GENERAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains sexual situations between adult males involving various aspects of the kink and fetish communities. If you find material of this nature offensive then you should not read any further. All characters in this story are over the age of 21. If you are under 18 years old in the US or under 16 in the UK you are not legally allowed to read this story. This is purely a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to any events that may have occurred, are purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the websites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author. Nifty does not exist without donations. If you enjoy these stories, please donate here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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The Brownstone on Union Park
- Chapter Five -
Carter now had a ridiculous grinning smile on his face anticipating the reaction that James would have upon seeing the two of them. Carter made direct eye contact with his roommate as he carried Michael over the entryway. James took a moment to visually process the strangeness of their entrance, furrowed his brow in suspicion, and let out a hearty chuckle upon seeing Carter carrying this random guy in his arms.
And like a delivery nurse in a maternity ward, Carter cheerfully announced with flamboyant gusto, "It's a boy!!!"
"Yeah, I can see that!" exclaimed James, "Should we pass around cigars and celebrate, too?"
Carter walked toward the living room area still carrying Michael surveying the best area to put him down. He gradually lowered Michael onto the chaise section of the couch putting him in a comfortable reclined position. The wet spot was still there but now smaller and not as noticeable. Michael took the bag that was mostly melted and placed it on his ankle.
"Go easy on him, James, the poor kid sprained his ankle today, and he came all the way from across town when we asked him to meet our own schedules," explained Carter.
"Oh damn!" replied James, "That definitely deserves a drink."
"Besides, you remember how it was when you messed up your ankle last summer when that fat drag queen nearly ran you over with her scooter and you fell on Commercial Street in Ptown," Carter reminded him.
"Unfortunately, I do remember that," James conceded.
"And I remember having to carry your bony ass up the stairs for a week before you could walk up here by yourself!"
I reality, James was not that bony or skinny, but definitely nowhere built as Carter. He was active with the gay running group and was impressively toned as a result of running several times throughout the week. He stood close to five foot ten in a pair of boat shoes and pastel blue shorts with tiny red lobster adorning them in a repeating pattern. His very square jawline was prominent and made James appear more masculine than his mannerisms would make the casual observer believe. A navy blue and white striped polo shirt finished off his outfit. The only thing missing from his look was a sweater with the sleeves wrapped around his neck. He looked like he was ready for a sail and waspy as fuck.
"What would you like Michael?" inquired James as he extended both hands, palms up, pointing in the area of the bar.
Michael glanced over in the general direction and did not know where to begin. There were so many bottles of hard liquor, most of which he had never even seen or heard of before. When faced with a multitude of possibilities he had a more difficult time than if there were only one or two.
James added, "We have a pretty full bar these days after we restocked it for the pride party in June."
James could see the look of bewilderment on Michael's face and tried to think of something summery and light. He raised his right arm and fingered it through his hair all the way to the back of his head. James grew his dirty blonde hair out in the spring to get an undercut for the summer, long on the top, swept back, and buzzed on the sides. It further accentuated his jawline while giving the impression he was about two inches taller than he was in reality. In the right light, he could pass for a younger version of Brad Pitt except his eyes were slate gray.
Trying to play it cool, Michael tried to think of something sophisticated but not too splashy. He scanned the bar area near the kitchen in more detail and his eyes focused on the shiny copper mugs.
"Could you do a Moscow Mule?" Michael asked as he pointed in the direction of the mugs. He only had them once before but they were pretty easy going down.
Carter cut in, "Count me in for one, too. I'll be right back, I need to go up to my room for my med kit and see if we have any more cold packs."
James got three mugs. Apparently, he decided to join in on the mules as well. He opened the fridge revealing the produce drawer full of lemons and limes; he took a few limes out and placed them on the cutting board next to sink on the island. James took a bottle of vodka from the freezer in the bottom of the fridge and then circled around the kitchen island to get some ginger beers. Wine on one side, beers and soda water on the other.
"How strong do you like them, Michael?" James asked and started to unscrew the cap on the bottle of vodka.
"Normal I guess," he replied.
"Ok," James replied but put in a little over three shots instead of the traditional amount.
It was not exactly truth serum, but it would do the job. He finished adding the ginger beers to the mugs and went to work on the limes first rolling them with his hands on the counter to release the juice and then began cutting them in half.
"So, are you excited about starting your new job after Labor Day?" James asked.
"Definitely, I'm so over being a college student," Michael reasoned.
James squeezed the juice of each lime into a separate mug when he heard Carter descend the steps from the floor above. Despite Carter's height and size, he always seemed to move with an elegant ease.
"That's nice to hear, I remember when I started my first job after college I was overly optimistic, too," James cynically replied while stirring the drinks.
Carter entered the room with what looked like an oversized first-aid kit and opened it up with a thud on the glass coffee table in front of Michael. It was filled with various tapes, gauze, bandages, and other standard first aid supplies.
"Careful with the Noguchi!" James quipped as he took the three full mugs over to them, "And throw down some coasters for these boys."
Carter rolled his eyes but begrudgingly spread out three of the felt padded Calacatta hexagon marble coasters just in time for James to place the drinks down. Carter got back to business, he fished around the kit and took out a roll of half-inch medical tape along with two cold packs that would chill when you squished the inside contents.
"First things first, do you mind if I take a look?" inquired Carter, "I'm a physical therapist by training."
"Please," Michael replied as he unlaced his left sneaker and took off his sock.
Carter gently held his injured foot in his left hand and used his right to examine the extent of the swelling. He brushed his index and pointer finger over the swollen ankle while pushing down every few centimeters.
Carter asked, "How long ago did you sprain it?"
"About seven or eight hours I think," Michael replied.
He continued the probing with the pads of his fingers. Carter's firm touch began to tickle a bit and the awkward intimacy of him touching Michael's foot gave him chills again. He then placed his right hand on the top of his foot grasping it gently with his thumb underneath the sole.
"I promise I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to rotate your foot a little bit to confirm what I think is going on with the swelling. Is that alright?" Carter inquired.
"Of course," Michael responded. He did not understand why but felt he could trust him unconditionally.
Carter slowly rotated his ankle and foot outward away from his body carefully monitoring Michael's face for signs of discomfort. Not seeing any, he began the rotation backward and started to point his foot inward toward the other leg.
Immediately, Carter began to purse his lips and fine wrinkles began to appear around his eyes as they began to narrow.
Carter stopped the rotation, returned, his foot to standard anatomical position, and gently massaged the swelling with the same two fingers he used to inspect it on the first pass.
"Sorry, I could tell that the last movement wasn't easy on you. So, I think it's a grade one inversion ankle sprain. Nice job on icing it, the swelling would probably be about twice as bad now if you hadn't based on how recent this happened."
"Grade one what?" Michael asked.
"It just means it's probably not that serious based on how far I was able to rotate you ankle. The outer ligaments on the opposite side of the foot got stretched too far when you fell and your foot slipped inward," Carter responded.
"Oh, stop trying to play doctor and impress him, have a drink, boys," James interjected.
"As soon as I tape a new cold pack on him," Carter replied while raising his eyebrows.
He squished two cold packs with ease in each hand and could feel the endothermic reaction taking place; they were starting to chill like magic. He placed one on each side of Michael's ankle to form a continuous loop of cold.
"Perfect, these will fit great," he said out loud and procured some the medical tape to begin the wrapping process by hanging the strips on the side of the glass coffee table.
"Hey, careful with the Noguchi!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake James, it's not even a real Noguchi coffee table! It's a knockoff!" Carter complained, "Besides, the tape won't leave any residue on the glass."
James rolled his eyes at Carter and took a drink from the brightly colored copper mug. Carter then reattached the icepacks motioning for Michael to hold them in place as he wrapped the tape around them with three separate strands.
"They should hold up fine in here with the AC going. I suspect that once you hit the humidity outside and the cold packs start to sweat, the tape will eventually give way. If you have any rubber bands, they'll probably do a better job. I just don't have any right now."
The thought of leaving did not sit well with Michael, he knew he wanted to stay.
"Thank you."
"If you take something like Advil or Aleve for the pain it will help the swelling a little too. And if it doesn't get better in a week, I want you to see your doctor. Lingering pain could be a sign that you actually tore something."
"I'll do that."
Carter found his sock on the side of the chaise and went to help Michael slip into it and then handed him his sneaker.
"You probably want to do that by yourself, I'm afraid it'll be painful if I try to put it on you" Carter explained.
Michael loosened the laces on the black and white Samba sneaker and wiggled his foot through the opening.
The spacing of the white tape against the dark blue plastic of the cold packs around his ankle was evenly spaced apart to that of manufactured precision. It somehow resembled an ankle monitoring bracelet.
James laughed a little and noted to Michael, "Now you look like one of those guys under house arrest with an ankle bracelet!"
"James... Really?" Carter admonished, "Remember, you're the one who said you wanted a roommate to finance the addition on the top floor. Let's not try and scare this one away."
Carter winked at Michael and in a reassuring attempt to convey that he could handle James. Nevertheless, it was true, James did, in fact, need the extra money to make the loan payments for the new addition on the top floor that included the roof deck. His trust fund, easily allowed him to purchase the place, but his parents were adamant in not helping out any further financially. He needed to learn how to navigate the world on his own terms and live within what his lifestyle and paycheck allowed.
"I know... I'm just joking, Michael," James explained.
James leaned over and picked up the shiny copper mug on the coaster that now had a small ring of water underneath it from the condensation. He proceeded to rotate the handle toward Michael and tenderly passed it to him.
"It's OK, I know," Michael responded and took the first sip of his drink.
"Well, you've seen the living room and kitchen. Only major rules we have are that you don't leave dirty dishes in the sink unless the dishwasher is full. NEVER, put the Japanese cutting knives in the dishwasher. Hand wash the wine glasses too. Don't eat meals on the couch. And try to not leave too many things lying around the place. You think you have any issues with that?" James asked.
"Sounds good to me," Michael responded
"There's a half bath over there before the stairs up to the next level," James explained while pointing to the other side of the place.
"OK."
"Bathroom rules... toilet paper ALWAYS faces outwards away from the wall, and replace it if it's empty. There's always more under the sink. And toilet seat down after you're finished."
"Sure."
"See, the rules are easy right?"
Carter rolled his eyes again, breathed in heavily, and sighed as memories surface when got the "rules" talk a five years ago. Finishing off the first floor, James got up from the couch while maintaining a hold on his drink and motioned for Michael and Carter to follow.
"Michael, do you need any help?" asked Carter.
"Just with the stairs but I can walk fine for the time being," James responded noticing how the new ice packs were starting to take effect and numb the lingering pain.
Michael was about to pick up his drink too when he realized it made more sense to leave it resting on the coffee table and quickly retracted his hand. Spilling a drink on his first visit would probably be on the list of "No" rules, as well.
"Smart move," said James, "I like this one!"
The three of them made their way toward the stairs passing the entrance to the half bath. In the back of the apartment were several large windows. Michael looked out to see the view at dusk. Directly below them in the back of the brownstone was a large deck from Mr. Clay's apartment. It was illuminated by slender neon green bar lighting hidden in glass panels embedded in the wood of the deck in a pattern of randomly staggered lines. A low wattage floodlight cast a soft glow on the rest of the outdoor living space. He could clearly see a stainless-steel grill, patio table, deck furniture, and a large assortment of potted plants among boxwood topiaries.
Long planters sat upon the deck railing defined the perimeter of the space with colorful hues. They were covered with hyacinths, blanketed in creeping jenny, and in full bloom: purples, mauves, and whites. Interspersed throughout the deck furniture were modern geometric concrete pots in different shapes containing elegant Calla lilies each pot of a single color: reds, whites, oranges, and yellows. An insane amount of time and consideration was put into the placement of each and every pot, plant, flower, light and piece of furniture.
"That's Mr. Clay's private deck or as we joke, the hanging gardens of Babylon. He's quite the gardener. And he also has parking underneath that area but it's only accessible to him," Carter explained.
"Can you believe that old queen wanted five hundred a month for the other spot under the deck?" James chimed in.
"And he got it, too! You should have taken it when you had the chance," Carter reminded him.
"Five hundred, just for a parking spot?" questioned Michael.
"Well, it's the South End, after all," James replied, "Everything is out of the realm of sanity here."