The Wolf Soul - Part One
#1 of The Wolf Soul (TF/TG Themes)
Hello! This is a new multi-part commission for
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Brandon might not have been big on shaving, but he did allow one particular fancy of manscaping, and that was plucking the errand hairs that tended to grow between his brows and cause them to have a distressingly uniform appearance. While the 37-year-old did not mind body hair in other parts of his body, there was something oddly distressing about these tiny overactive follicles above the bridge of his nose.
He saw it as a kind of a luxury, really. Standing there on the bathroom carpet, a towel around his waist, his hairy chest and belly wet from the long, steamy shower. The skin was soft and pliable, the pores open, the errand black strands more amenable for his intervention.
He was attacking them with surgical precision, wielding a pair of shiny stainless steel forceps that could be used for pinching each individual hair in turn and pulling it out. It was like rooting out weeds from a garden, in a way, he thought, with a smirk over his broad face. The round-cheeked male liked the sight of himself on the still slightly steamy mirror. He hadn't had to wipe it to get a proper visage of himself when he started upon the task. Once he was done, he'd only have to slip on a little bit of deodorant under his arms and he'd be ready to go for the day.
Pluck!
The beefcake winced a little, yet another uprooted and disposed onto a folded towel on the edge of the bathroom sink. The pain was minuscule, but the angry red skin his work left him did not really sit well. He knew it would level up soon, especially once he put on the lotion.
Pluck!
CRASH!
The noise was definitely coming from the kitchen.
Andy.
The forceps dropped from his fingers and clattered into the sink. Brandon hurried out of the bathroom, towel and all, quick steps that left wet marks onto the floor.
"Andy!" he called out. "ANDY!"
He rushed through the living room and into the kitchen through the wide open door of the dining room.
"ANDY!"
He was leaning against the kitchen counter. The blonde man was clutching his chest, while the other arm weighted heavily on the marble top. The floor and the tabletop were covered in juice from a container that sloped on its side along the counter, and a large, fragrant puddle covered the tiled floor. Little islands were formed by the jagged remains of a mug that had fallen and shattered onto the tiles.
"Andy!"
The blonde man's shoulders heaved. He was staring down, and did not move when his boyfriend stepped into the room, nor even when he put his big hands over his arms.
"Are you alright?" Brandon asked. "Andy?"
The blonde man let out a deep huff, and a sniffle.
"Fuck..."
"Did you hurt yourself?" Brandon asked.
Andy slammed his fisted hand against the counter. The plastic of the orthosis he wore upon it made a sharp click on the hard surface.
"Fuck! Shit!"
"I was going to make you your breakfast," Brandon told the blonde man with a frown over his own usually kindly face, "I'm sorry if it took too long."
"Cant' even pour a fucking...juice..." Andy grunted.
"Come on, let's sit down and I'll get you some," Brandon told him firmly, "let's make sure you don't step on the shards...just lean on me..."
"I can still walk you know!" Andy hissed as he resisted the larger man's attempt to direct him towards the dining room.
"I know you can, hun, but I don't want you to step on the mess..."
"Fucking mess..:" Andy grunted.
He allowed himself to be led over to the dining room, decorated in comforting panelled wood and with dark, lacquered furniture they had shopped for together in a nice second hand furniture store. It was not really antique, but it fit their image of what a nice dining room should look like. The set of chairs around the table was incomplete, for one had been replaced by a special ergonomic model for Andy, with adjustable armrests and backrests and other modifications. The large, hairy man placed him into his special throne and stroked his hand through the sandy hair once Andy was safely slumped down on the chair.
"I'll bring you the juice and then I'll clean up the mess," Brandon said.
"You'll be late for work," Andy said.
"Not really," Brandon said. "I'll take a shortcut."
"There are no...shortcuts!" Andy complained.
Brandon went back to the kitchen. He tiptoed around the puddle of juice, well aware that he was barefoot and in a room newly populated by ceramic splinters. It didn't seem to have become pulverized upon impact, at least that was a mercy. He could simply wipe it all up with some kitchen towels. First he'd have to bring Andy his juice. He stepped carefully by the puddle and brought out one of Andy's plastic twin-handled cups from the cabinet. There was a lid to it, too, but he didn't put that on. Andy hated them.
There was still enough juice in the carton to fill the cup about halfway. He put it back into the fridge and threw half a dozen sheets of kitchen towel onto the floor before he headed back to the dining room.
He only took one step before he looked at Andy's walking aid, sitting there by the puddle. He'd obviously used it to get from the bedroom into the kitchen while Brandon was having his shower.
"I'm gonna bring your walker over!" Brandon called.
"Okay!" came the non-enthusiastic reply from the other room.
"And your juice!"
"Can you bring pudding too?"
Brandon stopped.
"Chocolate or fruit?"
"Chocolate!"
"Alright!" he replied. "Coming right up!"
"Thanks!"
One more treacherous trip over to the fridge past the Sea of MultiBerryVita Juice, he thought.
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