An Erie Operetta (2 page)

I skittered around the bed, my hand on the tall poster that rose off the footboard. Mikel’s big foot hit a small throw rug. He sailed past me, eyes as well as mouth wide, pawing in the air until his hand landed on his dresser. Cologne, a wristwatch, and a jewel box sailed off the top as the dresser lurched upward to try to support his weight.

I was giggling like a schoolgirl when I streaked out into the hall, my balls flapping in the wind. I had stopped and was in the process of turning to taunt the great hunter when a football slammed into my nose. I saw brilliant white flashes, a couple bright dots, and then blackness.

When I came to, I was back in bed with the blankets up to my chin and a cold compress on my nose. Three rather contrite-looking men stood at the foot of the bed. I placed my hand on the compress. I could taste blood on my tongue.

“How are you feeling, Templeton?” Mikel asked sheepishly, or as sheepishly as a wolf can. He had gotten dressed while I was in La-La Land. Jeans and a thick blue sweater suited him. I sat up. My head began throbbing violently. I lay back down, the icy compress on my tender nose.

“You were supposed to catch it,” Dave said, holding the offending pigskin in one hand. “I mean, I did yell to you to be like Jerry Rice. Didn’t you hear me?”

“No, I didn’t,” I said, then frowned. My nose was plugged with dried blood. I sounded congested. “Who the hell is Jerry Rice?”

“Oh man, he is like one of the most famous running backs in--”

I cut off Eddie with a sharp look. “I don’t care about hockey!”

“It’s football, not hockey,” my lover gently corrected. The two goons in Levi Strauss and officially licensed team logo shirts looked down at their huge feet. “I’m just saying that if you’re going to live among lycans, you should know the difference between football and hockey, Templeton.”

“And you baboons should know how to behave inside! I know that the call of the wild is strong with you wolves, and that being cooped up inside this mansion isn’t conducive to good behavior. But, on the other hand, we are not living in Norway with the Vikings. We are modern men, not slobbering pillagers intent on killing, raping, looting, and playing football inside a mansion!” I yelled, instantly hating how much I sounded like some medieval fishwife. I think I was haranguing. I did not wish to be a haranguer.

“I would love to pillage,” Eddie said with a grin that crinkled his scarred face and lit his gentle eyes. Dave agreed instantly, his eyes glowing with the ancient need to engage in bloodletting. Mikel cleared his throat, ending the wistful talk of the lycan homelands.

“They meant no harm, Templeton,” the alpha repeated. I swear, I am going to get a t-shirt printed up for Mikel with that platitude printed on it. Both men nodded enthusiastically. “You’re correct, though. I have been letting them run wild and it has to stop. The long winter is making us cabin-fevered and restless. Our minds are slipping, allowing our baser nature to come out.”

“Exactly,” I said. “What we need is some class, refinement, and decorum to remind us of what proper gents you three can be.”

“I don’t like ties,” Eddie muttered under his breath.

“Suits make me chafe,” Dave whispered to the side.

Mikel nodded in understanding. “Yes, I know, being confined in tight clothing isn’t the way of the young lycan.” He padded around the bed, removed my compress, then ran a hand over my head, smoothing my hair from my brow. “But this is something you must learn. Being civil and refined is our way of life now. So, to that end, I think I will call the opera house to see what production is coming next.”

“Opera?” both subordinates moaned. I perked up instantly. I had never been to the opera house located on the far side of Lake Erie, but I had heard wondrous things about it. It was a grand place, supposedly, frequented by the upper echelon of our society: a mystical place, birthed out of an old world need for refinement in a barbaric new world.

“Yes, opera,” Mikel snarled. The men both quieted but their lower lips stuck out a good inch. “Now apologize to Templeton for nearly breaking his nose,” Mikel said, his fingers resting in my black hair. The two at the foot of the bed made their act of contrition then walked out of the master suite with hanging heads and stooped shoulders. Mikel bent down to kiss me tenderly on the lips.

“I can’t wait to see you in a tuxedo,” he whispered. I grew all toasty warm at the lovely tone of his deep voice. I could just imagine it. Mikel and I arriving at the opera house, capes and top hats, spats and walking sticks, as those around us admired us for how debonair we were. Why, maybe I’d be able to pull out my Cary Grant impersonation!

Three

Later that day, I was at work, my mind jumbled with a new project. I was rubbing my temples as I slaved away on what was supposed to be an interdepartmental experimental webpage. My supervisor had been quite keen on getting all the slain shifters’ names into one database, which, as Mikel had pointed out, was a splendid idea. It would aid those working on the increasingly difficult job of trying to capture those who were igniting civil unrest.

I suppose my vociferous approval of a departmental database had somehow been twisted around in the air. For when my boisterous “That is an excellent idea, sir. Good luck with it!” entered the ear of my supervisor, Craig Truvor, it sounded, to him, as if I had said, “That is an excellent idea, sir. I would love to have this project heaped atop my usual workload. Thank you so much for the anal penetration sans lube, sir!”

“Calgon, take me away,” I moaned, then slipped my glasses down from atop my head. The website was sitting there, blinking at me, waiting for me to add something. The problem was that I had to add that the investigation was still ongoing. I had added that particular line in a bold font to approximately fifteen ongoing investigations. It seemed that for every death that was solved, five more occurred to stymie the powers that be. I was becoming rather depressed about it, to be honest. I vowed I would never complain about working on lackluster lineage papers again. Speaking of which...

My desk was covered with yellowed scrolls, sticky notes, pens, and a paperclip chain. By the elders, this day was going to be a long one. My instant messenger pinged. I lowered the paperclip chain that I had picked up and hunkered over my tablet lying amidst the carnage of a bored office worker. My spirits lifted instantly. It was a message from Mikel. I smiled like a sap. Then I read the curt missive.

Temp-Swamped. Can U meet boys @ Erie Shore Tailors 4 tux fitting @ noon? Cost no object. Puppy eyes-Mikel.

Oh wow. That should be a fun lunch hour. I exhaled loudly then replied to my love that yes, I would meet them there to help guide them. Elders know that if Dave and Eddie were left to their own devices we’d have men in peach tuxedoes in Mikel’s box at the opera. Besides, Mikel’s puppy eyes were devastatingly effective. Just the mere mention had my “Awwww” meter rising. Talk about a smitten striper. So, at exactly high noon I bundled up and scuttled out into the freezing cold. Three blocks seemed like another state. The tip of my sensitive nose was bright red when I rushed into the men’s clothing store. I removed my steamy glasses and walked up to a salesman.

“Excuse me, but I’m here to meet two friends who...”

“Temp, that’s a dummy,” Eddie guffawed somewhere behind me. I poked the mannequin just to make sure. Trust me, when you’ve spent a few hundred years being the butt of bullys’ jokes, you take nothing for granted. Nor do you go anywhere near toilets or flagpoles without twitching internally. A strong hand took my elbow. I stumbled along in Eddie’s wake, my nose picking up his scent now that I was behind him. We stopped in a spot that was well lit and rather tan. I plunked my glasses to the bridge of my nose. The lenses were mostly cleared.

“Oh my,” I mumbled as Dave turned to look at me over his immense shoulder. “I don’t think that’s an acceptable color,” I said as tactfully as I could. The tailor, a squat gnome of a man glared at me. “I’m sorry, Master Tailor,” I said quickly. The gnome called me several unsavory things as he tugged the ill-sized jacket off David.

“Come on man, it was blue,” Dave argued. I removed my coat, laid it over the back of a padded chair, and walked over to stand beside the towering male in his briefs. Even with a sweater on under my suit jacket, I was cold. I envied the werewolves their internal blast furnaces. “I mean, blue is for boys, right?”

“So some would wish us to believe, but your alpha -- yes, that looks much better, Master Tailor.” I smiled at the tailor whose head reached my navel when he hurried out with a classically cut ebony tuxedo draped over his arm. “Mr. Lupei instructed me to inform you that price was no object. He wishes his pack to be properly outfitted for the opera.”

The gnome’s small eyes sparkled. Within seconds both lycans were surrounded by short men with tape measures, bulbous noses, and rather beefy backsides. The gnomes measured with speed, Master Tailor taking careful notes on each male’s inseam, sleeve length, and neck measurement.

“So what concert is this we’re going to see?” Eddie asked as he tugged his torn jeans up over an incredibly firm rump.

“It’s not called a concert,” I corrected. “It’s a production, I think. I’ve never been myself, so we’re all in the same boat.” I watched the two hulks as they dressed. “I think Mikel said it was Mozart’s
The Magic Flute
.”

“Is that like a skin flute?” Eddie snorted, elbowing his bisexual brother in the side so hard Dave grunted.

That brought about a round of hearty guffaws. I waited patiently for the two to stop laughing hysterically. They caught their breath, looked at me giving them hairy eyeballs, then fell into another fit of uproarious laughter.

“I have to go back to work,” I told the hysterical fools. “Try to control yourselves. You sound like hyenas instead of members of the Lake Erie pack.”

“Yeah... Temp plays a merry tune on a skin flute... my sides... I’m going to die,” Dave panted, his hand gripping his ribs.

I threw my coat on, stepped over the outstretched arm of Eddie who had fallen to the floor in mirth, and met the Master Tailor at the door.

“Won’t you be measured as well, good sir?” the gnome asked as he polished the brass buttons on his nicely cut vest with a silk handkerchief. I tossed a look at the two lycans gasping on the floor.

“I’ll drop in after work,” I assured the man. He glanced at the howling wolves with mild trepidation.”They’re fine young men, just boisterous. You’ve no need to worry.” I patted his arm then hustled out into the bitter cold blowing off the lake. If I jogged, I would just have time to grab a take-out grease burger at the nearest fast food restaurant on the way back to the office. Mikel was going to repay me for my indigestion, as well as that stupid skin flute comment in the tailor shop, rest assured.

***

Surely you’ve heard that payback is a bitch? That is true in many instances, but sometimes they are not bitch-like at all. Take the payback my stud of a wolf was gifting me with at the moment. I was spread wide on our bed, my arms bound to the tall bedposts with a pair of Mikel’s finest silk ties. My legs were splayed as far as I could manage. Mikel’s brindle head bobbed up and down with increasing speed between my thighs. As if the feel of his hot, wet mouth wasn’t payment enough for a slight burping spell, his two thick, long fingers rotating deeply inside me certainly made up for needing a gulp of chalky antacid after dinner.

Sometimes I close my eyes when Mikel and I are pleasuring each other, just so that my other senses grow heightened. My eyesight is so poor that all I would have seen of my lover’s oral delight would have been a big, blackish-red glob. So, I sink back when Mikel is of a mind, and I listen and inhale the cloud of sexuality lying heavy over our bed. The suckling sounds of his mouth vied with the slick, sloppy sounds of his lubricated fingers stretching and scissoring deep within me. Smell and taste coexisted.

I could inhale the musky aroma of my base animal as well as Mikel’s, the scent intermingling with the moist, heady smells of sex, sweat, and man upon my tongue. Tasting sex is amazingly erotic for our kind since we rely so much on smell. My back arched upward. Mikel pushed me flat to the mattress with one hand, his rhythm never broken. I tugged at the ties that bound me, hissing angrily. Mikel’s deep chuckle vibrated through my cock. Shock waves of pleasure streaked outward from my genitals. I gasped at the sensation of my orgasm approaching. When it arrived the ties were pulled tight. My hips thrust skyward. Mikel pinned me to the bed, his powerful forearm over my abdomen, as he assured that he remained in control of my release. My balls contracted. His fingers found and then stroked my sacred spot. I cried out as a million delicate nerve endings all fired off at once.

When I could think clearly, I opened my eyes. Mikel appeared, blurred terribly until his face lowered enough so that he could brush his nose against mine. His cock nudged at my nicely lubricated entrance, his hair dangled downward, brushing his high cheekbones, his golden eyes smoldered. I whispered my permission, my breath ragged. Mikel eased into me inch by glorious inch.

“I love the feel of being inside you, Templeton,” he growled, his teeth latching onto my shoulder. I winced at the love bite. My lover began to move. In, then out, stretching me anew with each deep thrust. “Move... higher. Yes!”

I wrapped my fingers around the ties, my eyes squeezing closed. Mikel was close. I could tell by how he slid into brutish grunts. Also, he was moving in and out of me so rapidly I was being pushed across the bedding. He yanked on the ties holding me in place. One of the posters cracked then tumbled to the floor, my wrist still bound to it. When his wolfish mind saw what it assumed was the solution, he broke the other poster off with one hand as he claimed me with increasing speed. When his climax arrived, my head hung off the side of the bed, one leg, which he had gripped in his teeth, rested on his shoulder, and his eyes were radiant amber beacons. His semen ran out of me, soaking the bedding.

“Mikel,” I panted, as I hung upside down staring at the door, “Drop my leg this instant!” I felt the distended canines slip back into his gum. My calf dropped from his jaw. I tried to sit up but the weight of the massive wooden bed posters kept my arms dangling over my head. Mikel dropped down on top of me then began lapping at my chest while making sounds of canine contentment.