Novi

Novi is a shady invisible buddy. Persistent. A good idea just gets worried like a bone 'til it gets played out. Kinda... pushy?

Tavo must've thought so.
It missed him. That horse-laugh - remembering the first time it came across him, outside a shitkicker bar off 96. Followed him back to the house he rented with his honey, on a two-lane north of the freeway. Watched his woman pack her shit and leave... and saw him get in the habit of killin' a twelve-pack every night, start smokin again.

After a wobbly run for more beer, Novi started hiding his keys and gettin' bottles for him. Seemed he didn't mind whiskey... and the Cumshadyx channel on the cable. It started leaving beer on the kitchen table, then a carton on the seat of his truck. Triple-X tapes on the VCR. He looked happy enough, then. Got used to the freebies, sure enough... It was glad to help. Novi stocked his fridge, got a bigger TV. Got used to him nodding out in his easy chair - safer than him driving anywhere after a few belts.
Hangin' with the Tavman...

One Friday night he got his hunting gear ready, which meant several days without him there - and a new bunch of raunchy tapes had just come in the mail.
It sorta... snapped. No you don't, dammit.
He crawled out of bed to find the phones gone, and six cases of beer blocking each door, and it was feelin frisky - so it held those cases right there, until he drank his way out. He copped an attitude, alright. It pushed him into his recliner and slid a brew out of the top case, cracking it open as it floated his way... lobbed a carton of Camels into his lap, and set nine videotapes on the VCR. Seven in the morning.
He got drunk right there, instead of doin it out in the cold. Shit, why not stay comfortable?

It was the first time Novi had touched him - when he was conscious. And the first time he'd seen it moving stuff around.

From then on Tav was sorta on edge, coming home from work with way too much caution. He wasn't getting drunk. It overruled him every night, all the while wondering what it had to do to win his confidence. He found more and more goodies laid in for him, but still... maybe something real friendly and encouraging.
It could start with the house. All the rooms were small, though...
Except the basement.

Just a bunch of old crap down there. Maybe... a den? No bullshit from unexpected visitors or noisy neighbors. It had a lot of ideas. Shelves first, and a month's worth of stuff he liked... a bunch of new shit. Stuff to try out, maybe.
Novi rehung the door, tacked up some paneling.

A big TV, all the cable channels that it could order, a nice little audio system. A dresser and a couple of nightstands. Tavo did like his recliner, and while it sorta belonged there he usually groaned and rubbed his back after lumbering out of it in the morning. So a firm bed with a big ol' headboard were set up. He could... spread out.
No bathroom, but the old laundry sink and a new chemical toilet would do the job. Ice, hot food and such could be ferried down from the kitchen.
All set.

It turned out great. A place where ol' T could hang out. Spend a lot of time, maybe...

So after he passed out, it hauled him down there.. Impatient to see the look on his face.
Well, he was surprised, all right. Stunned. Looked around - noticing the quality of the work, Novi figured, proudly - and hurried out of there, right quick. Huh.
It figured he just needed time to get used to it, like he came to expect all the other shit it did for him.

So that Saturday it blocked the door and dragged him back to the mattress. Clicked on the TV, and stuck a bottle of JD in his hand.
A zipper bag with weed and pillbottles floated to the bedside table.

Even after that shitfaced weekend, he wouldn't relax. Just take it easy.
Kinda ticked off at him, Novi grabbed an old clothesline out of the garage.
Take that...

Cuffs did less damage, though.
He was definitely not amused. Too bad. It had gone to a lot of trouble...
Well, eventually he'd come around.

Tav brought friends over sometimes. Showed 'em the den and shelves, told 'em -
They laughed at him. Yeah, sure.
He spent more and more nights away.

Novi tried harder. "Personal services." Some of the things on the sex videos he liked so much. Bigtime fun.
Instead of calming him down, that just made him more determined to run. He'd fight with the cuffs until he was worn out.
It couldn't understand why. At times he seemed bored, so there had to be more fun somehow. A lot more. It was going to win him over.
The only thing that seemed certain was that he needed to spend more time in his den. The message had to get through. When he came to appreciate it...
A weekend wasn't enough time. Apparently Tavo was figuring that he could always just wait it out until Monday.
So it grabbed extra magazines, another six bottles of lube...

By Wednesday it couldn't think of a reason why he really had to go off to work.
His tools were brought home that night, and keys were left on the boss's desk.

When it finally opened the door, Tav disappeared for almost a week.
It tracked him down.
He woke up before it even got the first wrist-cuff buckled. More tools had been gathered. Some of them revealed whole new degrees of fun. Primitive, bottomless...

There was less fight in him.
What a relief. Surely he's caught on, it thought. Everything he could want - booze, pot, shelves full of porn, his favorite foods. Shit, he never even had to do laundry anymore, or worry about the bills...
Panting for air, Tavo took a good half-hour to notice that the cuffs were off. When he finally pulled it together enough to stagger to the door, the look of shock on his face when it opened was wonderful. Tempting.
Once again, the way he climbed the stairs told Novi how much he yearned to get away from the den.
When he didn't even shut the front door behind him, it no longer had to decide. Hands took hold of his arms.
It dragged him backward, away from his car.
What he liked - and what it needed to keep him down - was in the house, even if he wanted to turn his back on it and struggle like crazy...

The bills were paid on time, and it moved his car now and then. Every other thing was taken care of, too. None of that stupid everyday shit could touch him.
That was Novi's job.

Its satisfaction - and interest - just kept increasing.
A month led right into the second, and the third...

He'd crossed over. Every sign was positive, it decided, and now Tavo had to be having the time of his fuckin' life.
The embarrassment at enjoying himself was gone. He didn't even have the sad moods anymore.
Novi gradually decided that he wouldn't run away, even if he could.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. He disappeared, alright.
Three days after it started leaving the doors unlocked, he took off. It was out getting him more whiskey - and picking new brushes to try.
He wasn't at his ex's new place in Taylor, or with of his friends. It kept checking all of the places he used to haunt.

The trail was cold.
It had seriously liked watchin' him unwind, too. Getting him fucked up... and that horse laugh, from the gut. Dammit.

As spring approached it blindfolded a few locals, had 'em over for tryouts... but they just weren't the same. Anchored on Tavo's bed, smokin' his cigarettes, drinkin up his booze... howling like monkeys. They never relaxed enough to really have fun with it. Loosen up, go with the flow. Most of 'em were too scared. Chickenshit.
It would've thought one or two of the dudes just out of high school would be like open books. Appreciate the benefits of the situation. Women really panicked - at least the ones it had met.
Damn - it knew Tav. How to handle him.
They'd had some major fuckin' fun.

Not at the bowling alley either...
Probably a long ways away.
It kept on paying his bills. The upstairs bedroom was getting filled up too. It had this daydream of reeling ol' Tav back in and just burying him in pleasure. Never leaving him alone - a good year and a half. Two years. That would get him in line.
In the meantime it already had about twenty new toys it was just bustin to use.

So tonight it wanders through Birmingham and on down, turning west before it reaches the freeway. But that's the wrong direction, because it leads to an empty, prepared house.
Maybe a swing up through Oak Park.
On the hunt.
A tough guy with energy to burn. The right one. Lone wolf. Works hard - plays hard.
Like... this one.

He was younger than Tavo, but not a kid. Mid-twenties. Straddling his Harley, outside the 7-11, having a smoke. Kinda smirking at the traffic goin by. He had gloves, laying on the gas tank at the moment, and for some odd reason that a very good sign.
Calm, but his eyes are alert. Smooth... but when the sensation peaked, watch out.
Novi would see what he was made of.

Right then ditches his smoke, rolled the bike off its stand and fired it up. Grinning like a fool.
It had a good feeling about him. Damn right it did.
He pulls out of the lot with an invisible escort overhead. Biding its time.

Two miles away he kills the engine in front of a modest house, and rolls on up to the garage. Whistling very quietly as he walks into the house, not knowing how much that makes it ache to lay down a total attitude adjustment.
He walks in the back door, to the bathroom and takes a leak - giving it a glimpse at his cock. Not porn-star caliber, but certainly respectable. Then he clomps downstairs.
A cluttered room in the basement. It's sad. But wait'll he sees the den. A lot better than this dump...
Another biker was upstairs, givin' it to his ol' lady. There wasn't anybody waitin' in bed for the younger guy, though. Maybe that meant nobody would worry if he took a... road trip. Twenty-five miles west.

His bed has seen better days. Novi can already picture him sprawled out in Tav's recliner, sawin' logs. Flat on his back, arms and legs safely staked toward the corners of Tavo's big, comfortable mattress. Recharging. Getting all set for yet another day of major fuckin' fun.
No prescriptions around, and no medical supplies. Good news, there. No booze in his room, and no bong. Bizarre - was he broke? No money for partying? Maybe that was the answer. Wait until he saw the shit that filled about twenty shelves at Tavo's place!
Paycheck stubs are even more depressing. Hardly worth going to work for that little. His name is Terry. Another T-Man. Alright. Novi Terry, maybe? Terry, out of Novi?
More like Terry, stuck in Novi.
Heh.

He's not going turn down a free party. Tav did, and so the others. But not this dude. It's determined.
Now, what would be an decent excuse? Keep his friends from getting curious?
There was a fishing license on his dresser...

But these bikers wanna ride everywhere. If he disappears, and his hog is still in the garage -
It has to go along with him. He can ride right on up... to his new digs.
Tricky, but it figures it's up to the challenge. A weird adventure in the middle of the night. Outrageous. And it fits, somehow. Let him ride over.

Around three-thirty in the morning it pressed on the little window near the furnace, which it had unlatched earlier, and tilted it open. Terr was dead to the world.
It picked out a few days' worth of clothes. Toothbrush, toothpaste, fishing gear and license. His riding gear...
All piled up on the garage floor. The hog's gas tank is at least half-full.

Time to head out, though. It lifted him off the bed, ready for a fight -
Yup. Full-blown. All feisty. Twisting like a snake, he floated toward the door feet first.
Up the stairs, and to the back door. It paused, and waved a piece of paper in front of his nose. He stops wriggling, long enough to read it. Big black capitals, in the faint wash of the porch light:

HEY -

FUCK WORK,
GONE FISHING WITH MY BOSS. CANADA.

SEEYA TUES ??

At first there's uncertainty on his face. Then he looks real pissed. He's all fight again, as it sets the note on the kitchen table.
The door opens slowly. His loudest grunts are nuthin'...
Then, he's outside. Twisting - and a quick shiver, from the night air...
Into the dark garage.

Jacket. He recoils -
Well, shit. Looky... here.
Novi didn't even do it on purpose. But he's got a weakness. It just knew Terr wasn't gonna disappoint. Fuck yeah!
Maybe he's related to Tavo. Little brother. Heh. It couldn't wait to get harsh all over him, surrounded by the toys and comforts of the den.

After a few more minutes, he's sittin high in the saddle.
His feet are tied to the highway pegs, and his knees hug the tank. And his fingers are curled around the handlebars. Buried with rope, just like his shins, his forearms... Fuck the helmet. His saddlebags are packed.
Time to go.
It double-checks all of the knots. He won't be using the the brakes or the shifter this time. Novi's got control of 'em - as well as the throttle and the handles. Yessir.

Sneaking the garage door up just enough, it rolled him out. He kept tugging and flailing uselessly, grunting as loud as he could. the door eased back down.
Rolling in neutral, picking up speed. Driveway, to street, pushing him down to Hickory and right through the intersection. All is quiet, except for his trapped yells and the clicking of the bike's primary chain. Novi hits the starter button - but the engine won't catch.
Whoops, it forgot to set the choke. There. Try it again. Okay... Down to Fourth. Turning right - which is west. Yeah.
Not a car or a walker in sight...
He throws his head all around - until it leans the bike over. Way over. That makes him behave.
His sunglasses are pulled out of a jacket pocket and stuck on him. Speeding up a little, it shifted without letting up on the clutch. Terr winced immediately. After a few seconds he decided to make a real serious effort to get his hands and feet free. Novi let the bike lurch back and forth, trying to get it through to him that resisting was gonna make the trip even scarier.
It takes him down side streets. They could get home in half the time using the freeway, but Novi's not taking any chances with its prize. What an animal. There are three traffic signals that can't be avoided, but at this hour there are no vehicles waiting at the first two - and it slips into a bank parking lot to wait for the last light to change. There.
Nice and dark. He makes a couple attempts to lay it down, but after the first lurch it's more vigilant that ever. Tugging and shoving, he's not in the mood to cooperate.

After a couple miles down Anders the suburbs fade away. It reefs on the throttle. Fifty, sixty... seventy.
Terr sits low in the seat, tense as a wire. Not a happy camper. But it's got everything well in hand.
He can count on Novi. Won't get bored, neither. Damn straight.

On the right street, with only a minute to go, maybe two - it revs up to ninety. Not bad at all, this bike...
He was rigid, not even fidgeting, by the time it cut the motor. After coasting quite a ways Novi pushed him the rest of the way. Nobody was looking outside as he rolled up. Cloudy sky, no moonlight.
Crickets, the steady ring of the chain rolling over the sprockets, crunch of pebbles here and there...
Low creaks from muscle straining leather, tugging at rope.

And here he is.
Rolling him around the back, it opened the door - and picked up the bike, carrying it downstairs carefully.
Moving a dresser out of the way, it rolls him right into the den. Right... there. Let his ride stay where he can can keep an eye on it.
Relief, hunger, and mischief fill Novi as it locks the outer door - and the den.

It popped up the center-stand, and built a little wall out of beer cases. Full cases, of course.
Terry lunged around as the walls grew...
When it was finished, the bike wasn't going to fall over, no way.

It pulled his sunglasses off. Loosened the rope locking his jaw.
He grunted, rolling his head around, loosening the muscles.
And then he started to yell.

Pull and tug, holler... Rage, then full panic, and back down again.
Half an hour later, he was just scowling hard.
Must be thirsty. And more than ready for a smoke, huh? Then time for some shut-eye.
One of the cases near him opens, a bottlecap twisting off -
No? You don't want one? Aw, c'mon.
Getting a grip on his head, and his long hair - steady, now...
No problem, dude. He's struggling, but gives it up. Sucks it down.
A second bottle opens, coming into position. Novi brings a little box up, and pops two big tabs out of a blister-pack. Tossing 'em down his gullet, and a beer chaser. Strangling sounds, coughing... and big ol' swallows.
Another beer is in order...

His jacket zips open most of the way, and an invisible hand pulls out his cigarettes.
"Oh fuck no," he barks at 'em, but the resistance is half-hearted. He wants a smoke. Suspicious eyes watch one come up, and see a wooden match blaze to life as it follows.
And there he is. That's it. Looks right. He's perfect.
It goes into the storeroom and picks up a carton. Camels, shortys, just like Tavo got used to smokin.

During the fourth cigarette, it gets his dick out and holds an empty beer bottle just so. He doesn't like that at all, but the pills are kicking in and he's too woozy to fight properly.
After a good five minutes he gives in and lets it flow.

He comes to, laying on the bed. Sighs, and clears his throat. Shifts a little. Sniffing the air - the smell of the bike?
Or the ol' familarity of a nice private basement, maybe. Of course he could be noticing a different odor - something endlessly fun.
Novi flicks on the light.
He groans hard. Squinting, blinking eventually.
Then taking it all in: closed door, dresser, a long look over his cycle. Back at the door, the TV...
Open pack of Camels, ashtray, and his lighter are ready on the left nightstand. Bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and a couple joints on the right.
He looks around again, slowly throwing off the blanket. He sees the jeans he's wearing, and cranes his neck to look alongside the bed. Sneaky reach for a boot, studying his bike. The beer case barricade is gone now. No need. Terr gets his other boot on, looks around for a shirt and decides to just snag his jacket from the bike seat. Checking the pockets, his face takes on a cagier expression. Finding what he was after - wallet, keys, gloves. Familiar, calming him down...
Terr looks the cycle over carefully. Shaking it, listening to the gas slosh inside. Then straining to hear - what? Movement, from above? But there is nothing to hear, so he creeps over to the door and presses his ear against it for awhile. Grabs the knob -
Novi's got the door stuck tight, all around the frame. He pulls and studies it for a long time before he's convinced.
"Sick mutherfuckers..." He shouts, pounding on the door. Keeps cussing and hammering away. Kicks it a few times for good measure. Mounted backwards from the usual, the hinges are outside the den. Tavo taught it that lesson, didn't he though...
A few more minutes of thought, and hunting for another exit or a window.
Nuthin doin, outlaw.
"Fuck," Terry says, turning away. He stalks over to the Camels, firing one up. Not diggin this.

He looks the room over again, checks out his scoot... and perches on the corner of the bed, ashtray right alongside -
It hits the TV/cable power button.
His head swivels at the sound coming from the speakers.
A blonde with humungous tits, holding a guy's head in her snatch.
Terry stares hard, then looks around the room yet again. No remote control is in sight. It just suddenly turned on, like magic... huh?

Eventually he snoozes for a couple hours.
He stirs after a couple hours. Sniffs again -
Looks at the TV briefly. A couple, sixty-nine'ing. And then Terr sees a styrofoam cooler in front of the door. He goes over to it, lifting the lid... eyes getting big.
Steak and eggs, hash brown patties, ketchup and salsa, bottle of OJ, pitcher of coffee. The fucker cooked food for him.
Drops the lid and - whoa! Whaling on the door again, loud and... wild.
Finally backing off, breathing heavy. Getting his breakfast out.

He puts most of it away.
Peeking in the nearest beer case when he got up to pull on the doorknob some more - it's full of Molson longnecks.

"This is fuckin' crazy," he blurts.
When no answer comes, he grabs the pack and shakes up a cigarette angrily.

Terr sits up in bed, smokin' one after another. Staring at the door. On the TV screen a black couple is moaning in harmony, though it seems like an accident.
He scowls, gets up, chucks the cig to the floor hard, and starts pounding on the door again.
Keeps at it...

Why, Novi wonders, do they resist so much? What does it take to get 'em to lighten up?

Little Tavo here is set on raising somebody, or pulling the door off. No chance of his noise being heard... but he's getting more and more agitated. Gonna hurt himself, that wouldn't do.
Slowly, so he wouldn't freak even harder, it takes hold of his biceps.
He jumps back, looking wildly for the cause of the contact... which stays on him. Now, it thinks, he'll either go bugshit or he'll take a more thoughtful appr-
"What the fuck is thi-iiis..."
Okay. Novi clamps down on his forearms and shoulders. He coulda pulled a muscle already, so angry, and bent on slipping out of its grip.
It drags him back and presses down on him 'til he sits on the foot of the bed.
From behind the nightstand, it retrieves a coil of thick rope. For his own good, of course.

Not at all happy about the latest turn of events, his protests really hit a new high. When he kept trying to stand, it wrapped up his ankles... pulled rope between each knot so he was hogtied, and held him in the middle of the bed.
What a kick it is to tie him up again.

When he starts to snore, Novi quietly gets out the cuffs.
Layers of leather, wide enough to keep his wrists safe. Snug...
Next it picks up the shin-guards. Handling 'em with... respect. A lot of wild-ass memories, warm animal marathons with Tavo wearin these. Seven-inch cuffs, a rounded tab on top of where each foot begins, leather curbs to keep the heel-tendons from moving.
They fit Terr okay.
Novi tightens the straps, checks 'em, pats his captive wrists...
And returns to the exciting "spats". Thinking, remembering, testing the play in all directions... and there is none. As if they were set in cement. Heels off the mattress an inch or so, and as good as paralyzed from the calves down. Not that his wrists had any real slack, either.
But these spats... Rigid, inflexible perfection.

Terr wakes up and pulls at the straps.
Staying laid out, spread-eagled, he cusses quietly at the approaching pack and lighter.
After the second smoke he gets to watch two adroit black spandex gloves float over to him. Then - down.
Enjoying the struggles and the dread on his face, Novi sends six more ruthless tickling hands...

His all-out fighting slows down, after a half-hour or so.
Face brighter than before, the sound of his laughter changes too.
Oh, fuck.
He likes this!

Purely amazed, Novi drills his armpits and feet, briskly covering his ribs and belly.
And his eyes - the look on his face - well, nothing has ever been clearer to Novi.
The young biker is enjoying himself. It never saw this coming.
Look at him. Just incredible.
Well, now, that changes everything.

Smoke trails out of him.
It wiggles the fingers slowly. A big smile comes over his face.
His cigarette is taken from him, and the gloves attack - making Terr seize up, then flop around hard. Hoots are just bellowed out.
Then he stares at his motorcycle, and the laughter takes on a mournful tone.
But only for a few seconds... until it gets feathers back between his toes.
He cocks his head back and squeaks, cackles, barks, already lost in the delirium, all the fun Novi is making him have, and then he relaxes a little. Not laughing anymore.
Still grinning, though. Buried in the ever-increasing pleasure.
Staying there.