Owen
Chapter 14
by Roy Reinikainen
Owen rolled onto his back, throwing a forearm over his eyes to shield them from the fingers of intense morning sunlight which stretched across the floor and crawled up the side of the bed, gilding the muscles of his shoulders and arms, as well as the blond spiky hair, a testament to their recent exertion. The thin white sheet, conformed to every curve of his chest, belly, and groin clinging to him, as if from affection.
He squinted behind his forearm, trying to block the sunlight, while next to him, Lucas snuggled closer, his breathing slowing. The pristine snow outside the large windows seemed to reflect and magnify the morning light, a stark contrast to the daytime darkness of the recent storm.
"Oh man," he said, his laughing eyes a mirror to the ripple of amusement in his voice. "This has been so totally intense." He licked his lips, searching for any remnants of Lucas' most recent orgasm. Finding none, he rolled onto his side and draped himself over Lucas' chest, a lazy smile lighting his face as he studied the closed-eyed man beneath him.
"Thank you, City-Boy." He leaned forward and tenderly kissed Lucas, wondering if his own lips were as puffy, from their extended work out, as Lucas'. He sniffed the air as Lucas studied him through barely slitted eyelids. "I told you last night that by the time we were finished, the place would smell like sex." He sniffed, and squirmed against Lucas' flank, rubbing his penis against the' smooth skin; at the same time he licked over Lucas' chest, attracted by the sheen of perspiration. "Damn, I love the smell of a sweaty man, covered with cum." He smacked his lips. "The taste ain't too bad, either."
Lucas groaned, turning his head to avoid another kiss. "No more, Owen. Give me a little break, okay? I'm worn out. I'm drained dry, and I'm fucking exhausted. Besides, I gotta pee." His eyes snapped open. "And don't offer to drink it directly from the source, because I've gotta go bad enough that I'd probably drown you. Besides, I've never done anything like that before, and I'm not sure I'd want to kiss you afterward."
"I've not done that either," Owen admitted. His expression grew distant as he propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm wondering what else there is that I've never done." His mischievous eyes focused on Lucas. "Maybe those things are covered in the advanced course on sex. Y'think?" His chuckle grew into a laugh. "Where do we sign-up?"
He leaned forward, nuzzling Lucas' neck, leaving a row of kisses as he passed. "Y'know, last night was the very first time in my whole life that I had sex on a bed." He looked up, propping himself up on an elbow. "And, oh what sex it was." He moved from Lucas' neck and began to nuzzle his armpit.
"Lemme lick," he murmured, forcing his nose into the pit until Lucas relented and raised his arm. Owen immediately went to work, his tongue licking broad swaths over the patch of dark hair, making soft mewling sounds of pleasure.
"Oh man," he sighed, resting his head on Lucas' chest. "Your sweat tastes as good as the rest of you." He began nibbling at one of Lucas nipples, chuckling at the immediate reaction.
"Pee," Lucas muttered. "Remember? I gotta go."
"Can I watch?" Owen's eyes were bright with excitement as Lucas struggled from beneath Owen, to sit on the edge of the bed. His lightly-tanned broad shoulders tapered to a slender waist and creamy-white buttocks. Owen focused on the twin mounds of muscle as Lucas stood, recalling the first time he separated them and plunged his tongue into Lucas' hole.
"Do you pee as much as you shoot?" he asked, jumping out of bed and following only a few steps behind, his erection pointing the way to the bathroom.
"I piss way more than I shoot," Lucas laughed, jumping ahead a step as Owen reached out to tickle him, the feeling of being about ready to burst increasing with each step, and he certainly didn't need to be tickled. He made it to the bathroom, trying to ignore Owen's close presence, holding his limp penis and willing himself to relax. He aimed it at the toilet bowl, finally managed to relax, and let his flow begin.
"Geez, you did need to go, didn't you?" Owen glanced from the forceful stream to Lucas' eyes and back, before reaching out and gently taking hold of Lucas' cock. "Lemme hold it while you're pissing."
Owen tenderly held his cock until the forceful stream became a dribble and his cock began to thicken. "Just having you near me makes me hard." Lucas murmured, leaning into Owen's touch. "Whenever you touch me I want to shoot a load." Owen's eyes brightened as he moved to take Lucas' place in front of the toilet.
"Good. We can both drop another load after you hold my dick while I piss." He wiped his thumb across the tip of Lucas' cock, gathering up a golden drop onto his thumb and licking his finger.
"Not too awful," he muttered, thrusting his hips forward and gesturing for Lucas to take hold of his cock and aim it for him. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to drink it though."
He pulled Lucas close, even as he began to pee. "Wanna kiss?"
Bailey looked up at the sound of his father and a visitor talking.
His father's shout confirmed something was definitely wrong. "Bailey!"
He heaved himself out of the overstuffed easy chair, straightened the seam of his trousers, and went to answer his father's second call. The sight that met him, as he entered the home's foyer, caused him to stop. His father, red-faced, and obviously angry, was blocking the front door. Two grim-faced police officers faced him, their heavy winter coats only adding to their air of authority, making them larger . . . more imposing.
"Mr. Bailey Wilkins?" one of the officers asked. It was all Bailey could do to return an open-mouthed nod. "We're here to take you into custody on suspicion of committing arson."
"What?" His voice squeaked upward as he joined his father. "Arson? When? Where? Arson?" His voice rose even higher.
He heard the officer speaking, and nodded when it seemed expected, not sure what he was acknowledging, and before he could think, found himself with his hands secured behind his back, being escorted to the waiting car.
He turned his head in bewilderment as his father, a lonely figure in the open doorway, lowered his extended hand to his side, looking bereft. "Dad," he whimpered, as the door to the backseat of the squad car closed and he was driven away, leaving his father standing in the doorway.
Lucas looked up as the apartment's doorbell rang twice in close succession. It had been less than an hour since Owen had left, insisting he had to get home and check on his landlord. The past couple of days were a blur of frantic sex, sloppy kisses, and stolen moments to nap. He was exhausted beyond words, yet happier and more satisfied than he could ever recall. Owen had proved true to his word. They had worn each other out, each behaving like men, dying of thirst, suddenly thrown into a clear, cool pool of water. They had paused only when their stomach's rebelled at not being fed, or when neither one could keep their eyes open. They laughed and kissed, and made love amid the twisted bedding, snuggling close, sharing one another's warmth, and the comfort the warmth provided.
They had awakened slowly, languidly stretching, drinking in one another's presence, first with their eyes, then with their fingers, and finally with the total surrender of their body to the other.
Owen had immediately moved to the center of the bed, turning onto his stomach, the pastel pinks of the early winter sunset embracing him like a long-lost lover. "C'mon, Cowboy, lay on top of me," he said, looking over his shoulder to where Lucas knelt, nearby. "Let me feel your weight before I feel your dick."
Lucas crawled over him, his erection dragging, first, in the cleft of Owen's butt, then over his lower back. Finally, he rested his full weight on Owen's already-sweaty back, and kissed his neck as he slowly raised his hips and began to slowly slide his erection between Owen's butt cheeks, meeting each of Owen's movements with one of his own.
"C'mon, Cowboy, fill me up," he gasped, as Lucas slid into him, stretching and filling him. 'I wanna feel it throb as it unloads up my hole,' he thought, as Lucas began to rock his hips.
The sight of his cock, stretching Owen's hairless hole, was almost as exciting as the tight warmth surrounding his penis, and the sight of the muscular man beneath him. No one had ever surrendered to him like Owen was. It was a given, that whatever he asked of Lucas, he would gladly do the same thing. It was an equality Lucas had never known. He had always felt pressured into playing one role. With Owen, it was different.
He would take a couple deep of thrusts and then nearly pull out, the flared ridge of his cock nearly pulling free of Owen's tight sphincter. He would tease Owen, barely sliding into him, once, twice, a third time, each stroke exquisitely sensual as Owen tightened his sphincter, milking his cock. When a tremor coursed through Owen's body, Lucas would bury himself until his curly pubes were smashed against the smooth skin of Owen's buttocks.
"Lemme . . . turn over . . . Cowboy," Owen managed to say between thrusts. "I wanna kiss as you unload in me." Lucas reluctantly slid out breathing heavily, his slick cock pulsing in thwarted release. He'd been so close. It was frustrating, in the extreme, to stop on the threshold of what promised to be an intense orgasm. Owen rolled onto his back and pulled his knees back to his shoulders, his gaping hole begging for Lucas to enter.
Instead, Lucas leaned forward and engulfed the entire length of Owen's thick erection in his mouth, using his throat muscles to massage the head, as his nose was buried in Owen's thick pubes. Owen arched his back, trying to force himself deeper, but there was nothing more. Lucas already had it all.
"Ah geez," he panted, gasping for breath as Lucas positioned himself to finish his fuck, leaving Owen's penis pulsing and oozing a frustrated strand of thick pre-cum onto his belly and pubic hair. "C'mon, Cowboy. Slide back in, then lean down here and let me suck your tongue."
Owen's eyes widened, forgetting his throbbing cock, as Lucas pushed his entire length into the hole in one steady move. Owen tightened his sphincter, milking the invading cock, as Lucas lay on top of him, holding his legs back with his shoulders. He trembled and whimpered as Lucas' cock massaged his swollen prostate. Each forward thrust brought both men closer to an explosive orgasm, and when a drop of Lucas' perspiration splashed against Owen's lower lip, it was too much.
The salty drop rolled into his open mouth, and he arched his back, impaling himself on Lucas' erection, and began to shoot. The first contraction forced a thick stream down the length of his cock and out onto his belly, where it was trapped by Lucas' body as he found Owen's mouth with his tongue at the same moment his cock began to empty itself into Owen's hole.
Lucas jerked with each pulse, once . . . Owen tightened his sphincter, convinced he could feel the sperm from each pulse filling his hole. A second jerk, then a third, and finally a series of smaller thrusts as Lucas' cock finished emptying itself, pumping out the last of his cum.
"That was the best ever," Owen murmured, close to Lucas' ear. He tightened his sphincter. "You feel so good inside me. I feel so full." He chuckled. "I'm full of Lucas and his sperm, and I am so happy." He lapped a broad swath over Lucas neck, licking up the perspiration with small sounds of pleasure. "I am so happy."
Lucas remained in place until he eventually softened and slid out. When he attempted to move, Owen tightened his embrace and lowered his legs. "Don't move," he said in a lazy, sleepy voice. "I love havin' you on top of me."
They'd made love a couple of more times, each time a frantic race to release. Between each time, they napped, showered, and ate whatever the refrigerator, or the deli downstairs, had to offer.
Owen had laughed, lying naked on the living room sofa, and making no move to cover himself as Lucas hurriedly wrapped a towel around his waist and answered the door for the deli delivery person. "I'm too tired to move a muscle," Owen groaned, throwing one leg over the back of the sofa at the same moment Lucas swung open the door. The delivery boy, seeing the movement . . . and the bare skin, craned his neck to look past Lucas and into the living room.
"Um, ah," the young delivery man stumbled over his words, looking first past Lucas, and then taking a moment to scan him in detail, from his puffy lips, his flushed cheeks, the still-bulging front of the towel, which was much too short to adequately cover anything, and finally to Lucas' touseled hair. "It looks like you guys are having a good time," he ventured.
"Truly," Owen called from the living room, pleased with the sound of Lucas' embarrassed sputter and the delivery boy's stifled exclamation. He could see the blush spreading over Lucas' neck as he grabbed the bags of food, stuffed some money in the boy's still-outstretched hand, and fumbled to push the door closed, trying to maintain control of his towel.
"Thanks," Lucas muttered, giving Owen a dirty look. It was a choice to either drop the food, or the towel. The food won, and the towel dropped to the floor as the delivery boy's eyes widened even further.
"Thank you," the young man answered, trying to sneak one last peak, first at the man with the towel at his feet, then at the man lying naked on the sofa. "Fuckin' hot," was all Owen heard before the door slammed, cutting off anything else which might have been said.
"You're not acting like yourself," Lucas groused, stepping over the towel and carrying the bags of food into the kitchen. "You've become a sex maniac."
Owen jumped off the sofa and trotted to the kitchen, enticed by the smell of lunch. "That I am. I always have been. You just haven't had a chance to view this side of me before." He playfully turned around, presenting his milky-white ass cheeks to Lucas, then smacked one with the flat of his hand. "Like what you see?" he smiled over his shoulder, pleased he had Lucas' undivided attention. "Which side do you like best?"
Owen returned to the counter, and waved a hand in front of Lucas. "Earth to Lucas," he intoned. "Come in Lucas. Beep, beep, beep." Lucas blinked twice before focusing on Owen who had begun to examine the recently delivered bags.
"What was the beeping for?"
Owen grinned and shrugged. "Don't know. I just thought it sounded like a place to use sound effects other than the ones we use in bed." He winked, and continued to peer into the bags one-by-one, before pulling out containers. He pried open the lid of one, gave its contents a skeptical look, then spooned some of its contents onto a plate. "This is the first time, though that I've ever been free to do what I wanted, and be as loud as I wanted, without fear of being discovered," he added, sampling the green jiggly lump on his plate.
He paused, a spoon half-way to his mouth. "You think I'm getting a little carried away?"
"Depends," Lucas responded in a wary tone of voice.
Owen spoke around a mouth full of food. "On what?"
"Depending on how many strangers you plan on exposing yourself to before you get this playful streak out of your system."
"Who knows how long it'll take? I'm just being playful," he said, setting aside the liquifying green lump and helping himself to a sandwich Lucas had just set before him. "I've gone months and months . . . and months, without any . . . companionship." He winked at his use of the word. "Now, I find I'm with one of the sexiest men I've ever met. It'll probably take quite a while to wear me out." He began counting on his fingers. "Let's see. We've had sex in the bedroom, in the living room, and the kitchen." He looked over his shoulder to the world of white beyond the window, and made a face. "It's too cold to play outside." After swallowing another bite of the sandwich, he continued. "Outside is one of my favorite places to fool around . . . though I'd have to say that a bed runs a close second." His grin blossomed into a smile. "Let's try the shower, next. You're beginning to smell a bit ripe, even for me."
"Not only me, Farm-Boy," Lucas retorted. "You'll notice I'm standing upwind from you." Owen finished his sandwich, licked his fingers, and shrugged, his smile reflecting Lucas' as they watched one another across the kitchen island.
"Thank you," Owen said, as he reached for Lucas' hand and led him through the apartment to the shower.
"I never thought I'd say it," Lucas groaned aloud, as the doorbell rang again. "I'm glad he had to go home to check on his landlords. The man wore me out." The doorbell rang again. "I'm coming!" He secured a bath towel around his waist and trotted to the door as the doorbell rang a fourth and fifth time. 'Why is it the doorbell rings when I'm about to take a shower?' he groused, wondering who could possibly be so insistent, considering the drifts of show he could see through the apartment's windows.
"Coming!" He shouted. "I'm coming!" He checked to make sure the towel was securely in place before swinging the door open.
"Owen!" His friend's face told him something terrible had happened. "Come in. What's happened?" He led Owen into the living room, quietly pushing the door shut. "C'mon, have a seat and tell me what's wrong." Owen allowed himself to be guided to the sofa and, after a gentle pressure of Lucas' hands on his shoulders, sat.
"My . . ." Owen looked up, pale as a ghost, wearing a stricken look. "My apartment's gone."
"What?" Lucas dropped to the sofa, next to Owen. "Your apartment? Gone? Where? How?" He shook his head in exasperation. "Gone? Tell me."
Owen mutely nodded. "It . . . it's gone . . . burned to the ground." He stared unseeing around the room. "I can only think that it must have been that fire we saw when we were making our way home through the snow the other day." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "The place is nothing more than a pile of rubble, covered with snow." His glance flicked from side to side as thoughts rushed through his mind. "I . . . I don't know what happened to my landlords." He turned toward Lucas, choking out the rest of his thought. "They may have died! I wasn't there to help them out when they needed me. They were old, Lucas," he added, his pain obvious in his voice. "They wouldn't have been able to move quickly if they were in trouble."
He jumped to his feet, looking from one side to the other, as if searching for an immediate answer. "I have to find out what happened to them!" Lucas watched as Owen paced to the far side of the living room, then crossed the room to the windows before turning back, as if struck by a sudden thought.
"My stuff!" He glanced toward his bag containing his computer and photograph of him and Sam, as if to make sure that, at least, they were still safe. "I've got no place to live," he moaned, as he sank into an armchair seeming to deflate even further.
"First, Bailey. No letters from home. The cold and wind. I'm missin' Sam so bad. The blowin' snow. All the ice. Now this." He angrily swiped away tears, which ran down both cheeks, shouting. "I don't cry, damn it." He pounded a fist on his leg. "This will not . . . defeat me!" Lucas rushed to his side and placed an arm over Owen's shoulders and grabbed his wrist before he could pound his leg another time. "I don't cry," Owen murmured, leaning toward Lucas, and into his comforting touch.
"Oh, hell," he mumbled, as he tried to pull Lucas closer and gave in to his emotions.
Lucas held Owen while he silently cried on his shoulder, each tear leaving a glistening track over Lucas' bare skin, until it was absorbed in the towel around his waist.
"What would I do without you?" Owen sniffed, holding Lucas in a trembling embrace. "I'm sorry. The other day, at your parents', was so wonderful. And then our time together . . . in bed. When I left here, I don't think I could have been more happy." He inhaled a shuddering breath. "Now, this." Owen snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around Lucas' waist. "I'm sorry."
"For heaven's sake, why are you sorry?"
"For turnin' to you again." Owen wiped at his eyes. "For not bein' able to handle things on my own. That's what m'father always said . . . that I wasn't man enough to handle things on my own." Lucas frowned at the sudden turn of the conversation. "Besides," Owen continued, "here I go talkin' about how much I miss Sam. It's not very sensitive on my part to talk about him in the same sentence with how much I enjoyed the last few days, with you." He leaned back and covered his eyes, sniffing once more. "It's all just too much. I'm not bein' fair to you. It's like I'm leading you on."
Lucas snorted a response. "Owen, listen to yourself. Your fucking house burned down, and you're worrying about my feelings! I'm not doing anything I don't want to do, so let's drop the subject, okay? I mean, we've got more important things to take care of right now.
"You're staying with me." When Owen opened his mouth, Lucas held up a warning hand. "I won't listen to any arguments. There is nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. You're staying here . . . period." He made a chopping motion with one hand. "If you insist on paying for things . . . we'll figure it out later.
"What we've got to do, right away, is to get you taken care of and find out about your landlords." He thought a moment. "I'll call the newspaper or police, or something, and ask if they got out okay. Better yet, I'll check with Dad and see what he recommends." A shiver coursed through Owen's body, making Lucas realize he wasn't the only one who was cold. He jumped from the sofa and looked over his shoulder.
"Stay," he ordered, looking over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen.
Owen bowed his head, feeling chilled. 'I think I'm doin' pretty good, finally standing on my own two feet, and now this!' An especially strong gust of wind caused him to look up.
'I shoulda gone to a school someplace without snow.' He shivered. 'I don't think I've really gotten warm since Lucas and I walked home in the blizzard. Well . . . except when Lucas was holdin' me.'
"Doing okay?" Lucas asked. Owen nodded, listening to noises coming from the kitchen.
"Don't move," Lucas ordered as he trotted in the direction of the bedroom. only to emerge a few moments later, wearing a pair of baggy sweat pants and t-shirt.
"I had to ditch the towel and put on something a little warmer." Owen looked up and gave Lucas a wan smile, as he came into the living room from the kitchen, carrying a couple of steaming mugs and a thick blanket draped over his shoulder, its corners trailing over the carpeted floor. He handed Owen one of the mugs and climbed onto the sofa, tucking his bare feet beneath him, scooted close to Owen, and awkwardly attempted to drape the blanket over each of them while balancing a mug of steaming coffee in the other.
Owen raised the mug to his lips and gingerly sipped, his eyes widening in surprise. "Holy . . ." He took a couple gulps of air in an attempt to cool his burning throat. "Geez, that burned all the way until it hit bottom." He snorted, looking down at himself. "If I stood up I could be one of those animated displays of the digestive system y'see in biology class." The small bit of humor seemed to have drained him. He took another cautious sip of coffee and sighed.
"Geez, handsome." He blindly searched for Lucas' hand beneath the blanket and, having found it, linked fingers. "I'm feelin' overwhelmed, and a little sorry for myself." He turned, wearing a crooked smile as he tightened his fingers. "It's sorta like my life is unravelling before my eyes . . . like a . . . like an old rug, or somethin'. I keep pickin' up loose threads and weaving them back into the rug, only to have the damned thing begin coming apart someplace else."
He snuggled closer, leaning his head on Lucas' shoulder, a little boy surrendering himself to the feeling of security the person next to him brought.
"I spoke with the police," he added in a low voice. "A couple of them were at the house, climbin' around the heap of rubble investigating or somethin," he murmured, shock at the situation seeming to have set in. "When I told 'em I had rented a room from the Verner's; they're my landlords," he added as an aside. "They wanted to know where I was when the fire happened, and stuff like that. I didn't think to ask anything about how Mr. and Mrs. Verner were doing, or if they were even alive. I was too shaken up to think to ask." He swallowed.
"There's something else."
"What?" Lucas asked, with trepidation. "Can things get any worse?"
Owen slowly nodded, once again wiping his eyes and sniffing. "The police asked if I knew anyone who drives a blue sports car." Lucas looked up, a sudden quiver in his gut. "Seems some neighbors saw a guy run down the front walk and get into a blue sports car and speed away moments before they saw the fire. They thought they heard arguing. That's why they were looking out their windows. But, they couldn't be sure because of the sound of the wind.
"The police thought it was weird that so many people happened to be watching the Verner's house." Owen paused. "Gunther. That's Mister Verner, did have a booming sorta voice, and I guess people were lookin' outside, 'cause of the shouting, and because they were wondering about how bad the storm might be. Whatever. One of the neighbors got the license plate number of the car, I guess." He made a half-hearted shrug.
"Bailey? . . ." Lucas' voice trailed off, shocked by the implications of the neighbor's observations. 'Surely not,' Lucas thought. But, the more he thought about it, the more likely such a thing seemed. "Do they think he may have set the fire?"
Owen shrugged.
"The neighbors seem to think so. I gave the police Bailey's name. It matched the information they had from the license plate." Owen sniffed. "When they asked if there was any reason he might have started the fire, I told 'em about the restaurant and how I'd caused him to be pretty humiliated. I told 'em he was accustomed to getting his way, and that I wouldn't give him the attention he was demanding, and that he made threats about how sorry I'd be for ignoring him."
He turned to Lucas. "I could be responsible for the Verner's house burning down! If I hadn't acted so high and mighty at the restaurant, Bailey . . ." His voice trailed off.
"That's ridiculous! Listen, Owen. I don't blame you for feeling bad about your apartment, and not knowing about what happened to your landlords, but you're taking on responsibility for something you had no control over. No matter what you said to Bailey, it would not be reason enough for him to burn your house down. And," Lucas continued, warming to his subject. "You can't blame yourself for not being at home to help the Verners. Even if there hadn't been a blizzard, you would have still been at school at the time the fire happened."
"But . . ."
"There are no buts. You are not responsible, either for the fire, or for whatever happened to your landlords."
Bailey sat slumped on the edge of the narrow metal bed, the thin mattress flattening with his weight. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cradling his bowed head, feeling unutterably weary. The fluorescent orange jumpsuit, two sizes too large for his slender frame, hung off of him, the legs dragging at his heels each time he took a step. The long sleeves were now rolled up, freeing his hands. He'd left the pant legs long to help protect his bare feet from the cold of the concrete floor.
He had been stripped, and poked and prodded, rapidly answering all questions as they were tossed in his direction. Finally, he was handed the oversized jumpsuit and abandoned in the small space, barely two paces wide and six long. He absently rubbed his wrists, worn raw from the thick plastic tie used to secure him as he was escorted to the police station, and tried to ignore his stomach's growling response to unaccustomed hunger.
'I guess it could be worse,' he told himself. 'I could be in a room with someone else.' He turned his head toward the symphony of sound coming from someone in the adjacent room, a space Bailey steadfastly refused to call a cell.
He wrinkled his nose. The place smelled worse than a locker room, ripe with overcrowding and unwashed occupants. 'The Bastille,' was his first thought, as someone had slammed the barred door shut behind him. He looked into the darkness, which seemed to crowd around him, the fear of what would happen to him making the darkness all the more menacing. The narrow lumpy . . . and smelly . . . bed offered little chance of sleep.
'I'd sooner stretch out on the floor,' he thought, until a soft noise from nearby made him rethink his idea, and hastily raise his bare feet off the concrete floor. Visions of what might have caused the sound grew more terrifying the longer he speculated on the source.
'On second thought . . .' He moved to the center of the bed, leaned against the wall and crossed his legs. 'I'll leave the floor to whatever made that sound, and hope that I don't encounter it on the bed.'
"Arson?" he murmured, jumping at the sound of a nearby scream. Disembodied voices, from other nearby men, grumbled at the second scream, but quieted as the sound of whomever was in distress faded into barely controlled whimpering. The sound of someone vomiting, somehow didn't bother Bailey quite as much as the scream . . . or the smells.
He bowed his head, taking a deep breath. 'I don't have a clue what they're talking about.'
~ to be continued ~
Thank you for taking the time to read my work I welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send you a pic of the character(s), please ask.
My stories on Nifty include: Phalen (located in the Gay College Section) Phalen - Finding Happiness (Gay College Section) Phalen - Reputation and Honor (Coming soon) Chris (Gay College Section) Leith (Gay College Section) - incomplete Owen (Gay College Section Wesley (Adult Relationships Section) Jess (Gay Incest Section) Travis (Gay Incest Section)
I hope you enjoy them all.