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Tongue-tied And Overloaded
*Midnight pancakes, though usually not literally at midnight, became something of a tradition, either at my house or Austin’s, but I usually lobbied for the former because I had a better kitchen. Not that Austin’s was subpar or anything, I was just particular. Plus, the rules at Austin’s didn’t apply to my house and I could, and regularly did, go pantsless and fuck in the kitchen, although always well before my guests arrived. For the most part. Tonight was no exception, and Spencer’s mouth was pressed firmly against the side of my neck, his breath hot and heavy as he muttered filthy, beautiful words against my skin as my cries died down, the echoes fading slowly, my hands grasping the granite top of the island as I struggled to come back down from the fucking insane high. My vision was still hazy, right along with my mind and words were broken by soft pants as I tried to catch my breath as I turned my head to brush my lips against his temple while I let my shaking legs drop from around his hips.* Fucking Hell, Spence. Explain to me again why this isn’t a daily occurrence? *I could feel his smile and the low chuckle in his chest as he shook his head, pressing a last kiss against the fluttering pulse point of my throat as straightened up to look at me, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his calloused fingers lingering against my cheek for just a moment. “Because if it was, Legs, we wouldn’t get anything else accomplished. Ever. And you know, we have jobs, friends… all of that shit that life demands.” His words were quiet but a knowing smirk played at his lips before brushing another tender kiss against my cheek. “Now, what do you say we get cleaned up before the guys get here, hmmm? Cause as much as I think they would like to see you like this, I know they don’t want to see me.” Humor laced Spencer’s words as he pulled away, making short work of cleaning up before helping me hop down from the island, pain racing through the balls of my feet as I stumbled and grabbed his arms with a curse.* Fucking fuck. I’m not as young as I used to be. *Leaning against his side, Spencer wrapped an arm around my waist as we started to make our way towards the stairs. The sun was sinking low over the ocean, sending the last Joes of orange and pink through the windows as the deep purples and black of night started to take over. It was my absolute favorite time of the day and I couldn’t help but stop at the bay window and gaze out almost wistfully as the sun slipped lower, humming softly as I leaned my head against Spencer’s just as it sank completely below the horizon. The silence was not only companionable but safe, broken only by the quiet guitars and crash of waves through the open windows. A soft sigh slipped from my lips, one of the few concessions I offered to the ridiculous girliness that was threatening to bubble over in my belly, and I chalked it up to pure afterglow. Cause Spencer was exceedingly fucking good, but he was my friend, albeit one with considerable benefits, and I wasn’t willing to fuck that shit up. Twisting my fingers in his, I gave a gentle tug, pulling him towards the stairs.* Come on, if we’re lucky we can get done in time to fuck with Austin for a few minutes before everybody else arrives. *The grin that brightened Spencer’s face was absolutely fucking sinful and my knees got maybe a little bit weak as I raced up the stairs, pulling Spencer behind me. Half an hour and a rather handsy shower later, Spencer and I were back in the kitchen and I was mixing pancake batter while he pulled fruit from the fridge and tried to distract me while music blasted from the speakers. Well, that’s a lie, he did distract me, twisting the ends of my hair absently in between his ink-covered fingers, giving a gentle pull that nearly sent the bowl crashing to the floor.* Goddamnit, Spencer! You’re gonna ruin dinner if you keep that up. * As much as I tried for angry, I couldn’t help my smile, shaking my head as I pushed the bowl away from the counter’s edge and hooked a finger into Spencer’s belt loop, tugging him tight against me. I may have been taller than him, but that inch was easy enough to deal with, especially if I was barefoot which I tended to be as much as possible, and I leaned down just enough to brush my lips across his ear with a grin. “If you keep that up, you’re gonna get yourself in trouble and then Austin and Joe are gonna refuse to come over anymore.” Another tug on my hair and a fucking devilish grin later and Spencer’s lips were back at my neck, his teeth teasing along my already sensitive skin. I could feel the sharp intake of breath but before he could actually get any words out, a very familiar voice rang out from the door of the kitchen. “For some reason, I don’t think that is going to actually discourage him, Jay.” Casey’s voice was laced with mirth and a grin played on his pretty lips as he dropped a container on the counter beside the pancake batter before brushing a kiss across my cheek. It was our customary greeting, and I gave his already disheveled hair a ruffle, receiving a blinding smile in return. * I’m not sure I actually want it to, Case, if I’m being totally honest. * I never lied to anyone but myself and those words were the absolute truth. Turning away for a moment, I peeked into the glass bowl Casey had dropped off and nearly squealed at the sight of the fresh sliced berries inside.* Case, you’re a goddam-Oh! *My response was involuntary as I turned around just in time to catch sight of Spencer grasping a handful of Casey’s hair and kissing him absolutely fucking senseless. Well… fuck. I stared far longer than I should have, although there was absolutely no shame in my perving game, especially in this case. In the two months Spencer and I had been fucking around, Casey had come up more than once, usually while we were still tangled up in each other, skin still slick with sweat, and the conversation had been the same each and every time. Jesus fuck. I had to physically shake my head to dismiss the thoughts that circled my mind, each one a bit dirtier than the last, and all brought on by the men in front of me. When they finally pulled apart, sinful smiles on both of their faces, I got a wink from Spencer, and a slightly sheepish blush from Casey as he smoothed out his hopeless hair* Can that happen again, please? Right the fuck now? * “No, it can not!” Austin’s voice carried in from the hallway just moments before the man himself walked through the door, a rasher of bacon in his hand, Joe and Bill trailing behind with champagne, and orange juice respectively. Chucking a berry at Austin’s head, I did a little victory dance as it pinged off his blonde hair, streaking it just barely with red.* Your rules don’t apply in my kitchen, Blondie. *The words were matter of fact and I could hear both Joe and Bill laughing as they busied themselves with retrieving glasses for alcohol as Austin wiped angrily at his hair. His glare was far from serious and I bounced on my tiptoes, blowing him a kiss as I headed towards the stove, batter bowl in hand while I flipped the burner on beneath the pancake pan.* Now, I highly recommend you get that bacon into the oven if you want to eat. *Apparently threatening to deprive the skinniest person in the room of food was all that was needed in order to get everyone’s asses in gear and we all settled into an easy rhythm that had formed itself over the last few weeks of late night dinners. The music was loud, the company was good and the alcohol, thanks to Bill, flowed quite freely and I allowed myself to simply bask in the simple pleasures that abounded while I could. The tiny, nagging voice at the back of my mind, the same one that I ignored so often, was piping up again, whispering worries and doubts. For tonight though, she was shoved back inside her box. She could be dealt with later.* #TongueTiedAndOverloaded
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I'd Really Love To Spend The Night
*The pounding of the rain against the windows very slowly pulled me from a deep sleep and I stretched languidly, humming in contentment as the last vestiges of a fucking gorgeous dream slipped away. The strong arm that was draped over my waist, however, was absolutely not a dream, neither was the rough chuckle that was muffled against the back of my head. Well fuck me.* So I guess that wasn’t a dream, huh? *My voice was husky and thick with sleep as I finally opened my eyes, blinking at the slight burn of my contacts. There was nothing but darkness outside the window, but it was split with flashes of blue-white lightning that illuminated my bedroom for little more than an instant at a time. The ceiling fan overhead whirred softly and the oppressive heat and humidity hadn’t seemed to set in so the power must have come back sometime after we had tumbled into bed. And tumble was the exact word, if the memories that were slowly coming back in bits and pieces were right. Spencer tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me easily flush against him and hummed into my neck. “No, Legs, that was not a dream.” I could feel his lips against my skin and the sensation sent a shiver through me as I remembered the places they had been not too long before. Wiggling as I cracked my back, I could feel familiar fingers tighten slightly on my hip. ”Keep it up, Jay, and see where that gets you. I can almost guarantee that Austin and the boys are not exactly raring for a repeat performance.” I couldn’t help but laugh as I squirmed to face Spencer, running a hand through his even more unruly hair.* Yeah, I’m not exactly shy about a whole lot, honestly. Besides, it’s a fucking typhoon out there, he should have his windows closed. Fucking pervs. *I spared a quick glance at the windows that faced bungalow next door, the golden light seeping through the half closed blinds. If I squinted just right I could see the silhouette of heads but I didn’t have enough energy to figure out who exactly they were. Twisting my legs with Spencer’s, I pulled back just enough to be able to examine the dark ink that seemed to be covering every inch of exposed skin, my fingers trailing over the lines absently as I tried to take it all in. “Shy wasn’t a word I would have applied to you from the get go, Legs. I mean you did scream at a stranger wearing next to nothing…” His words trailed off in a soft, happy sigh as I kept up my exploring. “You’re either gonna put me to sleep or get yourself in trouble if you keep that up. It feels way too fucking good.” Peeking up from my study, a small smile tugged at my lips as I saw Spencer’s eyes close as a grin formed on his lips. Jesus fuck this man was beautiful. Stretching, I brushed a kiss over the lopsided scorpion that graced his neck before wiggling out of his hold. That was obviously not what he had in mind, and I was greeted with an adorable as fuck pout as I slipped from the bed, laughing as I grabbed Spencer’s discarded shirt and shrugged into it, only bothering with half the buttons while I headed into the bathroom. It only took me a moment to get cleaned up and I leaned against the doorframe for a moment just watching my companion like a goddamn creeper. The storm that raged outside was goddamn glorious but it didn’t even touch the man in my bed. He was still laying down, flat on his back, and his hands were laced behind his head, as he watched me with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.* What? * “I like you in that shirt is all. It suits you. Now come back here and cuddle?” It wasn’t as much a request as it was a statement, and I laughed as I ran my fingers through my sex mussed hair.* Not quite yet, I’m fucking starving. Pancakes? * There really wasn’t an option but I figured I would make it seem like there was. “Strawberries?” The reply was so hopeful that I couldn't bring myself to say no, even though I’d had plans for the pint of bright red berries that I had grabbed at the farmer’s market on the way home.* And chocolate, if you’re really lucky. *Shooting him a wink, I tossed my head and padded barefoot towards the kitchen, flipping lights and fans on along the way. I was halfway through mixing the batter from scratch, because fuck Bisquick, when Spencer finally sauntered in, bare chested with jeans slung low on his hips and his hair an absolute mess. He looked like sex and that was an absolutely accurate description. “Can I do anything?” His voice was soft and he leaned against the island in the middle of the kitchen, still looking a little sleepy.* Not really, if you want to reset the clock, maybe get some music on? Make coffee? Pancakes aren’t very hard. *At the last suggestion, he perked up and fished his phone out of his pocket, getting a pot of coffee going before hooking his phone into the house wide speaker system. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was catchy as fuck and I hummed along under my breath as I spooned batter onto the griddle on my stove. Between chopping the berries and chocolate, flipping the pancakes and stirring the melted syrup and butter on one of the back burners, time sped by quickly and the stack of golden brown delights in the warm oven was almost complete, although far too much for two people. Spencer snatched a slice of strawberry from the cutting board as he handed me a mug of coffee, already doctored with cream and sugar, his gaze darting from the waiting food to the window that looked out towards Austin’s house in an unspoken question. I didn’t hide my laugh as I nodded, although my reply was cut off by a solid rapping on the door and a very familiar voice yelling from outside. “It’s fucking raining out here, come the fuck on Jay!” Rolling my eyes, I kissed Spencer’s cheek as I passed, swatting his ass, my voice low as I whispered against his ear.* I promise you are gonna make that up to me. *The blinding smile I received in response more than made up for it , and his reply drifted behind me as I made my way to the front door. “Oh don’t worry, Legs, I will.” I had zero doubts about that, and I’m sure, if the expression on Austin’s face when I opened the door was anything to go by, nobody else did either. “I don’t even want to know, just point me to the pancakes.” At least the boy was honest. Stepping back to let the troop of not exactly invited guests in, I gestured towards the kitchen before pushing the door forcibly shut against the wind as a chorus of curses rang out from behind me. It was gonna be a long night. * #IdReallyLoveToSpendTheNight
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Let You Know Just How Much You Mean To Me
*Whoever the asshole at my door was REALLY needed to fuck off. Like hard. I mean, granted it was maybe four o’clock in the afternoon, but I had gotten off of work at eleven AM after a sixteen hour shift. I needed my goddamn sleep, mostly so I didn’t kill a bitch. Maybe if I ignored it, they would go away. Then again, that hadn’t worked since it started five minutes ago. The knocking was steady, almost rhythmic and if I wasn’t laying down I would be tapping my foot. Once the doorbell rang, I was done for and I threw my blankets back, nearly stomping to the door, my faded t-shirt and panties doing very little to leave anything to the imagination. If this was some goddamn salesman or religious nut, he was about to see a whole lot more than Jesus, let me fucking tell you. Yanking the door open, I was just about to let loose a string of choice expletives when I realized who, exactly, was standing on the other side. Granted the tie took me off guard, as did the sweater vest, but the shaggy hair and tattooed to fuck hands that had starred in more than one round of alone time were kind of a dead give away. I didn’t hesitate before snagging the cup of coffee that was clasped in his hand, ‘Romantic’ spelled out in stark black against olive skin. Not speaking, I took a long sip of the piping hot beverage and moaned a little too loudly, earning me a grin, complete with a raised brow behind dark Ray-bans.* Shut the fuck up, it was a long night. *My voice was still husky with sleep and it wasn’t until I saw a mother hustle her toddler across the street like I was summoning Satan on my front porch that I remembered I wasn’t exactly appropriate for well, anything. Stepping back, cream and green cup clutched tightly to my chest, I toed the door open and stepped back into my small entry way, waving a hand in the air.* You coming in or am I going to have to put on pants? *I squinted against the sun that was rapidly being hidden behind storm clouds and wrinkled my nose. That shit needed to be gone, we were more than due for some storms and I wanted them. A fucking lot. “Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you…” The words were tossed off all casual as fuck and I closed the door behind Spencer as he sauntered in, dropping his bag and sunglasses on the paint covered chair in front of the bay window before falling into the overstuffed recliner in my living room.* Please, make yourself comfortable. *I feigned seriousness, but I couldn’t hide my smile as I plopped down on my couch and sipped the manna from fucking heaven that Spencer had delivered. I had been over to Austin’s several times in the last few weeks, although despite the rules set forth on my first visit, I always wore pants. They were a good group, really good, and I liked them all, once I got over their late night video exploits. Hell, I even joined them in screaming at the television a time or two even though I knew dick all about what was going on. I’d made brownies, even. That shit was serious. This was the first time any of them had managed to make their way past my door however, and it was quite a pleasant surprise. Raising my coffee cup at Spencer, I gave a smile as I watched him glance around my living room. My walls were painted a weathered white and I had canvases and framed prints strewn across them. Some were mine and some weren’t but they all meant something to me, in some way. Every piece captured a moment in time; there was something about each one that spoke to me. Some of them thrilled me and some broke me but every goddamn one meant something. The silence as he studied them was comfortable, and I could hear the wind pushing against the windows outside, the wild clanging of the hideous fucking wind chime on the back porch combining with the music that drifted from my bedroom to create a bizarre melody that was kind of fucking perfect.* So, to what do I owe this visit? Cause it’s a weird damn time for you to stop by and simply ogle my art and my ass, although I won’t ever complain about either. And why are you dressed like a junior high English teacher? *The questions were in rapid fire succession, although I blamed that on sleep deprivation. I wasn’t too tired to mean every word though, and I was curious as to what brought him out, with my favorite fuel in tow. “It’s never a weird time for me to ogle your ass, Legs, and I figured today was as good a day as ever to see some of the art you and C are always going on about. Fucking nerds.” The last words were delivered with a teasing and almost obscene smile and, had I not been holding coffee, I would have thrown one of the many pillows behind my head at him. “And I’m dressed like an middle school English teacher because I AM a middle school english teacher. You know this, J , we have talked about it repeatedly.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. We had talked about it repeatedly, but it was kind of like my not really being a nurse until they saw me in scrubs. The uniform makes the man, as it were. And this uniform fucking suited him, just as much as faded band shirts and ripped jeans did. He was too fucking pretty for his own good and I was not so quietly jealous of him and Casey both because jesus fucking christ, they made a pretty picture. One that I really shouldn’t have been thinking about pantsless with Spencer in my living room and a storm brewing outside. Shaking away that particular train of thought, I flipped Spencer off inconstantly and drained almost half of my coffee before jumping back up.* Come on, Professor, I’ll give you the nickel tour if you want it. There’s more art on the third floor. You can see how I compare to Case. *The words were a deliberately laced double entendre although that was nothing out of the ordinary for either of us. Any of us, to be frank. Except Joe. Joe was all that was pure and good in this world, better than us all by far. Well, and Casey. C was a tough nut to crack which only served to make him even more desirable. He could, and often did, go from trading barbs with Spencer, Austin and Me to blushing furiously and doing everything in his considerable power to disappear. It was adorable and made me want to do all kinds of fun and filthy things to see just how red he could get. No. Focus Jaymes. Shaking my head as if to physically dispel that train of thought, my hair fell in my eyes and I brushed it back as I wandered towards the stairs, Spencer right behind me. I may have swayed my hips a little more than necessary because why the fuck not? Pointing at both the hallway to the kitchen and bathroom, I started up towards the second floor as a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead.* Kitchen, Bathroom, pretty sure those are both self explanatory.* A gruff laugh that maybe sent a little bit of a shiver down my spine was the only response as I stopped at the top of the stairs, pointing to the closed doors on either side of the short hallway.* My room, and the guest room. I guarantee the beds are better than at Austin’s if you get tired of the sandpaper sheets before your remodel is done. *I could even hear the smile in my voice and I grinned as I met Spencer’s gaze. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Legs, cause I love Austin but his taste in bedding is awful. I have delicate skin.’’ I couldn’t help my laugh at that, clear and genuine. That little asshole.* Of course I mean it, but I can guarantee your tiny ass is the opposite of sensitive. Nobody with that much ink can be that delicate. *I gave his shoulder a brush with mine as I skirted past him towards the stairs to the third floor, the brightly colored ink that cascaded down my own arm standing out in stark contrast to the white of his button down.* Now stop jizzing over my sheets, you haven’t seen the best part. *Tossing a grin over my shoulder, I dashed up the stairs, leaning against my desk at the top as I waited for him. I rarely had people in my home, there were very few that I actually gave more than a passing fuck about, but this was my favorite part for those that did. I always made sure I stood where I could see their face. My studio was, to anyone else, a mess. Bits and pieces of projects were scattered across every available surface; scraps of paper here, paint brushes and pallets there. Inspirations pulled from books and magazines mixed with photos of people and things I loved were tacked to the walls. There were ink stains on almost every surface; the colors splattered against the weathered hardwood like a project all their own. Shelves on three walls were lined with supplies; acrylics, brushes, pens, inks and all of the other tools of my trade were interspersed with dozens of books on every style of art I could think of, even if I didn’t create it myself. I fucking loved to learn about it. Hell if I could live solely on nicotine, coffee and knowledge, I fucking would. I had seen Spencer’s face when Casey had spoken of his art, and he was absolutely enraptured. Then again, Casey kind of had that effect on people, even ones he hadn’t fucked on his brother's counter; It was just who he was. I cast a sideways glance out the floor to ceiling windows that made up the fourth wall and smiled almost reflexively at the clouds that hung over the ocean. They were heavy, an angry green-grey that promised storms even more so than the thunder that rolled overhead. “Holy shit.” The exclamation was quiet and pulled my attention, rightfully so. I couldn’t help my grin as I watched Spencer look around, his eyes wide. I didn’t move for a moment, just watching as he moved around, inked fingers moving over things as though he could learn about them by touching. Well, at least he wasn’t putting them in his mouth; most of them didn’t taste very good and I knew from experience. He stopped cold in front of the easel that was set up to the side of the glass wall, staring at it in earnest. I wasn’t a painter but I liked to play at it. There was something soothing about mixing colors and watching them come to life on a canvas, searching for hidden images in the depths, that made me happy. Nodding my head in time to the music that spilled from the speakers, I made my way to his side, and stood in silence for a moment before opening my mouth, although I got cut off before I could form any actual words. “It’s a fucking mess and I kind of love it.” The statement was blunt but appreciative, and my grin was an automatic response. My art was seldom pretty, and in my opinion the best art never was. It was divisive and full of feelings; it made you wince or moan. There was no in between and yet it was nothing but. That was why I loved it so much. “C does something similar… the colors. I can’t fucking understand it, but I like it. A lot.” Well shit, I couldn’t have been more pleased if he had compared me to goddamn van Gogh. Beaming, I looked away for just a moment as the sky opened up with a roar of thunder, raindrops immediately pelting against the glass windows in sheets. I fucking loved that sound. Ruffling my hand through Spencer’s already disheveled hair, I snag his hand, tugging him easily towards the stairs.* I’ll take that as the highest of compliments cause hot fucking damn. I’ve got some more downstairs, actually finished and everything. Plus beer and a swing on the back porch. Best goddamn place to watch the storm and if this keeps up it’s gonna be a fuck of a sh- *My words were cut off my an electric sizzle in the air and an almost deafening crash as lightning struck, from the sounds of it very nearby. I stopped short as the room plunged into darkness, too quickly for Spencer, apparently, and he crashed into me, his hands tightening on my hips as he pressed solidly against my back. He was oddly cold which made no fucking sense at all to me, but the brush of lips against the back of my neck, kind of made sense vanish into the goddamn ether. Then again maybe it was the stifled groan that did it. Either way, I was fucking good with that shit. I didn’t bother to resist the grip that easily spun me around, because I wasn’t fucking stupid and goddamn had it been a long time, meeting those goddamn gorgeous eyes for little more than a blink before one of those hands that I openly admired slid from my hip to my neck, pulling not exactly gently and crashing his lips to mine in a desperate kiss. *#LetYouKnowHowMuchYouMean
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The Awful Things I've Seen
*Fucking hell I was exhausted. You know what? No. I wasn’t exhausted, I was so far past it that it wasn’t even funny. I couldn’t remember EVER being this tired, not even when I was in school. Pulling a double major isn’t easy but when it is so vastly fucking different, well, that’s when you get fucked, and not nearly at all in the good way. I’d always wanted to go to art school, for as long as I could fucking remember. It was my passion growing up; my refuge and my solace from the fucking insanity that was my daily life. Yeah, looking back on it my high school experience was not nearly as bad as it could have been, but it was far from good. High school, as a general rule, was fiucking awful and anyone who said otherwise was either a liar or high as fuck. Maybe both. I was an absolute fat kid, shy as hell. Fashion didn’t interest me, I couldn’t give two fucks about sports and I spent all my spare time, and there was a lot of it, in the art wing doing… who the fuck knew what. I knew, even then, that art was where my future was, in some way. Sadly, someone forgot to tell my parents this because there was no way they would pay for art school. Ever. They made way too much for me to qualify for student aid so I buckled the fuck down, put my nose to the grindstone, slept as little as humanly possible, drank way too much coffee, smoked far more than could ever begin to be healthy and managed to graduate with a BFA in visual arts and a BS in Nursing. The latter was so that I wouldn’t end up on the streets, as my father so eloquently put it. Well, actually, he screamed it as I was packing my shit on graduation day and getting the fuck out of their house. I hadn’t been back since, not even thought about it. That shit was something I didn’t need, not now, and not for a very long time. I’d managed on my own for almost five years now, with nobody but myself. No attachments except for co-workers and the occasional one night stand cause a girl’s got needs. Aside from that it was usually just me, my paints, my music and the ocean. Exactly how I liked it. But this weekend was not, however usual. It wasn’t even in the same goddamn hemisphere as usual. I worked at the hospital in town PRN because, well, bills needed to get paid. Usually a shift to three a week was more than enough to supplement my freelance work but every now and then, life reared it’s fucking ugly head. And life. Was. A.Bitch. I couldn’t tell you why people did stupid, cruel things to each other. I don’t know why anyone could possibly justify the actions that nearly ended someone’s life with something as simple as a whoops. I didn’t believe in god, not with the things that I saw. When almost an entire family is obliterated in a blink; confined to hospital beds with machines doing the jobs that their frail, broken bodies should, there is never an answer. I watched over these girls, all four of them, ages four to twenty four for the better part of 48 hours. I caught naps in the on call rooms, showered in the lockers and stole scrubs from the OR. They could fucking deal with it. When their parents finally showed up, grief stricken and jet-lagged from their flight from London to see what was left of their daughters, all of those hopes and dreams confined shattered and bruised in hospital beds, they broke. And I didn’t. It wasn’t until they made the decision to end life support that I allowed myself to feel anything. I broke down with them, tears spilling down my cheeks as the monitors slowed in frightening succession, until all that was left was a single, deafening beep. And the girl who caused it? The one who ended more than just the lives of the four girls who were slowly growing cold in the morgue? She had barely a scratch. Life fucking sucked. That was fucking it. I’d walked out the doors of the hospital in a daze, clutching a cup of coffee for the drive although I almost immediately forgot it as soon as I pulled up in front of my house. My small little piece of paradise was covered in grey clapboard shutters, bright white trim and had a swing on the end of the wrap around porch. I couldn’t hear the waves at the moment but the salt air stung my nose and the cold breeze sent a very much needed chill down my spine as it somehow managed to blow the memories of the last forty-eight hours out of my head. The sun was setting behind the dunes, painting the sky almost obscene shades of orange and violet as it sank below the horizon, the dark blackness of the night creeping in. It was goddamn gorgeous. It did absolutely nothing for the physical toll the time had taken, however. That could only be solved by a steak, a shower, a shot, some sleep and a good fuck. But I only had two of the five so I would make the fuck do. Half an hour and two shots of Jack later, I smelled like honey and apples and the little bit of alcohol floating through my veins was making me happily fuzzy. Nowhere near drunk of course, but just.. Fuzzy. In the best way. And old button down, soft and paint spattered, and panties took the place of my regular pajamas and I could hear the waves crashing through the open window as I slid between the cool sheets, letting out a content sigh as I nearly melted into the bed. I could already feel sleep inching in at the edges of my consciousness, and gave a small smile that pulled at my lips as I started to give in to the peace and quiet at last. And then the goddamn screaming started. It wasn’t violent, not at all, and as much as I fucking loved swearing, I did NOT want to hear that shit right now. My neighbor’s windows were open again and it sounded like an entire fucking fraternity was over there, shooting who the fuck knows what. Because of course. Groaning, I rolled over, clamping my pillow over my ears to block out the noise. No fucking way was I going to close my window, not tonight. No fucking way. The pillow worked for all of two point four seconds and then the goddamn laughter began. And didn’t. Fucking. Stop. Fuck it. Throwing back my blankets, I didn’t bother to stop for pants, or shoes actually, as I stormed through my house and out the front door. The gravel stung under my bare feet as I stalked across my driveway and through my neighbor’s gate, but instead of actually registering as pain, it only fueled my anger as I stomped up the steps and rapped on the door, far harder than I probably should have. The air was decidedly colder than I remembered and the wind caught the ends of my dark, messy hair, tossing the strands in front of my eyes. The longer I waited, the more pissed off I got and by the time the door finally opened, yellow light spilling onto the porch, I was pretty fucking livid, even for me. And I could be, quite frankly, a bitch at the best of times. This was NOT the best of times.* What the fuck? Do you assholes have ANY idea how fucking loud you are? I know it isn’t all that goddamn late but sweet fucking Jesus on a goddamn cracker. Some people have to work. Not everyone has the fucking luxury of spending their nights killing zombies or beating hookers or whatever the fuck it is that you are doing. Could you maybe fucking quiet the fuck down? Just for one goddamn night? *Well. If screaming like a goddamn lunatic at a total stranger wasn’t the way to get my point across, who the fuck knew what was. The guy in the doorway, much to his credit, looked absolutely un-phased, arching a brow at me and pushed up his tattered shirt sleeves, giving me just a glimpse of dark ink covering his forearms before turning to call over his shoulder deeper into the house, where I could still hear whatever ridiculous fucking game they were playing, along with the laughter that was starting to tap dance on my last goddamn nerve. “Yo, Austin! There is a screaming, half naked woman on your porch.” It took a minute before I heard the muffled reply from parts unknown, this time in a voice I knew. “Have I slept with her? Cause if I have, I’m not here. And I’m also gay.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the comment, not bothering to hide my scoff as Ink turned his attention back to me, leaning casually against the doorframe like this was something he did every goddamn day and giving me a once over before yelling back into the melee of zombie killing or what the fuck ever. “Pretty sure you haven’t slept with her, Dude. That would kind of rule out the gay thing. Although it would confirm some of my suspicions.” The words were lazy and I could almost hear the smile in his voice, and god fucking help me if it didn’t bring my temper down just a little bit. “I’ll be right there. Tell her I’ll be right there!” I heard a blast of gunfire and muffled curses in at least two different voices as my bare foot tapped against the worn paint on the porch. “He’ll be right there. Did you want to come in? It can’t be fucking comfortable out there.” There was a note of genuine concern in his voice, or at least there seemed to be, and I shook my head, the haze of anger starting to clear as I realized the ridiculousness of the situation.* No, I’m good. Listen I just- *I was cut off A-FUCKING-GAIN by a voice from the back, although this question nearly made me smile. “Dude, is she hot?” Well shit. I caught Ink’s gaze as he turned back around, raising a brow in an unspoken question. He was kind of short but ballsy as fuck, giving me another once over and a wink as he yelled back into the recesses of the house. “Yeah, she’s hot.” Well, the last of my anger fizzled out right fucking quick and I stood up a little straighter, momentarily distracted by my earlier list of things that would help me unwind. No. No, Jaymes. No. Do not even think about that. A heavily tattooed hand waved in front of my face and it took me a second, my mind immediately going straight to the gutter as my long neglected hormones did a goddamn dance, before I could focus enough to speak, let alone hear. Knuckles over there was stepping back and waving me inside and I followed, of my own fucking accord, mentally screaming at myself. I needed to be home, in bed asleep. Instead, I was half naked in a stranger's house having supremely filthy thoughts about someone who I had never met. They were, in my defense, absolutely justified, however. I don’t think a goddamn nun would hold them against me, not right now anyway. It had been a long week and getting off probably would have been a better choice than Jack. Too late to change that decision. Finally managing to make my goddamn brain work on something other than the most fucking basic of levels, I pushed my wind tangled hair out of my eyes and offered the man across from me a small smile.* Thanks. I’m Jaymes , I live next door.” I gestured towards my house with my head, tugging the cuffs of my shirt down over my fingers and twisting them in the threadbare fabric as I fought a shiver. It was cold as dick outside. Then again, I wasn’t wearing pants. So there was that. “Pleasure, Jaymes, I’m Spencer. I’m not one of the assholes who was killing zombies. But I was laughing, so I guess I’m a little at fault. Come on, I kind of want to see you yell at Austin. Fifty bucks says he tries to hit on you.” Ink didn’t bother hiding his laugh or waiting on a reply before heading towards the back of the house and I didn’t bother to think for a goddamn second before I followed behind him. This was going to get fucking interesting. And quick.*
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The Taste Of Ink Is Getting Old
Fuck! *The exclamation was bitter and far louder than it probably should have been at this hour but the amount of fucks I gave equaled less than zero. If my goddamn neighbors could play videogames at all fucking hours, and scream at imaginary men holding make believe guns, I sure as shit could yell at four o’clock in the fucking morning if I wanted to. Pushing up from my desk, I stripped out of my ink covered sleep shorts and headed down the stairs to the bathroom in nothing more than a t-shirt. I ignored my reflection and spit in the sink, the bright white porcelain spattered with black. It looked like something out of a d-grade sci-fi flick. Twisting the squeaky faucet, I cupped my hands under the stupidly hot water and sucked it into my mouth, swishing quickly before spitting again. Less black and more grey. That was a start. Another two rounds and the water was almost clear again although the reflection in the mirror proved that was not the whole story. My tongue was black as pitch and looked almost alien against bright white teeth and deep red lipstick that was freckled with ink. Trippy. As. Fuck. Flipping the light out, I padded barefoot and bare assed back into my office, snagging a pair of panties from the basket of laundry that had sat, clean but unfolded, in the hallway for over a week. Housekeeping wasn’t my thing, to say the least. Fortunately I had a goddamn great service that came over and took care of that shit twice a week, bottom to almost top. The only thing off limits to, well, everyone, was my office.
I could hear the music as I approached the narrow stairs, the pounding drums and perfect fucking guitars soothing my soul in a way that only they could. My office was my baby, and I had spent more than I’d paid for my car to have the attic in my bungalow renovated and outfitted with everything that I would need to work. The wooden shelves that covered three of the four walls were covered with reclaimed pine shelves that contained more art supplies that I could have imagined at one point, all painstakingly organized by type and color. Because that shit was important. The fourth wall was floor to ceiling windows that looked out over my little patch of backyard and the ocean beyond. It was fucking perfect. Plopping down at my desk, I wrinkled my nose at the mess that was strewn across the white sketchbook and brushed the whole mess into the trash with a clatter. Time to start from scratch.
Pulling open the drawer, I fished one of the two dozen or so black pens out and set the cap meticulously upright in the very corner of my desk before popping the end in my mouth and clasping it between my teeth. The taste of ink had gotten old real fucking quick but the bi-weekly reminders did little to curb my habit. It was something I had always done, as if I was trying to get a feel for the world around me by tasting it. Four senses just weren’t enough to take everything in. Sometimes it paid off and sometimes not so much but that didn’t stop me from doing it. Pushing my glasses back up on my nose, I turned the music up almost to the point of being too loud, if there was such a thing, and got back to work, singing under my breath as the canvas before me changed from flat white to alive with colors and lines as the hours wore on and the sun peeked over the horizon.* #TheTasteOfInkIsGettingOld
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