Little Red and Wolf

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Every Friday, Redon visits his grandmother and gives her cake and wine -- until one day he is intercepted by a man named Wolf. This man wants Redon to live with him, and while Redon is intruiged, he can't help but feel uneasy.

Romance / Erotica
Nelly Neufeld
Age Rating:


Like on any other Friday evening, he was on his way to his grandmother. His mother had grown a habit of baking a cake every week, just for his grandmother, and cookies, too. Every week, she also brought a bottle of wine up from the basement. She said they had aged beautifully, but he didn’t like the taste – his grandmother had let him take a sip once.

With a sigh he tried to squeeze through the sea of people. Some bumped into his shoulders, sending his bangs to disarray. He always was taken back with the force, no matter how hard he pushed against the flood. His neck began to moisten, and the tips on it wetted. Groaning and huffing, he cursed his weak figure and grabbed a railing to withstand the nasty stream.

Somehow he managed to crane his neck over too many heads and get a peek at the clock on the tall wall. It was five after seven. Dammit. He was already running late.

Cursing the weekend and the people’s rush to go home or out of town, he decided to cling to the railing until the crowd faded. A mechanical voice came from the speakers and informed the surrounding people that a train would leave in five minutes. Then she said that one was delayed.

Not his. He had missed his already.


His grandma would be worried sick. She once called the police and thought him kidnapped when he was but a minute late. Now it was five minutes. He didn’t even want to fantasise about the possible outcome and the following drama.

For a moment he gripped the railing tighter, and when someone bumped into him, he had an idea. An idea which his mother had never approved of. He could take the bus and walk the last part through the alleys. It was going to take a little while, but it was his only option. The next train would leave in two hours at the earliest.

He stood back straight and patted his jacket. A man in suit barged into his shoulder. Quickly he grabbed the railing again, watching the man with alert eyes as he went and waved to a woman. When the coast was clear he checked on his backpack. The cake was still intact, the cookies fluffy and in one piece. The wine bottle held its content. All was good.

When he turned to the exit, he let the flood guide him and went to the bus stop. The ride was alright. When he exited, he walked among story buildings, caught trees, carefully-crafted stone and shops. Some short distance later, he stood before the alley. A runway of darkness. He didn’t like it, but there was no other way around it if he wanted to see his grandmother as quickly as possible.

Nibbling at his lip, he stared down, remembering why this wasn’t an option. His mother had forbidden him to use the alleys, even though it was shorter and less expensive. He asked why, and his mother said it was dangerous there.

But he had no choice now, did he? He had to go here in order to prevent his grandma from getting a heart attack. His action was only justified.

And then, taking a long and deep breath – inhaling some odd smell coming from there – he grabbed his backpack’s holders and stepped in. The setting sun stayed behind, giving last warnings to his red hair as he went further. His environment dimmed, artificial, yellow lights flickering while only few of them worked steadily.

His body tensed and his shoulders stiffened. There was a skinny man on the left side, sitting against the wall. His face was dirty, clothes ripped and face covered with hair and a long beard. Other people stood, some in groups, others smoked, exhaling white clouds; they laughed, some gave haughty stares.

Making sure he swallowed his fear and spit, he saw a woman with a short top and skirt stand next to an illuminated door with a thuggish-looking man. He was cautious to hold a distance and walked on as nonchalant as he could muster. As he followed the path to reach the other side, he saw liquid against the wall and yellow stains. Disgusted and shuddering, he went on, past spilt garbage and broken windows.

Glad that he survived the first narrow path, he went on, but when he looked up, he stopped. There, against the filth-smeared wall, leaned a person. He had his back and a foot on the wall. Some cool pose, apparently. Fine. He admitted it. It did look cool. Still. That guy might as well be a thug.

Maybe that was why his mother warned him?

But he couldn’t go back now. He came this far, and he was late, anyway, soo …

Gathering his inner strength, he swallowed yet again and walked on. On the far right. As far away from that stranger as possible. Unfortunately, the path wasn’t so wide, perhaps for three normal people to fit, and so he could practically feel the person smirking as he stared at his feet when he quickened his pace.

Just as he passed the person, he heard: “Why in such a haste?” The voice was deep, not too deep, but scary enough in an alley with no witnesses.

“Ah- I- I am late and have to hurry, so–” He was preparing to run off, but a hand grabbed his backpack and pulled him to stumble over his own feet before crashing his back and contents in the pack against the wall. The bottle chinked but didn’t break and he heard some squashing sound. The cake! He deformed his face to show his disappointment and woe.


He didn’t look up. The man’s shirt was just fine, thank you.

"Hey." It was louder and threatening enough for him to obey. He looked up and saw the man in a hood. His eyes were dark, hair black and mingling with his face. “You have red hair.”

“Oh, tha- thank you.”

The man twisted his face in a manner that said it all, but he confirmed it verbally. “Wasn’t a compliment, Red.”

Immediately his eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”

“Heh?!” He raised a deriding eyebrow. “Who calls his kid Red?”

“Oh.” The younger glanced away, the bottle uncomfortable against his back. It forced him to pose with a slightly arched back. He hoped it wouldn’t leave a mark. “I am Redon. But ’cause of my hair and name they call me Red.”

“Nice story.”

Redon sent him a determined stare. When the man returned it, Redon bit his lip. “You- You asked.”

“Thank you, it was interesting. I don’t know what I would have done without it.” He tilted his head to a side. His eyes were bored, probably searching amusement with Redon. Then he narrowed his eyes, catching a strand of red hair between his forefinger and thumb. He pulled at it, and Redon jerked his head back, his hair into freedom. “Your hair is red.”

He squinted his eyes, suspicious and yet wishing to scare him away. “I know.”

The position wasn’t uncomfortable at all and the man’s face not nearly close enough, nooo, so he put an arm over Redon’s head while he leaned in. “Dyed?”

He couldn’t help but twitch some muscles in his lips. What it looked like? He had no idea, but, apparently, the man thought it was funny because the line of his lips broke into a predatory smirk.

“Are you scared?” the man asked; the breath of faint alcohol came at him. He felt it bite his jaw, and he closed his eyes as tightly as he could. “Hey …” Redon was sure the chagrin was but an act. He kept his eyes in darkness. The safety lasted but a moment before the breath came closer and the shadow loomed over him. “You’re not gonna shit your pants, are you?”

Shitting his pants? If anything he’d shit on him! He opened his eyes. He wanted them to be resolute, intriguing and with an air of command. It was drowned in the too-close presence, that unfamiliar face too deep in his.

He was close, way too close for strangers!

Those sly eyes, that crooked smile and that conceited feature in his expression. Redon swallowed as he studied the stranger’s face. What else could he possibly do? Push him away? Yeah, right. Good one. The man was older than him by at least four years and, going by the sheer size of his shoulders, stronger.

The strange face was paler than what he had imagined. Almost white like a porcelain doll. His face was clean, despite his biosphere. And to contrast all of that, his eyes were dark, eyes so brown they were black. His lashes were thick and framed the darkness all the more.

“I …” Redon darted his eyes from one spot to another, trying to glance past him. It was impossible. He occupied his complete view. Weighing his options, he lowered his gaze. “I have to–” A hand cut him short – a hand that lifted his chin. The fingers were cold. Too cold for an ordinary human.

Again he saw that scheming smirk. “It’s rude to ignore the one you’re speaking to.”

“Ex- Excuse me,” Redon brought out, “but I have no idea who you are.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you gonna feel safer if I tell you my name?”

Of course he would. At least then he had a name to give to the police. Sheepishly, he nodded, keeping the gaze alive.

“Name’s Wolf.” He clicked his tongue. “Anything else you wanna know?”

And exactly who called his kid Wolf? Redon couldn’t help but mock him in his mind. He pulled a corner of his lip. Wolf saw it and grinned.

“You’re cocky for a kid in your situation,” he said.

“Excuse me,” he said again, stronger this time, “but I have no idea what you want from me.” He held the desired eye contact, even if weakly, and found himself failing. His gaze slipped to the other’s collarbone.

“What about undying love?” Wolf withdrew his fingers from Red’s chin.

Redon flung his eyes back up, speechless. His chin burned from the touch, and tickled as it vanished.

The face cracked into a full-fledged taunt. “Aren’t you cute?” Tentatively he brushed a rough finger across Redon’s cheek, from jaw to cheekbone. “You’re blushing.”

Immediately he shook his head, accidentally bumping it against the wall. He deformed his face in pain. And then again Wolf’s finger traced invisible patterns on his cheek. He was certain his pupils shrunk into little dots to reveal the affection he felt. “I- I have to go to my grandma.”

Continuing to travel with his finger, Wolf narrowed his eyes, gaze lost on Redon’s cheeks. “Every Friday, right?”


He paused his drawing lesson and straightened a bit, looking Redon in the eye. “Every Friday you bring your grandmother food and drink. Isn’t that right?”

Undecided and wary, he eyed the hooded man. “Yes …”

He backed off a little, and Redon inhaled missing air. It sounded like a gasp of relief. “I see you every Friday, Red,” he said. “Always at the same time.” His gaze blurred with malice. “Why take the alley?”

Closing his eyes, he took another breath before the man would invade his private space again. “I was running late. And now I am more than late. She’ll have a heart attack.”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

“No.” Redon pursed his lips, and with anxiety spotted that Wolf’s eyes dropped to the movement. He didn’t like the hunger in his gloomy eyes. It didn’t promise a happy ending. He tried to squirm past. “But I really have to go now, so–”

The same hand grabbed him again, this time by the side of his collar. “You stay here, Little Red.” He pushed him against the wall again, too harshly. Redon gritted his teeth. He’d be lucky not get any bruises.

“I really have to go. She’ll worry.”

“Then let her worry a bit more.”

Redon glanced at the fist on his collar. It was firm. He’d never get out alive from this one.

In his mind he prayed and made peace with himself. Although, his failed mission to bring his precious grandma her favourite cake irked him. She shouldn’t have to suffer. He had to leave, and never come back here again. Determination took hold of him. He shaped his eyes in what he thought was terrifying. “Seriously,” Redon said, jerking his head forward. “What do you want.”

The stranger didn’t like the riot. Didn’t like it at all. A shadow came over his face, the white turning into a light grey. He snapped his teeth like a predator. Redon flinched his head back, eyes wide. The result was the stranger’s face in his. He had his teeth still bared, whiter than his face, then, gradually relaxed his muscles and hid his teeth.

“If you ask like this,” he said, “how about a kiss?”

“A- A kiss?!”

“It’s harmless,” Wolf said, calmly. His eyes slanted to Redon’s paling lips. He moved closer, just a little. His fist in Redon’s collar made Redon helpless and any resistance would end badly.

Subconsciously, Redon parted his lips in anticipation as the man claimed more space before he touched Redon’s lips with his. The contact was sweet, Wolf’s lips softer than he had imagined, though there was roughness to it. Redon tried to keep up and whimpered as the acquaintance-stranger bit into his lower lip.

Despite his morals and standard for decency, he felt himself get hard. Ah, those teeth grazed his lip, then sucked and pressed more firmly.

His world turned upside down, and before he knew what he was doing he curled his fingers in Wolf’s shirt, bringing him closer.

The man drove a hand into Redon’s hair and twisted his long fingers in it. Redon groaned, nibbling on his lips, but Wolf turned the tables and pressed another kiss on him, harder. Dismayed, Red felt himself react accordingly.

Wolf unzipped his jacket without problems. Redon gasped as the same hand groped his flat tummy under his shirt. While he shoved his tongue inside the younger’s mouth, he massaged the lean side, then found his jeans’ zipper. A second later it was wide open and his briefs down so his erection was well visible, but concealed from the outer world by the stranger’s body and his open jacket.

Before Wolf did anything with the erection, he drove his hand up and put his thumb in Redon’s mouth. The upper row of his teeth grazed the thumb. It was chilly and tasted a bit funky. Without need to be taught, Red obliged, opened his mouth wider and began to lick the thumb, then the other two fingers Wolf slipped inside.

Red noticed himself lost in his own saliva, a few strings running down his chin, wetting the stranger’s palm. When Wolf thought it enough, he connected their lips again, and Red was close to choke on the over-flow of saliva.

Panting, Wolf looked down while Red grunted. He swallowed and shut his eyes as Wolf wrapped a cold and wet hand about Redon’s penis. The palm itself was rough, and with the start of mild pumping movements, the wet on it and the chill, the friction caused Redon’s troubled breaths.

Powerless, Redon grasped the shirt more, gasping as the hand began to pump faster. The hand in his red hair twisted, constraining his head against the stone wall. Lips detected the pose as remedy, sucking on his throat and the curve on his neck and shoulder. Those mellow lips didn’t suit its abrasive owner. Too soft.

He came on the stranger’s jeans. His chest still heaved, and when he opened his eyes the stranger stole one more kiss. He panted more as his lips were released, and saw his breath give wind to Wolf’s black bangs.

“You ruined my jeans,” he said, his breath steadier than Redon’s. His eyes twinkled with guile. Redon didn’t like it. “Which means you owe me.” He untangled his fingers from the red hair; Redon grunted with the satisfaction of release. Allowing his eyes to wander and fingers to do likewise, Wolf gave Redon’s neck a brief tap. Redon was aware that Wolf had sucked on that part, and, somehow, Redon was more than certain that it’d bloom into a blue-green flower.

But Redon didn’t know where Wolf’s logic came from, but he wouldn’t argue. “A- And?” he asked, catching and swallowing a breath.

“Every Friday, when you come to deliver that package to your grandmother faithfully, I’ll be waiting here when you get back, and we will spend a couple of hours in my apartment.” He cracked his lips into that furtive, crooked smile. “Or we’ll do it here, whichever you prefer, Little Red.”

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