The Guy in 4B
Smart ass.
Swans around like he’s a model, complete with that stupid slow walk, always some girl hanging off his arm, laughing at his stupid jokes, usually blonde girls. I call them the gigglers.
Hear them sometimes, laughing in his apartment, then a while later, the headboard banging against the wall, the same wall where my bed is. Sevan from down the hall commented on it once. Saw him in the lift, bleary eyed, nodded weakly instead of saying hello, then cast his eyes in the direction of 4B.
Fuck that guy and his revolving carousel of big tits and tiny brains.
I got back from the gym, stood in front of the mirror and raised my biceps, curled them, puffed my chest out.
Progress. Minor progress.
I got my shake, added double the amount of recommended protein powder, then added honey. Because why the fuck not.
The laughing started early, then the clinking of glasses, more giggling, forced laughter, then silence.
I grabbed my noise canceling headphones and slipped them on, flicked the television on and put my feet up on the coffee table.
Even through my headphones, I heard a shout, then what sounded like someone yelling. No, a scream, loud, shrill. I threw them off and leaned forward.
My apartment was silent, and so was his. Then raised voices. I heard a voice, probably female, scream something, then moments later, the door slammed.
I sat back and smiled.
I slipped the headphones on again, but then heard a loud knock.
Thought it might be Sevan, nice enough guy, a bit lonely apparently, often borrowing something. My vacuum, mop, sometimes my extension cable.
But when I opened the door, 4B stood there, looking ruffled. A scratch across that too perfect face, eyes wide, face flushed, angry even, and he looked exhausted.
I had to suppress a smile.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against my doorway, muscles bulging from where he probably slapped her.
“Hello,” I said, searching his face for a clue as to why he was at my door.
“Sorry to bother you, I…” he cut off, turning to his other hand, limp by his side.
Then I saw it, blood, a lot of it. Dripping onto the polished wooden boards. It looked swollen, a little bruised, maybe even fractured the way it hung limply by his side.
I forgot everything else, and quickly reached out to his arm to inspect it. “Holy fuck!” I said, my voice echoing down the corridor.
4B shook his head, though he winced when that made his arm move. “It’s not as bad as it looks, just need some ice, but I… erm, didn’t have any…”
I nodded, gently grabbing his arm and leaning in. He was right, the gash was small.
“Can you lift it?”
He shrugged, then used his other hand to lift up his arm. I held his wrist on one side, helping support it. He winced again, but he was able to bend it, then slowly move it up and down. It wasn’t a lot, but just enough.
“It’s not broken, come in,” I said, holding the door open, then going to my fridge to get the ice pack from the freezer.
I grabbed some antiseptic cream, a bandage, then got him to my dining table. I shoved him into a chair, and got to work cleaning up his wound.
“Thank you so much for this, I’m sorry to barge in like this,” he said.
I shook my head, then paused while he gritted his teeth. He nodded, so I continued cleaning the wound. It was small, not deep, and had already mostly stopped bleeding. I put a bandage on it, then inspected the bruise.
“That bruise looks like it’s gonna hurt a bit,” I said, picking up the ice pack, and holding it up. “This is gonna hurt a bit.”
He nodded, so I put the ice pack against the bruise, and watched the way his body stiffened. I’d never been this up close to him before, except for that awkward time in the lift, him texting probably another blonde, and me staring impatiently at the illuminated numbers.
I’d found a cloth and used it as padding, then got some gauze and used it to wrap it around his arm. He sucked in breath, then stared at me. For a jerk, he had incredibly handsome deep blue eyes.
“You need some pain relief,” I said, moving back to my kitchen and going to my first aid kit.
“No, please… it’s fine, I had a couple of drinks. That will do,” he said.
I turned to him. “It’s not my business, but you need to call the police. That’s a pretty big deal,” I moved back to the table, and took a seat opposite him.
He half-smirked. “Nah, thanks. I can’t… I mean, kinda my fault,” he laughed then, but the laugh didn’t reach his eyes. I got the sense he was holding back.
I folded my arms and sat back. Even slouched in one of my dining chairs he somehow looked too large for the apartment, one knee jutting awkwardly beneath the table.
When he didn’t say anything, I said, “in what way?”
4B looked down, then to his right to my television, which was off, and then back to me. “I mean… it was stupid. We just…”
I didn’t say anything, but was surprised to see him not so confident.
I leaned forward then, hands on the table, a little too curious not to ask. “You just what?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ice pack wrapped around his arm.
"Ah man," he said. "You know how it is with girls. They can change their mind in, like, a minute."
The mahogany dining table was cool, and I pressed my hands on it, staring at them for a moment, then looking up at him. “Actually, no I don’t.”
His gaze lingered on me about a second longer than necessary. Then one corner of his mouth twitched, and his hand went to gently massage his injured arm.
“Oh, sorry…” he began, scanning me up and down as if reassessing me.
I had to fight the urge to reach out and squeeze his bruised arm.
“Sorry why?” I said, refolding my arms.
Up close, the cracks showed. His nose had been broken at some point, a small ridge running across the bridge, and fine lines sat at the corners of his eyes. One canine overlapped the next slightly.
Noticing these details should have made him less attractive.
But it didn’t.
Still, I figured he still had the look to pull the neverending list of blondes, even with all the flaws.
He shook his head. “Can I tell you something? No judgment?”
I nodded, unfolding my arms and placing my hands back on the table. “Sure, we’re neighbors, aren’t we?”
Something loosened around his eyes. The tension he'd carried into my apartment seemed to drain out of him for a second. “That’s true.” He proceeded to lift his left hand, then hold it out. “I’m Russell,” he said.
I only hesitated for a moment, then reached out with my right hand and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you officially, I’m Karl.”
“You German?” he asked me, studying me again.
“Yeah, well… my parents were. How about you?”
The skin around his eyes creased, and for the first time since I'd laid eyes on him, I didn't hate him.
“I’m not German,” he said.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“I’m French American, or rather, my parents are. My mom’s French, and my dad’s American.”
“I won’t hold that against you,” I said. This time we both laughed.
“Ouch.”
“How long have you been in Toronto?” he asked me, scanning my apartment, “hey, nice apartment. You decorate this yourself?”
“Four years, and thanks, yes, I did.”
He nodded, pursing his lips in appreciation, looking around. “Nice.”
“So,” I said, my fingers tracing lines on the table, “kinda got me curious now. What the fuck did you do to her?”
He laughed, and I smiled.
He shook his head again, looked down, his right hand going to hide his mouth for a moment. When he pulled it away, he didn’t look straight back at me, but he spoke quietly.
“She said she was into something specific, when we talked online. Then, when I tried it…”
I gripped the table, and tried not to laugh. “...she gave you what for?”
He laughed. “Gave me what for?” His eyes landed on mine again. “Haven't heard that in years.”
I waited again. He looked great, but lousy communicator.
“So, what was the thing she said she wanted, but then realized she didn’t?” I asked, trying not to look too eager for the answer.
It took Russell 4B a while to respond, his face contorting through a range of emotions. He lifted his left arm, and bent it slightly.
“Wow, that ice is really doing the trick.”
I reached out and touched the ice pack. It was still cold.
“It should, just reduces swelling,” I said.
“You a doctor or something?”
I nodded. “Or something.”
He laughed.
“Are you a movie star? Model?” I asked, then wished I hadn’t.
The grin was much wider this time, and he cocked his head slightly when his eyes landed on my lips.
“Marketing,” he said, staring.
“Oh. Sorry,” I said.
He shook his head, played a little with the bandage, then looked back at me. “She wanted a specific fantasy.”
He rubbed his jaw. “The sort where safe words are supposed to matter.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I put my hand over my mouth to hide the grin, and looked down. It took me a moment to compose myself.
“Specific fantasy?” This time I didn’t bother to hide the laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
The sound of his laugh again caught me off guard. It was lower than I'd expected, maybe even a little rough around the edges. It filled the apartment for a second and made it feel smaller.
“I’d laugh too, Karl. If my neighbor, who I’d never really spoken to, came to my door with a busted up arm… yeah, I’d laugh a lot.”
“I guess if I ever end up having a guy beat me up, and come to your door for stitching up, you can laugh at me.”
His eyes did that thing again, like somehow he was reading me through my eyes.
“So… role play huh? Something rough? Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” I said, then nearly smacked my face into my palm.
He grinned, then angled his head again, mouth slightly open, watching me. “You like rough?”
I felt myself flush, and tilted my head down, one hand subtly sliding under the table to readjust my tight pants.
I shrugged, then turned to him. He still watched me, like he was waiting for an answer.
“I guess. Yeah, sometimes. Depends on the guy. Mild to wild, and all that,” I said, my fingers loosening my collar, which was already pretty loose.
“Mild to wild,” he repeated, eyes flicking between my lips and my eyes, then my shoulders. He added, “you work out.”
I looked at my shoulders as if I needed to check, then scrunched my face and closed my eyes, and dropped my head into my hands.
Even as I tried to hide my face, I could hear his laugh.
“Don’t worry about it, Karl, I do it too! Especially when girls comment on my big cock, I look down.”
I spat when I laughed this time. “What!?”
His shoulders rolled as he laughed, then he winced, and looked up, mouthing, “ow!” before turning to me, still grinning.
“Did you just tell your gay neighbor, who just admitted he likes it wild sometimes, that you’ve got a big dick?”
He tilted his head.
"Karl, that’s the part you latched on to?" And he looked entirely pleased with himself.
His eyebrows rose, and he leaned back, hand going behind his head, watching me. Then his gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
I didn’t know what to say. I kept thinking about his cock. Then my eyes dropped, for just a second. But he caught it, then grinned, and laughed.
For a second he just stood there looking at me.
I should have said something. Changed the subject, offered him another ice pack, asked about the girl. Anything. Instead I sat there like an idiot while my brain catalogued every detail of his forearms and wondered what the rest of him looked like under that shirt.
Russell surprised me when he pushed himself away from the table, and stood.
The apartment suddenly felt very quiet.
I became aware of every stupid thing I'd said in the last ten minutes. I even thought I’d upset him and he was leaving, but then he began fumbling with his button and his zipper.
“Wait!” I began, holding my hand out, but realizing I didn’t want him to stop, “you don’t have to show me…”
Even one-handed, he managed to pull his zipper out, reach into his underpants and pull out his cock.
I stared.
That’s when I understood the neverending stream of girls.
“Fuck me,” I said, studying every bit of it. A vein ran along one side, he had a lot of foreskin, and his balls were massive.
He grinned, watching me, clearly proud of his tool.
“If that’s soft, I can’t imagine how big it gets hard,” I said, realizing what I was suggesting.
Russell’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he looked to his arm, still hanging by his side. “Well, for that, I might need some help.”
I swallowed, or at least tried to. I shot up, went to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water, then returned and placed one in front of him.
We both stared at the bottle, and I smiled, then shook my head. I picked up his bottle and unscrewed the lid, then put it on the table in front of him.
He stood at the table, reaching over for the water, his eyes never leaving mine, his cock hanging out of his zipper.
It looked slightly larger, though that could have been my imagination.
We both drank water, and I felt my pulse race. Then we both looked down and stared at his cock.
He smiled.
Damn it.
His eyes slightly narrowed, and then he licked his lips.
“So, just how rough do you like it?”
I swallowed again, but kept staring at his cock.
“Pretty rough,” I said, my voice much, much thinner than normal.
He nodded. “I would never have guessed that… you know, you like… Um, guys.”
I finally looked up and our eyes connected. “I wouldn’t have guessed with you.”
He smirked then. “Oh, I don’t. Only once. But seeing as she fled, and you’re here…”
I stared. “Oh, you mean now? But… what about your…”
We both looked at the bandaged arm, then he shrugged, turned back to me and said, “I don’t need that for it.”
I smiled, or coughed, it was a bit hard to tell.
When he inclined his head down, with a cheeky grin, I understood why they queued up at his door.
I stepped forward, and dropped to my knees, coming face to face with it. At first I handled it like a precious relic, then my hands roamed around his smooth balls, the length of his cock, very milky smooth, that vein appearing to throb as it grew in my hand.
I pushed the foreskin back, revealing a light-pink head, the hole beckoning me to taste it.
By the time I opened my mouth and began to suck on it, it had thickened and my fingers were no longer touching. It was a lot thicker than I thought.
Then he shoved me backward, the back of my head hitting the table, and his one good hand holding the back of my head.
“You want to know why she fled?”
I couldn’t speak with my mouth full, but I did want to know.
I garbled an affirmative.
“I meant rough, and she meant wild.”
I tried to swallow, couldn't, and made a sound I'd never made in my life.
As he held my head exactly where he wanted it, I stopped wondering about the girls. I started wondering about me.
How rough?
I found out moments later.
My hair isn't that long, just long enough for Russell to grab hold of it. He yanked me upright and my eyes watered immediately, pain shooting down my neck and through my body.
The smile that came then as he brought my face to his changed, but only slightly. He still looked pleased. He just didn't look playful anymore.
His hand went down to my buttons and, just as nimbly as he'd handled his own, had my pants around my ankles just as quickly, turning me, with a hand pressing into my upper back, shoving me down onto the table.
“Your safe word’s German.”
Oh. He's paying attention.
I couldn’t laugh because my face was pressed down into the table, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh.
“Pretty boy ass,” he said, loudly spitting into his hand.
I wanted to suggest lube, but pressed my lips together instead.
He wasn’t kidding.
My body had an immediate, unambiguous opinion about the situation, and it was not positive. It burned, and I screamed.
“There you are.”
I think I bit my tongue because I could taste the bitterness, but I reached across the wooden table and gripped the end hard.
I could tell he wasn’t even a quarter of the way in, and he kept pushing, not even giving me time to adjust.
I stayed silent, while my body begged him to slow down.
His hand pressed down into my back, crushing my chest to the table. I struggled to suck in breath, and held it in me when I did, trying to force myself to loosen up for him.
“Shhhh,” he said again, his jeans dropping to his ankles and his knees pushing into the back of mine.
I surprised myself by loosening up, and he took that opportunity to push it all the way in.
I gripped the table, bit my lip, my eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“Still haven't used your safeword.”
I garbled something.
He thrust into me, the table pushing away from me slightly, the legs scraping the tiled floor loudly.
I felt myself fully open up, feeling his muscular thighs slap into the back of my legs, and even his balls, smacking mine with a loud sound that echoed around us.
Then the table groaned forward an inch. Then another. Just as it inched to the wall, I moved my fingers away from the edge and simply splayed them flat on the table.
The table then hit the wall three times before I stopped counting. Same wall my bed is on. I wondered if Sevan could hear it. Then I stopped wondering about Sevan as 4B pounded me so hard, the table rattled.
I could feel his cock throbbing as it hit my prostate, then I felt myself build.
Before I could say anything, I heard him grunt, a low growl, then his hand came off my back and he grabbed my ass and slowed down.
“Damn,” he said, even as I felt him flood me.
It was hot. It rushed inside me, just as I exploded under my table.
I gasped, trying to catch my breath as the last of my jizz squirted somewhere below me.
Russell pulled out, and I heard him exhale loudly.
“Fuck me, German. Next time the bitch runs away, I’ll come knocking on your door.”
I wanted to smile, but instead I exhaled, unable to move.
Smart ass.
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