Which was possible if she was using the phone in the Library.
Something moved around in the thicket on the other side of the hedge, there was more than one person. It was Lisa Connigan's face that poked out next to Ian's.
Two sets of worried eyes gauged my reaction. I smiled; they smiled back, and wriggled out.
"Are you okay?" I asked Ian. He had acquired some new scratches. "That was some fall you took."
"And the bike and the bushes?"
"The front wheel is bent. That's the third one this side of New Years." He grimaced. "I so hate it when my mum shakes the empty crash jar at me."
Crash jar? "Let's go inspect the damages?"
As I hunkered by the bike, somebody a way off was breaking china. So her lawyer wasn't in. Good.
"Oops." Lisa cocked her head. "I know that sound. I think it came from your place."
"Mormor is breaking china in the back garden."
"Your granny is breaking china - on purpose?" Lisa was impressed.
"Yes. She didn't like that particular pattern anyway. Look, I can fix this somewhat, but you really need a new wheel." Ian wasn't listening to me; he was staring towards Mormor's house. "Hello? Your bike's on the phone."
"I can straighten it some but it's going to bend soon again. It can't take curbs or rough driving. You really need a new front wheel."
"If you can fix it so that it'll keep until next month it'll be great. Then the crash jar won't be empty."
"Look, I have to go talk with the guard - when I come back we can take the bike into the tool shed and fix it."
"You - you want me to go in there?" He winced at a particular loud crash.
Probably the big bowl. "Sure. She'll be done with the china before I'm back."
"That's kinda what I'm afraid of, man."
As I left I could hear Lisa behind me. "Don't worry. I'll come with you."
Leaving the home premises was likely going to get her in trouble when her mother was back from work. I didn't say anything, however, and once I was back and we took the bike across the street, Lisa came valiantly along as Ian's bodyguard.
She did very well. When the Dragon came arolling, Lisa disarmed it effectively with a broad grin and a "Hello, Mrs. Werner."
Helpless, the Dragon bared its teeth and smiled, looking deceptively friendly.
With Lisa working her spells it was perfectly safe to wriggle my dirty fingers at the Dragon and tell it to go get the drinks itself.
"See - she's really nice," Lisa said to Ian.
Sweet and nice - what is this thing with North American teenage-girls' partiality to zombies and dragons. A trend? Not enough horror movies?
Mormor returned with drinks and dogs. While she and Lisa talked dogs, Ian gave me a hand and listened to my news about Maria and Tom.
"I want the cups too - the plates are no challenge," was the order when the two kids left. So she was ready for challenges now. That was probably a good sign.
"Aye, Cinderella," earned me the right to clear the whole mess once she was done with the cups. It also earned her the right to not eat salad and only eat the filling out of the single piece of meat pie that made its way to her plate.
Sara wasn't all the way inside before she was met with, "Don't take your jacket off; we're going drinking."
I get to drive, is that it? Maybe I should stop calling her Cinderella.
"We what?" Sara had brought reinforcement: Karen bumped into her, and from behind Karen came Beth's voice, "What's going on?"
"Rose wants to go out. To a bar, I think."
Karen put a finger on the sore spot and poked: "She's still got the cast on."
The laser eyes went zap!
"A bar? We can do that," Beth said enthusiastically, and pushed the others forward and aside so that she could get in. "Rose, Karen got this wonderful idea - we really have to celebrate!"
Karen, still sizzling from the dragon-eye laser burns, tightened her lips, "It's not that brilliant, we can talk about it some other day-"
"No, it is brilliant." Sara's smile died under the onslaught of Karen's stare, and her face paint suddenly was not only caked but also loose enough to fall off at any attempt at a headshake.
"An idea? What idea?" There was no way Mormor was going to let the topic go now, not when it was making Karen delightfully uncomfortable.
Karen's mouth was a precise replicate of a hen's crimped ass with lots of lipstick on it: it would take a lot to make her talk.
Beth's enthusiasm was still surviving, "She wants to make a home for homeless and mistreated pugs. With a hospice, too. And a lawyer that will fight those terrible dog auctions! Isn't that wonderful? She's had it all planned out for years, and she never told us."
"A home for pugs?" Mormor frowned at Karen whose mouth stayed safely crimped.
"Yes!" Beth fluttered her hands "She got the idea after we went to that horrendous dog auction."
"That's almost five years ago."
"But Karen - that's... that's a splendid idea."
Karen blinked. No doubt she, like I, was looking for traps and sarcasm in Mormor's statement.
Mormor smiled her first real smile that day. "Let's pound the Auction Mob to pulp!"
"Uh?" Karen's eyes glazed. "But back then you said... Do you really mean that? Rose?"
Mormor snorted, and sparked wicked enthusiasm.
Ten minutes later the Pug Petting Auction Mob Pulpers left to go celebrating, taking the pugs along - and left me behind with hardly a goodbye and with no other company than that of a pair of dejected crutches.
I looked out the window, relieved to see that they were not going to let Karen drive; she moved like a malfunctioning zombie when Sara pulled her along by the sleeve.
Find Chris! Chris!
There were lights on and several cars in Joey's driveway. Likely, car-less Chris was inside the house with the other four. When I rang the bell Justin opened the door, smiling warmly, "Mikkel, man. Come in!"
I stepped inside. Justin helpfully reached for the things that I was carrying, but before he got a proper grip on them, I was attacked by a giant chrissotang trained in the martial arts. It had been standing on the staircase, flat against the wall, and I had walked right past without seeing it. It jumped me with a Tarzan yell, and clung to my back, its strong arm snaked around my neck, and it roared into my ear and shoved ice cold contact poison down the front of my shirt.
I stumbled forwards, pushing my load into Justin's belly and upsetting his balance. He was flailing his arms rather than holding on to the pile. It slipped out of my hands. Thump! was closely followed by another sound: that of full glass containers being brought suddenly to the breaking point.
"Oops! What's that?" The chrissotang on my back did a bad impersonation of Chris Kirkpatrick.
I stared at the cardboard box on the floor, my jacket was sprawled over it and the over-night bag had rolled off. "Meat pies. A bit of salad. And beers - in bottles."
"Shit," muttered Justin. "Man...."
"Don't just stand there! Quick, Justin - the beers!"
The beers? The twit! The walk to the bathroom was short, and my hands were iron manacles around the wrists of the chrissotang. "The beers, huh? I'll give you beers you - din lille degenererede, respektløse fnatmide af en kvajpandet klaptorsk-"
"What - no! Let me down!" The chrissotang knew its end was near: it squirmed, twisted and kicked and tried to hook its legs around passing objects like the door jamb and the sink, nearly unbalancing me. Strong little fucker, this one. "Fuck! You shit - no! Mikkel! Stop it, meathead! Justin, help! The crazy barbarian's gonna fucking drown me!"
Justin, intent on the rescue of the beers, was totally insensitive to the pleas of an endangered species.
The ultimate chrissotang distress-call ricocheted against the tiled walls when I cranked the shower up high at its coldest. Never mind I got drenched in cold water: there already was a handful of ice cubes inside my shirt. Besides, the chrissotang, trapped, kicking and squirming on my back, got the brunt of the ice cold shower, and that was what was important right then.
What was even better - the showerhead was the kind that can be taken down and stuffed down the back of a shirt while the shirt is on somebody else's back. The act was cheap - it only cost me my hearing.
The chrissotang got loose, though, when I tried to repeat the success and stuff the shower head down its pants; it fled the spraying ground, flinging chrissotang insults over its shoulder. Its chrissotang legs moved fast enough to blur and create a cloud of drops; instead of braking it grabbed the door jamb and swung elegantly through the turn - without a hitch in the stream of insults.
Joey's roar erupted in the living room - somebody should get the fuck off of him; the house was full of chrissotang screeches and of the donkey brays that were JC's laughter. It sounded like the chrissotang was going to be busy for a while. Happy and shivering, I kicked the door shut and pulled my wet shirt off to get rid of the ice cubes. They had melted, except for a few trapped in a fold of cloth. One devious member of the shrinking, cool gang slid into my pants and nestled against my ball sack.
Ouch! Help! Cold! Go away!
It had melted before I got to it.
When I had gotten the wet clothes off I took a couple of minutes under a hot shower.
Get him in here!
By the time I had gotten into the dry clothes, the house had gotten quieter. Lance and Justin were in the kitchen, trying to make something of the meat pies; the plastic bag had saved the food from the shards and most of the beer. They kicked me out before I could meddle.
In the living room Joey and JC were having a discussion, JC was sanding down the piano. They said hi when I came in and returned to the topic at hand.
"Look, JC, white is classy. Pink is just..."
"I like pink. Pale pink is really, like, elegant. You know, like, you know like that Cadillac - remember? At the fair."
"A woman's Cadillac - yeah, man - and she had the stack to go with it. For a piano? No. Definitely no."
Stack? He's not talking about money, I think.
"Mikkel?" Chris yelled from upstairs.
I turned. "Yes?"
The mop of dripping braids was falling around his face as he leaned over the banister. "You brought the rest of my laundry?"
"In the trunk of the car."
"Goodie." The head disappeared and there was the tumble of cannonballs on the stairs, from upstairs came a puggish bark, the cannonballs stopped then tumbled upwards, the barking stopped, the cannonballs rolled down again, more slowly now and at a lighter caliber.
Chris - on stairs.
"He got you so whipped, man."
I was busy watching Chris in boxers and one of my T-shirts make his way outside with Busta on his arm. It wasn't until he had closed the door that I realized that Joey was talking to me.
"He tricked me."
The doorbell rang, incessantly.
"Chris! Stop it!" Lance came out of the kitchen and opened the door.
"Hi. Forgot the car keys." Chris sounded really sweet.
Lance said something under his breath and returned to the kitchen.
Chris rummaged through the pockets of my jacket on the hook by the door, found the plastic bag with condoms, pulled it out, and checked the contents before putting it back. He ate a handful of mints, delivered a scowl at the cigarettes and at me in one go - and finally found the keys.
The door closed behind him again.
"Ding, dong, ding, dong. Forgot my house keys," muttered Joey.
Lance must have thought the same - he came back out from the kitchen carrying a chair and a knife. He put the chair down right inside the door and eyed the doorbell before standing up on the chair.
"Want to bet?" I asked Joey who could not see Lance from where he was sitting on the bench by the piano. "Five?"
"You just lost them, buddy."
Trusting Lance to fulfill his mission I walked inside the living room. "How about white and pink? Or white, pink and gold?"
JC thoughtfully eyed the piano from where he was kneeling. "Yeah? Yeah... White, pink and gold. Like, borders. That would be, like, really classy..."
"White and pink stripes - like my mum's pajamas." Joey grimaced.
"Yeah. Yeah, that pink.... And gold for her skin, she has really nice skin, you know."
"Have you been checking out my mum?"
"Sure." JC folded the sandpaper tighter around the block and went back to sanding.
"No shit." Joey was looking really worried.
"What's the matter?" I asked and walked over to scratch at the hinges mounted on the front of the piano. It was brass beneath the clotted layers of paint. I wondered how important a nice finish was to JC.
"It's just - can you imagine," Joey waved his hands. "Me and some broad in the sofa, and I'm doing my best to seduce her, I get my hand up her shirt to open her bra," he wriggled his fingers, convincing me that there was more to bras than a simple opening mechanism. "And then there's this piano looking like my mum in her pajamas and it's like staring at me. Man, what a mood killer."
JC snickered. "I can paint eyes on it. In a border around the top. Like, hey, I know, Egyptian eyes ... in gold?" He began humming to himself.
There were quick steps on the porch and then Chris pushed the screen door open and entered without the Busta but with the laundry bag. He dumped the bag on the floor and continued through the house, intent oozing out of every pore.
I held out my hand.
Joey looked at it. "How did you do that?"
In the kitchen Justin's laughter blended with Lance's death-wail and the chrissotang war cry.
"You cheat." Joey pulled out his wallet and gave me a fiver. I stuffed it into a pocket.
"Ding, dong, ding dong," hummed JC and smiled goofily to himself.
"Shut up, JC," said Joey.
JC kept sanding rhythmically. "Dinnng, donnng, ding, ding."
Lance was crying for mercy and for that elusive uncle that never comes when he is needed.
Justin came into the living room, chuckling and bearing plates. He put them down on the table by the sofa and pushed magazines and papers to the floor in order to make room. "So, did you decide on a color?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Dinnng. White with pink ding and gold dong, like, borders. Donng."
"That's great, JC." Justin was on his way out when he stopped. "White, pink and gold?"
"Ding, yes, dong, yes. Donnng white dinnng pink donnng gold."
"JC!" Joey groaned. "Shut up."
Justin grinned and left.
Lance had fallen quiet; in the hallway somebody with less gentle hands was scrambling around with what could have been a chair. My belly sank.
"You." Joey pulled me down on his lap. "See what you started?"
"Ding, dong?" seemed a rather good guess.
On the other side of the piano JC continued the ding dong chant in three colors to a fitting sand-rasped rhythm.
Joey nodded sagely. "Exactly. He's gonna do that all night and maybe tomorrow - maybe for the rest of the week."
"Ding and dong were your words if I remember correctly."
"Ah. But you turned them against me. It all adds, you know. Your ass is on the line, buddy."
"Your thigh isn't exactly a li-"
Joey dumped me.
"I have good thighs," Joey informed me.
"I know." I patted one. "Very solid and sexy."
Maybe the stacked broads in pink Cadillacs forgot to tell him. "You have a good ass, too, and nice arms; it all just might add up to a very nice and rough pull and push."
Pull and push with Joey!
Joey smiled even wider.
Chris jogged through the living room and out the garden door.
Chris! Pull and push!
And JC was getting creative in new ways, "Donnng, dong, plinnngding, dingding. Pink!"
I sighed and pulled the fiver out of my pocket, studying it, trying to memorize what it looked like until -
The doorbell rang, incessantly.
Lance overloaded - he screamed.
I held my breath. JC fell quiet and Joey counted softly under his breath "Six, five, four-"
Lance was groaning in the kitchen; Justin must have been the one to open the door.
"Hi. I forgot my house keys."
Justin and Joey laughed.
JC acquired a fresh bout of energy; razz, razz went the sandpaper and "Ding, dong, ding, dong," sang JC.
I passed the note to a smirking Joey. "Shut up, JC."
JC's squint-eyed smiling face poked around the corner of the piano. "Dinnng?"
I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed.
"Guys! Food!" Justin was coming through the hallway; his words were was quickly followed by, "Get out of my way, you freak. Chris! Lance - hold him!"
An indignant chrissotang screech ended in, "Did you see that? He pinched me! He fucking pinched me! Ow! Lance, you fuck!"
"Has he been like this all day?" I asked Joey as he gave me a hand and pulled me up.
"Since two thirteen." Joey sighed like it had been a long day since two thirteen.
Two thirteen? "What happened at two thirteen?"
Smiling, JC stretched up two hands, one for each of Joey and me, and we pulled him up. "Dong you."
"I'm sure he'll tell you in his own good time." Joey smiled and I relaxed; it was nothing bad then.
We probably had Busta to thank for an easy organization of the seating - she barked and wanted inside when she heard Chris in the living room. He broke off what he had going with Lance, and opened the screen door to let the pup in, giving Justin a chance to set the tray down safely and the rest of us an uninterrupted chance to get our behinds planted in the furniture.
When Chris came past I grabbed a handful of T-shirt and pulled him down next to me in the sofa. I was not going to accept not getting any attention, and the punk had been heading towards Lance. I wrapped myself around him and blew raspberries against his neck. He wiggled closer, warm, shivering and laughing, pushing warm skin against my mouth so I bit him and blew a few more berries just to feel him squirm and laugh.
Bite and suck.
But I just kissed him on the jaw to tell him that I was no longer in immediate withdrawal and wouldn't suffer in pain if he wanted to go harass Lance or whatever. Chris pulled up his legs, settling in, smiling, eyes glittering full of promises. My belly clenched.
Take his clothes off!
"Guys?" Justin was trying to hand out partly solved jigsaw puzzles food. Chris and I were messing with his project.
"My special bowl!" Chris reached eagerly for the bowl that was blue shards stuck together by magic - it really should have been leaking but it didn't. It was a special serving too - Chris had gotten the most shattered parts of the pies. Stumps of wrecked crust were sticking out of the goo, a squirt of ketchup had been added for emphasis. There was no salad. He dug in without a complaint.
"My ex-favorite peanut bowl," muttered Lance and zapped through channels.
"I fixed it!" Chewing, Chris held it up so that I could see it better. "Pretty good, huh?"
"Yeah." I ran a finger along one of the cracks.
"Crashed it too." Lance apparently had liked that bowl a lot.
I finished the inspection. "No seepage."
Chris nodded. "I'm an expert."
Lance snorted and stopped zapping at some kind of news program, taking his plate from Justin who hadn't needed to ask Lance's salad level either.
Lots of you broke it you fix it, must have been visible on my face.
"Shut up," grinned Chris, obviously following my train of thought. "Once, when I was living with my mum, I had to fix like a stack of six plates and a bowl. The shards were all mixed up in the dishpan." He turned the bowl so that I could get a proper look. "Eventually I got all the right pieces glued together."
"You actually did dishes back when?"
Lance sniggered and it wasn't at the TV.
Chris just grinned and ate.
"Stocks?" Joey waved his fork at the TV. "Lance, please!"
Justin picked up the remote and threw it to Joey. "How much salad?" he asked me.
He fixed my plate before sitting down between JC and Chris. I couldn't see what kind of look he sent Chris, Chris was in the way, but he did pat Chris' naked fine foot before he spoke to JC. "White, pink and gold - are you sure?"
Chris, knees bent and feet in the sofa, leaned against me. A bulge! Partner is happy. Actually the whole Chris seemed fairly happy, humming into his food and emitting warmth like a small compact machine just waiting to go once the refueling was done. He chirped easily telling about the signings they'd had - there had been a lot of girls. One line had reached well down the street. Never mind that the right magazines hadn't been to the press conference. "It's gonna happen, man, we're gonna jump past the fucking top of the charts," he predicted. "They'll be there when they can smell the money. Now, tell me about Tom - did you really meet a bear?"
"No - just its partner the Texas Ranger-" I told him about Jennifer's two visits.
"This time she isn't gonna let it ride?" Chris asked.
"I don't think so."
The thing I really like about cooking for big boys - they eat everything up. Even the salad, though that was mostly JC and Lance. And even if they hadn't said anything about liking the food their body language told enough when they settled, languidly, afterwards.
Justin had been telling JC what his mum Lynn had done when painting an old chest. I hoped JC would learn from Lynn, he would be a lot happier with the piano if he did.
Chris and Justin both fell silent when there were people running after a ball on the TV. When the speaker came back they both relaxed and Joey zapped on.
There had been a pattern to it all along. "Hey," JC said softly when Joey zapped into a film about birds and there was a pause in the zapping until the commercials. Then Joey zapped on, accidentally hitting the stocks, and Lance lifted a hand, "Just a minute". Joey suffered stocks until Lance took his hand down. Joey was several hurried zaps along before Lance's hand had settled on the armrest.
So, Joey would stop zapping if somebody called halt and stay at the channel until commercials or he got an okay to move on. He only appeared to have a problem with the stocks.
Lance would do that little wave, JC said "hey", Justin grunted and Chris, Chris had snuggled under my arm and called "wait!" every so often it was a sports or cartoon thing. Joey didn't need to call stop since he was the one manning the remote.
It was a lot more civilized than when Mormor and Tom were trying to share TV.
Watching Joey's steady finger on the button, I waited for the moment when it was raised, ready for the next zap. I raised my hand and grunted. Well programmed, Joey's finger froze above the button. Ha! It worked.
Maybe I should have been paying more attention to what was on and less to Joey's finger.
It was a commercial. About diapers. The kind that women use when their bladders get untrustworthy.
But I had called stop and so I looked, it was the least I could do. This was probably pushing the rules a lot, calling stop at a commercial. Anyway, it was impressive how they could talk around the subject in that commercial.
"They're a bit thin for soundproofing material." The grin was quite evident in Chris' voice.
I want vocal cords!
The next commercial was about a pension plan. "Thank you. Zap on." I struggled to hold on to my dignity. It didn't make it any easier when Joey guffawed, Justin snickered and Chris was shivering with quiet laughter.
"No, no. This one is good." Lance said brightly, raising his hand and staring at the screen. I didn't for one moment trust the naïveté in his voice; for one thing, his grin was too sharky.
Judging by the glint in Chris' eyes and the set of his mouth, he was about to say something about soundproofing just to get my dick going. I put my hand over his mouth and leaned over him, doing my best to loom while showing him my sharp teeth and growling dire threats.
He's talking to me! Let him talk.
I had to stop growling when Chris' laughing eyes suddenly went soft, sucking me right into a warm and exciting place where vocal control just - dissolved. He flashed heat, immediately setting off the melting process in my bones, all stiffness suddenly was concentrated in a very loud place.
I had leaned in for a kiss before Chris tensed up, and I stopped, trapped at his Schwarzschild radius, close enough for his breath to be very warm and moist on my lips.
Then he relaxed; I could almost hear him think, "What the hell." He leaned forwards; the touch of lips was soft enough to draw sparks. Chris nibbled at my lip and the sensation ran white and electric all the way down to my toes. I wanted a nip too, wanted his flesh between my teeth and craved a lick of Chris! Maybe two licks, or three, slow ones, to feel every little detail of the texture and taste. And his tongue, deceptively slick and silky, was strong and clever when it pushed my tongue away so that he could get to my lips with his teeth...
"Guys!" Justin probably had poked him. "Get a room or something."
Chris let the cobra lose, faster than the eye could follow it punched Justin's thigh, right above the knee.
Yes! Make him go away! Want Chris naked now!
"Aw! Shit!" Justin grimaced and rubbed at the sore spot. "Just saying, man."
Vocal cords were a bad, bad idea.
Unsure of what would come out, I didn't dare talking. Chris was quiet too, breathing quickly; it could have been the run-up to a wicked string of words.
Then I saw JC and that cooled both my blood and dick pretty quickly, his gaze flickered restlessly between Chris and me, he looked most of all like a trapped deer, and perhaps it was only his arms around Justin that kept him from running.
Justin turned, realizing what was going on he pulled JC into a hug. "Hey."
"Fuck!" Chris' whisper was a yell, really.
"No." JC would not be hugged and Justin let go. "They didn't hear you - they didn't hear you! Did you see? They-"
"And?" Chris' voice snapped like a whip, halting JC before he soared into swirling clouds of anger.
JC shook himself and took a deep breath, took two, and seemed to gain some limited control. His eyes were still wild and he was poised on the edge of the couch, gesturing with elegant hands. "What do you mean - and?"
"Point A - we didn't hear Justin and, point B, now you're freaking out. What happened with you between A and B? Tell me - I wanna know."
"You fucking know already!" JC was entering lift-off again but grounded himself by grasping Justin's shoulder with a shaking hand. "You can't control shit - okay? You can't control shit and like it's gonna blow up - can't you see it? You went to a rally!"
"Whoa, JC - I can't follow you here."
"Chris." Justin was not happy, but then he could see Chris' face, which I couldn't, and I wasn't sure what expression went with that neutral, smooth voice that Chris was using.
"Shut up, Justin." Chris continued as if the slap of Justin's answering angry gaze was a mere wisp of vapor, "I wanna hear JC. What about the rally?"
"You think you can hide it? Chris - you can't hide fucking shit; anyone can see that you're in love. You two should see yourself!" JC's hands fluttered like butterflies without navigational units. He met Chris' gaze and the butterflies hung frozen in the air.
Oh, no - don't use the Word, please! ... He's what? ... With me?
Chris had stiffened and the room was very, very quiet. Justin bit his lip and rubbed JC's thigh.
"Do you think we were making out at the rally?" I asked JC, not daring to move or wriggle my hand on Chris' shoulder that had grown hard as a rock - a rock full of explosive charges wired and ready to blow. He's in love with me?
"I..." JC swallowed and tore himself out of the trap of Chris gaze.
"Did you ask Lance about it?"
JC blinked at me.
"He was there, he saw us." Do I need to beg here? Help! "I'm sure he would have said something."
"Yeah." Lance got up from the chair and came over and knelt on the floor next to JC. "They were good JC. Really. Like an ordinary couple of guy-friends. Like when Chris is with us." He put a hand next to Justin's on JC's thigh and JC put his own on top of it while staring imploringly into Lance's eyes. "Did you really think that they were making out and being all... whatever at the rally? I would've kicked their butts. Seriously."
"Yeah?" There was a glimmer of sense in JC's eyes and he relaxed a little.
"You bet. I would - right into geo-stationary orbit with all the other junk up there."
JC smiled a little.
"Look, if they can't relax here where else can they go? This is Chris' home." JC had the decency to look a little shameful at that. "I'm not saying that it doesn't bother me when they... It does; I mean, you know where I come from. Hey - didn't I tell you this before?"
"Yeah. You did. But I, like, I wasn't listening. Much."
"Are you listening now?"
"Yeah." JC took a deep breath and ran his free hand through Lance's hair. "Yeah. I try, like a lot. I panicked."
Lance nodded and squeezed JC's hand.
"I'm sorry." JC looked at Chris and me, wide-eyed and skittish.
"Sorry for what, JC? I'm not sure I see why you should owe us an apology," I said. Under my hand, Chris relaxed a fraction and I dared rub him a little.
"I shouldn't have lost it. I..." JC got stuck.
"We lost control, too. Do you think we owe you an apology for that?"
"I... But that's different."
"Like - it's... I mean, it's not... It's not Lou. Like, winning."
"He's got Lou's voice inside his head sometimes," Lance explained and ignored Justin's warning glance.
JC grimaced and nodded. Lou was obviously not a welcome presence.
"Was Lou talking now, when you freaked?"
"Yeah. Like, he was threatening. And... evil. You know?"
I nodded. "I sometimes hear voices and noises, too." At which Justin threw me a wary look. "I make them up without wanting to. Usually they are really stupid."
A muttered "vocal cords" earned Chris a swap.
"Yeah. Like that. I wish I could shut Lou up."
"It's not Lou, JC."
"Uhm." He blinked at me. "Not Lou. I... know. Only sometimes I forget."
"We can remind you." Chris pushed himself into a more comfortable position, though the way he rested his head on the top of the backrest didn't look comfortable, really. It did great things for the line of his jaw and throat, though. Chris. Chris! Ready to deep throat! Jump him! "Right, guys?"
The yeahs were immediate.
"But only if you want us to. Do you want us to, JC? Like, when you're freaking out will you truly want us to tell you that it isn't Lou talking?"
JC worried his lip and looked down. He nodded and leaned into Justin's hug. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that. And. I mean, thank you. Uhm..."
"Whatever, man." Joey waved the remote in the air. "See - it's easy; if we can't guess how to help then you can just tell us how."
"Yeah.... But Joe - it's not, like, exactly easy."
"Practice, man - practice." Joey's eyes were no longer on JC but on Chris, and it was obvious that his words were not for JC alone.
Chris was studying the ceiling.
"Do you still want Chris to stop seeing Mikkel?" Justin spoke into JC's hair.
JC opened his mouth, then he looked at me and closed it again before leaning back so that he could look at Justin. "Yeah. No. I mean, I want to not to want that, you see? Like, I wish - but I don't want to wish."
Justin nodded in perfect understanding.
"It's not you," JC said to me. "I mean, compared to the girls that Chris usually... You're a lot nicer. A lot a lot."
Chris groaned. He sounded worse but felt better, the shoulder relaxed under my touch.
JC crawled across Justin and Chris, and landed in my lap, sprawling elegantly, and digging into my thighs with his sharp bones. He completely ignored Chris' "My nuts!" and was all focused on me, blue eyed and hazily intense. For all the spindliness of his built - there was a good strong hug in his arms. For a second I was afraid that my neck would snap, then I had it figured out and hugged him back in the same spirit.
"We're okay, right, Mikkel?" He spoke into my neck when we had loosened our grips somewhat.
"Yes. Of course."
He kissed my cheek before raising his head to look at Chris. "Chris?"
"What?" Chris still had his head lying on the backrest, he looked at JC along a very nice nose.
"Sure." Chris patted the long legs that lay across his lap and suddenly looked weary. "We're fine, JC."
JC touched Chris lightly on the cheek. "What is it?"
"Nothing." Chris smiled and shook out of whatever mood it was and slapped JC on the head. "You're such a goof sometimes."
"Look, I'm sorry I interrupted you. You can go on now. I won't freak."
Lance cleared his throat.
"What?" Chris sent JC one of those narrow eyed glances that would slice through all kinds of crap. "You think we're a remote controlled, walking, talking porn show?"
I didn't think that JC was up for another show, there was a nervous feel to him. "If you want anymore kissing done in the living room tonight then you'll have to do it yourself."
JC breathed in deeply and relaxed a little. "Okay." He eyed my mouth, curiously.
"Now, get the fuck down." Chris gave him a push. Justin put his feet on the edge of the table and pushed it away from the couch. Lance got up and started clearing the china away.
JC didn't hurry getting up; instead, he held on to my shoulders and smiled goofily at Chris. "But I like it here. Mikkel has a nice lap, it's..." He wiggled, digging into my thighs. "Harder than Joey's but still kind of-"
"Ouch!" I grabbed his hips and he stopped wiggling. "What is this - some kind of test run?"
"Uhm." JC blinked, playing the spacey card again.
"He's a pretty good kisser," Joey informed the world in general. "The stubble weirded me a bit though."
"You kissed Mikkel?" Justin was grinning.
"Yeah. No teeth that time." Was that regret? Maybe Joey figured he had missed out on something.
"Yeah?" JC was looking at my mouth again. "Uhm?"
"You guys want me to run tests on the girls that you bring home?" Chris wanted to know. "I can check their boobs for natural bounciness, their lips for inlays and their asses for sproing and write little lab reports. With diagrams."
Joey snorted. "You try that on Kelly, man, and you're minced meat. She'll put you through the grinder. Piecemeal."
Smiling, I wrapped my hands around JC's wrists. "Hi, JC."
"Hi." His eyes widened. "No!"
Chris' fingers dug into his sides.
I think JC was trying to say "not fair" or some such irrelevant thing but with the eruptions of donkey braying that wanted out of him it was hard to tell. I had to change my grip or my legs would have fallen off, there was surely going be blue marks, if not from his mad jumping and squirming, then from the punch he gave my thigh once he was sitting on the floor between my feet. "Bastards," he gasped.
"Yeah." Chris was laying half across my back, one knee squeezed between me and the backrest, arms around me and chin hooked on my shoulder. He was sweating under his T-shirt as I was under mine. I could feel his heart beat.
Sweaty Chris! Take his clothes off and lick! Lick nice sweat, nice warm skin! Eat Armpit! Eat Partner!
JC's eyes flicked between Chris and me, softening when a small smile widened his mouth. I gave his nose a quick squeeze, afraid that he was going to mention the Word again.
"Uh." Hazy-clear blue eyes came to rest on my face. "Ding dong?"
"Did you tell him yet?" Justin asked Chris. He was sitting on the armrest of Joey's chair.
Tell me what? Uh oh.#
Chris had tensed. "Fuck, what's with all the meddling man! Want a lab test on Britney?"
"You didn't." Justin grinned.
Joey rolled his eyes.
"Lay off, Infant. It's none of your fucking business. So. Shut. Up."
"Okay, okay," Justin held his hands up palms forward. He bit his lips, blocking the words that, judging by the twinkle in the blue eyes, were very set on getting out.
I twisted, and turned my head, my face a hand's breadth from Chris'. He burns! Lick me! Burn me! A blowjob right here and now would shut Justin up. Splendid! Go, go!
Chris caught my gaze. Maybe he could hear my dick; he flashed heat and the tip of his visible ear reddened.
Yes, yes! He wants it! Go now!
He yanked my braid.
Okay, maybe not such a good idea. He likes it! Pull his pants down!
"I'm clean, okay?"
Clean? Has he been doing drugs? Nah. Or - maybe Ritalin. "Well, of course. You take a lot of showers for a guy."
He grinned. "It was a blood test, not a surface test."
"A... Oh." Eat naked Partner! Now! Eat, lick and suck, suck, suck nice flesh! "Wait a minute - you mean, we've been watching frigging commercials when I could have been..." Taste Partner! Make Partner spew, swallow nice spew, taste Partner! "Are my blowjobs that bad?" No, no, you're good. Make Partner spew! Taste Partner!
"I want a remote for the doorbell." Lance sounded like he was going for magenta complexion. Justin and Joey were laughing.
The red spots on Chris' cheeks deepened. My heart fluttered into free fall. Beautiful! Take his pants off! Want Partner!
"Well, now that you ask... Your blowjobs are pretty awful."
"Yeah. They really suck, man."
"Mm?" Mouth unsmiling, he showered me with sparks of humor; the fluttering free fall turned into a free plummet.
"Proper blowjobs are supposed to suck." And suck and suck and slurp and suck!
"Yes. Like those really big industrial vacuum cleaners."
The liquid eyes were showing white all around. "I ain't sticking my dick in no industrial vacuum cleaner!"
Stupid! Stop scaring him, shut up and suck!
"Don't worry, it won't hurt much. The hose is padded with really thick slabs of raw liver." I grabbed his wrists and rose. Chris had no choice but to follow, dangling from my back. He stepped unto the couch and pushed himself further up.
"Hey! Let go of me! Help!" He struggled to free his arms while settling in and squeezing my sides with his knees. Partner is happy! "The Barbarian's gonna torture me with liver lined industrial vacuum cleaners. Somebody help! Guys!"
There wasn't much help in Joey and Justin - they were laughing too much. Lance had closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands. He didn't look like he was going to move anywhere: he was all curled up. JC smiled and scooted out of the way to let us pass. Busta, with a pug's usual lack of sensitivity to a master's dire peril, wagged her tail and yawned.
"You devious traitor! You subbed my dog - he fucking yawned at me!"
"Of course she yawned. You're a really boring chrissotang." I stopped by the jacket in the hallway; he pulled the plastic bag out of the pocket while I found the pocketknife.
"I'm not.... Hey - what did you just call me?" He opened pack of Femidoms and took out the instructions while I ascended the stairs.
"Not that, the other thing."
"Yeah." His cheek moved against my ear, he was smiling. "Did you check to see if you can get the ring out of these?"
"Yes. It's easy. The tricky part is getting the condom inside - yesterday I was too sore."
"Ouch. I take it you haven't tried this kind before."
"No. Have you?"
"No." He put the condoms back in the plastic bag and found the receipt between the pamphlets. "Fuck..."
It was probably the test he was talking about. The condoms hadn't appeared overpriced. "You found a cheaper place?"
"It's probably a standard price. I don't know. We're covered for most things as long as we use the company doc. When do you get the results?"
"Friday." I pushed the door to his room open and stepped across his wet clothes on the way to the bed.
He dropped the bag on the floor. "Flip me?"
I did my best. The bed took a near-fatal hit, but it held, and Chris laughed up at me, bouncing up and down, his hips! moving rhythmically and providing energy to the bounces. The Magnificent Partner, prominent and fat, pushed against the boxer shorts.
"Blowjob?" Chris cheekily requested and wiggled his hips at me. I tore into him, pulling his clothes off and making sure to feel him up and to hit no few tickle spots on the way. He was deliciously lively under my hands when he screeched, squirmed, kicked, and punched at me.
Beautiful! Breathless and flushed he glared up at me when I stepped away. Slap me! I did my best to glare evilly. "What? Are you dissatisfied with my foreplay, too?"
"Foreplay! I want no frigging foreplay - I want my dick sucked and I want it right now." He did petulant about as badly as he did innocent. Impatient and hot was something he did expertly.
"Yeah? You sure you don't want to watch a few more exciting commercials first?" I pulled off my T-shirt, going for nonchalant, and not at all noticing that he stared hungrily. Just practicing being blind here.
"What the fuck - that was you!" He rolled unto his elbow. "You called stop at that stupid commercial-"
"Because you hadn't said anything, you dimwitted monkey."
"Well, hurry up. Are those threads glued on?"
Hurry, hurry, show me off! Chris wants to see me!
"First, you're not interested. Then, you degrade my blowjobs. Publicly! Then, it's hurry, hurry, hurry and no foreplay. A man can only take so much, you know, bef-"
Chris stroked his balls.
My dick put some magic vocabulary into use, a spell, displacing the very air from my lungs. I couldn't move or talk, only watch Chris' hand settle at home on his flushed dick - a small square hand that, with tantalizing routine, was sliding slowly up and down. The dick swelled, flushing even darker, and the soft skin moved with his hand, the silky folds covering the shiny purple head when his hand was on the up; a small wet sound-
He let go of himself and drummed his belly with impatient fingers. "Where do you see a stop sign? Get out of those clothes."
Cheeky bastard. I pulled my jeans and underwear off in one go.
Chris fell onto his back and grinned, expectant sparks buzzing around him like fireflies. I crawled unto the bed from the foot end and pushed his legs apart.
The Partner-bat! was distended to show veins and was jumping with its pulse; it danced when Chris shook his hips. Gorgeous. The balls hung heavy and warm between the pale thighs. "This end of you is actually quite charming," I told Chris, wondering if he was aware of the flutter and soaring sensations inside me. Suck him!
An impatient shimmer of the hips. "Suck me."
"Mmm." Once I got going I would be stuck - there would be no way I could let go of that eager piece of thrumming and delectable Chris flesh. I crawled on. What are you doing? Stop! Go back!
Chris hooked his legs around me and pulled me down, taking most of my weight. His hands were busy freeing my hair. "What are you doing here - my dick's down there, this is my face, you- mph dmph-."
He continued talking right into the kiss, an incomprehensible hum in both our mouths which was a bit weird and it tickled, too - so I ended up laughing, which made Chris laugh too, and we had to give up on the kiss for a moment. I rubbed his nose with mine, kissing him Inuit fashion.
Maybe the Inuit kiss that way because they like to talk and laugh during kisses.
Or maybe it's because Inuit kisses tend to spread to the entire body, until oceans of skin are sliding and curious hands glide in quests for sweet spots to tickle, tease and caress....
"Eeek - that's my knee, you barbarian..."
"It tickles - arrgh. Don't stop. It almost feels good."
And not much later, I had lost the orientation as to what skin belonged to whom.
"Chris? I... Ngh!"
"I can go a second time."
"Well, yeah.... Can you?"
"You like this?"
Make him spew all over. "I really want your semen all over me."
After that, it didn't take long before the heat and the shivers and the Little Grunts and the Mewl!.
I was probably squishing him, and rolled off and snuggled with my head on his shoulder. "I like you sticky." His belly was slick and soft under my hand.
He stroked my back and blew warm breath into my hair. "Well, I am."
"Say, how do you tell my spunk from yours?" He ran a finger through the mess on my belly.
"Can't. It's mixed." It certainly was now that we had stirred it. "Or was that a more general question?"
"Mmm. Not really." He yawned. He grinned, an uncomfortable combination with a yawn, when I took the opportunity to look down his throat.
"Yours probably tastes better." There was only one way to find out. Defying the lethargy in my bones I moved about until I was on my side next to Chris, leaning across his one thigh with my arm under the other. He hummed and bent his leg. I kissed the thigh and took a lick of him; his sweat had a special tang when it came from having sex. I took another couple of licks before taking the soft dick into my mouth.
"Sticky?" he asked brightly.
"Mmm." The taste wasn't much different from my own, the really big difference was that it was the taste of Chris' spunk and came mingled with the unmistakable smell and taste of the rest of him - and that made it so much better.
He pushed my hair aside so that he could watch, and chuckled. "Found something you like?"
I grinned around his dick, the soft, vulnerable mouthful was resting lightly against my teeth and I took care not to move my jaws.
"Shit." Chris swallowed and lay very still. "Am I in trouble here? I was promised liver lining...."
"Help." He was too sated to put much conviction into the plea.
I held him with my lips then suckled lightly, keeping an eye on him, knowing that he might still be oversensitive from coming. The spongy mushroom-shape lolled and didn't resist the slow play of my tongue. It made my heart clench and ache sweetly. There were no hisses from Chris, so the oversensitive phase was probably past and I was free to play.
"Uhm. I need a bit more time."
I kissed his balls. "I like soft dicks, especially when they are fat from coming." His hairs tickled me when I nuzzled the swollen round shapes in their furry bag. "They are pretty."
A rough hand pulled my head up by the hair. "Pretty!" He was mildly outraged. "You're calling my infamous piece of man-meat pretty?"
"Damned right it's the wrong word."
His eyes widened in mock anger, he couldn't quite get rid of the crinkle at the corners.
He shook me. "That's even worse, dickhead."
"My favorite piece of pasta?"
He let go of my hair. "That's better."
"Uhu." I licked the little dick. "A bit thick and over-cooked, but, yes. Very pasta-y."
He laughed; the contractions in his belly made his dick jump. "Go to town, man. You want sauce with it? I think we still got some of the strong stuff."
Go to town? It didn't sound like it meant stop. "No thanks. This is fine. No latex - it's delicious."
"Tell me about the time your dick got you arrested."
"Well." I suckled for a bit before continuing. "The first time-"
"It was more than once?"
"Well, the first time we didn't really get arrested, but it was probably close. You want to hear about the time we got arrested?"
"Go on. The first time."
"It was on the beach with Palle and Martin. We'd been smoking up and were playing around, wrestling and just having fun. Somehow my face ended up right in front of Martin's crotch. I had this revelation, like, whoa - there's a dick in those pants, it must be for me! Mmm." I got sidetracked for a moment. Chris pinched my nose. "Erh. Right. Pants. I pulled his trunks down and had my mouth on him before he knew what was going on and sucked at what I could get at. He tried to push me off at first, but I was pretty determined, so I hung on like one of those kangaroo kids in the pouch."
Chris grinned. "This was like on a public beach? With people around?"
"Okay. What happened next? Apart from the usual thing."
"He didn't get to that point. Palle and Martin were kissing and I was lying there happy with a beautiful dick-" he swapped me. "I can say beautiful - it wasn't yours."
He frowned, considering. "Okay."
"So, I have this beautiful dick in my mouth-" I broke off to suckle him a bit. He growled and I hurried on. "And we're all having a pretty good time when somebody says, "What's going on here?" and I look up and there are those two guys in black uniforms staring at us. It was just about the stupidest question - it was frigging obvious what was going on, I still had my mouth full; it was like, you know those two cops in Tintin? Dupont and Dupond?"
Chris nodded, twinkling. "They had canes and bowlers?"
"No, but one of them had a mustache. So I started laughing and, man, Martin wasn't happy with the teeth and he started yelling at me, he thought that I was going to bite his dick off. Anyway, when we had separated, they told us to get some clothes on and go home. They were really nice about it all once we had promised that it wouldn't happen again. So, yes. That was the first time."
Chris smiled and ran a hand through my hair. "And the second time."
I took another suck of nice soft dick. "Was a bit more traumatic. That was on a camping trip." I stopped, prodding my memory. "I think that's the time we were at least part way inside the tent. We were stoned - I don't remember it all that clearly."
"Same gang - Martin, Palle and me. I think Karlo had been involved too, but I'm not sure. It could be a mix-up with one of the other times. Niller must have been asleep, or he would have stopped us. Karlo had seen the cops when they turned off the road, heading for the camping site, and he had gone all paranoid and run off to hide the dope. He said he warned us, maybe he did. Anyway, we didn't notice him leave, Palle had his dick up my ass and Martin had lit the big chillum and was blowing dope-smoke down my lungs. It was just all haze and dick."
"Oh, decadent. This of course was on a public camping ground."
"Of course. Where else?"
"The next thing I noticed, this I remember clearly, was looking through the smoke and seeing those three enormous German shepherds coming right at us. They were salivating so much that the froth was flying, their teeth were huge and their eyes were all mad and glowing, and they were barking and growling. I got so terrified - I wet myself."
Chris stared wide-eyed.
"Well, it wasn't my sleeping bag-"
He slapped my forehead.
"Oh, they didn't bite us. It turned out that the dogs were leashed to some very grim cops."
He grinned and pulled my nose, so I gave his belly a raspberry.
"So - we got arrested, handcuffed, brought in, searched, interrogated and, yes. We were released the day after and left town in a hurry. The fine came later in the mail. End of story." I suckled dick.
It's stirring! I wasn't so sure about that, but I would much rather pay attention to that fine dick, stirring or not, than dwell on the memory of my first and hopefully only arrest ever.
"They found the dope?"
I let him slip out and mouthed the soft skin of his thigh while talking. "No. Shit, no, only a few grams of weed. It wasn't for want of trying, though. Man, I was so sore when they got around to do the body search...." Chris flinched with his whole body. "Yeah, like that. I was yelling ow, ow and the guy went: "That ploy won't work on me, brat." And I said something like, "Just two hours ago I had lost count on the dicks up my ass, you think this is fun now?" He thought that was a ploy too. He was too stupid to find a truck up there. Anyway, Karlo had hidden the big stash in somebody else's car. We drove around for days before we found them and stole it back." Attention! Partner is waking up! "Mm." I slurped up the flaccid but inflating manly chunk of Chris.
"The third time?"
I created a little suction and shook my head; Chris smiled when his dick and balls shook with the movement. There hadn't been a third time involving cops. There might be a second time involving just Chris and me, though; definitely there was swelling happening in my mouth.
"You sure you don't want that sauce?" His ear tips were red and he probably wasn't aware that he was licking his lips.
I blew until his the head of his dick left my mouth with a plop. Chris jumped and grinned.
"Dude, Chris - chili on the dickhead?"
"Ow. Hey - do that again."
"It's the American way."
"I get it - blowjob. Come on. Again."
It only worked for a couple of times, then Partner had acquired too much bone for good plops.
"Erh." He bit his lip apprehensively when I made to play plop-the-balls.
He shifted about to give me a raspberry on the inner side of my thigh. Things got a little out of hand after that and we had fun making sound effects and weird sensations on tickle spots and sweet spots.
I was on my belly, one leg on the floor. Chris' arm was lying across my back, heavy and warm, he had been smearing my ticklish side with raspberries but had to give up when he was laughing too much. We were both gasping for breath and my belly was hurting from laughing.
There was one of those moments of true quiet when we both drew breath at the same time. And we both heard the little sound from the door, it could have been cloth sliding against the wood. On the outside.
Chris instantly regressed to dynamite studded rock. Oh, no! Kick them!
I was out of the bed and had flung the door open before I could think. Something akin to fuckheads! was all that was room for in my mind, when JC sprawled across the door step and Justin, who was kneeling next to JC, steadied himself with a hand. I took hold of what was convenient, Justin's curls and JC's ear, and pulled both of them up; at that moment their yells and complaints meant nothing to me. "I to lamhjernede snothvalpe, hvad fanden har I gang i?"
"Let go, fuck it hurts!" from Justin alerted me to the fact that I wasn't speaking a language they understood.
"Give me one good reason for not knocking your empty skulls together and kicking both of you imbecile idiots down the stairs!"
"You talk too much." Chris' teeth were so clenched that he had to push hard to get the words out. "Just fucking do it!"
"We're sorry." JC's eyes were showing white. "Mikkel, please.... Ow!" He grasped my wrist when I shook the two of them and lifted them higher until they were both standing on their toes.
"Sorry for what? Sorry for getting caught? Don't tell me, that you're so fucking low on brains that you don't understand a simple message of "no meddling"." I pulled them with me out the door.
Justin must have thought that I was serious about throwing them down the stairs. He tried to kick me. "Aw! No, no, no. Mikkel, don't! Chris, stop him!"
I dumped them, went back into Chris' room and kicked the door shut behind me. For a moment there I thought I had to repair a second door that day, but it stayed on its hinges. "Your friends may be a bunch of sweethearts, but they can be frigging irritating."
"Uhu." Chris was sitting on the bed, naked and beautiful. Chris!
It wasn't until his powerful gaze dropped to my anger-stiffened dick that I understood what was up with him.
My blood kept rolling with passion but with a zap the underlying emotion changed flavor entirely.
He made a small gurgle in his throat, and lay down, spreading his legs when I picked up the lube.
The doorbell rang right as I found the duct tape that I knew I had seen in a kitchen drawer. For a moment I was inclined to run out the backdoor and hide in the backyard. After all, Chris had lent me the key in case Busta wanted more of her toys - I hadn't gotten the key in order to sneak about in the house when there was nobody at home. Pulling myself together I walked quietly up to the door and looked through the spy-hole.
It was JC's friend, shielded by sunglasses.
I opened the door and spoke to my twin mirror images. "AJ? Hi."
"Hi." He hesitated for a moment. "Miguel, was it?"
"Is JC around?" He made a motion towards the car that JC had left in the driveway.
"No. They are all out of town. I'm just... looking after the house. You know, watering the flowers..."
By the tilt of his head I knew that he was looking the very dirty me up and down. "And one of them exploded, pot and all?"
"Eh. No. Actually, I'm doing something I'm not supposed to. They don't know that I'm here. I would appreciate if you didn't tell any of them that you have seen me."
"Yeah?" his mouth tightened, it could have been suspicion. "Collecting pin codes perhaps?"
"Ah. No. Sort of getting back at Chris."
A well-shaped eyebrow moved smoothly upwards, effortlessly clearing the edge of the glasses. "Yeah? For what?"
"You want the list?"
"There's a list?" He was almost smiling now.
Perhaps he's a bit slow. "What do you expect? I've known Chris for more than a week. Of course there is a list. A very long list."
"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "I get it. A week with Kirkpatrick and you get a list several miles long. What are you doing?"
I had already told him too much. Perhaps.... "Actually, I could use a hand." And I could use company, as it was I was hard pressed finishing my project before dark and I really wanted away from the house before then.
"Yeah?" He pushed the sunglasses up, revealing a nice set of interested brown eyes. "You offering me a chance to get back at Kirkpatrick?"
"Well, it's a bit ham-fisted; I mean, it's going to affect all three of them. But, yes, basically."
"Ah. Getting back at Lance and Kirkpatrick in one go - there's an offer I cannot refuse."
Lance? What did Lance do? I stepped aside to let him in. "How good are you at editing sounds?"
"I've done it. Occasionally." He paused and looked intently at me before he nudged the door shut with a heel. "Why?"
"I'm making ghosts in the pipes of the air condition." I spoke as we walked down the stairs to the basement. "Figured I could set something up that goes off around midnight. I wanted it to sound like, you know, crazed and vengeful killer zombie alligator babies in eternal pain - but it doesn't come out just right."
"Crazed and vengeful killer zombie alligator babies in eternal pain, man, I'm an expert on that kind of stuff." He was right at my heels. "What equipment do you - shit!" He studied the naked furnace, the pile of dismounted metal sheeting and grilles, and the set-up that was spread out on the floor, waiting to be installed. "Eh. You're a pretty serious guy, I see. But do you know what you're doing?"
"Yes. I took the cover off the furnace and dismantled a few pipes in order to figure out the best way to hide the timer and the tape recorder. This part I have down just fine. I am having some trouble getting the speakers mounted where I want them in the pipe system, but with your help it should be easier." I turned the old cassette tape recorder on. It and most of the rest had come out of Mormor's basement. There was still a lot of stuff left in the box that I had filled with all kinds of treasure-junk. "The major problem is this."
AJ listened to the squirky sounds and started laughing.
"That is just the reaction that I don't want," I told him and powered up my computer that had been sleeping on the dryer. "You think you can do better?"
He looked over my shoulder and nodded when he saw what program I was calling up. "You got a mike or something?"
I pointed. "In the bag. There's a couple of CDs with sound effects, too."
"Oh, this is gonna be good. So good," he promised and bumped me out of the way. "Make room for the Soundmaster." He cracked his fingers and dove into the bag.
Later, we were in the living room, sitting on the floor, drinking the beers that I had brought with me and listening to the final show. The hollow, low, high-pitched moans and twitter grated against my spine and skull, I shivered and the hairs on my arms stood out. The timing between the bouts of sound was just right, and the scraping background of small alligator claws on metal was very real. AJ had a knack for sounds and timing that I just didn't.
"It works. I really want to run," I told him.
"Uhu. Me too." He was frowning. "I was thinking, with the TV going - they might not hear it, though."
"You want the volume higher?"
"Maybe. I really like the way it is now, like, when you have to strain a bit to hear it... Maybe something to alert them and make them listen. Could we control the TV?"
Install the timer inside the wall? "It would be easier to set up something on the loft, make thumps or whatever, that would make them mute the TV. We could do it; I have an extra timer.... But - it's not really important that they hear the alligators the first night or the next... Actually, Busta will likely alert them."
"Chris' pup, the one that I'm supposed to baby-sit and that I left with my grandmother."
"I keep wanting to ask you, why alligators?"
"Chris will think it's black magic. Don't ask why, but he will. It'll scare the shit out of him."
"Ah. Magic. I hate to tell you this, but I have no idea what alligator babies sound like, really. I'm just guessing."
"Neither do I but I'm sure he'll make the connection and it'll hit him right in the fear glands."
AJ nodded, satisfied. "Okay. So, they hear the alligator babies and then? What are they likely to do?"
"Flee the house? Check the air outlets using a torch? Eventually, Chris will go investigate the storage room in basement. He might even go alone..." I tried hard not to feel my conscience stirring at that.
"The storage room?"
"Yes. It's a pretty scary place."
Our eyes met in immediate understanding. AJ got up. "Let's go."
I didn't want to, I really didn't want to, but he looked so excited and pleased that I had to follow him - even into a room with a gate to hell. Already, my mind was running this way and that, looking for ideas at high speed, uncontrolled and powered by adrenaline. "You know, if we had some kind of sensor - hey, perhaps I could rig something out of the baby alarm; the door creaks, that would set it off..."
AJ looked at me over his shoulder, eyes gleaming wickedly.
End of Chapter
© Morgenfryd 2003