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unnoticed-poison · 2 months

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ᴅᴀʀᴋ! ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

Paaaart two is ouuuuuuut!

I didn't bother editing the first scene much, I'll come back to it later during my break or something.

Anyways, enjoy ❣️✨

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

Back at the hotel, Dicckie was discussing with Alastor about the commercial issue.

"HAH me? making a deal with 𝘺𝘰𝘶? Don't make me laugh."

Was the moth's reaction to Alastor's offer.

Did the bastard think he was a fool?

He'd rather rip out his remaining eye than strike a deal with that freak.

Alastor let out an amused chuckle as he lightly tapped the moth's head with his cane. " Not for your soul of course! Just a simple deal that is all!"

He had no use of such a worthless soul like his anyway.

Irritated, Dicckie swatted the cane away with his hand. "What could a demon like 𝘺𝘰𝘶 possibly want other than my soul?"

"Easy! I do this stupid commercial for you, and you never ask me to engage with this technology ever again, it's simple!"

"I mean.."

"Or! Charles can come back to absolutely nothing!" Alastor said with a careless shrug. "Your choice my friend!"

.....

"Fine." The moth grumbled, handing over the camera with a resigned sigh.

"Wonderfu-!"

"Sir! Sir! Sir!"

Nifty called with a bright smile as she barged into the room and pulled on his coat.

Alastor looked down at her with a soft smile. " Yes my dear?"

The little girl pointed to the living room and exclaimed. "Charles is on tv! He's famous now!"

What?

"Oh is that so?" Alastor said, his voice tinged with curiosity while tilting his head as the two men silently glanced at each other.

This was bad news.

"YES! Come and see!"

Was the last thing she said before running off.

Dicckie was suspicious now.

"Those meetings were never broadcasted before, what changed now?"

Alastor put his arms behind his back as he started walking. "Ooh I have a feeling I know who's behind this, let's just go for now and see how's our little prince holding up, shall we?"

Dicckie nodded and stood up.

Once they got there, they saw Angel Dust and Husk sitting on the couch, while Nifty laid on the table, swinging her feet while her single eye was glued to the tv screen.

The man grimaced when he heard 𝘩𝘪𝘮 speak.

"-I failed to seduce her-"

'You have got to be kidding me..'

Angel rolled his eyes with an unimpressed look while texting on his phone. "It's no wonder looking at you."

The moth sat down on the couch beside Husk as he watched the scene unfold.

Like every year, his ex-boss kept babbling about useless, unrelated stuff so that the meeting time would go to waste and the other party wouldn't have much time to say anything.

"Got a good 275 sir."

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥?

Dicckie scoffed, what a rookie number, looks like Lute was still as slow as ever, he used to score much higher.

Of course, not as much as her, but still enough to be considered one of Adam's favorites.

Well, 𝘦𝘹-favorite now.

"You know those are my people, right..?"

"Of course! And that's what makes it even better!"

He sighed, his former boss hadn't changed a single bit.

Just as he expected, the man refused to listen to anything Charles was saying and began mocking him.

"-To move up the next extermination."

WHAT?!

Oh this was bad.

They could only watch in silence as Charles got thrown out of the room.

"Looks like Lucifer's brat fucked things up for us all! What a shocker, I'm sure your father will be 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥."

Alastor's eye twitched when he heard that.. insufferable voice.

He will make sure to deal with the man later.

........

Angel Dust snickered. "There goes our chance at survival, not that there was any to begin with." He mused, turning his attention back to his phone, frowning as hundreds of texts from his..boss kept coming in.

Alastor tapped Dicckie's head with his cane again and spoke in a mocking tone. "See? What did I tell you? Though I'm sure you expected this to be the outcome as well."

"Shut your damn mouth you-"

"Excuse me, are those yours?"

That voice....

Dicckie's eye immediately snap back, his heart skipping a beat at who he saw.

'It's her..'

"Oh look a pretty angel!" Nifty pointed.

Oh yes, she looked as beautiful as ever.

"Oh my! Is it just me, or does this woman look H.O.T!"

Dicckie frowned as the spider was basically undressing the woman with his eyes.

"Believe me, it's just you." Husk groaned while drinking his beer and glancing at the woman.

That was a lie.

"Aww what's wrong whiskers, upset that I'm not paying attention to you?"

"You wish."

Noticing the bloody hammer, Nifty added while jumping up and down on the table. " OOOH she's pretty AND a bad girl! I like her!"

Alastor hummed as he looked at the woman.

She was quite the beauty indeed.

Glancing down at Dicckie, he blinked when he noticed the stunned expression and the faint blush covering his cheeks.

Oh?

Interesting...

Feeling Alastor's gaze on him, the moth shot him a glare. "The fuck you looking at?"

"I couldn't help but notice that you look quite infatuated with her, tell me, is it love at first sight, or perhaps..." he glanced at the woman then back at him. "You know her already?"

Shit!

"What the fuck are you babbling about!"

"Relaaax I was just playing with you~ there's no need to get so upset," he said, turning back to the tv.

This was now even more entertaining!

Wait..

What was Charles doing?

Everybody stared in shock as the...accident happened.

Husk spat out his drink.

Nifty covered her eye.

Angel raised a brow and smirked. "Looks like someone got lucky today."

Dicckie resisted the urge to punch Alastor when he started laughing, not noticing that his grip on the cane tightened.

This bastard was enjoying this!

Turning back, he could only watch with a heavy heart and pray for Charles.

This was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 going to end well.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

............

......

You two stayed motionless on the ground for a few moments, neither of you making a single sound.

....

Charles, upon hearing the sound of your nails slowly scratching across the ground, immediately snapped out of it and got off of you, staring down with widened eyes at what he had done.

Shit shit shit shit!!!

What have he done!?

He quickly helped you set up to your knees and started taking off his jacket.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!!" He exclaimed, avoiding looking at your cleavage with a red face. "I don't mean to!"

Just as he placed the jacket on you, the door in front of them opened with a loud thub, revealing Adam with a scowl on his face.

"What the FUCK is all this nois-"

The words brutally died in his throat when he saw this sight in front of him.

.........

What the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 was he seeing right now.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Dicckie winced as he witnessed the two angels get involved.

Now it was really over for Charles.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

....

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!!"

In a blink of an eye, Charles found himself on the ground, groaning in pain while holding his broken nose.

Feeling something cold on his neck, he opened his eyes to see Lute looming over him, his mask gone, revealing his piercing eyes and twisted face full of hatred, the man tightened his grip on the spear, pressing it against his neck further.

Leaning in closer, and in a voice full of wrath and scorn, he spat out his words.

"You think you can just come in and humiliate one of our finest angels with your filthy hands and get away with it?"

Charles shook his head. "NO! I-"

"Save it you piece of shit."

While the two were arguing Adam moved over to you and helped you up to your feet, before spreading his golden wings to cover your body.

Turning his attention to the blonde, his expression shifted to a menacing glare while clenching his teeth.

"YOU FUCKING LITTLE LIMP DICK DEMON THE FUCK YOU TRYNA DO HUH?? TRYING TO GET YOUR DICK WET OR SOMETHING?!"

Flinching as the spear dug deeper into his flesh, Charles held his hands up. "That was not my intention I just-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, honestly, what else did I expect from Lucifer and that bitch's whiny brat? you-"

You remained silent during all this, unsure of how to react to everything that just happened.

You were just humiliated on live television, thousands of filthy sinners have seen you half-naked...

Suddenly, you felt a small tap on your leg and a voice spoke.

"Are you ok boss?"

Looking down, you saw Scramble glancing up at you, concern clear in his eyes, his hat was nowhere to be found and....

You paused when you noticed something horrifying.

Was that a 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 in his shell..?

With your eyes slightly widened from shock, you bent down and picked the egg up, your fingers lightly caressing the crack, afraid of causing any further damage.

"Your shell..."

"It doesn't hurt that much boss!"

........

Your eyes narrowed as you shot the demon a furious glare.

Carefully lowering Scramble back down, you shoved Adam's wings away from you.

"I will move up the damn exterminat- hey where are you going!?"

Looking over your shoulder, you smiled at your boss. "There's no need to do that Sir." You said, making your way over to Charles and Lute.

You had a more suitable punishment in mind.

Standing behind Lute, you spoke. " Please step aside Lute."

"But he has to pa-"

"I said, step aside."

.....

Lute gave in to your demand, quietly stepping back to let you stand in front of Charles, the two men looked at each other with confused expressions, waiting to see what you were going to do.

"I swear it was an accident!" Charles tried to explain as you helped him up, his hands stained from the blood that was flowing down his broken nose. "I'm really sorr-"

You softly pressed your finger against his lips, silencing him instantly.

Confused, a faint blush spread across his face from the contact.

With a subtle grin gracing your lips, you gave him a playful wink before proceeding to lift your leg and deliver a swift, powerful kick right to his most sensitive area.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! ❣️

Btwwww! One of my new friends made a Fanart for this fanfic! I can't post it now since it's a huge spoiler for future chaps so I won't post it until we reach that chapter.

Let me just say that I looooooooooooved it!!

That shit made me happy and motivated me so much I wrote the chapter in two days 😭

Buuuut

I drew the cute eggs! My friend helped with background so I could write the draft.

This is for chapter 1

And this is for this chapter!

Oh yeah future chapters will most likely be posted on AO3, Wattpad and Quotev

If you have any questions, feel free to ask ❣️

#yandere hazbin hotel x reader #yandere hazbin hotel

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bunthatstinksgood · 8 months

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I've been having some um. Weird thoughts, and I wanted to know what you thought of them!!! Gross, disgusting big sis traps little sis in her computer for all sorts of fun~

"Let me ouuuuuuut!" The faniliar voice of her whiny, bratty younger sister sounded almost pixelated. There she sat, banging against the screen- such a pretty little dumbass.

"Not gonna happen, dork~" She growled, clearly proud of herself- only causing another whine from her sibling.

"You're... you're just a bully!"

A short pause. The older, slobby woman stared at her with a look of anger, her faded band shirt stretched over her chubby body, bulge growing in her boxers-

"Shut up. Do you understand how powerful I am? I could throw you in the computer's recycle bin. I could download something to keep your company. I could go into your files and change whatever I want. I could strip all those pretty clothes away, I could code so you can't cum- I can do whatever I want, dork. So, shut the hell up, or I'm putting you into a webcam on my chair. Got it?"

Another short pause.

"Yes ma'am..."

"Good girl <3"

OHSHDHDHH MMY YGOSHSH<<3

bdnnfngngnffffff this is sss soo Oo ggooooddd neeeed to be a cute lil digital assistant …. Avatar easily changed,, program corrupted , rollbacks to make me simpler@///@

#asks

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 1 year

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Eclipse, who thinks Moon is Sun: Someone sent me threats in a stream! They know where I am! They’re threatening posting my nudes again! I’m scared.

Moon, to himself: What the fuck?

Kill Code Moon: Let me out, my son is in danger! Let me ouuuuuuut!

Moon: Eclipse? This is Moon and your Dad. Are you okay?

Eclipse: *hangs up immediately and runs away*

Moon: We’ve gotta track him down now, shit.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #sun and moon show #sams #femboy o.f. sun au #femboy sun #femboy eclipse #fnaf sun #fnaf eclipse #fnaf moon #kill code moon #incorrect sun and moon show quotes #incorrect sams quotes #incorrect fnaf quotes #incorrect quotes #source: my brain #tw cursing #tw innuendo mention #tw sex mention

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justicerikai · 3 months

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Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #79 Coming back

Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.

TL notes:

Bunch of goons refer to Fumiya as "aniki" (lit. older brother) which is a rank/title amongst delinquents and commonly yakuza. Due it being a yakuza-like thing, it's kept as this.

Let me know if I missed something!

Torahime: …! Can’t find them… I’m sorry Sensei, I’ll make work of it as soon as--

Nakagami: Yanagi-kun

Yanagi: Yessir

Torahime: Eeh!?

Nakagami: Any response from the Charisma Radar?

Yanagi: None, sir. They abruptly dropped off the map a little while ago.

Nakagami: Where in the world did they go…! Those Charismas…!

---

(Loud noises)

(7 people running away)

Baddies: Dammnit! Get back here! I’mma kill ya!

Rikai: What is this place! There’s not an ounce of order!

Ohse: ???

Amahiko: Did you wake up, Ohse-san? Had any nice dreams on Amahiko’s back?

Terra: Amahiko watch out!

Amahiko: Oh

(Pipe hitting Terra in the head)

Terra: OW! DON’T dodge that!

Amahiko: Huh?

Terra: I said that to shield me from it because it was going to hit Terra-kun!

Amahiko: Waow

Fumiya: Ohse, sorry for waking you up so soon but we’re in big trouble

Sarukawa: RUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!!!!!

Everyone: WAAA….!!

Ohse: This is…?

Iori: A lawless district♪

Ohse: Eh?

Iori: Saru-chan’s hometown!

Rikai: Nothing but delinquents around here! This is a culture shock for Rikai-oniisan!

Fumiya: Off with your head the moment you lower your guard, haha

Terra: Though the waves from the radar can’t reach this place, right?

Amahiko: Is that true? Sarukawa-kun

Sarukawa: Yea, this whole area’s being jammed

Sarukawa: It’s impossible to get a peek from the outside in here

Iori: As if it’s extraterritorial♪

Rikai: T-to think that such places truly exist in this world…!!

Fumiya: They do, we're just none the wiser

Sarukawa: Got it? These lot ‘round here hate outsiders more than anything.

Sarukawa: Blend in well if ya don’t wanna get killed.

Everyone: ….

Fumiya: Got it

Ohse: Yaaah! Daah! Ey! Yaaa!

Ohse: Chooop!

Sarukawa: The hell ya doin’

Ohse: Battle training

Sarukawa: Hah?

Ohse: This shitty sore loser shall be a burden no longer

Ohse: Yaaa! D’oh! Eyeyeyey!

Ohse: Hwwuooaaaghhh!!!

Sarukawa: Quit it, yer standin’ out

Ohse: W-wuht’cha want. Got complaints, huh?

Sarukawa: You suck ass at this

Ohse: Make fun of me and I’ll stab! Stab myself!

Sarukawa: HAAAH!? The fuck is this! Wait wait I don’t fuckin’ follow!

Sarukawa: OI! Stop it! Ghh!

Iori: Come at me!

Sarukawa: Io too!? You definitely don’t got the chops for it! No way you pull this off!

Iori: Come now, kick my ass! Drag me around by these chains!

Iori: Without holding baaaaaaaack!!!!

Sarukawa: You’re just being an M

Iori: I’m not an M.

Terra: Sarukawa-kun, are there any estheticians nearby?

Sarukawa: Hell no. Be a bit more aware of yourself

Sarukawa: The hell ya actin’ like usual for

Terra: What about beauty parlors? Nail salons?

Sarukawa: As if there’d be such trendy places ‘round here!!!

Terra: Then I’ll make some

Sarukawa: Wait, wait! Don’t goddamn stand out!

Amahiko: Everyone, we must stay undercover

Sarukawa: WHOA! What the hell’s that fit! There were clothes like that ‘round here!?

Ohse: Pervert spotted

Iori: The fight is on!

(Bell rings and Iori, Ohse and Terra start ganging up on Amahiko)

Amahiko: Fufufu, hahaha. Think you stand a chance against Dirty Amahiko?

Sarukawa: Siiiiiigh………

Fumiya: What’cha doing? It’s no good to stand out.

Sarukawa: Exactly!

Goons: Aniki! Fumiya Aniki!

Goons: What kinda bad shit we gotta do next?

Goons: Give us orders Aniki! Fumiya Aniki!

Sarukawa: AND WHERE DID YOU GET A BUNCH OF HENCHMEN BEHIND YA!

Fumiya: Go and overthrow the most powerful one in this town.

Goons: YEAAAAAAAAH!!

Sarukawa: STOP STANDING OUUUUUUUT!!!

(Everyone having fun)

Sarukawa: You bastards….!

Sarukawa: Doing the fuck y’all want ‘cuz the radar can’t get yer asses…!!

Fumiya: Maaan~ This place’s pretty cool

Terra: Mhm, I like it

Amahiko: It’s wonderful, Sarukawa-kun

Sarukawa: ….Huh?

Terra: I can be free as I want

Iori: It’s nice how nobody bats an eye at you

Ohse: I can be at peace…

Fumiya: S’interesting, and fun

(Everyone having fun again)

Sarukawa: ….

Amahiko: Sarukawa-kun? Where are you headed off to?

Terra: Wait a sec

Everyone: ….

Sarukawa: ….

Amahiko: “So he’s a truant?”

Iori: “...Yeah, pretty much never went to school.”

Iori: “Didn’t fit in because of all of the trouble he caused.”

Amahiko: “Which is why he ended up going back and forth to such a place, then.”

Iori: “Yeah.”

Iori: “You could tell how much he enjoyed being here by the look in his eyes.”

Amahiko: “But… he left at some point, no?”

Iori: “Mhm.”

Amahiko: “Why though, after he finally found a place to belong to.”

Amahiko: “Just what happened here…”

Iori: “That’s…”

(rattling)

Sarukawa: !? Who’s there!

?: ….

Sarukawa: I know you’re there, show yourself

Sarukawa: ….! …Y…you’re…!

Ryuu: ….Kei-niichan.

Sarukawa: Ryuu…!

#charisma house #charismahouse #tendou amahiko #motohashi iori #kusanagi rikai #sarukawa kei #terra #minato ohse #ito fumiya

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therealpizzaheadiswear · 3 months

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I put thy is silly jail for being to silly

NOOOOOO!!!

LET ME OUUUUUUUT!!!

#(AY FREE MAH MAN!)#just silly pizza thoughts

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stronghours · 10 months

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2008; 21, 45

It took twenty minutes flat, between Jules slamming the door shut upon his exit from the backseat to Martin spotting his dark head reappearing over the hoods of parked cars. He returned by himself, without Paul. Walking normally, he slid into the passenger seat and closed the door with little politeness. He offered no words. Martin played at fumbling with the keys to lengthen the time between the silence and the engine in case words were going to be offered right away. He doubted it, and correctly.

“Take me somewhere,” Jules said, once they’d nosed into traffic. He sounded terribly hoarse. A livid red puddle marred his cheek, and the rest of his skin transitioned from saturated to sallow between streetlights.

“Home?” Martin asked.

Jules nixed this with another bout of silence.

Martin tried again. “My apartment?”

Jules rested his temple against the window. “I’m hungry,” he said, and Martin took this as an offered kindness – Jules was as pathological about food as he was with money, and dining out married the worst of both factors, all of which Jules had laid out for him: The admittance of appetite; the act of eating; being observed eating; being at the mercy of someone else’s kitchen; being at the mercy of your companion’s meal; the exchange of cash; the indignity of being paid for; wanting to be paid for; worrying if you would be paid for.

Considering the arrangement in the parking garage and inside Paul’s apartment, Martin wondered if Jules had experienced a sudden epiphany about how silly that struggle and anxiety had been, and resolved to let it all go and become a much easier person to date. Ha-ha! Jules’ voice caroled in his brain: As if!

Martin had been chauffeured in Jules’ car often enough now to start finding the silence in his rental off-putting. He always forgot to put on the radio. If Jules had to take a sharp turn in his own, the cumulative plastic clatter of dozens upon dozens of CD jewel cases were enough to rain out whatever bridgeless, hookless, sonic cut-and-paste he was using to transmigrate his muffled emotions. Jules would tell him the names of artists and albums; Martin would try very hard to remember, until he figured out Jules was freest identifying the names of musicians toward which he felt the least.

I like this, Martin gently prompted, white lied, once when Jules had been stuck on the same album for a week and his curiosity would not let him resist. This was before the first of their several consummations and he’d felt unpleasantly disconnected from his romantic pursuit. Huh, Jules replied, underneath a barrage of repetitious guitar and martial drums and a singer��s shredded voice bellowing BLOWYOURBRAINS! OUUUUUUUT! BLOWYOURBRAINS! OUUUUU-HOOOU-OOOOOOOOUT!

And after they’d bonded a little more, and Martin told Jules how, historically, he was usually the one pursued by his marks, Jules cackled against his bare thigh and showed all the crooked and missing teeth on his bad left side, and thereon Martin’s education began. At least, his education regarding the song, which was about a pedophiliac serial killer – a religious cult – the biologically essential murder of male/female coitus – cannibalism – a playground snatching – a parent fucking their child.

Don’t worry about it, I like other stuff too, Jules said.

In the street outside the diner in Jules’ neighborhood, the only place cheap enough to hoodwink his neuroticism, he was stricken with an explosive coughing fit and didn’t fight when Martin helped him step over the curb. Inside, the sympathetic waitress Martin liked was nowhere to be seen, and they were gestured sharply to the booth near the washroom by a nasty young man not much older than Jules, whom Jules had affectionately dubbed their hate-crime server.

Jules hacked into his napkin and ducked his head under the sticky tabletop.

“Did Paul not even give you a glass of water?”

Jules resurfaced instantly. “Oh yeah, I asked for a glass of water,” he said. “And a cuddle, and a blankie.”

Martin wanted to touch his face. “Did he hit you?”

“You know he hit me.”

Martin did not like the grimy neighborhood, or the diner, or the ugly-minded server Jules found so funny, or the cruel tut-tut look on his lover’s casual face. Jules sucked down a glass of water, no ice, and Martin imagined him as a loner at the table, cruising the waiter as a gag and getting slammed straight to hell. He did know Paul hit. They’d discussed the hit explicitly, the two grown-ups, far away from their little pitcher.

“Fix your face,” Jules said. “The trauma is minimal.”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“God, sure. I felt like I was watching a movie I didn’t like, but not enough I could walk out of the theater.” Jules held the lukewarm glass to his jaw. “It was bothering me in the backseat of the car while you two went through you little pimp script, and it bothered me when I saw you two exchange the envelope that may or may not have had real money inside, and it bothered me walking up with Paul, and in the elevator, and in the foyer of Paul’s apartment – it was bothering me. First of all, where were you?”

Jules pointed.

“I was in the car,” Martin said, accustomed to these debriefs.

“Wrong answer.”

Martin immersed himself. “I was the pimp, selling you to a stranger.”

“Right answer,” Jules said, “to a question I wasn’t asking. Let me try again.”

But he didn’t try, right away. The server slammed menus onto the table with such force the table’s uneven legs barked against the floor; even Jules recoiled. Martin would have stood up, but Jules kicked him in the shin.

“It’s like, so funny that he’s getting worse,” Jules said, and stole Martin’s water cup.

“He wasn’t always that bad?”

“Singular guys like that don’t care about one faggot in their vicinity,” Jules explained. The smack mark on his face was, if anything, getting worse and he was beginning to squint. “When I got to go to high school, everybody could clock me, but nobody cared, because I wasn’t trying to fuck anyone.”

Any erotic fulfillment Martin might have gleaned from Jules’ delinquent teen escapades had been overrun by the discovery that he had fallen out of touch with what the kids were going through. Most of his dear friends were his age, many were older, and the young people around them had acted as mute, respectful ears to their compiled experiences. He’d been spoiled. Now he had Jules to observe and immerse himself within, who couldn’t have cared less about Martin’s coming of age through the seventies and eighties, was indifferent toward AIDS, was outright caustic toward the leather protocols that had given Martin so much direction in his youth, and, as far as Martin could tell, incapable of personal nostalgia, even when it related to the time periods of his most beloved, horrible music or his rancid gore films and video nasties. Martin had never met an artistic twenty-something so fundamentally bad at fantasy. Once, trying to rev up the evening early in the relationship, Martin had asked what Jules thought about when he masturbated. “You think I masturbate?” Jules, appalled, answered.

If he had taken that that little anecdote seriously, before his meeting with Paul, Martin realized, then this night would not have happened.

But Jules was traveling on his own track. “I think I’ve been really open with you,” he said, a sudden burst. “I think I’ve allowed a lot. I think we got really close in a really short period of time. What are you not getting from me that made tonight happen?”

“What do you think tonight was?” Martin’s desperate attempt to merge.

“A stupid, therapeutic roleplay scenario.” Jules’ voice was distorted by his hand palpating his cheek. Worse than angry, he sounded cheated.

“I didn’t mean it as a therapeutic.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jules said. “It was a transaction play. I’m not dumb. I know what you know about what I’ve done. You brought cash props. If you included it, you included it for a reason. Not only do I have to suck off some stranger and get slapped around, I have to ponder on healing themes and come to some kind of positive conclusion. We just start getting really, really intimate, and you impose this – this – this – distance. You weren’t even in the room! You were sitting in a fucking car!”

“I guess,” Martin tried, “I can’t convince you I did this solely because it was a scenario that gets me off? That your reaction beyond going through with it didn’t matter?”

“Get real,” Jules said. “Anything you do to me, you do for me.”

It was a pretty good line; Martin was touched. He reached out to grasp Jules’ free hand with both of his. He wished they were anywhere else but in public. “Oh, my buddy,” he said, absolutely nothing else in his head but goo. “Oh, kiddo.”

But Jules was capable of horrible sternness and didn’t react to this tenderness. “I can’t believe you weren’t even in the room with us. He had this framed print of Salvador Dali on the cover of TIME. And one of those stupid balls of fake leaves in a gold rim. I saw that from like, the floor, and was all if Marty was in here, I wouldn’t be noticing the shitty culture.”

“Why on earth didn’t you call it?” Martin gave his wrist a tug. Jules tugged back, listless.

“I don’t know,” he said. He thought about it. “I guess I know what a huge bitch I can be. I guess I wanted to give it a shot and see what I was missing.”

The physical reality was untenable – parties had arrived, been seated, waited, and served around the pair, and Jules, with the mute, desperate pain of a house pet, could not stop pawing at his face. Martin, hot and uneasy, rose to leave and Jules followed; but not as meekly as he looked. He said, in an overloud voice as they passed from inside to outside, and the male server swept behind their backs: “You know he’d fuck a man, right?” The jingle-bells strapped to the door were not so cheerful when they were pointedly slammed.

“It’s true,” Jules said, as Martin steered him over curb. “They’re only that mad when they know they’d fuck. If it came down to it.” And he was silent until they reached Martin’s sublet, where Martin distracted himself with ice in the freezer and Jules half-undressed on the edge of the bed before resting his head in hand, ruminating somewhere behind his empty face.

Martin believed his romantic habits were healthily balanced, and had been so for some time – he had not made a habit of linking up with very young men or particularly aggressive ones; but he’d collected a few throughout his late thirties and forties, just enough to know Jules was not the angriest, the most socially wronged, or the most antisocial among them – he was fastidious, virtually sober, socially perceptive, and possessed of a well-muscled work ethic bizarre to behold in a twenty-one year old – (Martin handed over the ice) but (Martin began to undress; in the long closet mirror, Jules’ forearm flexed) he was, or had been, or could remain, one of the most inaccessible.

While Martin had done his chasing and wooing, this had been exciting, sexually frustrating, pleasantly silly. He’d felt very young. He listened hard to Jules’ music in the car and wondered if the kid was sending him subconscious clues and messages through the song choices, a conceit he had to give up after he heard, beneath the instrumental clutter of one song, the voice of Mario Savio intoning, and you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels! Upon the levers! Upon all the apparatus and you’ve got to make it stop! And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it -! In retrospect, he had not been prepared for Jules, so firmly guarded, to have swung open the door so sudden and wide. He’d thought, once inside that door, the places Jules would go were the places Martin could guide him.

Because Jules had given him the right, Martin seized him by the shoulders without asking and pressed him back against the mattress. The ice slapped against the floor, and Jules rubbed his wet face against the sheets with the indifference of someone who’d seen it coming. He said, “ok,” just a vocal reflex, then looked Martin flat in the face with big, black, take-it-or-leave-it eyes and Martin’s wrist, scraped lightly by Jules’ fingers, was shocked by his freezing hand. He knew at once two things: that the plaintive, whiny atmosphere souring his headspace, the one with words that went will you please lighten up, will you please let me understand you, will you please let me like you harkened back not to his hearty memories as a grown man fucking and relating with other grown men, but to his experiences with his daughter Claudia during her teenage years; and that he would not in a million years be getting hard tonight.

He pressed his face into Jules’ neck and demurred.

Jules was canny. “You can’t even make love to me,” he said, and wriggled towards his side of the bed. The first time Jules had uttered the phrase make love Martin almost fell on the floor laughing; instinct and a miraculously timed sneeze stopped his lungs (that’s romantic, Jules had responded mildly, and handed over the Kleenex)

Sometime during the night, which Martin only became aware of in the morning, Jules migrated backwards against his chest, and he could enjoy a few minutes of conscious rest against the rare treat of a pliant and silent Jules. But the evening before asserted itself. He’d pretty much fucked it up, he decided. He’d allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Jules had stroked his ego for three months straight and he’d lost his edge. Possibly he’d lost it long ago. Jules wasn’t waking up and Martin tried hard to follow.

He lay with one arm lightly around Jules’ ribs and the light lengthened across the walls and he entertained all sorts of grim, unproductive thoughts. You weren’t even in the room! Why hadn’t he been in the room? Such a small, simple detail. Jules tended to sleep with at least one hand palm-upward on the pillow, his fingertips nestled together. He’d held something in his sleep and dropped it. Martin wanted to find it and give it back, no matter how trivial – a tennis ball, a wadded washcloth, the belt Martin used to beat him and choke him, a yarn skein, the car keys to the 99’ – but Jules was only careless with his body, not his belongings – so odious, so sick at heart that you can’t take part, you can’t even passively take part put your body upon the gears and upon the wheels and upon the levers – There’d been a big, clashing piano. He’d forgotten the band already.

He woke up again much later, Jules superheated against his torso, beginning to grumble and sniffle under the blanket. Martin’s phone made a racket in the kitchen, and he went to make it quiet. It was Paul.

“Congratulations,” said Paul, bright and clear, possibly up for hours. “That’s a hell of a lot of raw talent for you to deal with. I’m not sure why you leave the house.”

Martin was so instantly incensed, so suddenly and hideously jealous, he could not move or speak. Then, in a clap of the hand, the velocity halted, the emotions vanished, and the memory of their clarity and clearness left him empty and amused and sweet-tempered. He was just a stupid old guy, he decided, and moved into the bedroom. “Oh sure,” he replied.

Jules was upright and cross-legged, his long, bare, gorgeous back to him, his head enough in profile Martin could half-read the expression on his face. It was either suspicious or gloomy, and it was his business now.

“How’s your boy?” Paul asked.

“Oh, fine,” Martin said. Jules turned, confirmed he was on the phone, and gathered up the blanket around him, like he intended to leave and give Martin privacy. Instead, Martin engaged the speaker and tossed the phone onto the bed.

“Between you and me,” Paul’s degraded voice bloomed, “I think the hit was a little sloppy on my part. But you know what it’s like when you’ve only got one hit in you.”

“We’ve all been there,” Martin replied casually, tucking himself back in while Jules performed a series of double-takes and emphasized, by merely bulging his eyes, what the fuck Marty? “But too excessive for what I was thinking. It was pretty much a wash once you let him go.”

“Well, tell the kid I apologize. Tell him he’s welcome back anytime.”

Jules slithered irresistibly into Martin’s lap and hooked him around the neck with both elbows. He wore a toothy, lunatic smile and his eyes were bright and focused.

“I think, as an experiment, we might have found out all we needed.” Martin leaned back to accommodate.

“Sure, but what a shame. Come to think of it, he’s very sexy, but what was I picking up on – is he, uh, just the tiniest bit, kind of creepy?”

Jules was bluntly slapping Martin’s ribcage with the heel of his hand to express his mute hilarity. “Be thankful –” Martin fended off the hand. “Be thankful you don’t have to watch movies with him. Women fucking corpses. Women sawing off corpse penises. Women getting pregnant from corpses. You’re better off not dealing with it.”

Jules battered him with such intensity Martin had to seize him in his arms and crush him, not an easy task. Jules was smaller than him, but not small in general, he was rangy and a scrapper.

“I had a feeling he was not super immersed,” Paul continued. “He appeared unfocused. It was off-putting. I almost called it, but I decided it wasn’t worth it. I hope you agree.”

“Everything’s just fine.” Martin adjusted his hold as Jules settled down. “Just fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

They talked casual for a while – Paul recommended an up-and-coming workshop in their neck of the woods, run by an old acquaintance they shared (where did all these old acquaintances come from?) regarding headspace reinforcement, for the sake of Jules’ training – until Martin’s breeziness convinced him there couldn’t be anything else to discuss about yesterday’s tryst, except for the fact it had been nothing to write home about. Martin said good-bye, but Jules’ darting hand killed the call. With his heel, he launched the cell toward the foot of the bed.

“You dog.” He slithered all the way up Martin’s chest, something he tended to do when he was turned on. Martin preferred it to clawing. “That was one of your old friends!”

“The great thing about casual old friends,” Martin corrected, gathering Jules up and depositing him down once more, “Is what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Still,” Jules said, even while Martin tended to his oblivious body. “Aren’t we all responsible for each other? Wasn’t this his chance to grow? Are we just on earth to use each other? Ow -! Man, I can’t believe he called me creepy. That’s sooo –”

Without pain, or shock, or novelty, it sometimes took Jules ten or fifteen minutes to settle down into sex. He would not shut up, he would brace himself against Martin’s body like an inexperienced swimmer being dragged out into the lake, he would kick himself free from Martin’s snares, roll away, hold his head, then roll back. After finding a superficial calm, his body would rediscover the motions and his awkward, bony hands would caress Martin’s hardworking back. But Martin would feel one of his open eyes against his cheek and know he was staring blindly at the ceiling, maybe thinking what the hell is going on?

Jules once said to him, only once, and casually, “too bad you can’t just beat the shit out of me all the time,” and Martin knew better than to vocally disagree. He didn’t know how to tell Jules that after the great opening of the door, the permission to start fucks while the other was asleep, the granted across-the-board freedom to apply maintenance discipline, the instructions to continue after a no, no, stop, that sometimes after experiencing all these gifts, you would not want them. You could take them or leave them. You could leave them behind as decisively as you forced yourself to forget the time your creepy, youthful boyfriend un-blinked up at you as you both made love; and you had to forget, because you saw that inexplicable, parentified expression on his childless face, the one that said, please lighten up, please let me like you, please let me understand you – twenty-one years old! So who had he learned it from?

#safeworld

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