A Wolf And His Man - 10. Pulling Rank

“Hey, Oli!”

Oli looked up from his desk, and the tinted negatives he was examining for a magazine layout the agency was doing on the local marina and sailing club. He blinked, all his vision tinted with blue tones. Under the desk, Buddy nosed his calf, sending a warming, familiar ochre shade through his aromatic-vision.

“Boss is on the phone, he wants you in the conference room.”

“Oh, OK.” It wasn’t a usual sort of request, and Oli frowned as he gathered up phone, a note book and a selection of pens. “You OK here Bud? I’ll be back in a bit.” As Oli went to stand, his colleague called out,

“Take the dog.”

“What?”

“He wants you to take the dog, they wanna meet him.”

Buddy got up, stretched himself out, and stuck his shoulder against Oli’s thigh as they headed for the elevator. The conference room was on the next floor up, and was the swishiest part of the agency’s premises. They were not an especially large company, but commissioning them was expensive, and the work they delivered was always the best. Slightly befuddled, Oli let himself into the conference room with Buddy to be greeted by his boss, the head of the agency and a collection of delegates from the visiting company, all cooing over one of Oli’s sketch books. He had been fairly certain the he had left the portfolio book in his desk drawer, but there it was, with people much more powerful than himself pouring over sketches and studies of everything from rust detail on old park fence to quick-comic sketches of Buddy investigating the office.

“Hello?”

“Oli!” his boss was instantly all big grins and open armed gestures of welcome, “do come and sit down. This is Mr Volkov, the artist we were discussing.”

Oli shook hands with the visiting delegation. He read their security passes as he glanced at them and arched an eyebrow. They were from a big national chain of successful pet shops. A handsome man in his early forties smiled at Oli and very quickly looked down to Buddy, still stuck to the side of his thigh.

“When we heard that one of the artists kept a dog with him in the building, we just had to meet him,” he smiled at Buddy, “so this is the young man from your sketches?” He held out his hand for the wolf to sniff.

“This is Buddy.”

“And what breed is he?” the tall, blonde woman asked.

“He was a stray, but I’m certain he might be mostly Czech wolf-dog, possibly with some European jackal.” Buddy sat and wagged his tail as he was discussed. “He’s very friendly; for all that he looks like a wolf.”

Buddy took his cue to begin sniffing at hands and allowing himself to be petted and played with. Inside of two minute he had two of the pet-shop representatives down on the floor in their suits, fussing him and scratching his belly while he grinned happily. Oli rolled his eyes at his companion, and took a seat at the conference table.

“Mr Volkov,” the remaining visitor smiled at him from across the table, “our company is looking to launch a new national campaign, and having been delighted by your marvellous portfolio of drawings, we really feel that your style would fit perfectly into our brand identity.” Oli smiled in response, not quite daring to say anything just yet. “Your manager here has our schedule and specification, and we were hoping you could draw up some samples for us within the next ten days or so?” Oli nodded. “Lovely! Now, tell us about these pictures and this lovely dog of yours…”

Oli grinned widely. He could talk about Buddy for hours.

*

“Hey Oli.” Dennie slipped into her seat next to him, and instantly reached for his little sketchbook. “You got a new instalment for us?”

Oli smiled without looking away from the page in front of him, detail pen in hand, adding tiny crosshatched lines to a section of a much larger drawing that, when one stood back, was in fact, the landscape of the first year art studio.

“Haven’t I always? Yeah, you can look.”

Dennie was already turning the pages of the smaller sized sketch book, past sections of panels which at first glance looked rather like a comic book. When she reached the newest pages, she sighed, and settled happily back into her chair.

Art school was fun, exciting, bizarre, wonderful, and a dozen other adjectives Oli could have used to describe how he felt being at university. It was a break from his parents, from his strange life, and had helped to ease the heartbreak of watching Liam walk out of his life for someone who was available for a whole month at a time and didn’t lie. Oli didn’t blame him, he knew he made a lousy boyfriend, but that hadn’t meant he wasn’t upset about it. Being busy staved off misery, and so Oli had thrown himself into his artwork with gusto, taking every project their lecturers gave them and running with it for every hour of the day there was available. The group of people which made up his fellow first years were varied and fun, and within the first six weeks of term they had become close knit and good friends. And that was when Oli had started the little sketchbook.

It started off with character studies, sketches done in a lecture, or the studio, or the pub, of his friends, a page for each: talking, laughing, drinking, and reading, looking thoughtful, and playing with their phones. Then, during one long and rambling lecture given to them by the university health department, Oli had managed to draw them all like a police line-up, holding a card with their name on, and as an animal. When he’d left the sketchbook open on his desk during a seminar, everyone had noticed, clamoured to look, and that was when the comic had started. Now there were new pages each week, sometimes detailing the adventures that happened in class, and sometimes taking on more bizarre flights of fancy.

Dennie turned to him from the last page.

“Explain to me how you, me, Travis and Theo ended up fighting off a dragon with paintbrushes.” She showed him the last panel, where a wolf, a lioness, a buzzard and an ox went rushing towards a huge leathery dragon, brandishing art equipment as weaponry. “Where did the dragon come from?”

Oli pointed. Hanging in the high ceiling of the art studio was a large wicker and papier-mâché dragon, fully jointed, which had been made by a first year sculpture student long before their time.

“He came to life.”

“And how did he come to life?” Travis dragged over a chair and took the sketchbook. “Aww, yeah, I get to fight a dragon…”

Oli grinned.

“Daveed was taking him down from the ceiling and he got snake oil poured on him. Turns out that can reawaken the spirit of a dragon.”

“Who knew?” Dennie smiled and rubbed his shoulder, “Oli, we’d be a lot more bored if it weren’t for you. Drinks at The Fountainhead tonight? We’ll celebrate our inevitable win over the dragon?”

“The paintbrush being mightier than the sword and all that?” Travis grinned, “I’m in.”

“Sorry guys.”

“Awww, what?” Travis knocked Oli’s shoulder as he sat back from his drawing, “c’mon Oli, it’ll be fun.”

“I have to go home,” Oli smiled for his friends, seeing nothing but the blocked out red days in his calendar that covered the full moon, “family thing.”

“We’ll drink for you anyway.” Dennie smiled and started laying out her equipment and laptop ready for the seminar to begin. “Have fun Oli.”

*

Oli locked up his bike in the back garden while Buddy snuffled around the hedge line, and flicked through the dossier his boss had given him on the pet shop. The nationwide campaign was a huge deal: magazine adverts, billboards, train and bus posters, in-store banners and signage, and a new logo to be used on absolutely everything. The company wanted well over a hundred different pieces, almost exclusively from Oli, and the prospect had kept Oli’s mind buzzing with ideas. Of all his work, the delegates had liked his little comic style sketches the most, and their concepts for the new marketing strategy fitted well within that idea. Though the account was being put through the agencies books, for his dedication and exclusivity, Oli was not going to be freelancing at his usual rate. Buddy hadn’t walked away from the meeting empty handed either, and along with his satchel-bag, Oli also took a whole carrier of treats, toys and a shiny new collar. Sitting on the bag steps he took the label off the collar and fiddled with the sizing buckle. This one was chevron stripped webbing in ochre-yellow and navy blue.

“You wanna try the new collar?” Oli held the item out to the wolf’s twitching nose. When he snorted, Oli frowned. “You don’t like it?”

Buddy took the collar between his teeth and stood with his front paws balanced on Oli’s knees as he tried to place the collar on Oli’s head. The young man laughed, taking the collar from his wolf and clicking the buckle into place around his own throat. Buddy snuffled and grinned, laughing silently, and then pressed his face against Oli’s face. It was a simple gesture, and Oli wound his fingers into Buddy’s thick neck fur, bringing them together and planting a kiss on the wolf’s broad grey muzzle.

“OK then, this one will be mine.”

Oli hung his collar on the key hook by the door while Buddy began to explore the delights of a new chewy rubber ball which dispensed treats when kicked around the floor. The light on the answering machine was flashing: Oli pressed the play button on his way past towards the kitchen.

“Hey there pretty boy!” Both man and wolf turned to stare at the sparkly voice issuing from the machine. “So I’m coming into town this week. The company booked that posh hotel on the seafront for Wednesday and Thursday, but I kinda remember your bed being especially comfortable,” in the pause there was the sound of Stuart giggling, “I’ll get pizza. Call me.”

Oli grinned. Stuart sounded happy, full of bubbles and flirtatious smiles. It had been a hell of a long time since the two of them had hooked up, and just listening to his cute promise of ‘I’ll get pizza’ made Oli instantly hard in his neat pressed jeans. He dialled Stuart’s number from his mobile as he selected stir-fry ingredients from the fridge.

“Hey…” Stuart’s voice was warm, softer in his ear than it had been on the message, “I was wondering when you’d get back from work.”

“Yeah, we only just got back.”

“We?” Stuart sounded concerned.

“Oh! Buddy and I.”

“You finally got a dog? About time too!” Stuart sounded slightly smug, “so my meeting should be done by seven, I’ll see you just after?”

Oli bit his lip as he grinned, his crotch doing all this thinking for him.

“It’s a date.” As Oli hung up the phone, he met Buddy’s glaring yellow gaze. “What?”

The wolf snarled, hackles raised, tail tucked underneath him. Oli felt suddenly impatient with the empty canine threat.

“Stuart’s an old friend. He comes into town every few months or so and hang out. That’s all!” he was lying, to Buddy and to himself, “I can have friends who aren’t you.” Oli turned back to his stir-fry creation, and a moment later, Buddy went back to chewing his new toy. It was the first time since the first night that they didn’t share the bed.

*

“Hey, baby!” Stuart kissed his cheek, pizza box balanced on one hand, briefcase in the other, “you look well.” Even with no free hands, Stuart was all about body contact, pressing himself up against Oli’s front as he stood holding the door open, before planting a kiss on his lips. “Mmmm, minty fresh.”

Stuart let himself in, dropped his briefcase by the sofa, the pizza on the coffee table and was half way through removing shoes and tie when Buddy came in through the now permanently functioning dog-flap in the back door.

“This must be Buddy! Gosh, he’s big.” Buddy narrowed his eyes and went to stand next to Oli. Fur and fingers sought contact automatically. “He suits you.”

“Thanks,” Oli smiled, rubbing Buddy’s pointed ears, “what’s for dinner?”

“Later,” Stuart abandoned the pizza box and the arm of the sofa, stepping deep into Oli’s personal space, “it’s been a really long day Oli,” Stuart’s fingers flicked gently at the buttons of Oli’s shirt, “we can reheat the pizza.” When Oli didn’t immediately respond, Stuart’s palm pressed over the conspicuous bulge in his jeans. “You can show me your new bed sheets.”

Oli kissed him, there didn’t seem like any other viable option, and Stuart dragged him upstairs as though he knew exactly where to go, which he did. Oli wanted to slow down, say something, and he could smell himself, yellow shame and purple guilt mixing into a horribly muddy colour that just made the air taste of betrayal. He should have known better, because Stuart was always big on getting his first orgasm out of the way as quickly as possible. In honesty, Oli was surprised his visiting companion hadn’t tried to jack him off right there in the hallway.

They fell onto Oli’s bed, mostly undressed, and Stuart shucked Oli out of his boxers before locking his lip around the head of his desperate erection.

“Nngh!” Oli’s pupils dilated fast enough for the room to get visibly brighter, and he bit his lip at the sudden waft of pleasure. It was almost enough to overwhelm the voice on the inside of his head who was calling him all sorts of pejorative expletives that he fully deserved. When Stuart pushed a single strong digit into his warm flesh, Oli was overwhelmed.

“Umm, Oli?”

“Huh?” Oli blinked, desperately trying to claw himself away from the edge of a premature orgasm.

“You think you should shut the dog out?”

Buddy was standing in the bedroom doorway, snarling. Oli could barely look at him, but he got up, shrugging himself out of what remained of his shirt, and shut the bedroom door. He felt awful. For a week, every scent between Buddy and himself had been soft, warm, and full of love and adoration and loyalty. And here he was betraying all of it: and for what? The cheap thrill of a night with Stuart: for really excellent sex when he’d been living in a veritable desert for so long. Oli didn’t know if it was worth it. When he turned back to the room, his sex drive decided for him, because Stuart was all the way naked, lying back on his bed with his legs parted invitingly, grinning cheekily with a foil condom packet between his teeth. He looked like pornography.

Oli was on the bed, tracing a line from Stuart’s navel to his lips, when the door slammed open, banging back against the wall. The air was full of pointed red and black anger, thick ropey tendrils of green jealousy, and Buddy’s yellow eyes flashed as he snarled.

“Fuck!” Stuart scrambled over the other side of the bed in a mad panic.

“Buddy!” Oli turned in time to see the wolf launch himself towards the bed. The pair of them collided in mid-air and Oli fell back against both floor and bed. There wasn’t time to think about the pain, because Oli wrapped his arms around the body of the wolf, holding him tight against his chest. Buddy struggled, growling, scrabbling to get away, his claws sharp against Oli’s naked skin. “Calm down Bud…” Oli tried to wash the wolf with calm blue scents, smothering his prickly anger. He pressed his face to Buddy’s ear. “Unless you are gonna bite me, I’m not gonna let go,” each of them took a deep breath, “now are you going to calm down?”

Buddy stopped struggling in his arms, and a few breaths later, the wolf whined and went slack. When Oli let him go, he lay on the bedroom floor looking as miserable as Oli felt.

“Um…” Stuart was already back in his boxers and chinos, the belt hanging loose as he gathered up his shirt, “I think I’m gonna go.”

Oli rubbed his face, sitting up to lean back against the edge of the bed, looking up at Stuart; he was a mix of confusion and disappointment. He wrapped the front of his shirt over himself as Oli ran his fingers through the wolf’s fur.

“I’ll let myself out.”

“Sorry Stuart. I’ll give you a call?”

“Sure.” Stuart smiled tightly, but they both knew Oli wouldn’t call him. “Night.”

Oli stayed where he was, listening to the sounds of Stuart leaving. When the front door was shut, and the sounds of footsteps on the path receding away, Oli eased himself from the floor, groaning at the aching pain in his spine and lower back from where he’d collided with the hard frame of his bed. His skin showed red, raised angry marks from Buddy’s claws, and there was one place on his abdomen spotting blood from a particularly hard strike. He sat heavily on the bed, and after a moment, the mattress sagged as Buddy jumped up to join him.

The wolf pushed against his back and shoulders, nosing under his armpit, trying to create as much body contact as possible. Oli couldn’t resist diving into his thick ochre scent, and wrapped himself around Buddy as much as he could. Wolves can’t cry, but Oli could, and Buddy’s fur was soon damp with tears enough for both of them. They both lay there, feeling miserable, guilty for different reasons, all their scents mixed up in blues and pinks and ultraviolet colours off the edge of normal vision. After the longest time of saying nothing, Oli could feel the shape of the questions Buddy wanted to ask.

“He’s not my boyfriend, gods know that would require too much effort from both of us… we’re,” he swallowed noisily, hating the phrase which so perfectly described his relationship with Stuart, “fuck buddies. He comes to town, we have a bit of fun, he leaves town. Twice, sometimes three times a year, for about the last five years or so.” Buddy made a soft noise in his throat, and Oli hugged him tight. There was a bright spark glowing between them now, the taste of forgiveness in the air. “I was just so… physically lonely. It’s been a really long time since… with anyone.” Oli rolled onto his back and Buddy went with him, head resting on his sternum, the rest of his body like a warm and fluffy blanket. “I wanted to be with you, and I can’t. I thought it would be a good distraction,” Oli sighed, “I didn’t think about how you would feel. I’m sorry.”

Buddy got up, standing over him. For a horrible moment, Oli though the wolf might attack him, but Buddy’s ears shot forwards, his tail up, and then he slurped his tongue from Oli’s pec to cheek, grinning happily.

“Eww!” Oli complained, even though he didn’t really mean it, “I am not a snack food! C’mon, let’s go eat.”

Oli put the now-cold pizza in the oven and they ate that, curled up together on the sofa, not really watching the television in the background. Buddy had automatically come to lie between his legs, over his abdomen, and though Oli had the foresight to have put on boxers before coming downstairs, it still felt intimate and warm. Every time Oli thought about Boris, his abdomen went tight and hot and he would start to get an erection rather quickly. When he thought about Buddy, his heart was full of love, but all he could see in his head was the unshakeable image of his father with the Alsatian. Buddy could tell something was wrong, because every time Oli found his head full of memories he wished he could bleach out, the wolf pressed closer into his skin, yellow eyes closed to slits, sending love and adoration his way.

By the time the late news came on, both of them were sound asleep.