Past Reflections: A pet's story

Chapter 6

The next day dawned hot and muggy with the promise of rain hanging in the still air. Fog covered everything like a thick blanket and Deacon had no desire to get out of bed. As he lies there enjoying the silence of the early morning, the smell of coffee already brewing making his stomach growl, he heard the phone ring. Instead of getting up to answer it, he ignored it and waded, naked, into the bathroom to do his normal everyday morning rituals. As he was brushing his teeth, he heard the phone ring again but again he ignored it. He didn’t want to speak to anyone so early in the morning and the sun had barely risen so there was no reason anyone should have been calling him. He glides out of the bathroom feeling refreshed from the quick shower he had taken and slips into a silk bathrobe before walking out into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. His favorite mug was in the sink so he grabbed one from over the stove and fills it to the brim with fragrant black coffee and sets it on the table. As he walks to the front door, he contemplates making breakfast but decides to stop for bagels on the way into the office. He opens the front door to grab the paper but some other sense warns him to get low and he drops to the floor. Bullets whiz over his head and slam into the priceless molding on the wall behind him. He snarls and looks up through his eyelashes to see who had the audacity to shoot at him while he was still in his bathrobe. Standing ten feet away from him and wielding one scary looking gun was a tall thin man who looked out of place amid the city setting he was standing in.

The man was wearing a pair of dark brown trousers with a button front Western inspired shirt and a cowboy hat, complete with urban chic cowboy boots. Deacon had to bite back a snicker at his attackers apparel but soon replaced it with a scowl. He crouched where he had landed when the first shots had been fired and stared, hard, at the intruder trying to impress upon him the stupidity of what he had just done. The man skittered nervously and fidgeted with the big gun he was carrying. Deacon narrowed his eyes into a glare and the ridiculously dressed man dropped the gun on his foot and howled in pain, which made Deacon laugh aloud. “Oh geez, now they’re sending amateurs to knock me off? I’m insulted.” Scorn dripped off his words and he stood up, before striding over to pick up the gun. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and placed his finger over the trigger before swinging it around to press the end of the barrel against the man’s surprised and frightened lips. He made a whining sound against the barrel as a stain spread down the front of his pants. Scared tears leaked down his gaunt cheeks and Deacon took a good look at him, hesitating before pulling the trigger on the gun and splattering his brains across the sun soaked blacktop. At first glance, the clothes looked odd, but in good condition. Once he was up close to the other man, Deacon could see that they were sweat stained and fraying. The old pants reeked of stale beer and seedy bars and the shirt didn’t match the pants as it had first appeared. They were ill fitting and well worn, not at all his. Deacon swore under his breath, he was a homeless vagabond who had been hired on the expectation that he would die. With a nasty curse under his breath, he pulled the gun back and sheathed it in the holster sewn into the interior of his bathrobe.

The older man didn’t know what to think so he stood there, frozen. “I’m not going to kill you, even though I should.” It was obvious that he was pissed off, but Fawkes, who was the homeless man, didn’t know if he was angry with himself or with the person who hired a homeless man to kill him, or with the homeless man himself. He decided not to question it because it might cost him his life and that was the only thing of value he possessed. Deacon gave him the once over and decided he was harmless enough. “You look like you could do with something to eat, so why don’t you join me for breakfast and we can discuss who hired you and other trivial details like that.” It was rare for him to be so considerate but he was more concerned if he didn’t feed the other man he would just fall over dead before he had a chance to question him. It was a risk he was unwilling to take on this particular morning.

“Breakfast?” His face lights up at the prospect of being fed something other then garbage he had scavenged from the nearby dumps. “That sounds really good. I’ll tell you anything you want as long as you feed me.” The first thought that ran through Deacon’s head was that this man would make a cute pet once he had been fed and taken of. The entertaining thoughts must have shown on his face because Fawkes beamed at him in return. Deacon swept his arm out in front of him, escorting the man inside the dimly lit interior of his apartment. Lights switched on as they passed from room to room until Fawkes was seated on the living room couch while the owner went in search of a pair of pants and a t-shirt that would fit the emaciated man. Fawkes stared around the apartment, wide-eyed at the luxury, and started when Deacon entered the room carrying a pair of loose black track pants and a tight, close fitting tank top perfect for lounging around the apartment in. He hands them to Fawkes and points to the bathroom.

“The bathroom is on the left. All the necessities you might need are in the closet. You can use anything in there except for the needles or medical supplies. If you have any question, just give me a holler. In case you didn’t know, I’m Deacon Frost…but you can call me Deak.” He calls over his shoulder as he walks the opposite way into the kitchen. Fawkes nods numbly and heads towards the bathroom to change into the spare clothes that he was borrowing. Nervously, he starts the shower and listens to the water splash against the glass doors before stepping into the warm water. He let it wash over his filthy skin before he tentatively picked up the sweet smelling bar of soap sitting prettily on the edge of the tub. He soaps up his skin and pours a little bit of the tea tree shampoo into his hand. When he was squeaky clean and sweet smelling he stepped out of the shower and towel dried himself before dressing in the clean clothes that were set on the counter. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he felt better, more human. His dark auburn hair gleamed under the artificial light and his shocking pale gray eyes were wide and doe soft. In fact, the urban cowboy was really quite attractive and Deacon had to do a double take when he walked into the kitchen where he was working on making breakfast.

Fawkes smiled shyly at him when he came into the room, pleased by the reaction he got. It had been a long time since someone noticed his appearance and he was enthusiastic that the attention was so positive. Deacon was struck by the transformation and breakfast was forgotten as he let his eyes drift over the radiant form in front of him. “Damn. You clean up nice, don’t ya.” It wasn’t only the smell of bacon cooking on the stove that had Fawkes mouth watering. He knew that the man he had been hired to kill was stunning, his employer had already told him that, but they failed to tell him how stunning and now he was standing in the kitchen with this nearly naked man watching him deftly handle the utensils with the same hands that had so confidently handled the gun earlier. It was a turn on for the once great businessman who appreciated confidence in men and Deacon was his ideal man. They share a look of mutual desire but neither one acts upon the hasty impulse.

The paper is sitting on the table and Fawkes sits down and opens it up to the business section. He is busy reading when Deacon sets a plate of pancakes and eggs down in front of him. Without even setting down the paper he takes a bit of the steamy and delicious vanilla pancakes. The paper flutters to the floor while his face takes on a dreamy expression as the pancake melts in his mouth. Deacon adds a couple more to his stack before setting a plate of bacon in the middle of the table before sitting down. He nibbles delicately on a piece of bacon, savoring the hickory smoked taste as he watches his assailant eat his pancakes. “Sooo, whatcha think?” Deacon was a great cook even if no one else knew that. He was famous for his pack rations among the other assassins at Frost Industries but it was a well-guarded secret that he was also a phenomenal cook inside the kitchen.

Fawkes mumbles something around the food in his mouth before taking a minute to clear his throat. “Wow! This is delicious! You’re a fabulous cook. If you do everything as good as you cook then it’s no wonder why no one has been able to knock you off yet.” While it was meant to be a compliment, all it did was reinforce why he was there that morning. He had been one of the people trying to knock him off. The open and friendly look on Deacon’s face disappeared into his normal blank mask at the comment and his body language shifted into serious business instead of the relaxed posture he had assumed upon sitting down at the table.

“Thanks for the compliment. It’s quite appreciated, I assure you. And yes…I do everything as well, if not better, then I cook. It’s why the bones of my enemies lie rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere and I am still among the numerous living. As are you because of my good graces this morning. However, that can change quickly if you piss me off or I find that I have no use for you. Usually they are one and the same.” The look he gives Fawkes lets him know that he is not kidding and that he would have no hesitation about blowing a hole through his head and dumping his body in the middle of nowhere or doing something equally horrible to him if the idea struck. He gulps nervously and plays with his fork, no longer hungry. Deacon takes a sip of his now lukewarm coffee without batting an eye, which showed just how at ease he was with the idea of murdering someone. Fawkes could only guess at the amount of innocent blood he had on his hands but didn’t realize that it was almost non-existent. Deacon didn’t normally kill innocent people unless he absolutely had to in order to eliminate an ever-bigger threat to humanity, but his definition of innocent was skewed. People were only innocent if they had not dealt with him on a personal basis, with the exception of Akio, who would be innocent until the world ended.

Fawkes sputters in his attempt to come up with an answer to the casual way his death was spoken of. “I-I’m sure you c-can find some use for me…Right? I-I’ll t-tell you whatever y-you want to k-know if you don’t k-kill m-me.” He was shaking with dread of what would happen if he couldn’t answer the questions that Deacon asked. He didn’t think his life was worth much to someone like him and he assumed that it would be forfeit if he failed to live up to his desperate claims to tell him everything he knew.

“Oh, I’m sure I could find some use for you.” Deacon let his eyes drift over the supine form sitting across from him at the table. “I’d hate to kill such a pretty toy as yourself.” A predatory smile curls the edges of his lips and Fawkes isn’t scared of the assassin anymore, he’s scared of the man in front of him who could turn hate into a fiery passion that would consume them both. But just as quickly as it appeared, the smile was gone and he was back to being just a man but Fawkes wasn’t fooled. He realized that underneath the empty exterior lurked a sensual beast that would destroy him with the temptation of flesh. Shivering, he pushes his chair further away from the table, putting more distance between the two men, but it didn’t matter how far he moved because he knew that if Deacon truly wanted him no amount of space would stop him. A warm laugh slithered across his skin and he knew instinctively that the other man was finding his efforts futile and amusing, which irritated Fawkes and caused him to do something very unlike his usual self.

With a determined look on his face, he surges out of the chair and struts across the kitchen until he’s standing in front of him, hands resting firmly on his hips, shoulders squared arrogantly. “Oh, you might find some use for me? What makes you think you’re man enough to use me for anything? And who says I would even want to be your toy?” The slightest smile creased the impassive face of Deacon before his eyes traveled to the apparent bulge in Fawkes pants. His eyes followed Deacon’s and he flushed pink when he saw that it was obvious he was already aroused. “That doesn’t mean anything.” His posture said differently. Deacon slid of the chair until he was kneeling in front of him and ran the tips of his fingers up his legs until he came to mid-thigh, stopping just below the evident arousal.

“You’re right, it doesn’t mean anything, which is why I know you won‘t let me fuck you no matter what I do to this glorious body.” He brushes his fingers over Fawkes groin and Fawkes has to struggle to keep himself from gasping at the sensation. Deacon’s touch was soft and sensual, nothing like he had thought it would be. He was expecting something that burned and consumed his body but what he got was a touch that ignited the passion within. Deacon stayed kneeling on the ground as he continued to travel up Fawkes body, his long fingers slipping under the thin material up the shirt to pull it upwards. He leaned forward to tenderly kiss the flat stomach before him, lips barely skimming over the surface. Fawkes trembles under attention he was being shown, purring softly with each kiss against his skin until Deacon takes his lips in the sweetest of kisses. Shyly, he parts his lips under the other man’s gentle persuasion. Slowly their tongues meet and entwine as Fawkes presses their bodies closer together by wrapping his arms around Deacon’s neck. Deacon deepens the kiss as he rests his hands on the other man’s waist, holding him tight against his hard body until he reluctantly pulls away from the succulent lips. With an unkind smile, Deacon unwinds the arms from around his neck and steps back towards his chair and picks up his cup of now cold coffee. “It’s to bad that you don’t respond to my touch. I would enjoy taking you to my big bed and caressing every inch of your gorgeous body before making love to you again and again, having you scream my name as you cum underneath me.”

He sets the cup down with a clank and turns to the sink, setting the dishes inside the metal basis and running hot water over them as he talks. Fawkes looks crestfallen because the words were mocking what he had said just minutes before and now he was regretting letting his foolish pride get the better of him. Walking up behind Deacon, he puts his arms around his waist and lays his head against his shoulders. “I’m sorry…so sorry. Like, you have no idea how much I’m regretting what I said. I want you to touch me and make love to me. I want it so bad it hurts.” He rubs his achingly hard member against the back of the other man, emphasizing his point. “I would do anything to have you touch me..kiss me..fuck me. Please Deacon! Please fuck me. I’m begging you.” The pleading tone made Deacon turn around and look at him as he leaned against the counter, eyes surveying the man in front of him.

“I’m not sure you could handle me. I’m usually not so gentle with my lovers as I just was with you.” The two stare at each other for a minute before Deacon opens the front of his robe exposing his hard, naked body underneath and dropping the scrap of silk to the floor. Fawkes stares at him in appreciation and skims his fingers down the smooth chest in front of him. His fingers find one dark nipple and roll it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it lightly. His other hand explores the hollows located at his hips, the ends of his fingers trailing over the soft curls at his thighs. Deacon jutted out proudly, already hard and thick with anticipation. With the graceful ease of a jungle cat, he pressed his leg forward so it rested between Deacon’s before kissing him passionately, his hand snaking downward to wrap around the hard member pressing against his stomach.

Deacon leans back against the granite counter tops, his hands grasping the edge with white knuckles as he sighs faintly. Fawkes grins gleefully as he tightens his fingers around the member, caressing it with firm, long strokes of his hand. Soft noises of pleasure break the silence between the two men and Deacon watches the other man with glazed eyes. There was a sweetness of touch that Deacon wasn’t used to and the unusual pleasure it brought him made the experience breathtaking. Fawkes kissed him lightly as he caressed the silk encased steel with his hand and Deacon moved his hips in time with the hand before wrapping his hand over the one stroking him, forcing him to do it harder. He rakes his lips with his teeth, crying out with each stroke, almost whimpering when Fawkes drops down in front of him to flick his tongue over the swollen head of his cock. Deacon sobs in pleasure when he feels the moist cavern of Fawkes’ mouth slip over his enlarged member and can’t resist the temptation to fist his hands in the long auburn hair, using it to push himself deeper into his mouth.

“Ohhh. Ahhh…mmmm! Fawkes! Oh gods..!” Deacon groans in between purrs of satisfaction. While Fawkes was busy swirling his tongue around the member in his mouth, hands stroking what he couldn’t fit, his lover found himself dangerously close to cumming. He continued suckling on the rosy tip, drawing hard on the end trying to bring his seed to the surface so he could taste the delectable warmth of it. With a final tightening of his fingers and a muted shout, he releases his hot seed and watches through hazy eyes as the kneeling man licks his still hard member clean. Fawkes uses his tongue to clean his member, savoring the slightly sweet taste of his release. Deacon collapses against the counter, his body languid and satisfied, with a contented sigh before offering his hand to Fawkes to help him stand. He takes the hand, using it to pull himself up, knees cracking from being in one position for such an extended amount of time. He leans into Deacon, who puts his arms around him, and they cuddle there for a few moments enjoying the comfortable atmosphere. With a nuzzle of affection, Deacon takes the hand resting against his hip and brings it to his lips to kiss the open palm before kissing the pads of each finger lovingly.

“Wow…that was something else. And for me, that’s saying something since I’m a bit of a….well, a bit of a whore.” Deacon looks abashed as he calls himself a whore but feels no shame at the words. He enjoyed the company of men and wasn’t against spending a night with a random guy if it meant sharing the physical comfort only sex could offer. With languid ease, he untangles himself from Fawkes and turns away, not wanting to see the common look of disgust on his face, but Fawkes didn’t look disgusted. He was intrigued by the man in front of him and wanted to know what caused the haunting distance in his eyes even as he was moaning in pleasure underneath his skillful oral sex. Fawkes leans forward, capturing his shoulders and laying his head against the tight muscles bunched there.

“So what? You think I care if you’re a whore. NO! I only care that you’re sharing your bed with me, no matter who else is sleeping in it with us.” He runs his lips up Deacon’s neck as he leans against him, slowing rotating his hips so he’s grinding lightly against him. When Deacon tries to move away, Fawkes just presses closer against him, trapping him against the counter and his hard body. “I don’t think so bitch, if you’re a whore then I guess you’ll have no complaints about me fucking this gorgeous body will you?” Deacon draws in a hasty breath at the dominating side he was being shown and says demurely, “Oh no Sir, I couldn’t.” Without even contemplating it, he fell back into his show of being a submissive and he was getting really hard at the feel of the body pressed so roughly against his own. Fawkes turns him around roughly before throwing him to the floor and staring haughtily down at him. “Kiss my feet, whore.” Deacon tumbles down against his body until he’s pooled at his feet, slowly kissing them as he tries to contain his growing excitement.

Fawkes just stands there imperiously, watching as Deacon begins to work his mouth up his calf; kissing and caressing the lean muscles with simpering adoration. He draws in a shaky breath when he feels the lips press against the back of his knee and instinctively he feels his knees go weak but he catches himself and buries his hands tightly into Deacon’s hair, yanking his face upwards. The fingers twisted cruelly in his hair and he whimpered, pulling against the hard hold he had on his hair which only made him whimper louder. Fawkes dropped the pants he was wearing, letting them fall to the floor and reveal his proud and erect shaft, before slapping Deacon in the face with it. All nine of inches of his hard cock slapped against his lips and cheek, leaving a red mark behind and Deacon whimpered as he stared up with big, blue doe eyes at the man in front of him.