I look over at my boyfriend next to me in bed.. Well, "ex-boyfriend", should I say, since we just had less-then-amazing "break-up" sex. I study his form. Slightly hairy body, completely with average nipples, firm pecs and abs, beautiful chin-stubble, a bigger-then-average cock -- "Big enough to please, But not big enough to harm" he always said. I wouldn"t know. I wasn"t the bottom in this relationship. I"d never dominated and topped an older man before, me being 25 and him being 27. Dorian changed a lot for me.

I sigh and roll over in bed, and close my eyes, trying to avoid remembering the very last argument, the one that decided the fate of our relationship. It won"t be easy being single, without love.. But the Gods always provide, right?

As I drift off to sleep, the phone next to the bed rings. Dorian, groans and pulls a pillow over his head to block out the noise. I slowly open my eyes and check the clock. 2:29am. I curse to myself but answer the phone.

"Hello?" I winced, that had come out sharper then I had intended.
"I need your help, Stanislav." was the reply.
"Wait -- Who is this?"
"Just.. can you meet me? Please? I"m in trouble, and I REALLY need your help. I"m in your area, and all I want is for you to come pick me up. That"s all."
"Do I know you, sir?" was my terse response.
"Yeah, you do." was the cryptic reply before the line disconnects.

I study the phone in thought for a few seconds. The voice was vaguely familiar, and I never could resist helping a person in need. I look over at Dorian, and debate writing him a note, but I decide against it. He would be moving out after breakfast, so it really wouldn"t matter if I were there to see him off or not. Privately, I had been looking for a reason to not have to be there. His new boyfriend would be helping him, and I really didn"t want to interact with him. Not because I was jealous, but because I just didn"t like him.

I rise from the bed, and roll my shoulders, stretching my back. I go to the dresser over the mirror and open the top drawer, pulling out a muscle shirt. I glance at my reflexion for a moment as I unfold it. Studying my green eyes, my own chin stubble, my shoulder-length black hair, my slightly hairy chest and abs, home from years of being a bouncer at a club to play for college. Needless to say, I"m the most athletic scientist at the laboratory. Pulling on my shirt and then sliding on a pair of army fatigues left over from my father"s wardrobe, I begin the never-ending hunt for my keys. They seem to ALWAYS be missing when I"m in a hurry. I search the dresser for a moment, and it takes me a while to realise that the object that my eyes had kept coming back to were indeed my keys. Jesus, I think to myself, I really must be exhausted.

I grab my shoes, my mobile, and my keys, making my way out to the garage. I really wanted to take my Lexus, but if the man really was in danger, the Harley was faster. Besides, the chill of the cold morning air would help waken me up. Nodding in resolution, I say a silent apology to the people I was bound to awaken in this small, sleepy "blink-and-you-miss-it" town, hop on my motorcycle and speed off into the night.

Then I remember that I had no idea where the hell I was going.

I pull over to the side of the road for a moment, and think. I remember seeing a number on the caller ID.. I didn"t think it was a cell number, as the first three digits, "295" were usually used in the outskirts of town by house-phones and other landlines.

Driving to the outskirts, I look around the area, and spy a car on the side of the road, the ignition still running. I look in, no-one was in there. However, the driver"s side door was open, and what appeared to be a red substance was trailing toward a grove of trees. Wait, is that blood? I ask myself. Swallowing hard, I nevertheless follow it, cursing myself all along for not bringing my handgun. Fortunately, I feel absolutely naked without a blade, so I had one strapped to my wrist for protection.

Following the trail for about 10 minutes, I spy a particularly large tree with a very thick trunk. I allow myself a small smile. This was the area my brothers and I used to play in as *****ren. I wander toward it in nostalgia, when my attention is drawn by something resting against the trunk. My gaze narrows, and I slowly approach the whatever it is. I kneel down and realise that it is a man, and the source of the red trail, which is indeed blood, if the tear in the shoulder of the man"s coat was any give-away. It appeared to be from a knife, this man, whomever he was, had been stabbed. His head was slumped, hiding his face was a curtian of long, black hair. Gently tilting his head up to study his features, I gasp. I knew this guy, he was right about that.

Ramochka Iev Ovlek, my estranged brother.

"Damnit," I mutter as I gently wrap Ramochka"s arms around my shoulders and carry him back to the harley.