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Description
Rating: NC-17
Status: Complete, One-Shot
Warnings: A little grim toward the end!
Summary:  In a way this is a Mary Sue.  From July to October one year, I was having really pain-in-the-ass landlord problems, spearheaded by the most moronic chickenshit woman I've ever met. And she wasn't even the person I paid my money to!  It stressed me out so much I got writer's block.  And then my good buddy Midnight suggested I should just let my boys from Wizards and Warriors deal with her.

This is the result.  And apologies to a friend should he read this; I know you'd never do such a thing, Steve, but I had to wrap up this bit somehow!!

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Keith and Carson: Dealing with the Landlord

It was late October----two days before Halloween, in fact.  One of the local channels was holding a Horrorthon that afternoon, so you bet I was in the kitchen popping corn and buttering it up for the big event.  Chattering brightly to Carson, who was leaning back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed on his chest.  Well, almost sitting on the counter actually, he was that tall now, a move back would do it.  Just watching me quietly, with inscrutable blue eyes, as I blathered on.

Yeah, I admit, I was doing it partly to see how far I could push him.

"Thirty-two hours of solid screams, it said in TV Guide, Carse!  Well, I doubt that, usually they throw in the 1940 clunkers mostly, but there's one I never saw called "Nightmare on Elm Street" kicking it off, it shows promise----"

"Wonderful," he observed in that dark, rich voice that still made the hairs rise on my arms.  He'd gotten the voice, the body, the towering height, almost a month ago and it still turned me on.  And he was trying to be enthusiastic for me, but Christ, he sounded bored already.  "Thirty-two hours!" I could almost hear his mind moaning.

I hid a grin.  Playing him was such fun.  I really did wanna see the first movie.  I figured I'd let him sweat for two and a half hours, then casually start groping him in the first third of  "Frankenstein's Revenge" or whatever piffle was on next.  The challenge in this game being, to see how long it would take him to have me in a body lock and tonsil-diving after said grope.  Last time it had taken all of thirty seconds.  This time, I was betting on ten seconds.  All my cheerful babble and the looming wasteland of me glued to the boobtube for thirty-two hours----and I'd been known to do it----would have him pouncing at the first opportunity.

I swirled the oil in the bottom of the kettle, eyeballed it sternly for proper temperature, and tossed in a few handfuls of popcorn.  Gave the kettle a shake, then let it loose on its way to the finish line.

"Hey, Carse, toss me a cube of butter and see if you can find the small saucepan----"

"In the sink with everything else," he observed cryptically, opening the fridge to go for our last cube of butter.

I gave him a pleading look as he silently handed me the butter.  He stared back expressionlessly.

God, was he sexy!  The hair had been shoulder-length when he returned to me.  Now it was almost to his waist, a heavier, silkier fall of midnight down his back.  The highlights in it were more a sullen red than blue.  Some of it tumbled over his shoulders in front to partly curtain the powerfully muscled forearms.   Dressed in Levis and a rich purple Iron Maiden teeshirt that strained against his chest, defining every muscle, every movement as he breathed.

Now, that last was my fault.  On my first trip to the mall for him after my spell went blooey and changed us both into something else, I got to pick the wardrobe but had to size-guess; was lucky I got the pants right.  As in, just tight enough to show off his attributes without impeding circulation TOO much. But I'd underguessed the shirts; I mean, I was used to his dick, but the muscles were new.

Actually, when I went back, I was gonna choose the same slightly-too-small shirt size in several designs and colors.  And maybe one cheap long-sleeved button-down, just so I could gleefully watch as he pulled it on and burst the seams just by moving.

Shit.  I might not make it through that first movie after all.

"I'll----owe you one?" I didn't mean to make it a question.  I didn't mean for my voice to break huskily on the question, either.  The corn was beginning to pop merrily now.

He studied me, and a faint smile not only touched that lush, sensual mouth which up to now had almost been pouting.  It touched his eyes as well.

Silently, he went to the overflowing dishpan and began the archeological dig.

By the time he'd retrieved and cleaned the saucepan, the corn was ready.  Without being asked, he took over the butter-melting chores while I fussed the corn into a bowl.  Cursed around the kitchen looking for the salt shaker, I lost it at least three times a day it seemed like.   I found it being waved gently under my nose, and looked up at him guiltily.  But he was still smiling, a bit.

"And how long until this extravaganza begins?"

"Uh----" I checked my watch.  "Fifteen minutes."

"Salt it, and stop talking," he interrupted calmly.  "We have to hurry."

"Right!" A little startled that he was so eager to begin the marathon of teevee watching, I sprinkled the corn liberally, put down the shaker, began to pick up the bowl.

To find myself gripped from behind then turned to face him.  His eyes were blazing.  "Let it settle a bit," he whispered.  Walking me backwards now, and nothing I could do about it except jabber and stumble until my back hit the wall and he was on me.

His knees were bent just a trifle, and he'd shoved me up the wall a bit.  To make sure, don't cha know, that all the parts matched, him having a good six inches on me in height.  And more than you'd think I'd like in other places too, except I found it just sexy as hell.  My former geeky student, now big and bad in all ways.  And all mine, too.  Focused on me with deadly intensity in fact.  Think I minded?

Hell, just call me a size queen.  Sure was hard on the apartment sometimes though.

He was kissing me ravenously, hands under my teeshirt, pinching my nipples.  At first just pushing against me with his fevered erection through the levis, rocking almost gently.  Until I threw my arms around him ecstatically, giving him silent permission to just dry hump me blind.

It was over in maybe ten minutes, him savagely pounding and writhing against me.  I gasped and came seconds before he did, shaking with the force of it.  If he hadn't still been holding me firmly pressed against the wall as he banged away, I would've slid down to the linoleum as if I'd been the melted butter.
He growled suddenly, drove against me one last time hard enough to make the cabinets rattle.  Then caught my mouth in a crazily sweet kiss, even as he stiffened and shuddered at the same time.  Every muscle in his body iron-hard yet trembling, as he slowly recovered and pulled back.

Wow.  How I loved what I did to him.

"I think I can now tolerate an hour or two of television," he remarked with a faint grin, helping me along towards the popcorn bowl as I was still pretty unsteady.  He always recovered faster than me, the bastard, even though I feel pretty safe in saying we both came like hurricanes for each other.

The strident wail from behind the structure we'd abused made us both jump, and me at least to crack up completely.

"Hey, you horny sonsabitches!  D'yer always have to use the same wall?  What if me poor old parents was visitin', fer Christ's sake?"

"Tell 'em it's the house settling, George!  Got no imagination?"

Carson, grumbling to himself, had grabbed the bowl of popcorn and retreated to the living room to prepare our entertainment nook.  He wasn't overly fond of my landlord, nor his witty comments neither.

"House settling!  Yeh, McIntyre, in '89 there was houses settling like that all over the place.  I ferget what that was on the old Richter, but I remember it takin' out the bloody overpass. But say!  Before yer go to clean yerself up----"

"Shut up, George."

"Nah, this is important.  The real estate office is gonna send some bimbo over here in about a week to check out the property.  I'm just the manager, the guys who own it do these little routines every so often.  Just to make themselves feel important, no big thing.  But yer might wanna have some clothes on and all the pot plants in the closet on, what is it, November 5 they say she's comin'.  She'll wanna check out your inside digs, too."

"Oh, balls!  Does this mean we gotta clean and shit?"

"C'mon, McIntyre, ya gotta week.  Just spray some air freshener around, keep the lights dim.  Claim you got a busted bulb in fact, she'll never know."

"I’ll squirt some bug spray around instead," I growled, turning to head to television mecca and Carson's arms.  "That'll get rid of her faster."

"Chum, you're a genius!" George yelled back.  "I'm gonna do that too!"

The couch was a tacky thing, I guess some people would say.  It had been handsome in its day, a plush blue velvet with silver fleur-de-leis patterning the material.  With one of those big animal-print throws on it to hide the worst of the worn spots, it looked fine to me.  And the animal was a wolf, which for some reason Carson was beginning to remind me of as he changed.

But the main point was, it was one big-ass couch.  Deep enough and long enough for two guys to snuggle in.

Carson was already there, having cleared away the crap of books and records that always somehow gathered on the poor piece of furniture.  His long, lean body was a pleasure to snuggle into as one arm wrapped around me firmly.  I sat the 'corn on the floor within easy reach, flipped the remote just in time to hit the opening credits.

And sighed.  Had never been more comfortable in my life.  Spooned together in front of a flickering television, with blood and guts beginning to happen already on the screen.  Cool!

Despite his bitching, the one television fare my boy could get into was a good horror movie.  It had to be both intelligent and extremely bloody, though, to win his approval.

This one qualified, in spades.  He was mesmerized.  I thought it was pretty damn good myself.  I fed him popcorn over my shoulder as we watched, callously allowing him only a few pieces while I crammed handfuls into my own greedy face. He didn't seem to mind, as long as he got to lick my buttery fingers after.

Which became a distraction, after a while.  And during the commercials he'd get restless, especially one specific part of him.   Two-thirds of the way into the show, blood was spraying every which way and he wasn't even caring.

"Hey, kid---dude---Carson!  Stop rubbing that steel pole you call a dick on my butt----stop tryin' to bite my ear there!  You know an elf ear's way sensitive!  We'll never get a movie watched in this position, dammit!  Gotta sit up!"

A deep growl from behind me seemed to dare against any such thing.  I swear, it sounded almost as scary as what was happening on the screen, which was this kid with a really bad hairdo being slowly eaten by his bed.  The action caught my boy's attention, though.  The iron band of his arm released me so I could flail to a sitting position.  A little flustered and hot, wasn't like I'd been unaffected by all the action behind me.  No movie ever made coulda distracted me from that!

We watched in mutual appreciation as the bed exploded blood up to the ceiling, a suitably tense few seconds after sucking its victim down.  Of course then a commercial hit, two blonde siliconed twins singing nauseatingly about how chewing gum doubled their pleasure.  Must be some gum, the only time I'd tried it all I got was a toothache from the sugar blast.  But it gave me an excuse to grab the nearly-empty popcorn bowl and run to the kitchen to escape Carson's clutches.  And he WAS clutching, and at parts of me that had little self-control at the moment.

I mean, I really wanted to see the end of that movie.  But now I was pretty certain I'd be shit-canning all thirty hours remaining of the Horrorthon with no regrets at all.

I tossed the popcorn bowl into----I mean onto----the sink.  All the other dishes it perched on stared at me accusingly.  In the morning, I promised guiltily.  Right, they sneered.  After a night of screwing your brains out you'll be SO into housework tomorrow.

To get away from the sniping dishes, I went to the door and stepped into the back yard.  Also needed to suck in a little much-needed air before returning to the TV room and the beautiful animal lurking there.  And then----ah, did shit never end?

There was some scrawny, scowling woman I didn't know in the yard.  Pacing around through the area, studying the motorcycles and the ragged plant growth.  Making disgusted noises.

I could only stare in disbelief for a second.  Then I moved.  "Hey!  Who the hell are you, and how'd you get in here?  What're you doin' nosing through my stuff? I'm calling the----"

The woman looked up, and the mean look on her face shifted to glad-to-see-ya mode fast enough to stun me.  She advanced and extended her hand; I was so astounded I shook it without meaning to.

"Hi, I'm Deidre from the real estate company.  They told your manager I was coming?"

I blinked.  "Uh.  Yeah. But he said in a we----"

"I did come a little early.  Wanted to get acquainted.  You would be George's tenant?  Do you know who owns all these motorcycles back here?"

"Acquainted?  What?  With my back yard?"  The first amazement of her presence, not to mention her attitude, was wearing off.  She'd been acting like my best friend until she mentioned the motorcycles.  "Do I know who owns 'em?  It's MY back yard you broke into here.  That give you a clue?"

She eyed the offending bikes grimly.  There were about ten of them.  Okay, in various stages of dismantlement, but was that any of her business?  I didn't think so.  Even with all the rent breaks George gave me I was paying a fair bit of money for this stupid flat, more than I could afford really.  I made a few bills on the side as a motorcycle messenger, a teacher's salary just didn't do it.  The ratty-looking bikes were for parts.

"This is junk.  It's unsightly.  Nobody needs so many motorcycles.  I want them out of here this weekend."

I stared at her.  "Keep on wanting."

"What?"

"Wasn't I speaking English here?  I'll make it plainer.  Go fuck yourself!"

That, she got.  She actually moved back a pace as if I'd hit her.  Right in the nose with the f-word.  Poor baby.

The funny thing was, I could've just shrugged and told her "okay."  Carson was gonna be 21 in November.  He would get total control of his inheritance instead of just a monthly allowance, and it was a shitload of money.  I'd already managed to sweet-talk a satellite television out of him.  Though I think he was regretting THAT pledge a bit, he wouldn't go back on his word.  The promises I could sucker out of him in the grip of lust, damn, I almost embarrassed myself sometimes.

And of course we'd be moving to fancier digs.  He'd made that plain, and that was my compromise. Not a hardship really, I'm not that big an idiot to complain about living in luxury. Though I would miss George!

The point being, I coulda just been a nice guy and agreed with this woman, knowing I was outta here anyway.  But this bitch got on my nerves.  I'm telling ya.

"I'm just doing my job," she said in a strident tone.  "It's time to clean up the neighborhood.  These things should be in a storage area, if they were worth keeping at all."

"Clean up the----this is a back yard!  Nobody sees it except for pests who break into it past a locked gate!"

Once again, she managed to ignore my breaking-in remark.  The woman had a gift, I could almost admire her.  Almost.

"Well, it's unsightly."

"Who invited you back here to look at it?"  I was boiling mad by now.

"There's no need to be rude.  This yard is a monstrosity."

"You haven't seen rude yet!  And the only monstrosity in this yard just fucking walked in without an invitation!"

"Keith?"

Carson's soft voice froze us both in the middle of battle.

He was standing by the kitchen door.  His eyes were winter ice.  He looked huge, more than impressive.  Even this real estate bitch seemed a little intimidated.

She did her bit though.  I'll give her that.  "Hello, I'm Deidre.  From the real estate company.  Are you a tenant here?"

"No."  He said it flatly, staring down at her.  Ignoring her outstretched hand.  Letting her friendly smile hang there until it dissolved.  Oh God I loved the guy.

"Oh.  Well.  Um.  Well, there's a problem with the yard."

"Yes."  I stared at him in betrayal, until his next words came out as cold as a blade of steel.

"You're in it."

He caught her by the throat.  I coulda stopped it, I think.  I glanced up at the house, just in time to see George at the window.  He waved at me.  There was a slight grin on his face.  I didn't see him calling the cops anytime soon.

I had to wince at the sound of her neck breaking.  Christ, I'd have to remember to not needle Carson so much.  The boy could be brutal, and I wasn't sure how far I could push him.

"You missed the movie's end.  I was worried."

"Dammitall!  Well, I'll catch it next Halloween.  All this bitch's fault."

"Yes."

"No.  I mean, no, don't just drop her in the damn yard!  It's untidy.  Go get a trash bag or something----hey, George."

Yep, here he was and grinning like thunder.  "McIntyre, yer bloody marvelous.  Good taste in men, too."  He winked at Carson.  Carson looked exasperated.  "Let me just take care of this little problem for yer."

I eyed him suspiciously.  "You seem pretty okay with this."

He shrugged elaborately.  "Third one this year."

"What!"

"These real estate people tend to piss a man off.  And the strange thing is, nobody misses them until a few months go by.  And then they just hire a new one."

"George."  I was all at sea here.  "Are you saying you already offed some of these, uh, people?!"

"No."

The voice was very quiet, almost a whisper.  I turned around to stare at George's live-in lover, Steve.  A charming, painfully shy bald guy who could cook like a demon, or maybe an angel.

He smiled at me, almost dreamily.  His gaze was fastened on my ears.  Even though they weren't exposed, I realized the man was seeing them.

Psychic.  All crazy people are, a little.

"That would've been me," he confirmed very quietly.  "I hate those nosy bastards."

Well.  That sure made two of us.

Or I guess that would be four of us. We all eyed the corpse like lazy housewives confronted with a sink full of dishes,

George finally snorted and waved grandly.  “I’ll clean up here; I’m the bleedin’ manager after all.  You boys go on with whatever you was doin’--- or about to do.”  He leered at me companionably, much to Carson’s annoyance.

Steve smiled, still studying my elf-ears with gentle wonder.  “I seem to have a tape of the movie you were watching.  Did you want to see the end?  I’ll bring it over.”

Well.  Later on, I’d have to pester George again about how thin the walls were in this place, but now I could only grin a bit.  Steve had his priorities SO straight.

“Groovy,” I replied.  I caught a look at Carson’s scowl and added, “Er---drop it in the mail-slot, could’ya?

--Fin--