In Heat (Part 7)
#7 of In Heat (By Chapter)
PART 7
I awoke blearily the next morning to the sizzling of fried bacon. Okay, the wall-clock said the time was nearly one in the afternoon, but it was Saturday, so who cared? My whole body ached, and I felt mildly nauseated, the cotton-mouthed taste of morning-after alcohol not helping matters at all. The nightmare I'd been having was unpleasant, though I forgot most of it almost as soon as I opened my eyes. Something about ravenous giant wolves, which wasn't surprising.
Outside, the pavement sizzled in the sun, and I could see the shimmering air as I peeked out through the heavy curtains. Yet another scorching crest on the local heat-wave. Lucky for me, my apartment had central air.
I did my business in the bathroom and made damned sure I cleaned out my mouth thoroughly before I tottered into the kitchen, and sure enough, Rob was standing at the stove, fixing a breakfast big enough to feed an entire family.
Naked.
Oh, he had a towel, but either he'd put it on really carefully or really carelessly, because it displayed a tanned, unbroken line of flesh from his waist all the way down his thigh, and if I wasn't already supporting myself against the counter my knees would've buckled. Good god.
"Afternoon." His head was down and his voice was subdued. He gave the pancakes he was tending a flip. "Guess I've got some explaining to do, huh?" He didn't sound too thrilled at the prospect.
I nodded. "Yeah, but I'm not ready for that yet. Though I wouldn't mind knowing why you're in my kitchen with no clothes."
"You mean the clothes we left out in the car?"
"Oh." I scrubbed at my eyes. "Right. I'll go grab them in a bit, when I wake up. But you're going to have to drop the towel."
His shoulders stiffened, though he still didn't turn around to look at me. "What?"
I shook my head. "I need to check that bite on your leg. It was deep, and I need to see if it's still bleeding. I'm no doctor, just some survival and first-aid training I got in high school, but I don't want you losing a leg because I didn't look after it properly."
It was then I noticed that the bandages I'd applied last night were gone, and all that remained of his visible wounds were quickly-fading scars. "Don't bother. Healing fast is one of the few advantages of this whole deal. The little cuts and bruises're already gone, and the big ones heal only a little slower. Amputations're really rough, but that's one thing I don't have to worry about right now. You don't have to look at the bite; it'll be fine. Doesn't even hurt.
"I'm just hungry as hell this morning, but I'm good." His declaration was punctuated with a growl, this time from his stomach. He shrugged, those muscles straining from even that small movement, and even that made me sweat. "Sorry 'bout eating you out of house and home, but if I don't eat my fill, I'll be sick as...uh...a dog...for days. Part of healing so quick. I got a fifty for you out in the car to pay for it." The entire speech was in a dull monotone, as if he'd rather not be talking at all.
There was a full minute of still, uncomfortable silence; the sizzling of food and the hum of the AC the only sounds that permeated the room. He hadn't moved, not even to check the food. I broke first. "Rob?" No response. "Turn around, Robert, and look at me."
He rotated reluctantly, and the hurt on his face was painful to see. He looked like a kicked puppy, unsure if I was going to kick him again. His eyes dropped from mine, and he stared at the floor as his fingers fidgeted in front of him. "I understand if you don't like me anymore; it wouldn't be the first time. I didn't want you to find out that way, but it happened, and I'm sorry."
His apology, the hurt in those eyes, made me angry. He flinched away from my sudden glare. "Sorry for what? That you showed up in the nick of time, risking yourself to save my ass? That the first words out of your mouth when we met up in the bar weren't, 'Hey, kid. I've got this furry little secret; wanna see?'" I stepped away from the edge of the room and stalked across the short expanse of linoleum, stabbing a finger into his chest. "The only reason I'm alive right now is because they focused on you instead of me. Otherwise, I'd be lying in a morgue right about now, and you're why I'm not." My throat started to clench and my eyes to water; I wasn't ready to ride last night's emotional roller-coaster, but I didn't think I had a choice.
I was feeling really unsteady on my feet as the room began to swim. I started shaking, and hard, but I jabbed him again. "You can't help that you're a w-werewolf or whatever, and I don't hate you for it. I just need to work things out in my own head. But I have no problems at all being your friend. You're a good guy, Rob. I'm not going to abandon you because of s-something s-stupid like this. I d-don't know what happened to you, and I'm not sure what to think about it, b-but that's my problem. If other people h-hate you for it, fuck 'em! Don't you dare feel bad about being who and what you are. D-Don't. You. Dare."
My legs gave way, and I fell heavily onto one of the wooden chairs, looking up at him. "Th-they would've k-killed me if you hadn't jumped in the way. I'd be d-dead, Robert. I... I was... I..." And at that point I broke down completely. I buried my face in my hands, and I let go. At some point he knelt next to me and held me as I cried, and I clutched at him and sobbed.
The release was bittersweet, and it hurt, but being held in those arms felt so good and warm and safe, and the flood of emotion refocused itself around this wonderful man and the short time I'd known him.
_ "Oh, Rob..."_
Poor guy. He hadn't said much but I figured he'd been rejected at least once by a lover for being a wolf, and I knew he'd been kicked to the curb by his father for being gay, and both had hurt him so much. He seemed lonely and desperately in need of attention and affection, and it left a lump in my chest to see that pain hovering there behind his eyes.
I suddenly realized that the absurdity of it all no longer mattered to me. It may have been his beautiful body that had drawn me to him, but it was the mind and heart and soul trapped in that cage of flesh that I cared about, and I wanted to get closer so I could see more. He was the same inside whether he wore skin or fur, and that was enough to make me happy.
Around half an hour after they began, the tears dried-up, replaced with a small smile, and after I scrubbed my eyes I readjusted my position under his arm, and inadvertent as it was, nuzzled against the hair of his chest. It felt...good. "Thanks, Rob. I needed that." My smile turned sheepish. "It's been a rough twenty-four hours."
"Glad you're better."
"I needed to get that little kerfluffle out of the way...clear my head, I think... And I've made my decision."
"Yeah?" His muscles tensed up. He tried to draw away, but I pulled him tighter, embracing him in a tender hug, and nuzzling into the fluff on purpose this time.
"I like you, Rob. I really like you. Sure, this whole situation is a little outside my comfort-level, and I admit, it's more than a little bizarre. But you're interesting, smart, sexy, and one of the nicest men I've met in a long time. Plus, you got your ass kicked to save me when you didn't have to. That's got to be worth at least one Brownie point, right? If straight guys can deal with raging hormonal issues, so can I."
He closed his eyes and shook his head in bewilderment. "You're a real piece of work, y'know that?"
I laughed. "You have no idea."
He gave me a squeeze. "I'm serious. Don't think I didn't notice that you beat the tar out of Jericho and two of his thugs, and you came out of it without a scratch. That's damned impressive. And here you are, telling me that I saved you?"
"Oh, no you don't. I didn't just cry like a baby in front of you in order for you to tell me how strong I am."
"This is the twenty-first century, son; real men're supposed to cry, or so I'm told. You kept your cool when it counted, and jumped in the middle of a bunch of vicious predators tearing me to pieces when you could've just run. You're entitled to a breakdown afterward. You don't give yourself enough credit."
"I think you're giving me too much."
He held me with the intense sincerity in those eyes. "I don't think so. It's better to get it out of your system now than bottle it all up like my old man did until you can't feel anything else. Trust me when I say that you don't wanna end up like that."
I peered at him suspiciously. "Alright, are you using some sort of psychological ploy you learned in college to make me feel better?"
His deep chuckle reverberated through my body; it was a good, wholesome sound, and it filled me with a warm glow. "Nah. Us gay guys're just naturally sensitive 'n shit. I even cry, sometimes. Well, once, anyway. I was six."
"Uh-huh. Well, now that my emotional crisis of the day is dealt with, I just want to make something absolutely clear here: we're going on that date later, and I'm not taking no for an answer. And what I want right now is to have a nice quiet breakfast with my gorgeous new boyfriend, learn about what's going on, then figure out where we can go from here. Got that?"
He shook his head, trying for meekness; he almost succeeded, but his preening got in the way. At least that pain that hurt so much to see was gone. For now. "Got it. I know when I'm beat. Now, how about my clothes?"
I gave him my best shit-eating leer. "Nope. I'm enjoying the view. How about after breakfast."
"This constitutes sexual harassment, y'know."
"Damned straight. Or not, as the case may be." I paused for a moment; I didn't smell anything burning. "Err...you did turn off the stove, right?"
"I put it on low. The food should still be warm."
"Good." I brushed past him and sashayed to the bathroom, calling over my shoulder, "Now, I'll get cleaned up and let you finish breakfast so we can eat. Crying may be all kinds of therapeutic, but it plays merry hell on the sinuses."
©Lycanthromancer
10/14/2010