Chapter 2 - The Infestation.
Brian was yawning as he came through the front door of the Diner. He shambled over to the gang’s usual booth, slid into the seat next to Michael, and laid his head tiredly on his friend's shoulder. The three men who had already been seated there looked at each other with confusion.
“You okay, Brian? You look exhausted,” Emmett commented.
Brian opened his eyes long enough to shoot a gimlet glare at the rude queen sitting across from him.
“Sorry, Honey, let me rephrase that,” Emmett quickly changed course. “You look wonderful tonight, Brian. I love that shirt.”
“Better,” Brian replied, before once again closing his eyes.
Unfortunately, Deb came up right at that moment, a coffee carafe in each hand, and stopped dead right in front of Brian’s seat. “Shit, Brian. I haven't seen bags like those under your eyes since the last time Vic and I went window shopping at the Coach store. What the hell have you been doing to yourself, Kiddo?”
Brian roused himself sufficiently so that he was once again sitting upright. “Yeah, well, you’d look like this too if you were only getting two or three hours of sleep a night.”
“I thought the whole purpose of moving out to West Virginia was so you could have peace and quiet,” Michael snarked with a grin.
“I thought so too,” Brian grumbled, somehow looking both annoyed and dejected at the same time. “Unfortunately, I have a bit of an infestation problem at the moment.”
“Oh, Baby, that's terrible!” Emmett butted in sympathetically. “But that's nothing to let yourself get so down about. You're not alone. In fact, I've heard tell of several cases of crabs going around lately. It's nothing a quick trip to the free clinic can't take care of.”
“Shut the fuck up, Honeycutt,” Brian growled. “It's not my bush that’s infested, it’s my fucking house. I think I have some kind of animals living in the walls. They make a shitload of noise every night as soon as I go to bed. I can hear them moving around in there all night long, knocking against the walls, moving things, rattling the pipes even. And whatever it is, it's big enough that it makes the risers on the stairs creak. Last night it was so bad, I even got out of bed to go look, but of course they'd already escaped by the time I got there.”
“Uh oh,” Em groaned, looking very worried.
“Yep. I think you were right the other day, Mikey. It looks like I've got rats or mice or something.”
“Um, Honey, if you don't mind a word of advice from a country boy who’s got experience with such things, I'm afraid your problem is bigger than just a rodent or two.”
“What? Why do you say that?” Brian had to ask.
“It can't be mice or even rats - they’d be too small to make the floorboards creak. I'm afraid it’s something bigger. Like, maybe a raccoon?” the Country Queen hypothesized. “What kind of droppings have you seen around the house?” Brian didn't answer. He did turn a bit green though. “The type of droppings they leave behind will help us identify your rogue critter, Brian. You'll need to know what kind of pests you have before you call an exterminator.”
“I don't have any fucking animal droppings in my house, Honeycutt!” Brian insisted vociferously.
“Don't call me ‘Honeycutt’,” Emmett corrected automatically before moving on to the real issue again. “Are you sure? Mice droppings are pretty small. They look like tiny, little, brown pellets, about the size of a grain of rice. They're hard to spot sometimes, but if you have that big of a pest problem, you'd have to see them. And if you’ve got rats or, heaven forbid, something bigger, well, there’s no way you could miss their droppings.”
However, Brian was absolutely adamant on that point. “No, EmmyLou, I don't have mouse shit - or any other kind of shit for that matter - in my fucking house!”
Em stared back at him, completely confused. “Well, it can’t be rodents then. And it's definitely not raccoons, either, since they’re notorious for leaving a huge mess when they get into a house. Ask me sometime and I'll tell you all about what happened when a family of raccoons got into my cousin, Humphrey’s, cabin. Oooo, baby, was that ever a stink! . . . But if you don't have droppings, and you don't have any other kind of mess, then you definitely don't have rodents, Brian.”
“Well, I haven't finished clearing out the entire house yet,” Brian admitted defeatedly. “So far I only have the upstairs completely cleared out and my bedroom set up. The main floor is about half cleared out and I haven't touched the basement or the garage. I guess, if there are some kind of furry pests, they’d probably be down there.”
Emmett still looked doubtful, but he didn't feel like arguing, so he bit his tongue and didn't say anything more.
“I guess I'd better wait till it’s all cleaned out before I call the pest control folks,” Brian mused. “Maybe just clearing out the junk will get rid of whatever it is.”
“Well, in the meantime,” Ted offered, “I'd be happy to let you borrow my sound machine. It’s amazing. It has twenty different settings, although personally I prefer the ‘Ocean Waves’ program - I find it very soothing. There's something about the sound of waves gently lapping at a beach that's just incredibly relaxing, you know,” Ted rhapsodized on until he finally realized that the rest of his table companions were staring at him incredulously. “Well, um, I'm just saying, Brian wouldn't hear the noise of his infestation at all if he's playing that while he’s sleeping . . .”
Brian shook his head at the hopelessly pathetic man and the rest of the crew fell silent. Teddy shrugged, a little put out that his advice was so quickly discounted, but unwilling to make a stand over the argument in favor of a sound machine. If Brian was going to be that way, he could just deal with his noisy house vermin on his own.
Luckily for everyone involved, the lull in the conversation that occurred at that point was cut short by the arrival of Debbie bringing food for all. Even Brian. And, before Brian could even get out the first word of protest about the carb-heavy plate of spaghetti that she sat in front of him, his surrogate mother was pointing one of her red-lacquered talons in his face.
“Don’t start with me, Kiddo,” she warned in her ‘Mother’ voice. “You look like you’re dragging so bad your ass is gonna be sweeping the dance floor when you finally do make it to Babylon. So, you’re gonna eat that, and you’re not going to say a word about any fucking carbs, and you’ll thank me when you’re done. Got it?”
Brian rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to talk back to Debbie when she was using that tone. It wouldn’t do any good. And she might be right about him needing a good hearty meal or two. He really hadn’t been eating very well the past week. He just really wasn’t into cooking and, now that he was living so far out of the city, there wasn’t anywhere around to get a real meal. He’d been subsisting on nothing but cold turkey sandwiches, Granny Smith apples and Jim Beam, and it truly was starting to get old. He supposed that one pasta dinner wasn’t going to kill him. Especially considering the plans he had for getting a little bit of extra exercise later that night.
Brian lifted his fork, shot Debbie a fakely angelic smile and then twirled a healthy portion of saucy noodles into his mouth. Debbie nodded at him in approval and moved on to help the next customers. The rest of the gang took that chance to dig into their own dinners and the conversation moved on to more agreeable things, like their respective plans for the rest of the evening, whether or not they’d be able to score a pool table at Woody’s and which DJ was scheduled that night at the club. You know, the usual Friday night stuff.
And all further thoughts of Brian’s pest problem were subsequently forgotten.
“So, I take it you’ve got something against furniture?” the trick complained when Brian flipped the wall switch to turn on the lights and his almost totally empty living room was revealed.
“Yeah. It gets in the way when I throw an orgy, so I just got rid of it all,” Brian snarked back, not really in the mood to be teased.
It had been a long night already and that forty-five minute drive back from the city with a chatty trick in the car had grated on Brian’s nerves. He wasn’t about to strike up yet another conversation now that he’d finally got the guy home. All Brian wanted was to get on with things, fuck the guy silly for as long as that delicious-looking ass would hold up, and then call the trick a cab home before passing out and HOPEFULLY getting some sleep for a change.
“Well, I hope you at least have a bed, because I did not agree to come all the way out here to fuck standing up,” the big, dark-skinned African American warned, as he strode around the room, examining the large empty space.
Brian ignored the remark and opted to head straight for the small liquor cart he had set up in the far corner of the room. He definitely needed a drink to get him back in the right frame of mind. Otherwise, he was going to lose it completely and send the trick packing before the fun even got started.
As expected, the drink helped, and the moment he felt that first trickle of Beam burning down the back of his throat, he instantly started to relax. Which, in turn, allowed him to concentrate on what really mattered - the plans he had for his take-out trick. The tasty treat in question was still wandering around the living room area and scoping the place out. If Brian had actually had anything out worth stealing, he’d have suspected the guy of casing the joint, but since that couldn’t possibly be the case, he figured the guy must just like dusty old houses or something. Brian couldn’t care less what the guy thought of his house, though. All he cared about was that his selection for the night was hot and eager enough to fuck that he’d agreed to let Brian drag him all the way out to the wilds of West Virginia for a night of nasty fun.
Brian took a moment to look the guy over one more time. He was certainly pleasant on the eyes. And definitely Brian’s type - a big, beefy, well-toned, gym bunny, with beautiful, short curly hair and skin the color of milk chocolate. He’d easily stood out in the crowd back at Babylon when Brian had zeroed in on the way he was undulating across the dance floor, his shirt off and all those lovely muscles rippling with every movement. Brian was confident he’d be good entertainment - and he damn well better be since it was the first time Brian had brought a guy back to the house since he’d moved in. If he was going to truck company all the way out here, and then have to spring for a cab back to the city when he was done with the guy, he certainly hoped the trick had a tight ass and was ready for some hard fucking.
But, whatever. Tight ass or not, he was here and Brian wasn’t going to throw the opportunity away. Not when Brian had needs that needed fulfilling. And it was well past time to get this show on the road and put that ass to the test already.
Brian quickly finished his drink and, with a gesture towards the stairs leading up to the second floor, sent the guy off to his bedroom. He followed more slowly, making a detour to the kitchen on his way to get them a couple beers. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, so the kitchen was almost pitch black except for the dim illumination provided when he opened the refrigerator door. The odd bluish light made the room seem kind of eerie and accentuated the ominous shadows pressing in from the dark corners. It made his skin prickle and the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He had a strange feeling, like someone, or something, was watching him.
Brian reached into the fridge without really looking, keeping his eye on the darkness that seemed to loom over him instead. His hand fumbled around until he located the six pack of beer he had come for. When he found it he turned so he could see what he was doing, intending to pull two bottles out of the paperboard carton. Then he froze for a second in confusion, noting that there was already one beer missing from the six pack he’d just picked up that afternoon.
Which was impossible.
Brian clearly remembered putting the beer in the fridge right before he left to meet the guys. He had been running late and hadn't had time for a drink. So, where had the missing beer gone?
Brian spun around, still confused and unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched, but because it was so dark, he couldn’t see a fucking thing. Between the darkness, the strange shadows, the missing beer and that eerie feeling causing goosebumps to prickle along his skin, he was getting totally creeped out. Fucking stupid, creepy, old houses. What the hell had he been thinking when he bought this place anyway?
He quickly grabbed two of the remaining beers, closed the fridge door and hustled his way out of the spooky damned kitchen. But, even when he’d made it up to his bedroom and had found the trick lying there, spread eagle on his bed, he still didn’t feel wholly reassured. Brian continued to feel those invisible eyes on his back. He could still see the nascent shadows waiting to creep out of the corners as soon as the lights had been turned out. And he could still sense that disembodied presence following his every move.
Brian tried to ignore it. The trick obviously hadn’t noticed anything. He was just lying there, playing with himself, smiling up at Brian without a care in the world, and acting like any other trick Brian had ever met. Brian was sure he was just imagining things. Maybe the lack of sleep coming on top of a week of isolation was finally getting to him. He was just overreacting, right? He needed to just shake it off and concentrate on the matter at hand - the ready, willing and hopefully able trick waiting on his bed, eager to get fucked into the mattress. Yes. That’s exactly what he needed to do.
Brian squared his shoulders, took a deep breath to clear his head, and proceeded to commence with the fucking of the trick.
At first, he was still a little hesitant. The weirdness down in the kitchen had thrown him off his pace. He found himself having a hard time finding the right rhythm and the trick seemed awkward and uninspired. He started to think this whole idea had been a mistake. Maybe he should give up and tell the trick to take a hike.
But that line of thinking just ended up pissing Brian off. He had been planning this all week. He was horny as hell and he’d really been looking forward to indulging in some hot and heavy, man-on-man action tonight. Let’s face it, a week of nothing but cybersex and his good right hand, was not going to cut it. If he had to go even one more night without a real, honest to goodness, fuck, he really would lose it.
Besides, he was Brian FUCKING Kinney - since when did someone watching him stop him from fucking? What did he care? Hadn’t he always done his best work in front of an audience? Fuck this! He wasn’t going to give up his night of fucking fun for anything.
And, with that in mind, Brian decided to give whoever - or whatever - was watching him a show.
After that, it went great. As usual, the thought that he had an audience, drove Brian on to even greater heights of debauchery. He put on quite the act, slamming into the trick’s ass over and over again, with furor and finesse, until the guy literally passed out as he came for the third time. Brian leaned back, smugly satisfied with himself. He hoped that whatever was watching had enjoyed the experience as much as he had. The release of tension that accompanied the fuck also went a long way towards reinforcing his sense of equanimity. That fuck had been exactly what Brian had needed.
Now that everything was once again right with his world, Brian decided to let the trick sleep for fifteen minutes and then go back for another round. In the meantime, he took the empty beer bottles back down to the kitchen. He was feeling a lot more confident and wasn’t going to let the little weirdness from earlier bother him, let alone keep him out of his own fucking kitchen. Just to be safe, though, he remembered to turn on the big overhead light as he entered this time.
Then, as he was about to put the empties into the big yellow plastic recycling bin waiting by the back door, Brian glanced down and saw that there was already one beer bottle resting on its side in the bottom of the otherwise unused bin.
The inexplicable sight immediately had Brian doubting himself again. Maybe he really had already finished off one of the beers before he left that afternoon? He didn't think so. But maybe he had and was just losing it? How else would that bottle have got in the recycling? There wasn’t any other explanation, was there?
Looking around the stark, empty kitchen, lit up by the bright, fluorescent ceiling fixture, he couldn’t see anything else out of place. The kitchen looked just like it always did. It was still kind of bare, since he hadn’t yet unpacked many of his own things, and the only furniture was the rickety table Brian had saved from the junk that came with the house and which he’d determined would do for the time being. There was nothing here that was strange or eerie - not now that the lights were on. And the only rational explanation he could come up with for the mysterious, self-recycling beer bottle was that he’d been in such a rush to get out of there earlier that he’d simply forgotten he’d drank it and put it in the bin before he left. That had to be it, right? There was no other explanation.
Because Brian didn’t believe in magic or ghosts or haunted houses or any of that crap.