Another prompt-story, written on the fly while using words provided by several folk on the Torquere Press Social LJ back in March. Hope you enjoy. 🙂
A Perfect Match
He was a big man. A strong man. And he knew he was damned good looking. Tall and wide and maybe a little bit scary, sometimes, like if was walking down a dark alley late at night and ran into someone unexpectedly because Steele had been known to do that. Not all the time, granted, but once a week or so. When the itch got too strong and his own hand wasn’t enough for the scratching.
Yeah, he figured he might look a little bit intimidating right at first, but in addition to being big and broad, he had an easy smile that always seemed to set people at ease. At night. In dark alleys. He tended to smile less fully in daylight, when someone might see big and strong and happy and think big and strong and stupid… but at night? Well, at night, Steele didn’t much care if the ones he ran into thought he was a moron. He wasn’t trawling around the city streets looking for good conversation then.
Good thing, too, because there wasn’t a whole lot of chance that he’d find it. Or so he thought, anyway, and for the last hundred once a weeks or so, he’d been right. That night, with snow falling in fat, fluffy flakes that somehow belied the dryness of the air, he wasn’t expecting anything else.
Just “hey, how you doing; want to?” and back to his car with whoever. Dry sort of cold or not, Steele knew better than to risk the usual effect of frigid air on his manly-parts. His cock. Balls.
Thinking the words made him shiver a little. He’d been proofing anatomy texts for long enough that ‘penis’ and ‘testes’ felt more natural than the more common slang, even in his head. In his hand, though, cock and balls felt pretty damned good. On his tongue, too.
So yeah. Just another night on the prowl, his two Poodermans safe and happy at home with bones from the butcher over on Eighth. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. No Steele at home meant all sorts of things going on that could be avoided by judicious offerings of marrow-rich yums.
It was a slow night in the alleyways, though Steele didn’t know why. It was cold, sure, and snowing, but it was damned pretty out. Bracing. Then again, what usually was going on in the alleys outside the clubs… right. That whole shrinkage thing. Even so, he didn’t want to go inside. Too loud, too crowded, and probably more so since nobody seemed willing to spill out onto the street. Of course, the random gusts of biting wind might have something to do with it.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, “it appears to be a remarkably unproductive evening. How… disappointing.” Maybe he’d just go back to his car. Drive home. Watch some porn and try again the next night. Except the dogs had bones and if he went home so soon they’d start thinking bones were theirs whenever they wanted them and… “A bit like myself.” Odd realization, but true. He really had expected to wander around and find someone who’d be anxious to satisfy his needs. The fact that he hadn’t was… disheartening, to say the least.
The walkway was slick as he strolled back to his car, but Steele’s steps were sure. Hiking boots were comfortable, after all, and he never had trouble finding them in a size fourteen. Other types of footwear had presented problems since he’d grown like the proverbial weed at sixteen.
Well, the streets weren’t entirely empty, at least, though Steele wasn’t one for old women. Or he assumed it was an old woman coming toward him, cane in hand, long white hair whipping in the wind, snow flying wildly. A rather tall old woman, but people came in all shapes and sizes, as Steele knew quite well. Still, weather that was fine for him wasn’t necessarily healthy for the old gal. Steele was a strapping two-fifty of thirty-two year old flesh. He could weather a little snow just fine.
“Excuse me, but…” His ‘can I help you’ vanished without making it past his lips as the heavily bundled form jerked just a little, obviously startled, then started to do what looked like a dance. Or maybe looked like falling, Steele realized with a wince as the heavy coat, cane, and white hair hit the ground with an audible thump. Ooops. “I’m sorry! God, I’m sorry, ma’…” and instead of the thready, upset voice he expected to hear, what came from the figure had him stretching out the almost-ma’am. “Maaaan. Sorry, man. Are you okay?”
“Fuck!” Yeah, that was what the… man… with all the long white hair had said once already. “Does it look like I’m okay? You scared the shit out of me! Jesus! How fucking stupid are you? And why the fuck didn’t you at least make some noise before you yelled at me? Christ!” Yeah, definitely a man. And young by the sound of it.
By the look of it, too, Steele saw when he crouched down beside the collapsed figure. White hair aside, the guy couldn’t have been more than thirty, at most. Fine features, like something from that Elf movie Steele had tried to sit through once, though he’d had to leave the theater after a while, what with the way looking at those pretty men had him far too close to embarrassing himself. The man was a little too masculine to be pretty, but yeah. Nice-nice.
“I really am sorry,” Steele said, trying to sound sincere rather than horny as he offered a hand to help the guy up. A hand that the guy ignored. It was insulting, really. In fact, it was just plain rude right up until Steele got a good look at the man’s cane. Saw the white of it and the red tape around the bottom. Great. He’d just scared a blind guy into possibly doing himself some damage. “This just isn’t my night.”
The man snorted, his free hand trying to push wind-tossed, tangled hair back behind an ear that was so red, Steele knew the guy must have been feeling the cold far more than Steele’s bigger body ever could. “Try having your… friend… kick you out of his car when it’s midnight, snowing and you have no idea of where the fuck you are. Then we’ll talk about bad nights.”
Okay. Point for elf-guy, Steele thought. And whatever kind of person would put a blind man out in the snow wasn’t someone Steele would call friend. “My hand is right in front of you if you want me to help you up,” he said quickly and the blind man sort of blinked then looked right through him. “Seeing as it’s my fault you slipped.” Which sounded better than fell, he figured.
Elfy looked surprised, but he didn’t waste any time finding Steele’s hand and it felt… good, he decided. Nice that someone was touching him and not because he was hot. It was strange, but nice.
“Thanks,” Elfy muttered as he got his feet under him, cane resting lightly on the snow-covered pavement, and Steele really had to find out his name before he actually said Elfy out loud. The guy would either laugh until he fell over again or get angry, and Steele didn’t want that. At all. Huh.
“Um. So.” He actually didn’t know how to talk to a man he wasn’t trying to have sex with. It was a rather unsettling realization. “You said your friend ditched you, um… sorry. Is there something I should call you?” Oh. That wasn’t awkward, was it? God help him. But Elfy laughed. Not a huge laugh, which was good, because yeah. Slippery sidewalk. Blind guy. Bad combination, as had already been demonstrated once. It was a nice laugh, though. Honest.
“Laith,” the man said, shivering where he stood and gripping Steele’s hand tighter. “Are you seriously as big as your hand implies? Because I’m thinking you’d make one hell of a wind-break.” A pause. “And I suppose former acquaintance would be a better way of describing Hugo. We had a disagreement about snowshoes, if you can believe that. Asshole.”
Well, as far as slang went, Steele could get behind that usage. It was a ridiculous thing to throw anyone out of a car for. Even so, it wasn’t precisely any of his business, was it? Laith’s questions, on the other hand, were.
“I suppose you could say that the size of my hand is a fair representation of the rest of my body, yes,” Steele answered carefully. “And while I’m not opposed to the idea of blocking the wind for you, I believe my car might do better. Um. Do you need a ride somewhere? Oh, I’m Steele, by the way.”
Laith cocked his head like he was listening to something Steele couldn’t hear, then nodded. Just once, and so slightly, Steele almost didn’t see it. “One question, Steele,” Laith said, smiling just a bit as he got settled in the passenger seat a few minutes later. “Are you really this nice of a guy or are you just trying to get in my pants?”
Steele sputtered. He tried to stop himself, but there it was. Him. Sputtering. Thank God Laith was blind and could only hear it. “I’m actually nice,” he answered. It seemed the safest bet, even if his cock—and yeah, he was starting to like that word—was hard and full in his jeans, his balls throbbing just a little. Laith wouldn’t know that, so Steele could deal.
Laith sighed and leaned back, head lolling against the headrest as he stared sightlessly in Steele’s direction. Missed his face by a mile, but right direction, anyway. “Well that’s a shame. With Hugo out of the picture, I was hoping… but cool. Never mind.” And maybe it wasn’t his face Laith was trying to point his eyes at, Steele decided, because if he drew a line from those emerald green orbs? Okay.
“You know, a really nice guy would take you to his place and make sure you’re not frostbitten,” Steele said simply. “He might even decide that you need to be warmed up very, very well.”
One long hand slid across the seat and found Steele’s leg, then moved up over denim to unerringly cover the hard bulge in Steele’s jeans. “It might take a while,” Laith answered, his voice shaking just enough for Steele to hear. “I’m really fucking cold, man. Might take days. Nights. Whatever.”
The drive to his house seemed to take forever with the snow drifting outside the car and the slippery slush on the roads. God, Steele wasn’t sure he’d even make it. They did, though, and the dogs started barking as soon as he pulled in to the driveway.
“You have pups?” Oh, Laith looked thrilled, which was a good thing. Steele had forgotten all about them.
“Two,” he answered. “Poodermans. They’re good girls, don’t worry.” They might chew Laith’s cane up if it was left where they could get at it, though.
“What the fuck is a Pooderman? It sounds… vaguely obscene.” And God, Laith had a great smile.
Steele turned off the ignition and hauled himself from the car, then moved quickly around to the passenger side to help Laith. The guy didn’t know Steele’s place, after all. “They’re half poodle, half doberman,” he explained as he locked the car and wrapped a burly arm around Laith’s waist. “Sort of funny-looking, but they’re damned smart.”
Laith laughed again, louder than he’d done on the street, and let Steele guide him up the front walk. “Seriously, man, if I wasn’t already wanting to get you naked and climb on, the way you don’t say shit like ‘they’re funny looking, not that it makes any difference to you’ would convince me.”
Inside, and the heat seemed stronger for the near-arctic minute or so between car and house. The dogs were their usual selves, not guardians by any stretch, but loud. Another minute or three to get them settled and lead Laith up the stairs, and yeah. Time to get Elfy out of his damp clothes.
“What the… what happened to you? Your…” He couldn’t help asking because there was a bruise, a big one, on Laith’s chest. It was red around the edges and already dark purple in the center. Lord. It was hot to the touch.
“Huh?” Then Laith’s hand was there too and the man frowned, then shrugged. “I guess I hit the curb harder than I thought when Hugo kicked me out of the car. It’s cool, man. Doesn’t hurt or anything.” The ‘yet’ was unspoken.
Steele wasn’t sure of what he might have said to that because Laith’s hands were reaching for him and the guy’s cane was leaned up against the nightstand, and sure those fingers were still a little chilly from the time spent outside, but they were for damned sure warming Steele right up. Rubbing circles around his nipples, combing through heavy chest hair, following it down to the waist of Steele’s pants.
Then there really wasn’t any talking, aside from “yes” and “God and “fuck, right there, harder Steele, I won’t break” and “Oh… oh. Yes. Tight, Laith, so very, very tight.”
“I’ll probably be a little chilly again by morning,” Laith murmured a long while later and Steele chuckled, holding that leaner form close. “Of course, maybe not, considering I’m sleeping with sasquatch. You ever consider doing some pruning?”
Steele blinked slowly, but that was fine, he figured. Laith had worn him out. Three times, so far. Not that he was complaining. It was unique, having sex with someone who enjoyed being taken just as much as Steele enjoyed doing the taking. Still… “Pruning?” Huh?
Laith yawned and pushed back against him. “Mmm-hmm. You know. Pruning. Gardening. Man-scaping?” He paused then shook his head. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it come summer. Furry is good, this time of year.”
Well, whatever, Steele though, his grip shifting just a little for more comfort, then “Ow!”
Laith was pulling away and saying it again. “Fucking ow, man!” A pause. “Okay, maybe I was wrong when I said my chest didn’t hurt. Shit.”
Right. Hugo. The bastard. “I don’t suppose you know where your former… acquaintance lives, do you?”
Laith turned to face him, sightless eyes narrowed, brows drawn down. “Maybe,” he answered, pushing carefully into Steele’s arms. “Why?”
Steele smirked. He didn’t usually smirk, but he felt the occasion deserved it. “I have a blowtorch, he has a car… seems like a perfect match.”
“Uh-huh.” Laith yawned again. “Do I want to know why you have a blowtorch?”
A small laugh left Steele, even as Laith laid his head on one broad shoulder. “I do some metal sculpting in the garden in the nicer months. It’s fun. A good hobby.”
“Mmmm…” Laith murmured, sounding almost asleep. “Sounds very tactile… night, honey.”
He didn’t know when he’d gone from Steele to honey, but he didn’t much care, either. It was fine. And maybe, just maybe… it wasn’t just the blowtorch and Hugo’s car that were a perfect match. Time would tell.