Queerwolf

Chapter 2

Chapter 2When I awoke, after a very long and much-needed nap, my apartment was still a mess, my head still pounding, my stomach now gurgling. I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten last as I glanced over at the clock in the kitchen. It was just past eight at night, sunset fast approaching—as was the stranger on the phone. I glanced down at the sweats that Ted had loaned me, which were suddenly tenting something fierce. “Well, at least one of us seems to be right as rain today. Goody for you.” I gave it a spiteful thwack. It pulsed with glee. Go figure.

Trudging, I made my way to my fridge, through the obstacle course that was now my living room. I popped open the door and grimaced at my lack of options: soda, milk, bread, ketchup, a bottle of champagne that had been sitting there for the last two years at least, and a lone banana, brown as a UPS truck. My stomach did a series of somersaults at the sight, or lack thereof, of it. Reluctantly, I tried the freezer. “Praise the Lord for small miracles,” I said, removing the round lump of tinfoil that could only mean one thing. “A hamburger patty.”

My mouth watered at the sight of it as the foil separated from the meat. Feed me! hollered my belly. Which meant that yet another body part was screaming at me. Still, this one I was listening to. Eagerly. In other words, that patty was frying in about two seconds flat, saliva dripping from the corner of my mouth as the aroma of searing beef wafted up my nostrils, yanking at my very soul.

Hurriedly, I toasted the bread, hopefully killing any mold that had decided to make its home there, then doused it in ketchup and tossed the barely cooked meat in between the two slices. It was downed in just barely four hearty chomps, squelching my hunger, if only by a hair.

“Mmm,” I moaned, eyelids fluttering closed as the last masticated clump glided down my throat. When I opened them again, the beast was again straining at Ted’s sweats. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re next. Promise. Once I straighten this all out. And find Jeff. And then also find my wallet and clothes and keys.” I shook my head. “Who am I kidding? That could all take days, the way things are going.” And so, I dropped the sweats to the ground, kicked them off, and took matters into my own hands.

Only, of course, seeing as things had a recent tendency to go awry, that’s when I heard a knock. “Poor beast,” said I, watching it sway from side to side as I made my way over to the door before poking my head out. It was Ted, sheepishly standing there, still, thank goodness, in his skimpy shorts, the tank replaced by a too-tight-tee. “Oh, um, hi yet again,” I said, the nude half of my body concealed behind the door, eager as my c**k was to come out and play.

He nodded, grinned. “I was just checking in on you. You were, well, kind of off this morning.”

I chuckled. “That’s one word for it.” Bloodied, naked, and befuddled would’ve been better words, but far be it from me to point out the obvious. “I’m fine now, thanks for checking.” I smiled back at him and snapped my fingers. “Your sweats and T-shirt,” I said. “Let me give them back to you now.”

I turned, yanked off the shirt, and went to retrieve the sweats from my kitchen floor. When I turned back around, naked and still hard as granite, Ted had already pushed the door open and was standing there, jaw dropping as he stared from my living room to me, his eyes going back and forth and up and down. Mostly down.

“What’s going on?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“I can explain,” I told him, heart again galloping through a furlong before I stared down at my pole of a prick. “See, damn thing seems to be on autopilot today.”

He shook his head. “No, Blake,” he said, pointing at the obvious mess. “This? What happened to your apartment?”

I shrugged. “Oh, then no, I can’t explain.”

“Were you robbed?”

My shrug went north. “Not that I can tell, no.”

“Mugged?”

I added a sideways shake of my head to the shrug. “Um, probably not.”

“Probably not? Wouldn’t you know if you were mugged?”

A lopsided grin got tossed into my repertoire. “I, um, seem to be having a bit of a memory loss today, Ted. My wallet and keys are missing, so yes, maybe I was mugged.” Then I added the other missing piece, seeing as I had a sudden need to tell someone what was going on. And since I was already naked and hard, it might as well have been him. So much for my logic. Or lack thereof. “And my date is missing, as far as I can tell. Or he’s not. Hard to say, really.”

He laughed a rather fetching laugh. “Emphasis on the hard,” he said, pointing out the blatantly obvious.

I blushed, realizing the elephant in the room was aimed straight at him, ready to charge. “Yeah, you do seem to keep finding me this way today.”

His blush matched my own, a flash of crimson burning his cheeks. “So now what are you gonna do?”

I gave my prick a tug. “Guess drain it so it’ll finally quiet down some.”

“No,” he said, the blush suddenly molten on his adorable, stubbled face. “About this?” He pointed at the scattered demolition.

I moved in, keenly aware that only one of us was naked, though two of us appeared quite hard if the tenting in his shorts meant anything. I stopped seven inches in front of him, so as not to poke him. “Ted,” I said, “can’t we handle this problem first? Then I can think more clearly about all the others.” And with sunset fast approaching, now seemed like the best time.

He reached down and held my c**k in his hand, a million tingles shooting out from my crotch and through all four limbs. Then he grinned and leaned in, brushing his lips against mine, the million tingles doubling in an instant. “Well,” he rasped, “if you think it’ll help.”

I nodded, my forehead now against his forehead, my hand cupping his burgeoning prick. “It’ll help, Ted,” I replied. “Man, will it ever help.”

His lips met mine, his soft as down, soft as a cloud, soft as a pile of cotton on a bed of down resting on a cloud, in fact. The kiss was tender and warm, the stroking down yonder slow and steady. I reached below and worked my hand inside his shorts, releasing his prick a second later, until it jutted out and up just a tad, arcing just slightly to the right, the wide, helmeted head already slick with copious amounts of precome.

He backed up an inch, dropped his shorts, and shucked his shirt, until we were both naked, save for his socks and sneakers, which, honestly, was even hotter than him being totally naked. Call it a seventies porn fetish. Then he closed the gap, his mouth fairly devouring mine as he again stroked my c**k, his free hand cupping my ass, fingers tickling the hairs that ran down my crack. I aped the maneuver, stroking his fifth limb as my index finger ran rings around his satiny hole. Chalk one up for the good-neighbor policy.

“Nice,” I moaned into his mouth as he retracted his hand, spit into his fingers, and quickly returned it, a slicked-up digit worming its way inside me. “Nicer,” I groaned, returning the favor, until two c***s were getting worked and two holes were deftly getting prodded and two mouths were eagerly swapping some heavy doses of spit, until both our legs were soon enough buckling.

“Close,” he growled, picking up steam with his fist.

“Closer,” I panted back, every nerve ending in my body shooting off Fourth of July fireworks as my c**k erupted in what could only be called a Vesuvius of come, jizz flying up and out before coating the wood-slatted floor beneath us. My moans matched his groans as he came a split second later, his c**k so thick in my hand that I could barely grasp it any longer, prick spewing one steady stream after the next, until the wood below went from brown to milky white.

Wet with sweat, he pulled me into him, shaking my prick until the last vestiges of man-sap dripped down. “Better?” he asked, retracting his finger from up my ass.

“Much,” I replied with a heavy sigh, the fog in my head at last dissipating as I opened my eyes and stared out the window, the sky a mix of pink and orange, casting a golden glow across the mess that lay sprawled out all around us—gobs of come included.

His finger caressed my neck. “Then why do you still look worried?”

I frowned. Because, though my c**k was at last hanging limp and no longer screaming up at me, I was, as he said, worried. And who, I figured, could blame me? “I don’t think you want to know.”

He kissed my nose. “Probably not but lay it on me, anyway.” He chuckled again as he reached down to hold my hand. “You’ve got my curiosity aroused now that the rest of me no longer is.”

“Well put,” I said, quickly telling him the story from beginning to end, right on up to my finger up his ass and all that glorious come flying hither and yon. Mostly yon. Though even the hither had a good coating of spunk by that point.

“Ah,” he eventually said. “So that explains the need for the shower earlier. But whose blood was it on the ferry?”

I put my head on his shoulder. All things considered, it felt good there. “Beats the hell out of me.”

“And the guy that’s about to show up here?”

I sighed, though this time not out of contentment. “Ditto.”

He pulled away and lifted my head up in the palm of his hand. “I don’t like it, Blake.”

“I know. What’s to like about waking up in a pool of blood?”

He shook his head. “No. Well, yes. But no, not that,” he said with a grimace. Though on him, even that looked hot. “I mean, this guy seems to know way too much, while you don’t seem to know anything at all. And he’s got enough against you without the two of you being alone in your apartment together. What if the one pool of blood leads to yet another?”

I groaned. “Mine?”

Then he groaned. “Yours.”

“So, what are you suggesting? That both of us are here to greet him?” All in all, I liked the way that sounded much better. Though, of course, Ted and I barely knew each other. Despite the fact that he just drenched my floor with come. Thick, gooey wads of it.

“No, I’m suggesting that neither of us be here.”

I sighed and again stared out the window, sunset now in full force, dark blue quickly replacing orange and red. “But then I won’t learn anything. Like why my apartment is a shambles and why I woke up in a pool of blood on a ferry. Like why the last thing I remember is being on a date and then nothing but blank pages after that.” And what had really been nagging at me, terrifyingly so, was all that blood my date’s? I mean, he still hadn’t returned my call, and it had been hours now.

Ted smiled, which released a whole swarm of butterflies inside my belly, tickling my insides. “Maybe we can learn a thing or two without you getting into any more hot water than you already seem to be in.”

“Such as?”

His smile grew wider, those butterflies whooshing this way and that. “Such as who this guy is for starters. Maybe you’ll recognize him if you see him. Maybe that will answer some of your questions.”

“But how will I see him if I don’t meet him here as planned?”

He also turned to look at the darkening sky. “Your apartment looks out the back of the building, Blake.”

And in an instant, I knew what he was getting at. “And yours looks out the front.” I leaned in and gave him a grateful peck on his cheek that somehow bee-lined to his lips. Somehow. “We can see him without him seeing us.” I paused, though. “Are you…are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, for all we know, this could be just the beginning of some bad shit.”

He kissed me and pulled me in tight. “He won’t see either one of us, dude. Besides, I’m already invested. After all, traces of that blood you woke up in are in my apartment now. For all we know, I’m already an accessory to something bad. This way, I’m helping prove both our innocence.”

I forced a smile. Forced because, I reasoned to myself, what if only one of us was indeed innocent? For all I knew, I’d done something truly awful. Still, he was right about one thing: being alone with the stranger could prove detrimental. Even the phone conversation left me shaken. What would face to face do to me? Besides, there was safety in numbers, I figured. “Deal,” I eventually relented. “Just so long as he doesn’t see you.”

Ted grinned and again bussed me on the cheek. “He won’t, Blake. He won’t.”

And with that, we quickly got dressed and ran back to his apartment, both of us squatting behind his darkened window, his digital camera pointed down to the sidewalk below. Minutes later, a lone man walked up with a bag in his hand. It was too dark to make out his features, but something deep, deep inside of me, like Mariana Trench deep, told me it was him, the stranger on the phone. He rang the buzzer to my apartment, though I clearly wasn’t there to answer it. Again, he rang it and then again, my heart stopping with each push of the buzzer, and all while, Ted zoomed the lens in and snapped away. After several minutes, the stranger thankfully gave up, leaving the bag on our front stoop.

“Let’s wait a bit,” offered my newfound friend.

“Fine by me,” I agreed. “How about a week from Wednesday?”

He patted my hand. “Um, a half an hour should be plenty.” He pointed down the street. “See, he’s walking away. Best guess, he gave up on you.”

“And worst guess?” I couldn’t help but ask.

This time he squeezed my hand. “Glass half-full, dude,” he said. “Thirty minutes and we get the bag, see if there are any clues inside.”

“And if there aren’t any?”

He paused, because clearly, he knew we were quickly running out of ideas. “Let’s just see, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay, we wait.”

Which is just what we did, sitting there in the dark apartment, both of us sprawled out on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, the minutes ticking by like hours, slow as molasses on the back of a tortoise. Still, it was nice being there with him. It felt safe. Well, safer, at any rate. And by then, I was taking anything I could get. Because that guy downstairs was bad news. I knew it as sure as I knew anything. Felt it down to my very bones. Down to my soul, in fact.

“Ready?” Ted asked, thirty minutes later, as planned. “No,” I replied, not moving.

“Want to wait thirty more minutes?”

I leaned up on my elbows. “No. Let’s just get it over with.”

He hopped up and helped me to my feet, our eyes locking, faces mere centimeters apart. How on earth had I missed this guy all this time? I smiled; he smiled back. “What?” he whispered, hands on the small of my back, breath tickling my neck.

“Nothing,” I whispered in return. “Just, well…thanks.”

He tilted his head and grinned. “No problem. That’s what neighbors are for.”

“No,” I told him. “Neighbors are for borrowing sugar; this, this goes way beyond that.”

He led me to the front door and out into the stairwell. “Well, if you need sugar, too, just ask. Splenda, at any rate.”

Reluctantly, I headed down the stairs. “Actually, I’m out of dishwashing liquid. Let’s start with that and see how it goes.” He laughed, as did I. Though the laughter abruptly stopped when we reached the front door and spotted the bag sitting on the stoop. I cupped my hands above my eyebrows and put my face to the glass. I didn’t see the stranger lurking, but it was dark out there, so who knew for sure? And yet, I did of course want to see what was in the bag. I mean, like Ted had said, it might’ve held a clue of some sort.

“Go get it,” said my neighbor, gently pushing me forward.

I gripped the doorknob in my now-sweaty palm. Then I quickly hopped out, grabbed the bag, and hopped back in, both of us running up the stairs fast as jackrabbits, squealing like two overly-caffeinated teenage girls—which, for mature(ish) men in their mid-twenties, was sort of tragic.

In any case, we tossed the bag on his couch and stood there staring at it, both of us fighting to catch our breaths. “Open it,” I told him.

“It’s for you,” he countered with.

“Oh yeah, right,” I said, conveniently forgetting that fact until I walked toward the bag and flung it open, my eyes wide at what was inside.

“What is it?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

“It’s my clothes,” I coughed out. “From last night. Only, um, torn up a bit. Shredded, like my couch, like my living room.” I turned the bag over, and out dropped my wallet and the keys to my apartment and my cellphone.

“Well,” said Ted. “That explains how he knows where you live and how he got your phone number. So that’s, uh, something.”

“But not how he came to acquire them,” I retorted. “And why they look like this.” I held up the remains of my belongings. And that’s when a lone business card fell out. I reached for it and gave it the once over.

“What’s it say?”

“Steven Littleton,” I replied. “And a phone number.”

“Who’s Steven Littleton?” he asked.

I turned to look at him. “I’m guessing the stranger because I never heard that name before just now.”

He ran from the room and came back with the camera before plugging it into the TV so that we could get a look at this Steven fellow. And then, all too soon, there he was, face mostly in the dark save for one discernible feature.

And it was then that my head started to spin like a Tilt-a-Wheel.

Because I knew who I was looking at. Or at least his eyes. Eyes as blue as sapphires and sparkling as such. The eyes I saw in the bathroom at Toad Hall. The last thing I remembered before the ferry and the blood.

“f**k,” I managed, just before my world collapsed into a pinprick of light. And then not even that.