by J P Sayle
His gaze travelled down the hall, not missing a single thing. He struggled to pull in a cleansing breath when all he could taste was the sourness of hate in the air.
Aaden moved quickly from room to room, opening windows in an attempt to let in fresh air. The heavy curtains covering the windows hindered his progress. As he dropped Max onto the floor, his earlier concern about marking the carpets was lost under his desire to take in a clean breath.
He got his bearings, going into the kitchen and opening the patio door, uncaring of the cold October breeze that whistled into the room. Feeling a pressure against his leg, he looked down in time to see Max run out the door. Sighing, Aaden gave chase. Max ran like the devil himself were chasing him, with Aaden hot on his heels.
“Come on, Max, come back. Come on, I need to check you’re okay, please. Oh fuck, don’t make me climb up that ruddy tree.” He grumbled as he stalked over to the large willow tree in the far corner of the overgrown garden. Pushing through the knee-high grass, he prayed there were no snakes that bit inhabiting the island.
Testing the tree, he groaned in despair. There was no way it would hold his weight.
“Get down from there right now. Come on, I’m not playing this game.” He thrust his jaw forward, glowering up at the silent bicoloured eyes giving him a “fuck you” glare.
Turning, he cocked his head at the sudden noise coming from inside the house. Ignoring Max’s hissing growl, he went back to the patio door, taking a deep inhale before going to the front door, knowing it would be Joe.
As he opened the door, he was met with another glowering face. What is it with people today, for pity’s sake?
“Take your time, man. It’s bloody freezing out here, and it’s bloody cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”
Aaden gave Joe a stony stare when there appeared to be no apology forthcoming. Joe shifted from foot to foot in the hallway under the weight of his stare, seeming to hesitate as if thinking about what best to say.
Aaden couldn’t give a flying fuck if Joe felt bad. He just wanted to check Max was all right.
“I’m sorry, man. I had no idea that Princess would go off like that. Brad never said she would attack other cats. Is Max all right?”
The nervous twittering caused Aaden to feel a sliver of guilt. Giving in, he gave Joe’s arm a reassuring pat.
“He is fine, though he is now sulking in the back garden. I can’t get him to come in.”
Aaden’s frustration rolled off him as his hands fidgeted at his sides. Realising what he was doing, he thrust them into his jeans, speaking without thinking. “Though I can’t say I blame him, Joe. This place feels and smells of pure evil.”
Joe’s eyes jumped to Aaden’s face, his brows disappearing under his fringe before he regarded the décor. Aaden could see the look of horror spread across Joe’s features as his eyes jumped about.
Aaden gave the place another hard look. Shit brown curtains were, he supposed, the best thing about the décor. Dark flocked wallpaper along with heavy dark, ugly mahogany furniture made the rooms feel claustrophobic, not to mention the threadbare, dark brown carpet covering the floors.
He rolled his shoulders back, trying not to give it another thought. He’d most definitely stayed in worse places in his life, that was for sure.
He headed back to the kitchen, hearing Joe’s heavy tread follow him on the threadbare carpets. Aaden hoped Max had come to his senses. He heaved a heavy sigh when he noted the kitchen was empty, and disappointment filled him.
Maybe Max would find Joe more amenable than me? Aaden considered how to ask Joe to go out and persuade Max out of the tree.
Joe’s brow pinched, and his lips turned down with disgust lacing his voice. “How much can you do with this place within the terms of your lease? Because, Aaden, my man, this place needs a serious overhaul, never mind your creepy evil vibes. The colour scheme is enough to give anyone the willies. For fuck’s sake, who would have shit brown as a colour theme?”
Aaden burst out laughing at Joe’s face as he spoke. It echoed off the 1950’s dreary yellow kitchen cupboards. He choked on his laughter, trying to talk. “Don’t hold back there, will you. Give me your honest opinion.”
Joe’s sheepish look and flushed cheeks had Aaden chuckling at his embarrassment. The loud meow that rumbled next to Joe’s leg had Aaden’s grin spreading across his cheeks. He watched Joe bend down, checking out Max, his small, nimble fingers going straight for the spot Max loved to have stroked.
“What the hell do you feed him, man? Hell, if he gets any bigger you’ll, need a dog flap, never mind a cat flap.” The words barely left Joe’s mouth when a loud snarl erupted out of Max.
Aaden’s eyes leaked tears, laughter filling the room when Joe snatched his hand back. Max’s bicoloured eyes held Joe captive, the meaning conveying clearly, “stop before it’s too late.”
“Max is very sensitive about his size, so you may not want to mention it again, especially if you value your hands.” Aaden carried on laughing at the distinct look of a rabbit caught in the headlights when Joe tucked his hands into his jeans, out of harm’s way.
Aaden looked down at Max, all evidence of the skirmish gone. He was pleased to note he’d cleaned his own wounds, looking none the worse for wear after his tussle with Princess.
“It looks like your offer is redundant. Max seems fine now, aren’t you, baby?” Aaden bent down, checking him over, just to make sure. His silky, white fur glowed like a beacon in the dismal coloured room.
“You’re okay, aren’t you, boy? It would take more than one tiny little pussycat to hurt my big bad boy, hey.” His chuckle was met with a disdainful glare as Max flounced away.
Aaden turned towards the doorway at the insistent knocking that filled the house, hiding a grin at Joe’s mournful sigh. He went to let Stuart in, with what appeared to be, an unrepentant Princess at his heels.
The sound of rushing feet had him move out of the way as Joe flew past him, picking up Princess and pushing on Stuart’s chest stopping him midstep.
“No, no way, Princess and you need to get on back home. I can’t be doing with any more fighting today. Come on, you pair, before you both get me into more hot water. I can’t afford to lose a hand or anything else for that matter if we get on the wrong side of Max.” Joe gave an apologetic wave to Aaden as he pushed Stuart out the door.
Joe shouted back to Aaden.
“Give me a holler if you need a pair of hands. You are most definitely going to need help getting rid of the shit in here. I’ll be over in the morning once you’re settled. Well, if that’s at all possible to do that in here.”
Aaden caught the look of disgust Joe cast back at his home before scurrying away. Aaden shut the door and looked down at Max.
“Sage. We need a shed load to burn if we are going to be able to live here and get rid of the bad vibes floating around. It’s a good job you thought about it before we came. Otherwise, I don’t think either of us would have been able to sleep in here tonight.”
Aaden carried on chatting amicably to Max hoping it would ease the tension he felt emanating from him. He put it down to the run-in with Princess and hoped it had nothing to do with the weirdness he’d witnessed when they’d arrived and driven on to the dock.
He rubbed his weary eyes, wondering if the rainbow that had surrounded Max in the van was a figment of his imagination. Max hadn’t seemed to notice nor said anything that would indicate there was something odd going on. Maybe I was imagining things?
The loud meow stopped his musings, and he shook his head at the stupidness of his thoughts and that Max would keep secrets from him. Hell, they’d shared everything for the last twenty years. Ignoring the sudden feeling he was missing something vital, he headed back out the front door, going to get his bags. He let his worries settle at the back of his mind. Grabbing what he needed, he took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand, getting the stench of evil out of his new home.
Taking in the f
resh evening air for another minute, he let it fill his lungs before stepping back into the house and shutting out the night. “Time to get settled in to our new home, boy,” Aaden muttered to the empty hall, hoping it was possible.
Aaden
Aaden’s muscles bunched, preparing for more torture as he dragged the remaining piece of furniture across the floor towards the bedroom door. As he exhaled, his breath rushed out on a sigh, and he rubbed his long-sleeved black T-shirt across his dripping face. Stretching his arms, he flexed his shoulders, rolling them before he bent in an attempt to unkink his aching lower back. He eyed the doorway where the sounds of the sander drifted up from downstairs. He plucked at his lip as he considered whether he should ask Joe and Stuart to help.
The sound of laughter distracted him as it rose up along with the dust plumes and the smell of wet paper, tickling his nose. Sneezing, he rubbed at his sticky face. His dark brooding eyes narrowed on the open door.
Joe’s offer of help on Friday when he’d arrived seemed genuine, but he’d wondered if Stuart would try and stop him. The unexpected early text on Saturday morning offering breakfast and help had provided him with more than that.
He sent a furtive glance at the open doorway when his body responded to his train of thought. Pushing his hand down his low-slung, grubby joggers, Aaden adjusted his swelling cock. Teasing himself for a moment, he remembered how spectacularly he’d come in his trousers when Stuart had withered against him while Joe had fucked him six ways to Sunday.
He tried hard not to think about how disappointed he’d been when his offer of round two had been rejected, even if he’d only been half joking at the time. Aaden’s mind and body gave mixed messages. He’d wanted more, wanted to be part of something for just a little longer. He’d known Joe or Stuart weren’t for him, but it had dulled the loneliness, and that was a heady combination when mixed with their explosive desire for each other.
The memory of what they’d done would now forever be a part of his spank bank material. The hot images his mind had conjured after getting into his lonely sleeping bag last night were enough for him to require a second shower.
His mind forgot the desire when thoughts of food took hold after his angry stomach growled like ten hungry cats. He checked his watch, and his eyes widened.
Have we really being working nonstop for six hours? No wonder his stomach felt like his throat had been cut.
He looked down at the sweat-coated clothing and the sticky residue covering his arms. He ran his hands over his face, feeling disgusted when all he felt was grit. Fuck, he was filthy. He groaned when his stomach gurgled at the delay in getting food.
He questioned whether he could go out and grab some food covered in crap, but he shook his head when his eyes caught sight of himself in the hall mirror. A tangled bird’s nest sat where his hair should be, and dirt streaked his face and stubbled jaw. The question was futile. There was no way in hell he would go out looking like a refugee from a war-torn country.
He sauntered to his bag he’d left at the top of the stairs and rummaged for a clean towel before heading to the shower. Stepping into the tiny bathroom that you could hardly swing a cat in, he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, chewing. He stripped, heaved his tired limbs over the edge of the shit brown bath, and prayed he didn’t knock his head on the ceiling. He bent his legs until he was under the tiny shower head. His broad shoulder brushing against the freezing tile had goosebumps erupting over his body. Shivering, he put the water on full pelt.
“Crappppp.”
Yowling out when the cold hit him full force in his face, he hopped from one foot to another, praying it would heat. His body started to look like a gooseberry with his hairs all standing on end.
He forced himself to stay under the heating spray as he turned the dial up. Grunting, he glared at the cold tiles as he tried to move without touching them. Mission fucking impossible sprung to mind when he figured his shoulders weren’t meant for tiny spaces. He hunched his body as much as possible away from the shit brown walls. Like the rest of the house, the bathroom hadn’t escaped Ms Stevens’s fascination with all things brown.
Fucking hell, who knew you could even get a shit brown bathroom suite?
Shutting his eyes, Aaden shuddered at the thought of living in a brown world. The long conversation with the realtor yesterday morning had a small smile grace his lush lips. At least he wouldn’t have to live with the brown for long. The realtor had gotten permission for him to do whatever he wanted because the owner, Ms Stevens, was looking to sell. The guy had even let on that if he played his cards right, he could purchase the house at a reduced price. Tugging on his lip, he considered that now the feel of evil had been cleansed the place had potential. Well, it would when all the shit brown was gone.
Letting the water sluice down his naked body, he stretched as much as he could in the tiny confines, groaning in pleasure when his tense muscles relaxed under the heat. After several minutes of just standing under the spray, he soaped up and thanked whatever person had invented gas central heating, allowing him an abundance of hot water.
He sucked in a steamy breath as he washed away the dirt, rinsing his body and hair before ducking to climb back out. He dried off quickly before dressing and headed back downstairs, pausing when the sounds of hilarity came from his front room. He kept his feet light, treading carefully on the wooden stairs as he peeked into the front room.
His eyes crinkled with the urge to laugh as Stuart aimed for Joe’s sides, tickling him unmercifully. An unprepared Aaden staggered a little when Joe turned running into him. He grunted, and his brow scrunched when Joe’s grimy hands spread over his clean, white T-shirt. Joe’s contrite shrug did little to stop his glare at the filth on his top.
“Oops, my bad. It’s totally Stuart’s fault.”
Joe grinned at Aaden unrepentantly, pointing to Stuart. Aaden’s lips twitched when Joe cast the blame on Stuart.
“He tickled me. You know I can’t stand it, Aaden.” As if that explained it, Joe absently wiped at the black mark on Aaden’s top, making it worse.
Aaden could see Joe was more focused on the smouldering look Stuart was threatening him with. The retribution was clearly something Joe was looking forward to if the growing tent in his pants was anything to go by.
Aaden grabbed Joe’s wandering hands, stilling him from making a further mess. “Do you mind?” Aaden’s own husky words seemed to finally penetrate past the haze of lust.
“Err, sorry. I was just, err, trying to make it better.”
Aaden could see Joe giving his T-shirt a hard look, as if hoping it would magically erase the mess he’d made. The hint of pink flashed across the top of Joe’s cheeks as he chewed his lower lip when Aaden gave him a mock look of outrage. He enjoyed the little man’s discomfort, and Aaden’s lips spread into a wide grin.
“Ohhhh, I’ll wash it for you. Come on, it’s only a little bit of dirt.”
Joe’s choked giggle as he stepped back had Aaden reconsider, feeling a little pissed when Joe looked back at his T-shirt with mirth sparkling in his eyes.
“I mean, look at Stuart and me. You, on the other hand, are nowhere near as dirty as us. Hey, in fact, why is that?”
Aaden shrugged off the accusation. “I was going out to get some food, to pay you for your help today. It was getting late, and we didn’t stop for lunch because someone wanted to keep going, and now I’m starving.” His stomach growled, making his brows draw up at Joe, blame fired out of his eyes when his hunger ratcheted up another notch.
“We didn’t stop because”–Joe pointed to the now bare walls–“I wanted to get rid of that shit brown flocked wallpaper that was sucking the fucking life out of this house. Give you at least one space that didn’t look like someone had wiped their arse all over it.” Joe’s high-pitched whine had Aaden moving his hand, rubbing his twitching lips.
Before he could apologise, Joe strode to the doorway, trailing wallpaper behind him. Aaden knew it was bad to want to l
augh. Joe’s foot caught on one of the loose floorboards, making him hesitate. He watched Joe’s brow pinch, and his eyes darken right before he threw a “don’t you dare say anything” look at Stuart and him.
Shuffling his feet, he tried not to look at Stuart for fear of letting out the laughter stuck at the back of his throat.
“I’ll go and get the food. At least I can choose something decent to eat.”
Aaden turned when Stuart snorted out a laugh at Joe’s retreating form. Stuart gave him a conspirator grin before turning to start the clean-up. He gave his clean clothes a quick thought, but the dirt smeared on his chest only had him rolling his eyes before moving to help Stuart.
An hour later, he stopped cleaning when the sound of his phone beeped. Digging it out of his pocket, he saw Joe’s name on the screen. Reading the text, he shouted to Stuart. “Come on. Joe’s back with food, and I don’t know about you, but I could eat a scabby horse right about now. Just let me change my top, and we’ll head over.” The excitement for food had him forget for a second about Max. Seeing he was hiding again, he went to the kitchen and left a bowl of food before heading to meet Stuart at the door.
“Let’s go.” After opening the door, then locking it, they sprinted the few yards. The cold chilly air reminded him he could’ve done with a sweater. Goosebumps skittered up his spine, his neck itched, and his eyes darkened as he felt a sense of unease move through him. He aimed a casual look at the road and surrounding homes, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he walked up Stuart’s path.
He followed Stuart and was distracted by the shout coming from the back of the house as they walked through the door.
“Come on. It’ll get cold if you don’t hurry up.” The slight strain he could hear in Joe’s voice had him ignoring his surrounding and following behind Stuart hurriedly. One look at Joe’s tense shoulders and worried expression had his guts tangle into a million tiny knots. What the fuck was this about?
He sat as Joe instructed and waited out his friend, eating the meal which he was sure was delicious, but all he could think about was that Joe’s melted chocolate eyes hadn’t looked haunted before he’d left them. Now he had the look of an animal cornered and ready to flee.