Story Orgy Presents: Like A Wolf Part 4 #mmromance #storyorgy

Good morning all! Sorry for my tardiness; I had a difficult deadline, but it's passed. Catching up on other things while I wait for edits.  Welcome back to part four of Like A Wolf, my version of Little Red Riding Hood. Are you hungry?
I know someone who is!  

Like A Wolf

A Little Red Riding Hood Story In Which the Wolf Must Choose Between Innocent Red, and the Seductively Skilled Hunter He’s Been Toying With For Years

Feb 9: Some mornings he felt like hell.

      

The kitchen was scrubbed down. Every station stood ready for action. Every bit of chrome gleamed, the stainless steel appliances glinted… even the trash can reeked of pine-sol. Menus and prep lists for tomorrow were all in place. Produce lists were updated after tonight’s service.

There wasn’t a damn thing left to do in here.

The time clocked ticked loudly away by the back door, interrupting the hushed kitchen with its regimental demand. Tick. Shhh. Tick. Shh. Tick. Shh.

And yet Hank lingered, long after the rest of his crew had departed, sitting at his desk in the back and snarling at his domain. It felt foreign, for the first time ever, big and empty. Like the hollow pit in his stomach that had been growing ever since he’d told the shyly flirtatious Red that he’d meet him at the bar.

His grandmother. It was just too boyscout. Red showing up at his catering gig with an elderly sweetheart, charming her friends and flirting with his staff…. He growled under his breath over that. Chuckie was lucky he’d kept his job.

And that possessive reaction right there told Hank he was risking getting in over his head with the cute diner owner.

Wolves devour their prey. They didn’t moon over young men and fatten them up as though they were Hansel in the witch’s kitchen.

“That’s right. This wolf is hungry… on the prowl. Little Red better watch out.” He pushed his chair back, sending it clattering into the wall.

That was it. He’d go to Toro. They’d have a few drinks, loosen Red up, they could both get off, he could get blue eyes and pouty red lips out of his mind, and …

And Red could learn a lesson that he badly needed in life.

Life’s no fairy tale, Red.

The wolves of the world are not to be played with.

Besides… Red would enjoy it. Hank could make damned sure of that. Then he could concentrate on food again… on food that wasn’t so sensual it was embarrassing to plate it.

Mind made up, he pulled a red scarf off the hook by the back door and wrapped it around his neck. He’d chosen it that morning without thought, and every time he entered the kitchen his glance went straight to the brilliant red scarf… the same color as the red hoodie Red had worn at the diner, the same color as the …

For Christ sake. He broke off the dopey train of thought. He owned exactly two scarves, one in an emerald plaid wool that was way too hot, a gift Hunter had sent from a trip to Scotland, and this one. Which he’d owned for at least a dozen years before he met Robert Redding, so associating the two of them was ridiculous.

And Hank Wolf might be a lot of things, but ridiculous wasn’t one of them.

***

For a bar named after a bull, Toro was surprisingly elegant. Black leather, touches of scarlet… which did not make him think of Robert Redding, and soft, muddled light in intimate booths, bright, flashing colorful lights on a crowded dance floor. It was a place for picking up strangers and having fun, for forgetting the cares of the world and letting go.

The fact that Robert had chosen this place, was apparently familiar with it, reassured Hank that what he was planning wasn’t so wicked or evil after all. You couldn’t consider the wolf to be evil, if the prey wanted to be eaten, could you?

Relaxing a little, he scanned the crowd more closely, seeking the auburn hair and pale skin in the crowd.

He expected to find Robert Redding shyly holding down a stool at the bar, maybe nervously glancing around, too shy to flirt, too awkward to dance. HAnk circled the room, exchanging smiles and glances with other men, but never stopping long enough for more than a greeting, He had a mission, and a man to get out of his system.

When he’d made his way back around to where he’d started without finding Red, he was as relieved as disappointed. Deciding on a drink before heading home, Hank inched his way to the bar and waited for the busy bartender- a smiling, dark haired young twenty-something who seemed to be really into his job- to attend him. The man flirted, smiled, mixed drinks with a theatrical flourish reminiscent of Tom Cruise in Cocktail, and pocketed phone numbers from men and women alike with a sexy grin. Hank studied him for a few minutes… debating adding his number to that collection, but the practiced flirtation and blatant sexuality of his hip bumping performance seemed… tawdry after Red’s innocent charm.

“What can I get you handsome?”

“Spanish Red.” Having placed his order, Hank turned to watch the crowd, dismissing any attempt on the bartender's part to flirt before it had become more than a white toothed smile.

“Coming right up.” The man could take a hint, clearly. He’d become all business as soon as Hank’s back was turned.

Hank watched the people on the dance floor, wishing he hadn’t bothered, more than a little annoyed that Red had chickened out on him. Glass clinked on wood.

“He’s pretty good, huh?” The chatty bartender was trying it on again.

“Who?” Hank picked up a stemless wineglass half full of a deep red beverage. It had a decent color, as far as he could see in the darkness, and the scent was appealing.

The bartender leaned in next to him, so close that Hank could feel the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne overpowered the wine. He pointed at the dance floor. “Him. Robby. You’ve been staring at him, I thought--”

Hank jerked upright, sloshing his wine. “Robert Redding?” He picked up the fluid movements of the figure he’d been idly watching on the dance floor. Darkness and flickering lights hid his face, his figure was a little on the plump side, but his dance moves were stunning, sexy.

“Yep… Robby is a regular here.” The bartender hovered for a moment, but when Hank didn’t pay any attention to him he moved on.

“Well, well, little Red isn’t so innocent after all.” He sipped his wine without noticing its fine flavor. All his attention was now focussed on the dance floor, where Red gyrated and moved to the beat of something Hank could barely classify as music. It wasn’t that he was graceful… or even skilled. It was the enthusiasm with which he threw himself into the dance. Hank… and probably a dozen other men on the dancefloor or just watching… couldn’t help wondering what the enthusiasm would translate to in the bedroom, if Red made love with the same energy and simple joy he exhibited under the flickering lights.

The music came to a halt; men flowed onto and off of the dance floor. “A bottled water, please.” Hank threw over his shoulder, catching the bartender before the thirsty dancers thronged the bar.

“Ice cold and only three dollars.”

Hank picked up the bottle and his own glass, tossed a bill on the bar and moved to intercept Red, who seemed to be veering off to the side instead of following the rest of the dancing fools to the bar.  

“Here.” he offered the bottle to the younger man, who accepted it with a smile. “You’re quite good out there.” He lifted his glass toward the dance floor.

Red flashed another quick grin then popped the cap on the bottle. “I’m not, but thank you for trying.” He took a swig from the bottle then swiped it over his damp forehead and the back of his neck. “It’s hot out there.” He licked a bead of sweat from his upper lip in an unconsciously sexual gesture. His gaze dropped shyly to the floor and he peeked up at Hank through fuzzy red gold lashes. “I thought you’d stood me up.”

Ignoring the wishy-washy nature of his eventual appearance, Hank grinned wickedly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After another long swallow of water, during which Hank took a moment to imagine the soft, plump lips wrapped around something other than a plastic bottle, Red blinked slowly at him. “It’s hot in here.” He said again, as though it was all he could think of.

Hank surveyed the rosy red cheeks, the damp brow and dewy upper lip. “Would you like to sit?” He glanced around, then shrugged helplessly. “Or something.”

“We can sit in the restaurant if you want. My friend Saul works here. You met him the other day at your restaurant.” Red tipped his face at a slight angle, looking up at Hank, and biting into his lower lip. “If you want that is. The tapas are good. Organic ingredients… Saul’s a good chef.”

Hank chucked the soft, rounded chin, liking the feel of stubble on his fingers. “I could sample some tapas.” He raised his glass, “Maybe another glass of wine…”

***

Some mornings he felt like hell. Then coffee came to the rescue. This morning he almost didn’t need the coffee. Almost.

His muscles ached from pleasant physical exertion. His inner self was at peace. But the coffee… Hank sniffed the air, inhaling the delicious aroma of dark roast nectar of the gods. His eyes snapped open, going instantly to the pillow next to his own.

It was empty of course… no plump sweet-cheeked boy lying next to him, no overly long tangle of red hair on the white pillow case, no …

Who else would have made the coffee?

Hank pushed himself upright and let his feet hit the floor. Sunshine poured through an open curtain, lighting up the room. It would be a beautiful day to walk through the farmer’s market. Whistling softly, he rose from the bed and gave the sheets a hasty twitch so they settled into place. He’d reached for a robe when the door swung inward.

Red appeared in the opening, balancing a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of biscuits in one hand and a newspaper in the other. “You’re awake. Here, take this.”

Red showed no ill effects from their night of dancing, drinking and rich food. “You’re very lively for someone who couldn’t drive last night.”

“Are you implying I was drunk?” Red

“No. I”m saying you passed out in my bed.” He took the tray and set it on the bed. “It wasn’t quite how I thought the evening would end.”

Red flushed, but he lifted his head, a charming teasing glint in his eyes. “My grandmere said to never put out on a first date if you expect a second call.”

“And you want a second call?” He lifted one of the mugs from the tray and sipped the aromatic brew. “I did wonder if you might be convinced to visit the farmer’s market with me this morning.” The idea was growing on him. Red was an inspiration to him in the kitchen already… what fantastic heights of culinary excellence might he achieve with Red strolling the farmer’s market next to him?

“Well, technically speaking,” Red perched on the side of the bed. “I haven’t even gotten a first call yet, but I thought that might have been an oversight… so I left my phone number on the whiteboard in the kitchen… you know. Just in case you missed me later.”

Again the disappointment. It wasn’t a feeling he relished. Surely he’d no cause to be so reactive? “Does that mean you won’t shop with me?”

Red swallowed the last of the coffee in his mug and stood up. He was so shiny and bright, in his tight jeans and club shirt… emerald green cotton so soft and fine it had felt like silk under Hank’s touch the night before. “I can’t. That’s why…” He waved at the tray and the coffee.” I didn’t want to just leave without saying good-bye, and I have to work. The assistant manager had the early morning shift, and I need to go in to cover lunch and dinner today.”

“Oh.” He set down his own cup. Some of the sunshine seemed to fade from the room, from the day. Good. He needed the darkness… it was what gave his food the edge that kept it fresh… kept customers coming back for the Hungry experience. Dark… ideas started churning… of blood red wine sauce reduced from Spanish Red wine, earthy mushrooms and rich pickled beets… “I’ll drop you off on my way then.”

Soft laughter greeted his statement. Hank raised an enquiring brow.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” He cast a significant glance down.

Hank followed his gaze and stifled a curse. “After I dress. Fifteen minutes. You can wait that long right?”

“I’ll wash the dishes.”

TO BE CONTINUED 

If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more! 

Hank Edwards

Havan Fellows 

EM WOODS