by A. C. Katt
Mr. La Marche pressed a few buttons and the showerheads moved so that they wouldn’t hit Sean anywhere near his temple or side. Sean turned his eyes to the wall trying not to display his cock which, with the sight of Armand La Marche’s tall, broad, and toned body, got rock hard.
“I won’t be long, Mr. La Marche, I appreciate all that you have done for me. As soon as I speak to the detective, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“We’ll speak about that after breakfast.”
Sean began to protest. “You’ve done too much.”
“None of that, now; turn around so I can wash you properly.” Sean turned thumping his cock a second time, hoping that Mr. La Marche wouldn’t see its apparent interest.
Armand chuckled. “Well at least I can see you’re not indifferent to my charms.”
Sean’s fair skin turned a bright shade of red.
Mr. La Marche caressed his skin with a sea sponge going over every inch with long circular strokes as if Sean was made of spun glass. He turned Sean around giving using the same slow, sensuous strokes on his back. He dribbled water down his crack and washed between his cheeks.
Mr. La Marche bent down and washed Sean’s legs working his way up to his thighs. He turned Sean around and reached for his cock.
“I’m feeling much better. Eh…I can take it from here.”
Mr. La Marche shook his head. “Let me take care of you, spoil you a bit. You’ve had a difficult time and you’re still shaky after what you saw last night.”
He put Sean’s cock in his hand and soaped it and his ball sac with great tenderness. Sean was very self-conscious. His usually trimmed hair had turned into a bush. Why did that matter? He couldn’t fathom his reaction to his host. His dick was ramrod stiff and he couldn’t stop leaning into Mr. La Marche’s caress. Mr. La Marche pulled him up against his chest and began to stroke Sean’s cock; his own, rock-hard dick rubbing against Sean’s crack. Sean couldn’t protest. He felt himself about to collapse on the shower floor with need riding him hard.
It seemed as if Armand’s—yes, he now thought of him as Armand—hands belonged there. I want him. I need to fall into his arms and make sure he never lets me go. He came in long ropey spurts. What am I thinking? I’ve known this man for twelve hours and I’ve let him jerk me off!
Armand remained silent. Sean’s knees weakened at the soft touches of the sponge cleaning his spunk off his chest.
“I’ve got you,” Armand said as he turned him around and put his hand into his hair. He pulled it up and back. Taking the hand sprayer he wet the long blond hair. Armand squeezed shampoo from a bottle on the shelf he began to massage it into his hair. The shampoo and the conditioner that followed had no scent. Yet, Sean smelled a delicious odor of wet pine and the green grass of springtime that wasn’t coming from the shampoo. Why does the shower smell like a forest in the spring?
Armand rinsed Sean’s hair and body with the hand sprayer. He pulled Sean into him for a hard kiss. Then he opened the shower door and took towels from the warmer, drying himself briskly; he left the shower as if nothing had occurred. He patted Sean dry using one towel for his body and taking the second to wrap around his hair. He checked to see if Sean was able to stand and then closed the bathroom door to give him some privacy to dress. Sean toweled himself off and again donned the pants. He couldn’t wrap his head around what just happened. Why didn’t I object to the handjob or the kiss? What’s the matter with me? What was I thinking?
The pounding of the shower heads had cleared his brain of the fog left over from the sedative. But he felt as if he were losing his mind. The shower gel Armand used carried no scent. Yet the smell of pine and newly mowed grass persisted. All of the products came from the same private label. He decided to let it be. Maybe the wound had fucked with my olfactory senses besides messing with my head.
Relief flowed over him as he felt truly clean for the first time in weeks. There was no deodorant. Sean shrugged, and put on the robe. He never liked heavy scents anyway. His nose was very sensitive.
Sean found his clothing on the bed. Everything he had on the previous evening was neatly washed and pressed. He sighed in relief that he wouldn’t have to go to breakfast in a robe and sleep pants. He felt vulnerable enough as it is. Taking off the robe and pants he put on his briefs, jeans, his sweatshirt, socks and sneakers.
* * * *
Armand was sitting at the breakfast table when he heard the brass door knocker. Pierre went to answer the door and escorted Dr. Artis into the breakfast room. The doctor eyes shone with excitement.
“Sit down, my friend. Meg, pour Dr. Artis some coffee. You’re up very early doctor.”
“I acted on a hunch last night when I took some of the boy’s blood. I recognized him as loup-garou. I’d need to do some more tests to determine the bloodline but I’m sure he is a more than a half-blood. It took a dose of sedative, plus a sleeping pill to put him down last night and his wound was healing quicker than a human but not as instantly as a were. It remains to be seen if he can make the shift, however, with more than fifty percent loup-garou blood, it’s possible. That is why he had so strong a scent. Meg and Pierre noticed this too, but I told them not to say anything until I was sure of my information.”
“And now you are sure…”
“Positive. Of course you already knew that, Alpha.”
“If it was Dimitri, I wonder why he didn’t smell him as were in the alley.”
“The garbage, Alpha, it had been there for a while. I have an excellent nose and in the alley I smelled no trace of Dimitri.”
“I thought he was loup-garou but it’s nice to have the fact that he’s were confirmed and knowing he can shift will make things easier.” Armand laid his napkin on his lap.
“Pierre, has Meg sized the clothing?”
“Yes Alpha, she knew you wouldn’t allow your mate to dress so poorly.”
“Go to Abercrombie and Fitch and get my mate a few things to wear befitting his status. Pick out a suit from Barney’s, a box plaid with sage green to bring out his eyes. Make an appointment for the tailor to come this afternoon and make any adjustments necessary.”
“May I ask why, Alpha?”
“Yes you may, I intend to woo him and then marry him as soon as he says yes.”
“I understand, sir.” Pierre bowed and left the room.
“Dr. Artis, I’ve kept you too long from your patients.”
The doctor took this statement as a polite dismissal and bid his Alpha good day.
“I’ll be back later this afternoon to look at the bandage.”
Armand’s sharp sense of smell detected Sean on the stairs. He came down to the breakfast room. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you have wedding plans, Mr. La Marche. If I could talk to the detective, I’ll be on my way. I’m sure your intended…” Sean’s voice hitched on that word, “…won’t want a stranger imposing on your hospitality.”
“As of yet, I have no fiancé for you to worry about. We need to talk, but first you need to eat, you’re much too thin.”
Meg laid a large steak with eggs and home fried potatoes on the table in front of him along with a plate of fruit and another of toast and muffins. The eggs were drenched in Béarnaise sauce as was the steak.
“Meg, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I don’t know your last name.”
“My surname is Blanchet, but before that I was plain Meg O’Connor, so Meg is fine.”
“I wanted to tell you Meg, that your breakfast looks wonderful, but I don’t know if I can eat it all.” Sean said looking at the sheer amount of food on the table.
“You need some good red meat, so oblige me by starting with the steak. The doctor said you need to build up your strength.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Armand poured himself another cup of French roast.
“Not at all, there isn’t really much to tell…”
“Where are you from?”
“A small borough on the Bayshore of New Jersey,
Keansburg. My father is a police officer, my mother deceased. Although I just found out in August that the man I thought to be my father, wasn’t my dad. It seems my mom was pregnant prior to their marriage. She died of breast cancer as did her sister, Nellie. She never told me that I wasn’t Tom Quinn’s son or who my real father was.”
Pierre came into the room. “Sir…”
“That must be Detective Murphy. We will continue our conversation after he fills out his paperwork.”
Pierre escorted the detective into the room.
“Would you like some coffee, detective?” Meg bustled and put a cup and the carafe in front of him.
“Sir.” The detective bowed his head to Armand. Armand waved to indicate that the detective should sit down.
“You must be Sean Quinn, I have your backpack. Is that your full name?” the detective started.
“My full name is Sean Lucien Quinn.”
“Oh, was your mother French?” Armand asked.
“No, she was Irish, her maiden name was O’Shea. I always wondered why she gave me such a French middle name. She was Irish on both sides of the family. The man who raised me was also Irish.”
“What did you see last night?” Detective Murphy took out his notebook.
Sean blushed in shame. “I need to explain. I couldn’t pay for school or my apartment because my father cut me off from a legacy from my aunt. The art gallery in SoHo, where I worked, closed and I lost my job. Uh…Leroy said he would show me how to make some money by…”
Armand interrupted. “You don’t have to continue, just tell him about the murder.”
“Leroy said he would look out for me.” Sean face turned bright red with embarrassment.
“Leroy would be the deceased?” Murphy wrote on his pad.
“Yes, sir. We were almost at the pier. He saw this man he called the Russian in front of us. Leroy told me to run and hide in the alley; that I couldn’t handle him.”
“Handle him?”
“You know…”
“Murphy, you’re out of your purview.” Armand growled.
“Excuse me, Mr. La Marche. I’m sorry for prying in what is clearly not my business.”
“You may continue.” Armand gave a second warning growl.
“You hid behind the Dumpster?” The detective looked a bit frightened.
“Yes, I covered myself in garbage.” Sean looked at Armand and he nodded his head encouraging him to continue. “I watched as this Russian pulled a knife and stuck it into Leo’s stomach and pulled it upwards toward the top of his chest. It took a great deal of strength to do that.” Sean grimaced.
“What happened next?” The detective scribbled.
“He must have seen my head over the Dumpster because I stood when I heard Leroy scream. He came after me with the knife. He slipped on some lettuce and I was able to get away. He ran along the docks and I hid again. He stopped as if to sniff the air. He came after me again but I got away and he then stole into an open doorway and I had no choice but to run to get help. His knife cut my head and side. It bled a lot, but it seems to be okay today.”
“Can you tell me anything else?”
“I took off and ended up on West Street running over to the first car I saw. It was Mr. La Marche’s vehicle.”
“Can you identify this Russian?”
“Yes, I have excellent night vision and he turned toward where I was hiding as soon as he finished with Leroy and again when he used the door in the alley.” Sean’s voice quivered. “He hurt Leroy for no reason. He saw the way I went, he could have come after me without involving Leroy.” Sean’s eyes filled up.
“I think that’s enough for today, detective,” Armand said abruptly.
“Your pardon, sir. Do you think Sean will be able to come down to the stationhouse to identify this Russian from a mug shot?”
“Wait a minute, Detective Murphy. I can draw him. Mr. La Marche, do you mind? I’ll get my charcoal pencil and sketchpad from my backpack.” He sat down at the table and quickly sketched a picture of the Russian from memory. “This is him.”
“That’s Dimitri Petrovich, a name both of us know well, Alpha.”
Armand shot the detective a look and Murphy blushed in consternation.
“Can you take it from here? Sean looks a bit tired and I’d rather not have him upset.”
“Eh, yes sir.”
“Pierre you can show the detective out. Sean and I will be in my study. I believe you have some errands to run.”
“Yes, Alpha.” Pierre left the breakfast room.
“Have you finished your breakfast?”
“Oh yes, Mr. La Marche. I’m completely stuffed.”
“Then we shall retire to my study.”
* * * *
Sean followed Armand up the stairs. The study was done in blue and brown with a huge library table that served as a desk which was flanked by two brown leather chairs. A small couch faced toward the fireplace. “Sit with me.” Armand motioned to the sofa. The logs were set and a box of fireplace matches sat on the mantel. “Let’s take the chill out of the room.” Armand took some kindling from the woodbin and started a fire. Sean sat nervously on the far side of the sofa while Armand worked to start the flame.
“I’m afraid I can’t repay you for your kindness, Mr. La Marche. At the moment I have nothing.”
“I’m not looking for payment, far from it.” Armand stepped closer to where Sean sat and a fission of absolute calm descended upon him the closer Armand came. “Come, baby and sit here, closer to me.”
Why is he calling me baby? Now that I think of it, he called me that last evening too.
Sean moved down on the sofa and Armand pulled him into a heated kiss. Sean jumped back.
“Do you feel the attraction between us? The air sizzles with it.” Armand lifted Sean onto his lap. Sean began to fidget.
“I must. I don’t know what came over me in the shower. I’m not easy, despite what I was about to do last night. I was so hungry and cold…” Sean hid his face in his hands shaking and trying not to cry.
“Take it easy, baby. I know what happened. Your stepfather should be shot for what he did to you.” Sean tried to regain control of himself as Armand mouthed soothing words and stroked his back.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Armand asked Sean.
“I’m not very interesting. I studied to be a potter at NYU Institute of Fine Arts and had one semester to go to finish my master’s degree in Fine Arts with a specialty in studio ceramics.” Sean started to sit up straight making a deliberate move off Armand’s lap to sit next to him on the couch. Armand casually draped an arm around his shoulders. Sean sunk lower into the cushions to avoid his arm. He couldn’t trust himself around this man.
“I wanted to study Native American pottery designs. I hoped to stylize their patterns and use a modern glaze to make unique pottery. I had no grand design. I only wanted to be able to work at the craft I love. Someday I hoped to open a shop.” Sean sighed.
“How did you plan to fund it?”
“My Aunt Nellie left me a legacy. I’d been very frugal with the money. I thought that I had enough to make a start. Maybe apprentice myself to a master potter, learn and with the money I earned, plus Nellie’s, open a studio.”
“Your stepfather denied you access to your funds?” Armand guessed as he pulled Sean closer. Unconsciously, Sean leaned on Armand’s shoulder.
“After I told him I way gay, he told me that he had power of attorney over the trust and he would spend what was left before I could even find a lawyer. Mr. La Marche, I don’t know any lawyers and even if I did, any lawyer in Keansburg would know my father. And they don’t much like gay people in Keansburg.” Sean moved sideways a bit trying to get further away from Armand. Armand just pulled him in closer. It felt like a chess game and he was the pawn.
“Armand…”
“Sir?” Sean looked at him perplexed.
“Armand, not Mr. La Marche.” Armand began to absently str
oke Sean’s hair.
“I didn’t know how to begin to get the money back. I came back to New York to find that I lost my job because the gallery closed. I applied all over SoHo and all of the galleries were cutting back on help. Even the fast food chains weren’t hiring.”
“Hard times for the art world as well as the rest of the country, baby.”
“My roommates were new, last year I shared the apartment with my best friend Tony and Tony’s girlfriend, now wife, Nina. They went up to Boston where Tony is a teaching assistant at Boston University so I had to room with someone new.”
Armand’s hand stroked up and down Sean’s arm. Sean felt comforted, as if Armand really cared about all that happened to him in the last few months.
“I started to apply anywhere to get a job to pay my portion of the rent. They only gave me two weeks and then they changed the name on the lease. I was homeless. It’s even harder to find work when you have no address. I stayed in friends’ dorm rooms for a night or two and then couch surfed for a week with a buddy, but his roommate complained and I had nowhere to go again.”
“Where was your apartment?” Armand asked.
“At 216 West 16th, between 7th and 8th Avenue, the front apartment on the second floor; it was barely inside Chelsea.”
“Not far from here.” Armand stroked Sean’s arm.
“Older, but a nice apartment, rent stabilized, but I couldn’t pay my share of the rent so I was out on my ear. What little money I had left I spent four days ago on a hamburger. I’d run out of options. I didn’t want to pawn my computer because all of my design work for my master’s degree was on it, but I did. But it didn’t get me enough for a bus ticket to Boston.”
“Yes, you mentioned your friend and his wife. Do they know what happened?”
“I didn’t have a working cell phone to call them.”
“You could stay here with me. I have more money than I know what to do with and I’d be very happy to help you. This electricity between us, I’d like to explore it.” Sean blushed.