Alexander's Accounts - Part 22
Alexander explores both Tom and Barcelona, then ends up colliding with beurocracy and a new home situation.
Part 22 of Alexander’s Accounts, continuing from a wild smoothie of plotlines
Tom pulls me with his hand onto his lap, runs his fingers through my hair. It sends tingles down me to be caressed like this.
Worries about Artemis and Biblia come to mount but I push them out, for Tom. “Do you ever miss people from the werewolf world?”
Tom nodded. “There’s a polycule I made in a village once, and I still miss them, with all my heart.”
“Do you send mails?”, I asked, stroking his knee.
His hand wrapped around the side of my chest. “It’s difficult with the villages.”
“You sure you’re ok here?” I asked as I laid back, resting my neck newly on his bicep, the muscle conforming to my shape. He shuffled a little.
“As I said, the Hombres de Lobo take care of everything anyway… but I would like to go back, just for a week.”
“Hmm”, I agreed, preferring to melt into him, his other hand approaching my thigh to rest on there. “Careful - if you pull on that implant, it’ll kill me, maybe us both.”
“Ah”, he noted. “Damned south…”
I nodded. “I could probably arrange a return for you, bribery included.”
I felt his arms tense and then relax, his hand massaging my thighs. “Oh, that’d be so great, thanks!”
“No worries”, I said, wiggling my hands under his shirt to grab a handful of his nipple. It was softer than the rest of him, supple, thicker wirelike hairs guarding the entry. I felt a desire to suck them.machine
He rubbed his arm against me as I pulled in closer to achieve him. I didn’t know body odour could be sexy until this day.
I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled in closer to kiss him, grabbing his ears and massaging them.
He pulled himself standing, taking me with him, his hands on my buttocks supporting me. He lowered me. We undressed, I unfastening his belt and pulling his trousers down, moving his dick to poke out. He took off his shirt and pulled mine off, and I took off my trousers.
He pulled my underpants down, revealing my dick. “So… what do we do?”
I walked up to him, running my hands over his body, feeling the hair, revelling in the scent, taking a hand to grab his dick. “Let’s start with a handjob”, I suggested.
He nodded sultrily, using his hand to pull me against him as he wrapped his fingers around my dick - thick, werewolvian fingers, clasping onto it. I did the same to his, and began a frantic rubbing motion, making me lean back and lose strength as he did the same to me. Oh, Artemis almighty - what a great feeling it was, being pulled further than I ever did to myself, the hair brushing past the tip!
“Let’s get closer”, he grumbled. “Onto the bed.”
I complied, not out of will but lust, not out of thought but desire. Oh, Tom, fuck me like I never have been.
I lay sideways on the mat, the werewolf so imposing from so low, his member dripping pre over the floor. Is that steam coming from him?
He knelt down and grabbed my calves, pushing them up and behind my head, to reveal a plain arse for the taking. He held my calves with his nondominant arm. With some vegetable oil and hope, his other hand began to massage my ass. Raw pleasure. I leant back and moaned, my hair brushing against the tile, his fingers working their magic as they wormed their way around.
He suddenly stopped.
I felt something new knocking against the entrance, a semi-sharp tip pushing past in its smooth lubricated way and straight into me to knock me even gayer. I moaned.
Tom thrust hard, shoving his dick the entire way inside and out, burying it to the hilt and revealing it to the tip.
I moaned as I felt the movement through my arse’s walls, the prostate being hit like a punching bag with each thrust. The pain was there but barely noticeable past all the pleasure.
He moaned as he thrust harder and deeper, almost vibrating in pleasure.
And, with a great moan, we came, and with a great roar, he left.
We dressed and cleaned up. I offered to take out rubbish, which Tom initially declined but I forced him to accept anyway.
“So, what do you suggest I do?”, I asked. “Barcelona’s a big city.”
“Use a tour guide”, said Tom. “I don’t have any but you can get some at the souvenir shop!”
“I’m not buying a tour guide just for one day”, I explained.
“Buy stuff from earth!”, suggested Tom. “There’s so much you’re probably missing out on!”
“Let’s go to a bar”, I suggested to Charlo. “And get a phone and a SIM card, wait no, not a SIM card, they’re not gonna work!.”
He nodded.
“Hey, maybe I should get a laptop!”
He nodded.
“To be honest I should probably get laptops and phones for all four of us”
He nodded.
“I’ve not been on earth for so long - you do know of the werewolf world, right?”
He nodded. An angry buzz from my thigh.
“Do you know the way back onto the street?”
He nodded and began walking at some pace back through the tunnels and across the metro tracks.
A loud booming noise scared me off the tracks, which is just as well because through the corner, bright lights lit up the whole tunnel.
Charlo was on one side, in a cutting, and I was hiding in other.
Through the tracks came roaring past car after car after car, pulling such a great quantity of air that I almost got clipped.
I ran back into the niche, careful to watch for other trains.
“Pandeja!”, cried out Charlo, “Collons!”
Was he crying out to my incompetence?
“Come quick!”, he cried.
I listened and dashed across the track just as a train from the other side began bursting through, I bursting through into the niche, into Charlo’s arms.
He pulled me through tunnel and tunnel, way and way, niche after niche.
And back again I was on the surface, the busy and bumbling surface, the chaotic and confusing surface, the humantech-infested surface.
Charlo was my guide, leading the way through the gridded streets. His walking pace was quick and adapted whilst mine skipped over the gum in the street and the cracks between cracked tiles, each tile no larger than a foot.
“So, we have tools for your bump.”, said Charles, widely avoiding a scammer and his game.
“What?”
“I removed my bug”, he explained. “I was deported and they bugged me in the thigh, just like you.”
What?! “So you came here?”
“I spent months on the street until I heard someone talking about it and then I met Tom and I was like, damn, it’s legit!”
“They talk in public?”, I asked.
“As soon as I found out I cried into their shoulders.”
“Ah.”, I said in a semi-speechless response. When did I last cry? When did I last have good reason to cry? Do I need a good reason?
“Ah…”, I said.
“But they’re great, we make things, sell them, get food, share it… it’s the best we have now.”
We reached a cool bar. “Do you have the money?”, he asked. “I’d like to treat you for visiting.”
The inside reminded me of what I’d seen in photos of America; bare metal, corrugated metal, shining metal, and branding. Flags, flags, flags. Tips and bills and card machines.
“This is my favourite bar”, he smiled.
“I don’t like daydrinking”, I said.
“Which is why you’ll like it here”, he said, pointing at a menu.
There was not a single alcoholic drink. They were all various mixes of drinks.
“Two saudI sodas”, Charlo said to the bartender with a wink.
And such started the evening, a liquid lunch with Charlo using my card to pay for increasingly vivid drinks, working up a real bill. I had to pull him back - “are you crazy? I won’t have enough for a ticket back!”
“Learn to live a little!”, cried a sugar-drunk Charlo. “We can make the money later!”
“No”, I said. “Plain no!”
“Yes!”, cried Charlo, speedwalking his way into unfamiliar territory, with my card. Cabron came to mind, a Spanish word. Hostia tu puta madre came to mind, a possibly-incorrect Spanish curse. Mild but still biting.
What ended up happening was that I followed him through the bar, past clumps of people making noise and bicker, into psychedelic areas decorated in the most alien ways until suddenly - a street mockup. “Reminds you of something?”, he asked.
I looked out, onto the pavement, the walls, the tables, the signs… wait - Northern Spanish?!
He smiled and chuckled. “I was on the design board for this area! I won because I was the only brit who could speak Catalan!”
“Ah”, I said. He must have riled up some €100… am I going to get back home?
“It’s based off the very street I lived on”, he explained. “Look - that’s the door to my flat!”
It was a painted impression of a door, save for the doorknob which held a handful USB plugs.
“Shouldn’t we be preparing myself for the return?”
Charlo flashed a face of irritation. “Well, I’d rather enjoy myself reminiscing with another werewolvian.”
“Y’all call werewolf world citizens werewolvians…?”
“Beats ‘wereworld citizen’, yeah.”
We sat at a chair in the fake-street, I gazing at the ceiling, a painted sky turned grimy by some kind of soot. I pointed — “What’s that?”
Cubit looked and almost startled himself. “Oh, let me get something!”
He ran off into the bar quicker than I could follow, especially when he waved at me to sit back down.
He has my card and my balance’ll probably be -¤1000 by the time I get back, I realised.
I sat anxiously, watching the hoards of people tricked into such an expensive bar, moving around and socialising in their own tongues. I couldn’t understand a word, what with their overgrown vulgar dialects of Latin and local pronunciations.
Charlo came back holding two shots and two sachets. “How much?”, I asked.
“€10”, he said. “Bahrahtoh, eh?”
“Yes. Stop it!”, I begged.
He shrugged and gave me a glass and a sachet. “Open the sachet and drop it in.”
I did as he said, pouring the white powder into my glass of neon green liquid.
Nothing. I looked at Charlo, frowning.
I glanced back. Bubbles, tons of bubbles, a bunch of bubbles, an overflow of bubbles, too many bubbles, way too many — suddenly, ZZZRRRSPPPT and a flame came out, reaching all the way up, tossing black smoke up and all over the bar.
Everyone around stared at the flame. It almost spoke to me. I could make out words in the white sparking noise, speaking viscerally.
“a, mi, cum, tuum”, it said.
“op, us, au, ksi, li, um”, it continued.
your friend, and needs help.
Well, shit, whatever, I can’t give a fuck.
“Did you hear that?!”, asked Charlo. “It told me that Tom is waiting for you!! Someone’s in demand.”
“It said my friend needs help.”, I said, cutting through his demeanour. “In Latin.”
“Damn”, said Charlo. “Don’t worry! He’s protected by a werewolf!”
For someone who only drank a bunch of sugar he’s awfully tipsy.
I drank my now-yellow shot, its buttery taste slipping down my throat like an oiled eel.
“Let’s go”, I told Charlo. “No more drinks.”
“Fine”, he shrugged.
We left, walked down the street, I looking at the design. A road sat in the middle, cars and motorbikes doing their petty fight, bikes and paybikes and ebikes running down the bike lane, biking at their own biking speed to whatever destinations they had.
Some tiles wobbled at my step, some missing, some upside down, some cracked.
Charlo guided, walking ahead, past the bins, past the trees, past the people, past the pickpockets.
We reached the technology shop. “Here’s where you can buy stuff”, said Charlo.
“But you spent all my money.”, I grumbled.
“It’s fine, it’s a credit card.”
I rolled my eyes. I looked at the card. Indeed, it was credit. Drugs will pay for a debt, I’m sure. “Let’s go!”
I took a few laptops and a handful of phones; they’d come in useful for our organisation. I took a backpack from another shop to put it together, and got a lock to fight the pickpockets Charlo insisted existed.
We were set for my return, we decided. The park I saw from the balcony was still lit by midday sun. “Let’s go there!”
Charlo rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
And so we explored the city, those streets with their cars and coaches and stations and stares and benches and beggars.
I met Tom again in his, our, hole. My legs began to complain about the amount of walking I’d done through the day, walking around that park with its pickpockets and performers and people and ponds and paths, walking around those tunnels with their darkness and tracks and dangers and torches and diggers and train-thunder.
“Went well?”, he asked.
“Yeah”, I yawned.
He used an arm-gesture to invite me into his bed. “Enjoy your night.”
“I’m portal-jetlagged… I’d rather do something.”
“Let’s sleep together”, he decided.
I know what you mean, pervert, I joked to myself.
He took my chuckle as a yes, pulling me under him in the bed, running his arms across me. “I’m tired, but not with you…”
“Come on, it hasn’t even been a full day!”
“And I’m tired of fantasising to romance”, he said, running his lips against my face.
“No”, I said. “Just go to bed.”
“Fine”, he said. He pulled me under the covers, pulling me close. “I’m going to bed now.”
He ran his hands across me, pulling me into him, anchoring himself against me as he journeyed into the land of nod.
At one point he switched orientations and held my head behind his thighs. It was surprisingly comfortable but hot and sweaty, hot and smelly. His dick, at one point, became erect and pressed against my collarbone.
I wasn’t tired enough for this shit, but gave in.
Walking is tiring.
I left that day with Tom’s euros and goodbye cheek-kiss, taking the metro tunnels back to Estació Nord, where i bought a bus ticket to Lleida
From there i went back to the same old street and found the minibus, the display reading “dejaria de pelo” in whatever concoction it had made of Spanish. I had almost considered visiting the old man as thanks yet decided against it. He’s weird.
I reached the border and entered the compound, to a border guard.
“Hello, border guard! Here’s my card!”, I exclaimed. Positivity gets us places
He stared at me and frowned, glancing between my hair border card and face. I looked guilty, I’m sure.
I looked into his eyes, the whites to the side of them carved with cracks like blood vessels. He frowned. I almost began sweating with how intensely he was staring.
Maybe I could make it romantic? No, I’ll save that for Artemis.
“You live in the south or north?”, he asked, breaking a silence so suddenly I almost jamp.
I chuckled despite myself - “south, I’ve got some guys waiting.”
“Which guys?”, he asked. “Leave the vehicle and enter room I-3 for further questioning.”
Shit, is my gang in danger?
I complied anyways — the last thing I’d want to do is lose my right to enter the portal and have to walk back from the middle of nowhere. The last thing I’d want to do is increase my distance from Artemis. The last thing I’d want to do is become one of the Hombres de Lobo, stuck in some tunnel worrying about my werewolf friends.
A staffer followed me then guided me to the room. “Alexander… wait, what’s your second name?”
“I never used one”, I said. Was it a lie? Wait, what was my second name?
He shrugged. “Werwolvian native, then?”
“No”, I said. “It’s on file, I moved here before the pandemic.”
“That was 30 years ago”, he gasped. “You’re…. 19!”
Werewolvian incompetence at it’s best. “No no, the crown one, not the aggression one.”
“OH!”, he chuckled at his mistake, kind of curling up and almost crying,,, out of laughter. “How did I forget about covid?!”
“It was a holiday”, I joked. Let’s build a rapport, ok? “You got to go home and chill.”
“Yeah”, he said, smiling.
He suddenly became serious and straight. “Are you involved in the New Gang?”
“The what now?”
“The new gang, led by this werewolf drug-selling guy and a band of humans.”
“I don’t know them”, I shrugged. Dejà Vú…? “Name names.”
“Arte/Art, Meter, and Book.”
Did they make code names?! “Don’t recognise them… do you have a Biblia on record?”
“Former librarian until the True Vigilantes rose, why?”
“I’m part of her group.”
Did I reveal too much? “Wait, can I have a lawyer?”
The staffer furrowed his brows. "Well, Biblia is untracked so it would figure she joins a new gang and makes a codename.
“Can I have a lawyer?”, I repeated.
“Oh, of course.”, he admitted. “Just let us escort you to the werewolvian side.”
I nodded, forced an ironic smile.
I followed as this guy pulled me through a portal. Good my cards are in my pocket, then.
Into a new room, paint flecks missing from the walls, the wood grain visible even in the painted parts.
“Wait here, we’re taking a state lawyer.”
So, I sat, with my thoughts. Shit’s going south for me, isn’t it? Wait what do those chavs in London say? innit, right? Yeah, shit’s going south, innit?
I’m missing all my people. I miss Tom’s tender touch, Artemis’s all-assuring actions, Biblia’s book-bearing brain, Cubit’s careless counterarguments. I appreciate everyone now, and I’m going to lose it all, if I don’t play it right.
A tap on my shoulder. “Sebastian Wolfe, for the security of your place in the werewolf world!”, he introduced.
I nodded and smiled. “Here to protect me?”
“Get you home”, he clarified. His smile was gone now. “So, you’re a suspect for the missing member of the New Gang…”
“Yeah”, I resigned.
“Remember to invoke your right to silence!”, he chuckled. “So, you’re only a suspect so far.”
“Yeah… I don’t even know if I’m part of the new gang.”
“You aren’t.”, he said. “Not officially.”
I nodded. “Ah…”
“They appeared out of nowhere and one of their members dissapeared a day ago.”
“So why would they think this member’s coming back?”
“They ran to Barcelona”, he said.
“… I did too”
“Suspicious”, he confirmed. “Maybe we give you a temporary bug to see if you go to their hideout.”
“Maybe”, I said, cringing at the thought of the needle once again opening inside me and ripping apart my flesh. “… maybe.”
“We’ll arrange that”, he said. “Plug and you’re free to go. It’s a 5-day sentence.”
I nodded.
I was back inside the minivan, the new bug installed, the old one tossed in the biohazard box at the portal post, overflowing.
It was several hours of tense driving as we reached the south. The new bug was just a surveilence one and had no mechanism to kill, only to call the police.
I left the minibus and found my way home. These streets are so quiet; only the thin stream of walking humanoids and occasional vehicle inhabitied these brick paths.
Blood on the floor of a nearby flat. Who’s? Looks like werwolvian blood. Fuck, not Artemis, not Artemis, not !Artemis!, not !!Artemis!!!
I ran to the flat’s shared door, ran past the community board, took each step as brutally as a slap I’d be giving to the police.
I ran up, up, up, all the way up. No faster than my Artemis scling the walls like in the first day here, I went up, up up, all the way up.
I breathed, breathed, breathed, every step hurting. No less desperately than I did whilst dying in the shower as my Artemis arranged healthcare, I breathed, breathed, breathed, every further one pushing me to slow down.
I collapsed, fell, fell, fell, before our fortified door. I fell, fell, fell, in front of the door, the heavy metal portace.
And the door was opened by a policeman, opened, opened wide and exposingly, the door was. I blacked out.
Stay tuned for part 23, in which Alexander escapes police punishment
Some notes:
Part of all this is me trying to capture how i sometimes fall head over heels for someoe and then they become normal person with a week or so and how i sometimes find someone i vibe with and end up becoming friends by talking a bunch. Tom is Alexander jumping on someone. Artemis and especially Biblia are more the vibe kind.
With the crying into shoulders thing i’ve just realised that those i befriend do have an impact on me. Alexander is mainly a self-insert, so his self-questions about it are an extension of what i ask myself. The elections were really stressful this year and only because i was responding to other people suffering due to them. Living in Spain, the elections don’t personally impact me as much as they may otherwise would.