The Witty Hyena And The Uncouth Teddy Bear
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,774
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,774
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Les Fleurs du Mal
A/N: Alright, he's the newest chapter; I'm posting it now cause I just finished it and I don't know if I'll have time to do it tomorrow. I'm not entirely satisfied, but meh...
Anyways, since this is the latest chapter I've written, next update should be either next week or the week after. Maybe before; that'll depend on my schedule.
Anyways, please comment and let me know if you like this one? Unlike my other stories, I don't have 10 to 12 chapters done already so comments are really good motivation to write more...
@JtheChosen1: Thanks! And yeah, TP needs help, badly :p
@Kiad: I'm really glad you do!! Hope you enjoy this one :)
So anyways, here's the new update!! Hope you like it and I apologise in advance for any delays with the next one...
*************************************
Chris woke up with a splitting head ache. He felt like he had just been run over by a train and it took him at least 5 minutes to figure it out he was lying on his own bed, in his Brooklyn apartment. It was around midnight and he was shirtless, still wearing the jeans he had on when he left. Even more surprising, he was covered in bandages which were conspicuously located where his body hurt most.
All in all, it took Chris 10 minutes to situate himself and understand at least part of what was going on although somehow he was still missing some key elements. For example, considering in how much pain he was right now, he was pretty sure he hadn’t walked home. Which of course meant someone had brought him there but unless he’d been found by either a friend who knew his address (and there weren’t much of those, especially not in New York City) or some sort of telepath, he really couldn’t fathom how he had ended up here. Did he call a cab? And did he bandage himself? Can people do such things when unconscious?
“Are you done yet? Because I really do have better shit to do with my time.”
Now the fact that there was someone in his house whose voice he didn’t quite recognise certainly did nothing to alleviate Chris’ confusion regarding the situation. At a loss about what to do, he continued to stare helplessly at the form leaning against his door.
Said form was a lithe man, in his early thirties. He was fairly tall and had cropped jet black hair. He wasn’t exactly good looking but he had a masculine appeal about him that was unfortunately undermined by the look of annoyance and disdain in his eyes. It seemed to spread throughout his body and make him look like rudeness personified.
“Tissue Prick?!” Of course, who else could be this rude?! Chris started to shake his head at his stupidity before suddenly stopping as pain shot up his spine.
“What?” The other asked, looking at the beat up thing in front of him with an angry expression.
“Uh… nothing.” Chris coughed for good measure.
“Right.” TP rolled his eyes before sneering. “Are you always this fuckin slow?”
“Would you mind not cursing? I can’t register what you’re saying properly.”
The man at the door smirked and oddly enough he looked remarkably like Kevin Bacon when playing some of his most illustrious evil characters. Which really wasn’t a good sign, Chris surmised.
“Sorry, am I using words that are offending your sensibilities Princess? I’ll try and speak more appropriately from now on.” It wasn’t so much he was offended, it’s just… he’s raising twin six year olds! Curse words were banned a long time ago from this household! And Chris had never been one for cussing anyways, other than the occasional ‘sh*t’… And it wasn’t like…
“Did you just call me Princess?”
“Well you know, so much rescuing in so little time…” TP stretched before leaning back on the doorframe, leering.
Chris flushed and turned his head to look out the window. That monster was absolutely nothing like his Mr. Darcy. Not that the thought had crossed his mind, really!
You would have thought that like all the other lucky gals out there who get rescued by gorgeous hunks and start a passionate love affair with their saviour, he’d be also be rescued by a gentleman. But no, he, in accordance with his habitual streak of luck, had to be rescued by a… well… mean person. All that was left was for the man to ask for payment and…
“Well, since I took the trouble to bring you home, and to clean you up, I took the liberty of swiping $100 from your wallet. Tootle Loo.”
Ah, well. How unexpected.
“Why did you bring me home anyways?” Chris sighed, defeated.
“You passed out and I was going to call an ambulance; I really do have better things to do than take care of a moron who gets beat up by a bunch of third grade thugs, but you kept on repeating ‘No hospital, no hospital’ over and over again. So I checked in your wallet for your address and since it was close by I brought you home. Figured it’d be an easy way to make money; you did have a nice amount of cash on you… And I never say no to dough.” He looked smug for a few seconds, as if reminiscing about his extraordinary exploits, or maybe his childish rhyme. “Anyway, do enjoy your movies.” Chris flushed all over again and ducked his head, studiously examining the bandages on his chest.
The man shook his head, sneered and left the room. When Chris realised the man was leaving, he got up and ran (well, stumbled) into the leaving room.
“Wait, I… thank! You…” The man was gone before he could finish he sentence, slamming the door on his way out.
Chris collapsed on the couch, resting his head in his arms, trying to calm down. Thank god Tissue Prick hadn’t taken him to the hospital. The judge would have had a field day stripping him of his guardianship rights and taking the twins away if she’d found out he’d gotten in a fight…
Chris wasn’t even going to think about it; he was so relieved he could cry. He was even completely willing to forgive TP for his less than appropriate behaviour; the man had after all taken care of his wounds and even brought him home even though he could have easily called an ambulance… A smile formed on the young man’s lips.
The gratitude didn’t last very long when Chris decided to order take out (he hadn’t eaten since morning) and realised he had no money to pay for it. He ended up fishing in the boys’ allowance money and feeling like a complete crook. The last of his appreciation dissipated entirely when the young man realised his 19th century English annotated edition of Baudelaire’s [I] Les Fleurs du Mal [/I] was gone.
He could kill the prick for taking it, never mind that he had another similar edition of the same book. The other one didn’t have the leather and gold binding the first one did and he wasn’t as exceptionally fond of it.
Chris would have been furious if he wasn’t completely exhausted. And he figured he could always find out the man’s identity one way or another, conveniently forgetting that he didn’t even know the man’s name. After a quick dinner consisting of mushy Chinese food, the red head went back to his room and collapsed on his bed, not even 4 hours after leaving his apartment the first time but completely drained. He fell asleep instantly, deciding to watch the DVDs the next day.
The rest of the week end passed uneventfully, although Chris was still very distressed at having lost his book. He had thus broken 3 glasses and 2 plates and dropped countless other things to the floor, having had to clean the kitchen at least 4 times throughout the day.
He went to pick up the twins Sunday after dinner and Francesca told him they had been very well behaved, although Chris was fairly sure the crayon airplanes, trees and houses now decorating the living room wall hadn’t been there when he’d dropped the boys off on Friday. Francesca’s look dared him to say anything and so he took the safe route and refrained from commenting, wordlessly taking the boys home.
The next week passed just as calmly, although Chris worked very hard to avoid both Jack and Kristine. Yet he had quickly realised there was no need to make any effort since they seemed perfectly content with each other and didn’t even notice his attempts at ignoring them. Nonetheless, he doggedly continued, holding on to the last bits of his ego. Bordering on depression, the young man decided to once again cheer himself up by watching another set of movies and ordering take out. This time though, he intended to rely on Pay Per View and his phone to order what he wanted.
While he was preparing macaroni and cheese for the boys who were watching Toy Story©, the doorbell rang. Alec got up excitedly and ran through the hall to get it. He always loved attending the door because you never knew what exciting things a guest could have brought with them. Unlocking it, he violently swung the door back and cocked his head to the side, starring at the strange man in front of him.
He’d never seen this one before, with his short black hair and mean look, but when he saw the book in the stranger’s hands, he knew for sure this one wasn’t any good. He didn’t have anything large enough with him to accommodate interesting toys and any man walking with nothing but an old book was just bound to be boring. So he slammed the door closed and went back to the living room, dragging his feet.
“Who was it?” Chris asked from the kitchen.
“No one useful...” Alec answered shrugging and going back to settle on the couch. Salem looked at his brother quizzically and not trusting his twin’s judgement – it had been proven wrong a number of times – ran to the entryway to check things out for himself.
When he got there, he opened the door with a grace and restraint his brother could only dream of and stared fixedly at the man outside who seemed frozen, with a finger extended towards the door bell. He looked the stranger over, thinking.
“Well?” Chris asked, his voice muffled.
Salem looked quizzically at the man outside a few more seconds and then closed the door slowly.
“No one interesting.” He went back to the couch and sat next to his brother, focusing on the movie.
Suddenly, the doorbell started ringing repeatedly. Startled, Chris almost dropped the macaroni to the ground but he managed to save it at the last minute. Grabbing a dish rag to dry his hands, he walked over to the door and opened it. Startled by the creature in front of him, he took a fearful step back.
“Is it a fucking habit in this fucking house to open and slam doors in peoples’ fuckin faces?!” The man hissed angrily, his eyes flashing.
“Please don’t cuss in front of the boys…” Chris murmured weakly in response.
Tissue Prick looked like he was about to explode. His eyebrows were twitching and he was clearly struggling to keep control. Snapping, he pushed by Chris, slamming the door closed on his way in.
Before he could go very far, the doorbell rang again. Chris apprehensively opened the door and ended up face to face with his very angry neighbour, Ms Tate.
“If you slam that door one more time, I’ll make sure you and the brats get kicked out of here you hear me?!” The stout woman yelled, shaking her manicured index finger at Chris before slamming the door shut.
Chris stood there dumbfounded, still trying to catch up to the recent stream of events.
“Lovely.” TP sneered, looking at Chris with his usual disdain.
“Teddy, why d’you let him in? He’s mean lookin’ and he doesn’t even have any good presents!” Alec whined from the couch, looking at the two grown ups in front of him.
“Yours?” TP pointed at the brats with disgust.
“Uhm… it’s complicated… but yeah, I’m the one raising them.” Chris answered.
“Uhm…Teddy? The… macaroni’s going to burn…”
Salem didn’t even need to finish his sentence before Chris was sprinting out of the hallway and into the kitchen.
“Who are you?” “What’s your name?” The curious look the twins were giving him made the man feel a bit unnerved and very annoyed.
“Frederic.”
“Oh.”
“I told you he wasn’t interesting.” Alec whispered loudly, giving a smug look to his brother. Shrugging, Salem turned his attention back to the movie.
Fred looked at the back of the boys’ head, burning the proverbial holes as deep as he could; his expression a mix between extreme annoyance and amazement before stepping into the kitchen.
Chris was startled by the thump noise and almost dropped the macaroni. Again.
“Are you always this fuckin’ clumsy?”
“No, only when he’s bothered by something.” Salem entered, shyly grabbed the first pasta filled bowl and a spoon before going back to the couch. He hesitated a few seconds before settling for sitting down on the floor with his bowl on the coffee table. Alec stormed into the kitchen a few seconds after his brother, grabbing a bowl for himself and added “Haven’t you ever been told not to curse in front of children?” before running back to the couch.
Fred sneered before slamming the leather bound book in Chris’ chest. Chris ompfed and took a step back, taken by surprise by the man’s unexpected strength. He was at least 2 inches shorter than Chris, which had mislead the red head into labelling him as a delicate person. Physically of course…
Fred sent one last disdainful look at Chris before stalking out of the kitchen. As he reached the door, he sneered at the boys’ back and then left, slamming the door closed and prompting a yelling spree from Miss Tate.
As he looked at the book in his hands, Chris realised it was his stolen, now returned, 19th century edition of [I] Les Fleurs du Mal[/I]. He stared absentmindedly at the door for a few more seconds before shrugging and replacing the book on its spot in the shelf. Chris then went to get the boys some water, not once dropping either of the glasses on his way to the living room.
Anyways, since this is the latest chapter I've written, next update should be either next week or the week after. Maybe before; that'll depend on my schedule.
Anyways, please comment and let me know if you like this one? Unlike my other stories, I don't have 10 to 12 chapters done already so comments are really good motivation to write more...
@JtheChosen1: Thanks! And yeah, TP needs help, badly :p
@Kiad: I'm really glad you do!! Hope you enjoy this one :)
So anyways, here's the new update!! Hope you like it and I apologise in advance for any delays with the next one...
*************************************
Chris woke up with a splitting head ache. He felt like he had just been run over by a train and it took him at least 5 minutes to figure it out he was lying on his own bed, in his Brooklyn apartment. It was around midnight and he was shirtless, still wearing the jeans he had on when he left. Even more surprising, he was covered in bandages which were conspicuously located where his body hurt most.
All in all, it took Chris 10 minutes to situate himself and understand at least part of what was going on although somehow he was still missing some key elements. For example, considering in how much pain he was right now, he was pretty sure he hadn’t walked home. Which of course meant someone had brought him there but unless he’d been found by either a friend who knew his address (and there weren’t much of those, especially not in New York City) or some sort of telepath, he really couldn’t fathom how he had ended up here. Did he call a cab? And did he bandage himself? Can people do such things when unconscious?
“Are you done yet? Because I really do have better shit to do with my time.”
Now the fact that there was someone in his house whose voice he didn’t quite recognise certainly did nothing to alleviate Chris’ confusion regarding the situation. At a loss about what to do, he continued to stare helplessly at the form leaning against his door.
Said form was a lithe man, in his early thirties. He was fairly tall and had cropped jet black hair. He wasn’t exactly good looking but he had a masculine appeal about him that was unfortunately undermined by the look of annoyance and disdain in his eyes. It seemed to spread throughout his body and make him look like rudeness personified.
“Tissue Prick?!” Of course, who else could be this rude?! Chris started to shake his head at his stupidity before suddenly stopping as pain shot up his spine.
“What?” The other asked, looking at the beat up thing in front of him with an angry expression.
“Uh… nothing.” Chris coughed for good measure.
“Right.” TP rolled his eyes before sneering. “Are you always this fuckin slow?”
“Would you mind not cursing? I can’t register what you’re saying properly.”
The man at the door smirked and oddly enough he looked remarkably like Kevin Bacon when playing some of his most illustrious evil characters. Which really wasn’t a good sign, Chris surmised.
“Sorry, am I using words that are offending your sensibilities Princess? I’ll try and speak more appropriately from now on.” It wasn’t so much he was offended, it’s just… he’s raising twin six year olds! Curse words were banned a long time ago from this household! And Chris had never been one for cussing anyways, other than the occasional ‘sh*t’… And it wasn’t like…
“Did you just call me Princess?”
“Well you know, so much rescuing in so little time…” TP stretched before leaning back on the doorframe, leering.
Chris flushed and turned his head to look out the window. That monster was absolutely nothing like his Mr. Darcy. Not that the thought had crossed his mind, really!
You would have thought that like all the other lucky gals out there who get rescued by gorgeous hunks and start a passionate love affair with their saviour, he’d be also be rescued by a gentleman. But no, he, in accordance with his habitual streak of luck, had to be rescued by a… well… mean person. All that was left was for the man to ask for payment and…
“Well, since I took the trouble to bring you home, and to clean you up, I took the liberty of swiping $100 from your wallet. Tootle Loo.”
Ah, well. How unexpected.
“Why did you bring me home anyways?” Chris sighed, defeated.
“You passed out and I was going to call an ambulance; I really do have better things to do than take care of a moron who gets beat up by a bunch of third grade thugs, but you kept on repeating ‘No hospital, no hospital’ over and over again. So I checked in your wallet for your address and since it was close by I brought you home. Figured it’d be an easy way to make money; you did have a nice amount of cash on you… And I never say no to dough.” He looked smug for a few seconds, as if reminiscing about his extraordinary exploits, or maybe his childish rhyme. “Anyway, do enjoy your movies.” Chris flushed all over again and ducked his head, studiously examining the bandages on his chest.
The man shook his head, sneered and left the room. When Chris realised the man was leaving, he got up and ran (well, stumbled) into the leaving room.
“Wait, I… thank! You…” The man was gone before he could finish he sentence, slamming the door on his way out.
Chris collapsed on the couch, resting his head in his arms, trying to calm down. Thank god Tissue Prick hadn’t taken him to the hospital. The judge would have had a field day stripping him of his guardianship rights and taking the twins away if she’d found out he’d gotten in a fight…
Chris wasn’t even going to think about it; he was so relieved he could cry. He was even completely willing to forgive TP for his less than appropriate behaviour; the man had after all taken care of his wounds and even brought him home even though he could have easily called an ambulance… A smile formed on the young man’s lips.
The gratitude didn’t last very long when Chris decided to order take out (he hadn’t eaten since morning) and realised he had no money to pay for it. He ended up fishing in the boys’ allowance money and feeling like a complete crook. The last of his appreciation dissipated entirely when the young man realised his 19th century English annotated edition of Baudelaire’s [I] Les Fleurs du Mal [/I] was gone.
He could kill the prick for taking it, never mind that he had another similar edition of the same book. The other one didn’t have the leather and gold binding the first one did and he wasn’t as exceptionally fond of it.
Chris would have been furious if he wasn’t completely exhausted. And he figured he could always find out the man’s identity one way or another, conveniently forgetting that he didn’t even know the man’s name. After a quick dinner consisting of mushy Chinese food, the red head went back to his room and collapsed on his bed, not even 4 hours after leaving his apartment the first time but completely drained. He fell asleep instantly, deciding to watch the DVDs the next day.
The rest of the week end passed uneventfully, although Chris was still very distressed at having lost his book. He had thus broken 3 glasses and 2 plates and dropped countless other things to the floor, having had to clean the kitchen at least 4 times throughout the day.
He went to pick up the twins Sunday after dinner and Francesca told him they had been very well behaved, although Chris was fairly sure the crayon airplanes, trees and houses now decorating the living room wall hadn’t been there when he’d dropped the boys off on Friday. Francesca’s look dared him to say anything and so he took the safe route and refrained from commenting, wordlessly taking the boys home.
The next week passed just as calmly, although Chris worked very hard to avoid both Jack and Kristine. Yet he had quickly realised there was no need to make any effort since they seemed perfectly content with each other and didn’t even notice his attempts at ignoring them. Nonetheless, he doggedly continued, holding on to the last bits of his ego. Bordering on depression, the young man decided to once again cheer himself up by watching another set of movies and ordering take out. This time though, he intended to rely on Pay Per View and his phone to order what he wanted.
While he was preparing macaroni and cheese for the boys who were watching Toy Story©, the doorbell rang. Alec got up excitedly and ran through the hall to get it. He always loved attending the door because you never knew what exciting things a guest could have brought with them. Unlocking it, he violently swung the door back and cocked his head to the side, starring at the strange man in front of him.
He’d never seen this one before, with his short black hair and mean look, but when he saw the book in the stranger’s hands, he knew for sure this one wasn’t any good. He didn’t have anything large enough with him to accommodate interesting toys and any man walking with nothing but an old book was just bound to be boring. So he slammed the door closed and went back to the living room, dragging his feet.
“Who was it?” Chris asked from the kitchen.
“No one useful...” Alec answered shrugging and going back to settle on the couch. Salem looked at his brother quizzically and not trusting his twin’s judgement – it had been proven wrong a number of times – ran to the entryway to check things out for himself.
When he got there, he opened the door with a grace and restraint his brother could only dream of and stared fixedly at the man outside who seemed frozen, with a finger extended towards the door bell. He looked the stranger over, thinking.
“Well?” Chris asked, his voice muffled.
Salem looked quizzically at the man outside a few more seconds and then closed the door slowly.
“No one interesting.” He went back to the couch and sat next to his brother, focusing on the movie.
Suddenly, the doorbell started ringing repeatedly. Startled, Chris almost dropped the macaroni to the ground but he managed to save it at the last minute. Grabbing a dish rag to dry his hands, he walked over to the door and opened it. Startled by the creature in front of him, he took a fearful step back.
“Is it a fucking habit in this fucking house to open and slam doors in peoples’ fuckin faces?!” The man hissed angrily, his eyes flashing.
“Please don’t cuss in front of the boys…” Chris murmured weakly in response.
Tissue Prick looked like he was about to explode. His eyebrows were twitching and he was clearly struggling to keep control. Snapping, he pushed by Chris, slamming the door closed on his way in.
Before he could go very far, the doorbell rang again. Chris apprehensively opened the door and ended up face to face with his very angry neighbour, Ms Tate.
“If you slam that door one more time, I’ll make sure you and the brats get kicked out of here you hear me?!” The stout woman yelled, shaking her manicured index finger at Chris before slamming the door shut.
Chris stood there dumbfounded, still trying to catch up to the recent stream of events.
“Lovely.” TP sneered, looking at Chris with his usual disdain.
“Teddy, why d’you let him in? He’s mean lookin’ and he doesn’t even have any good presents!” Alec whined from the couch, looking at the two grown ups in front of him.
“Yours?” TP pointed at the brats with disgust.
“Uhm… it’s complicated… but yeah, I’m the one raising them.” Chris answered.
“Uhm…Teddy? The… macaroni’s going to burn…”
Salem didn’t even need to finish his sentence before Chris was sprinting out of the hallway and into the kitchen.
“Who are you?” “What’s your name?” The curious look the twins were giving him made the man feel a bit unnerved and very annoyed.
“Frederic.”
“Oh.”
“I told you he wasn’t interesting.” Alec whispered loudly, giving a smug look to his brother. Shrugging, Salem turned his attention back to the movie.
Fred looked at the back of the boys’ head, burning the proverbial holes as deep as he could; his expression a mix between extreme annoyance and amazement before stepping into the kitchen.
Chris was startled by the thump noise and almost dropped the macaroni. Again.
“Are you always this fuckin’ clumsy?”
“No, only when he’s bothered by something.” Salem entered, shyly grabbed the first pasta filled bowl and a spoon before going back to the couch. He hesitated a few seconds before settling for sitting down on the floor with his bowl on the coffee table. Alec stormed into the kitchen a few seconds after his brother, grabbing a bowl for himself and added “Haven’t you ever been told not to curse in front of children?” before running back to the couch.
Fred sneered before slamming the leather bound book in Chris’ chest. Chris ompfed and took a step back, taken by surprise by the man’s unexpected strength. He was at least 2 inches shorter than Chris, which had mislead the red head into labelling him as a delicate person. Physically of course…
Fred sent one last disdainful look at Chris before stalking out of the kitchen. As he reached the door, he sneered at the boys’ back and then left, slamming the door closed and prompting a yelling spree from Miss Tate.
As he looked at the book in his hands, Chris realised it was his stolen, now returned, 19th century edition of [I] Les Fleurs du Mal[/I]. He stared absentmindedly at the door for a few more seconds before shrugging and replacing the book on its spot in the shelf. Chris then went to get the boys some water, not once dropping either of the glasses on his way to the living room.