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cherrynika · 2 years

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nsfw

half a fic. I have no idea how to finish it. It feels like it could be a paint-by-the-numbers but I don't really want for it to be.

The best thing about the Austin Grand Prix is a private jet to New York when the race is over. Daniel usually heads off to Los Angeles to see his Hollywood friends, some of the younger guys who aren’t jaded yet visit the golf courses. A man Toto’s age knows that every golf course is the same. He’s too old to spend hours in the sun agonizing over birdies and handicaps. There’s too much randomness in golf. He wants a sure thing.

Sure things include Russian martini bars in Manhattan, Don Angie in the West Village with once-a-year high calorie Italian food, and @BestCumDumps’ updates on all the best parties.

“@XXlover 8am to 8pm, The Cecil, 554, 25th October” has been cycling in his mind since Twitter pinged on his phone on Friday night. Toto would think he was doing this on purpose, except that he’s so far down the order that they’re irrelevant to Mercedes. He’s probably just bored at work. Sebastian once said, straddling his lap and doing up his buttons, “Not everything is about you.”

He gives Lewis and Angela a hug when they split up at Teterboro Airport. It’s dim and cool on the tarmac, the sun has only been up for a little while and hasn’t had the chance to blast New York with its full power.

“We’re going to Studio 54 tonight, call us if you want to come.” Lewis has a smile in his voice, probably thinking of all the camgirls he’s going to party with.

“I don’t have the right clothes. I’ll see you at home.” He keeps his hands firmly tucked into his pockets. A braid has wound its way out of the bun on Lewis’ head, he wants to push it behind his ear.

In the beginning, Lewis would have called out his pathetic excuse and told him to buy some clothes. There was a period of a few years when he would have bought them and hung around Lewis’ hotel lobby waiting for a chance at another hug. They’re past it now. It’s healthier.

New York makes him feel anonymous, the top floor of The Kixby makes him feel young with its monochrome furnishings and silence. The showers, large for New York according to the reviews, are still a touch too small, he has to duck his head to get it wet. The water pressure is sufficiently strong, he wants to be as clean as possible though he’s just going to get dirty again.

He’s drying his hair with the hotel-supplied blow dryer, doing the left side neatly before moving on to the right, when his phone lights up again.

It’s @XXlover. “7.59 am. No more updates until tonight.”

From the photos he posted on Twitter he’s certainly well-prepared: a variety of lubes, and gratis towels and napkins for all comers. A few hastily arranged bouquets to set the mood. Sebastian fancies himself an expert on all kinds of things, motorbike repair, dirt-biking, baking and home decoration, but like the average F1 driver his knowledge of everything outside a single-seater is painfully shallow. The flower arrangements are unbalanced, too much white. One of them is even lopsided.

Toto sets his alarm clock for 10am before drawing the blackout curtains and lying down to try to sleep. His back is sore, he’ll need to see his physiotherapist again. All he wants is to head over to The Cecil and hold Sebastian down on the cheap bedspread, push his face into the pillow and make him scream, but that wouldn’t be different from a regular hook up. It’s always better to see him in the afternoon when he’s too tired to talk. The less said about either of their races the better.

He sleeps fitfully, unused to the hour. In England it’s mid-day and he’d usually be wide awake. His body doesn’t recognise any of these times anymore, they’ve travelled so much in the last few weeks and he’s grown a tolerance to his melatonin pills. He’d stop his doctor from prescribing them to him but they’re all still pretending he sleeps at all. It’s an unsatisfying few hours dipping in and out of wakefulness in the dark, the dull roar of traffic is annoying but there’s no one to shout at.

When he can finally tear himself out of bed the rest of the day is a wash too. Angela told him that lines at Supreme start long before opening hours, true enough, even with an hour to go there’s 30 people standing outside. None of the grubby teenagers in the queue will accept a hundred dollars to piss off and let him take their place. One of them even called him old and creepy. If only child labour were still legal; they’d be working in a horse meat factory instead of loitering.

At the Minetta Tavern in Greenwich they’ve changed the chef. The minestrone is a touch too sour for him. He picks at his osso bucco and pretends to read the Wall Street Journal while waiting for the minutes to pass.

The Cecil isn’t far, just 20 minutes away on foot, the streets getting grimier as he gets closer. He gives an overflowing dustbin a wide berth; Monaco is spotlessly clean, and safer with a policeman never more than two minutes away, but the scent of danger befits what they’re doing today. “It’s perfectly safe,” Seb told him the first time. “You also think that racing is safe,” he had replied, he doesn’t know what he’s trying to do sometimes, why would he ever discourage Sebastian from doing either. “Ships are–” Sebastian was going to give him stupid bullshit about harbours and the sea, but he’d clapped a hand over his mouth and that was the end of the discussion.

The Cecil is a dismal-looking high-rise that needs a paintjob, with a burnished golden revolving door and no doorman. Perfect for people who want to sneak in and out unnoticed.

The lobby is a dingy little place, and the concierge is an old lady watching Netflix on her phone. The wait for the lift is an uncomfortable little eternity. It’s a relief when the doors open and he can be on his way. The lift clanks upwards. His face is slightly distorted and sallow in the mirrored walls, the marionette lines more prominent than he imagined. He always imagines himself looking the way he did on his 30th birthday, but time and reality have a nasty way of destroying those fantasies.

On the fifth floor there’s a faint sound of someone’s television, a woman crying, someone shouting on the phone, all muffled by the walls and carpeting. It isn’t really the sybaritic paradise he imagined, with a man naked and waiting behind every door. Just one door.

He stands outside 554 for a beat; it’s not exactly bad manners to come in when it’s occupied (can it really be ‘occupied’ when the point is sharing?) but he’d rather not. He’d rather wait politely. But there are no voices. The door opens without resistance, the appeal, he now knows, of dumps like The Cecil, is precisely the lack of key card restricted access.

Sebastian’s lying on the queen-sized bed, face down, ass propped up on a pillow. His hair’s mussed up, revealing the bald spot he’s been so self-conscious of, and his back and neck are a mess of love bites and sweat. “You smell worse than Lewis after a race.” Lewis smells like a mix of sweat and piss, which at least belong to him. Sebastian is the human equivalent of a bunch of wet wipes in a locker room after a hazing session.

Toto sits down on the edge of the bed, hopefully it’s clean, and toes his shoes off. Next goes the belt, then his clothes, he folds them up and leaves them on the nightstand as far from the lube as he can.

“Are you asleep?”

“I’m just tired.” Sebastian speaks into the mattress. He sounds a little hoarse. Toto wants to make him drink some water, maybe before he leaves.

“Ready for me to start?”

“I’ve been ready since this morning.” His Hessian accent is almost gone but it slips back when he’s exhausted. This is probably what he sounds like when he’s talking to Hanna before falling asleep.

He squeezes Sebastian’s shoulder before crouching on the bed behind him and parting his legs. The sheets are uncomfortably tacky and damp; Toto hates dirt but sticky and filthy is the entire point of this exercise. Sebastian arches his back and flexes his glutes in return and leaks a pearly trail on the towel under him: cum, lube, moisturizer. Toto grasps a generous handful of one fuzzy cheek and squeezes. It’s as soft and white as the bread at the hotel breakfasts at every American grand prix. “This is not real bread”, Seb had said, “A proper loaf should have texture and bite.”

Seb’s bite is all on the inside.

Toto traces his rim with a finger, slipping a finger in easily. This is the loosest and wettest Seb’s been all year. The noughts were filled with tasteless hotdog-down-hallways jokes. The average person knows nothing about how erotic it is to use someone until the elastic of their mind and body is all worn out.

Sebastian shifts on the bed, scratching his tummy.

“Bored?”

“It’s beginning to itch a little.”

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mascwhump · 3 years

Text

Chapter 12 - Let Hope Burn in Your Eyes

Dialogue heavy.

TW: minor blood, brief drowning, alcohol

Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow

Mallory set his cigar in the crystal ashtray which lied upon the bar. He rested his head on his hand and sighed as he swirled the whiskey around in the glass. He then shot down the rest of it in one go.

"I just don't understand," he spoke quietly as he began pouring another drink.

"Understand what?" Charlie asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he sipped the whiskey, staring straight ahead at the bar cabinets. Sasha walked away from Charlie to get one of her toys that was hiding under the couch. She pulled out a little ball with a bell in it and began to hit it around. Charlie smiled.

"You and Crow are the only ones that didn't die, you know," Mallory spoke.

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked.

"The serum. Every single one of the paid volunteers died when it was given to them. You were the first to survive. I expected Crow to die, as well," Mallory explained, words slightly slurred, “we had it narrowed down to one rare gene. That’s why, when you came into my possession, I was thrilled.”

“I don’t belong to you,” he snapped.

“You can choose believe that,” Mallory replied.

Charlie ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. Sasha chased her ball between his legs and continued around the room before darting up the stairs.

“When will this end, Mallory?”

Mallory flinched slightly. His name was like poison on Charlie’s tongue. Something about Charlie speaking it made him uncomfortable.

“Once I have what I need.”

“And what is it that you need, exactly? An answer to some ridiculous question? A solution to a problem nobody has? A reason not to hate yourself?”

Mallory spun around on the barstool, glass in hand, to look at Charlie.

“Why are you doing this to us, to me? I’m starting to believe that there isn’t a real reason. It’s not about the fucking potions. It’s not about changing the world. It’s about giving yourself some kind of ego boost. You hurt me just so you can feel something, so you can feel powerful. Maybe if you didn’t act like such an egotistical douchebag, you’d have someone in your life that cared about you.”

Mallory calmly set the glass on the bar before standing. He paced toward Charlie, and Charlie felt the blood drain from his face. He backed away slowly until he was against the wall.

“I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he stammered, bringing his hands up in front of him.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Mallory spoke monotonously, “but you know what? You’re sort of right.”

He stopped directly in front of Charlie.

“It’s not about ‘changing the world’ anymore. I hurt you because I enjoy it. Every time you make a mistake, it just gives me another excuse to hurt you. Sometimes, you make it so damn easy.”

He traced his fingers along Charlie’s jaw. Charlie turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut.

“And yet, despite it all, you still don’t hate me.”

He gently grabbed Charlie’s chin and pulled his face back toward him. He ran his thumb over his lips again, just like before. Charlie kept his eyes shut tight.

“I’m not going to hurt you anymore tonight. Come, have a drink.”

Mallory walked back to the bar. Charlie remained still with his jaw slightly dropped. Mallory grabbed another glass and filled it with whiskey. He motioned for Charlie to come sit. It took a second for him to move, but he finally took a seat at the bar. Mallory slid his glass over to him and he picked up, taking small sips. It was smooth, with a creamy and smoky taste.

“I first tasted this whiskey in Ireland a few years ago. I had to buy four bottles to bring back home,” Mallory said.

“It’s pretty good,” Charlie replied.

“That’s an understatement. Quite insulting, actually.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m not some kind of whiskey connoisseur. I’m used to drinking cheap vodka.”

Mallory smiled as he took another sip. He grabbed his cigar from the ashtray and took a drag, blowing the smoke away from Charlie.

“Do you smoke?” He asked.

“An occasional cigarette, yeah.”

“Here, try. This is one of my favorites.”

Mallory handed the cigar to Charlie, and he awkwardly held it between his fingers.

“Don’t inhale it like a cigarette. Pull on it like a straw. You’re just supposed to taste it.”

Charlie put it between his lips and pulled the smoke into his mouth. It was full-bodied and rich, and had a slight hint of citrus. He handed it back to Mallory as he exhaled.

“That’s nice,” Charlie said.

“Glad you agree. It’s Cuban. A box of them costs £400,” Mallory replied.

“I already know you’re rich, you don’t need to keep telling me. You wear a Rolex for God’s sake,” Charlie laughed.

“To be fair, that was given to me.”

“Who the hell just gives someone a Rolex?”

“The CEO of a pharmaceutical company.”

“Oh, yeah. One of the biggest assholes on Earth.”

Charlie was finishing his glass when he felt something against his leg. He looked down to see Sasha pawing at him.

“Sorry, but I think she likes me,” Charlie said.

“A little too much. Sasha, come here,” Mallory said as he leaned down to pick her up.

He placed her on his lap and petted her head gently.

“When did you get her?” Charlie asked.

“A couple months ago. She’s still a baby, not even a year old yet, I think. I found her one day while I was in the garden. She was very skinny.”

“So, you rescued her?”

“I suppose. I never cared much for animals until I found her. Now, I’d consider myself a cat person.”

Sasha jumped onto the bar and onto Mallory’s shoulder, where she perched herself.

“She thinks she’s a parrot,” Charlie laughed.

“Guess so,” Mallory said as he moved her back to the floor.

She walked away and curled up by the stairs. Mallory poured himself another drink and shot it down.

“Jesus, what is that? Your fourth one in twenty minutes?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s going to hit me real soon.”

He moved behind the bar and pulled out a shot glass along with a bottle of vodka. He poured it into the glass and shoved it toward Charlie.

“Since you can’t appreciate fine whiskey,” he said.

“I didn’t say I wanted to get shitfaced, too,” Charlie said.

“Come on, it’ll take the edge off,” Mallory insisted.

Charlie picked up the glass and choked it down. He made a face as it burned his throat. Mallory left the bottle out and sat back down. He picked up his cigar and looked as though he was thinking. Charlie watched him quizzically. He began to feel the alcohol take effect, starting with a weakness his legs.

He thought about it for a second, then grabbed the bottle. He poured another drink and took the shot. Mallory was grinning at him.

“Now you want to get drunk?” He asked.

Charlie didn’t answer, but smiled sheepishly. Mallory stood and walked toward the stairs, then looked back at Charlie as if to say, “are you coming?”. Charlie followed him and they walked up to the living room. Mallory moved to the white grand piano that was next to the fireplace. He hadn’t noticed it before, but then again, he wasn’t paying much attention as he ran for his life.

“You play piano?” Charlie asked.

Mallory began to press the keys. Charlie recognized the piece as one of Chopin’s, but he wasn’t sure of the name. He leaned against the wall as he listened. Mallory missed a few notes, most likely due to the alcohol. Nonetheless, it was beautiful.

Charlie gave a him a golf clap when it was over. Mallory stood and bowed slightly before he stumbled over to him,

“What’s that piece called again?” Charlie asked.

“Nocturne in E-flat, Opus 9 Number 2. It’s one of my favorites,” Mallory answered.

“It’s very pretty,” Charlie said before hiccuping.

“Let’s go outside. The weather is nice tonight,” Mallory said.

Outside. Charlie’s heart skipped at the word. They walked to the back door and stepped out. Charlie stopped to breathe in the cool air before they started on a stroll around the yard. The view out the back fence was of the endless hills. He looked up; the stars were plentiful and dotted the entire sky.

“I haven’t seen a sky like this for a long time,” he breathed.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

“I missed it. I grew up in Alaska, where there wasn’t light pollution. When I moved, it was the thing I missed the most.”

He admired it for a long while before they started walking again. They walked around the edge of the pool. He was careful to watch his footing.

Not careful enough.

He tripped over his own feet and fell in. He thrashed about, trying to find which way was up. Water entered his lungs before Mallory could pull him out. He grabbed hold of Charlie’s arms and dragged him up out of the water.

Charlie coughed in between sobs. He was on his hands and knees, desperately trying to steady himself as not to fall in again. Mallory stepped away and came back with a towel.

“Here, dry off, and we can go inside and sit by the fire,” he said, draping the towel over Charlie’s back.

Charlie carefully got to his feet as he caught his breath, staying as far away from edge that he could. He wrapped the towel around his body as he followed Mallory back into to the house.

Mallory started the fire and Charlie sat cross legged on the floor in front of it, sniffling. Mallory sat down on a chair behind him, and began laughing quietly.

“That was really kind of funny,” he said.

“It wasn’t,” Charlie mumbled.

Mallory stopped laughing. He slipped down onto the floor next to Charlie, watching him stare into the flames.

“So, you’ve fallen into a fire pit?” He asked.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t even drunk. I was telling a story and tripped over it.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Mallory said.

He lied down with his hands behind his head. Charlie shivered as he warmed up. After a few minutes, he moved the towel off of himself and set it aside.

“Why didn’t you let me drown?” He asked.

Mallory shrugged. “Maybe I just like seeing you with wet hair. Can’t tease you about it if you’re dead.”

Charlie smiled softly. He lied back and closed his eyes, soothed by the sound of crackling flames. He was warm again. He opened his eyes again when he felt Sasha climb onto his chest. She lied down and curled up.

“I’m going to make a snack,” Mallory spoke as he got up.

“Okay. I have to stay here. It’s illegal to move if an animal chooses to sleep on you.”

Mallory picked her up and placed her on the chair.

“That’s rude,” Charlie said.

He sighed before he got up to follow Mallory into the kitchen.

“I really need to go shopping,” Mallory mumbled as he looked in the fridge.

He pulled out a couple of carrots and set them on the chopping board. He grabbed a knife from the block and began cutting them into sticks.

“Ow, fuck,” he hissed.

He held up his hand. Blood was trickling down his finger. Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the sink, turning on the cool water. He put his hand underneath it and applied pressure to the cut. Once it appeared to stop bleeding, he grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around his finger.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” He asked.

Mallory stared at him, a confused look on his face.

“Hello? Bandaids?”

“They’re... um, in that cupboard,” Mallory said, pointing.

Charlie opened the cabinet and pulled out the kit. He set it on the counter and found a bandage that would fit, then moved back to Mallory to put it on.

“You really shouldn’t be cutting stuff while you’re drunk, you know,” he said, “don’t you have anything to eat that doesn’t require knives?”

Mallory just continued to stare. Charlie sighed and packed up the first aid kit before he put it away. He leaned against the counter, staring back at Mallory.

“Why’d you do that?” Mallory finally spoke.

“Do what? Stop you from bleeding all over the place?”

Mallory nodded.

“I don’t know. Just a natural reaction, I guess,” Charlie said.

Mallory moved in a blur, and Charlie’s back was suddenly slammed against the cabinets. Before he could get his bearings straight, he felt Mallory press his lips against his.

#oc #whump #whump story #drunk whumper #drunk whumpee #easton’s unnamed story #whump oc #don’t kill me

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copias-thrall · 4 years

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There’s Magic in the Night

A new year is breaking, and it's full of possibilities.

⬅️ Previous

(Reminder: not Repugnant accurate.)

It’s a 15min walk from the nearest subway stop in a part of the city that hosts low-income and broke college folk, and you’re beginning to wonder if your heeled boots were the best choice—but the shiny patent of them so nicely offset your cheap pink and black tulle skirt and fuzzy black crop sweater with inlaid tinsel that you’d decided on form or function. You’d almost changed your top when Mary had knelt and given your tummy a raspberry where it hung over the waistband a little, but his cute little pout had placated you a little after you’d threatened to do just that.

“You want a piggyback?”

“Nah, I’m all right, Mare. We’re almost there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Using his chin, he indicates a house down the block with a light on in every window and that’s lit up with string lights. It’s a little run down, but not falling apart. The neighborhood is full of three-story homes that are either co-ops or rented out by various floor configurations.

You’d tried to follow his explanation on who he knew and how, but the most you’d retained was that of the 6 people who rented the entire house, Mary knew 2 of them intimately. (“Yeah, they’ve had it every year that they’re lived there. I’m pretty sure a good third of the crowd is party crashers, but the more the merrier, right?”)

The closer you get, the louder the din from the house becomes—it sounds like there are 4 different playlists fighting for dominance, and the crowd ASMR is strong. There is a gang of smokers spilling from the front porch, down the cement steps, and clumped into murders in the small yard.

Ed and Dee are leaning against the railing on the steps, shivering in their best band tees as they take drags of their cigarettes.

“Hey, man!” says Mary as he leans forward and engages them both in a sloppy approximation of a cool, secret handshake.

“Hey, Goore!”

“Long time no see, dude.”

You nod at them, and they nod back.

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” asks Ed as he strains to see behind you in the dark.

Apparently Mary usually pregamed with his bandmates and then they headed over en masse later in the night. Horrified, you’d tried to convince him to uphold the tradition, but he’d insisted he could break off one year (“I’m not gonna toss you to the wolves, Suey. I see those assholes all the time.”).

Mary blows out a breath, and it hangs in the air like the puffs of smoke.

“Still pregaming. They’ll be by later. I wanted to give Suey the grand tour.”

Mary makes a sweeping motion, then wraps that arm around you. Ed and Dee’s eyes flick back to you.

“He’s a fucking liar; he was afraid one of you would steal me away.”

Ed coughs out the drag he was taking, and Dee snorts.

“You’re killing my street cred, woman.”

“Whatever, dude,” says Dee with a smirk, and Mary glowers at him. “You wanna bum one?” Dee holds out his pack as if in contrition.

Mary’s hand twitches, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, dude. Not unless it’s that chronic shit.”

“Yeah, they got those somewhere.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.”

A few merrymakers exit the house—laughing and screaming—and they push by the lot of you as they presumably journey on toward another party.

“All right, dudes. We’re gonna go make the rounds, get some cold ones. See you on the other side!”

“Sounds good!”

“Do it.”

Mary ushers you inside, and—despite the open door—the warmth of the house hits you, making you feel suddenly uncomfortable in your winter coat. Like the outside, there’s a general mass of bodies that are sectioned off (in the hall; on the stairs; spilling out of the kitchen; lounging in the living areas) like music notes in a run of measures. You spot a worn-looking chair that’s piled high with coats, and you go to toss yours on, but Mary grabs your arm.

“Geez, Suey. You wanna get your coat jizzed on?”

“I—what?”

“C’mere, let’s not add our stuff to the pile that’s gonna make someone a nice sex bed later.”

He yanks your coat out of your hands and opens a door that leads to the hall closet. A beach ball tumbles out and is joyfully absconded with by a trio of party goers walking by, and Mary catches one golf club in his hand as it falls out from the top shelf and another under his arm. Unfortunately, he doesn’t catch the one that hits his booted foot, but you managed to stand on tiptoe enough to prevent the entire bag from depositing its contents on Mary’s head.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Between the two of you, you manage to get the clubs back in order from whence they fell.

You can see that there’s other junk up there and in the back—whether it lives there permanently or was just shoved in there pre-party, you guess you’ll never know—but there’s an entire row of coats on a rod, which seems to be the closet’s main purpose.

“Here.” Mary rifles through the mess until he finds a free hanger. It takes some adjusting, but he finally gets his leather jacket and your coat onto the same hanger and manages to squeeze it back into the mass.

“OK. Let’s go find Shonda.”

“Not Murray?”

“Apparently he’s elsewhere tonight.” He shrugs.

There’s a sudden squeal of voices, and when you turn, you see Kara and Elsie hurrying toward you. Elsie is in a sequined dress so garish it must be fashionable and Kara sports a sparkly red sweater over black jeggings that she’s wrapped fairy lights around.

“So you’re not dead!” says Kara

“Uh … no?”

“Christ, I would have called you, but I’ve spent the last few days with my head in a toilet,” laughs Elsie.

“Yeah, thanks for that guys,” says Mary. “What I really wanted to do at the crack of dawn was take care of this lush.”

“Pffft,” snorts Elsie. “You’re one to talk, Goore. As if your head doesn’t live in the toilet.

“Yeah, total karma, Mary. Remember that time you got your stomach pumped?”

“Jesus, Mare,” you say at him with a bemused smile. He scowls.

“Look. Honey whiskey goes down easy.”

Elsie and Kara cackle before grabbing up your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you a drink, hon,” says Kara.

“What about me?” pouts Mary.

Elsie sniffs over her shoulder at him as she pulls you down the hall.

“Sorry, Goore. Girls only. Go set shit on fire or something.”

“That was once!” you hear Mary call down the hall after you.

“Wait—what did he set on fire?”

Elsie looks at you and mimics locking her mouth and throwing away a key.

The kitchen is full of bodies. In one corner, there’s a game of beer pong set up, and in the other, people are digging beer containers out of a giant cooler. On the counter are a few bowls half-filled with various snacks—the other half of which seem to be spilled over the counter and crushed into the linoleum floor. There’s a dark-skinned woman in a black & white plaid rockabilly dress and red cardigan who’s struggling to empty a bag of ice into a second cooler.

“Here—let me help, Shonda,” says Kara as Elsie leads you to the full cooler.

Shonda looks up. “Yeah, could you? Dunno where my asshole roommates are.”

By the time the two of them have the contents of the bag in the cooler—the cubes sliding in with a rough whoosh and plinking softly over the beers in the bottom—you and Elsie have fresh beers that she’s poured into solo cups.

“Thanks, Kar.” Shonda wipes her hands on the bottom of her dress, makes a face, then fumbles for a dingy kitchen towel hanging over the fridge door handle.

“Shonda,” says Elsie, catching the woman’s attention. She pushes you forward a bit. “This is Mary’s new squeeze.”

“Oh, um, hi.” You stick out your hand.

“No shit.” Shonda gives you a once over before giving your hand one firm shake. She nods a few times. “Yeah, ok. I see it.” She pats you on the arm. “Good luck with that.” She turns to Elsie. “Is that little shit here? We need to have words.”

Elsie jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “We left him down the hall.”

“He can run but he can’t hide,” Shonda says as she stomps away in impressively high red heels.

“Do I need to go defend his honor?”

Kara snorts.

“Nah,” says Elsie, waving your question away. “She’ll probably just make him do the heavy lifting the other stooges wheedled their ways out of.”

“He is stronger than those skinny arms make him look,” you muse.

Kara leans in. “Oh?”

You grin at her.

The two of them lead you into what must be a dinning room that seems to be the official set up for the snacks and libations. A bar with liquor and mixers have been arranged in the built-in, and there’s a folding table in the corner with an array of chips, snack foods, and a pile of wilted-looking pizza boxes. There’s a center table—which looks more permanent—that some sort of drinking game is occurring over.

You make a beeline for the pizza.

“I think I need a good base.”

As you juggle the pizza slices on a plate on the top of your cup, Kara and Elsie talk rapid fire across you, sometimes asking you questions (about you, about Mary, about you and Mary), other times going into long-winded stories about people you’ve never met, but are hilarious nonetheless.

“Fuck. I’m not drunk enough for this party yet,” Kara laments.

“Well, yeah,” says Elsie. “I thought we’d get our game on.” She pokes you in the belly, and you suck your stomach in away from her touch. “You done ‘getting your base’ yet?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You dump the paper plate and crusts into a trash bag slumped in the corner.

About the time Elsie is squeezing you three into the game at the table, Mary wanders in. His face brightens when he sees you, and he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“There you are, baby doll.”

“I thought I told you ‘girls only,’ Goore,” says Elsie.

He jabs a finger at her. “I gave you more than enough time to monopolize my girlfriend, Ford.”

“Just keep your dick in check.”

“I do what I want.”

For the next half hour, you engage in a rousing game of flip cup, which you have always been terrible at, but Mary seems to dominate. By the end, Kara and Elsie are hitting their buzz—playfully shoving themselves and others—and you’re beginning to feel more at ease in this sea of unfamiliar people.

Ed and Trevor wander in and motion to Mary, but seem to address the whole crowd.

“Yo!” says Ed. “Wanna go upstairs?” He stimulates smoking a joint at Mary.

“Yeah, man!” Mary turns to you. “You wanna join?”

You shake your head. “Can’t. I get tested.”

“Laaaame,” says Kara, and you jump because you didn’t realize how close she’d gotten.

“You sure it’s ok?” Mary scrunches his face.

“Yeah, Mare. Go! Be free!”

“Don’t worry, Mare,” says Elsie coyly as she drapes an arm around you. “We’ll take good care of Suey.”

Mary looks horrified enough that you think he might change his mind, but then Ed and Trevor are pulling him away. Elsie looks down at you.

“What did you do to that boy?”

You squint up at her. “What do you mean?”

Kara insinuates her way in between you and hands you both disposable shot cups.

“She means you’ve got him pussy whipped.”

You scrunch your face further. “Mary? He’s like a stray cat that shows up sometimes for food.”

“Is the ‘food’ ‘sex’?” Kara jumps her eyebrows at you.

Laughingly, you shove at her. “Maybe.”

Elsie throws her hands up. “PUSSY. WHIPPED.” She downs her shot.

You and Kara follow suit.

“Ok, but seriously,” you half cough as you wipe a dribble off your chin. “Mary does what he wants. I don’t tell him what to do.”

“Aww, hon—we know,” says Kara. “Elsie is just giving you a hard time.”

Elsie shrugs. “I’m a Class A Bitch.”

“She is,” agrees Kara. She turns her cup upside down; a few droplets drip out. “Hey, bitch—go get us more suds!”

“Demanding,” grips Elsie, but she turns to make her way into the kitchen.

You and Kara wander over to the food table to graze, the howls from the newest drinking game dolcet background noise.

“Hey, I know Elsie tends to make people butthurt, but she just has no filter.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine.” You shrug. “People tend to think I’m an elitist snob, so I try to be, um, more open minded.”

Kara grins at you. “‘Splains why you’re dating Mary.”

You throw a withered carrot stick at her. “Don’t fucking call me out like that.”

Kara laughs as she tries to block the attack. The conversation seems to stall after that, so you try and dredge up a question.

“So you guys know Mary from high school or something? Mary was … vague.”

“Just Elsie. That’s why she’s a little protective. He’s seen some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. You turn to look at Kara. “Did they ever …?”

Kara waves her hand at you dismissively, swaying slightly. “Shit, we’ve all fucked around with each other at some point or other.”

Your eyes bug out. “You and Mary?”

She snorts, and leans toward you at a dangerous angle. “Well I never slept with Mary. But I’ve been with Elsie and Dee, and Mary with her and Trevor, and Trevor and Dee had a thing with Ed.” She screws up her face. “I think I got that right. I can never keep it straight, honestly.” Kara shakes her head out; then her expression changes and she bites her lip. “Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve told you all that.”

You pop a Jax in your mouth. “Mums the word, sister”

As she’s giving you a sloppy, grateful smile, Elsie finally appears—tottering carefully—with three solo cups precariously balanced between her hands and tits.

“Shit—come get your drinks.”

You and Kara scramble to relieve Elsie of her haul without dropping the prizes as the drinking game breaks with an Awwwwwww.

“You guys wanna with another round?” Elsie throws her thumb over her shoulder as she sips from her cup.

“Fuck yeah, you know it!” exclaims Kara as she throws her hands up, beer spilling over the side.

After doing OK in a few rounds of Finger Spoof (you’re feeling the buzz nicely), you look around and realize you haven’t seen Mary in a while. You leave Kara and Elsie to their own devices and head into the kitchen. Grabbing your own solo cup in your teeth—ignoring it as some of its contents sloshes over the side and down your chin—you fish for a lite beer floating in the lukewarm cooler water for Mary.

If you can locate him.

He’s not in any of the rooms downstairs, nor is he outside with smoker’s club. You make your way up to the second floor, hoping he’ll be easy to find up there. There’s a door that’s locked and another where there’s a group hanging out on the bed and each other as Kpop loudly plays.

You find Mary in an open bedroom full of haze. He’s softly strumming an acoustic guitar—his fingers fumbling slightly on the unfamiliar strings as he tunes his way up the frets. He’s propped up in a corner, legs crossed under him, as the others in the room pass a joint around.

Picking your way carefully through the crowd, you make your way over to Mary. People shift and sway out of the way and scoot over when you smush yourself in next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, and Mary passes off the guitar to someone else. “Where’re Ed, Edd, and Eddy?”

He snorts.

“Went in search of snackies.”

He looks down at the beers resting in the small slick of condensation on the floor and licks his lips.

“One of those for me?”

“Yeah,” you say as you hand him the room-temperature bottle, which he takes up and chugs half of in one go. Watching his adam’s apple bobbing, you lean in to lick his neck. Mary jerks, then coughs, half spraying the beer out his mouth and nose. A few people squeal in surprise as you cackle, and Mary glares at you, wiping at his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his shirt that he’s curled over his hand.

“Fuck. You’re a pain in my ass.”

He drapes his arm around your shoulder, the bottle in his hand resting on your arm. The person who has the guitar now is strumming up a familiar song, and soon everyone is singing along (screaming or shrieking off key in some cases). Under the guise of getting his drink close to his mouth, Mary subtly maneuvers you into his lap—his other hand sneaking up under your shirt hem to rest on the curve of your belly with the tips of his fingers brushing just under one cup of your bra. You’re too loose from the drinking game to really care, so you lean back into his chest, warbling along to the tune as well.

You’re swaying, drink in hand, as you screech along to another song, when suddenly you become very aware of Mary’s erection pressing into your ass.

You turn your head. “Seriously?”

He rumbles into your ear. “Whaddya want? You’re squirming on my lap.”

Giggling, you purposely grind back on him, and he grabs your hips.

“Fuck, baby doll—keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess.”

You lean your head back on his shoulder as you circle your hips.

“You love making a mess, Mare Bear.”

He leans down to bite at your neck.

“I love making a mess on you. Not in my pants.”

“So stop me.”

Mary’s arm comes around your waist, effectively pulling you flush against him.

“FucK.”

More people wander in as the songs turn from nostalgic familiars to those of the drinking variety, and they raise solo cups and bottles in joyful celebration.

Everyone is sloppy; some sway to the rhythm of the songs, others drunkenly half mosh, spilling their drinks everywhere. You grinding your ass back into Mary—and him twitching up into you—is hardly a blip on anybody’s radar. His head thunks down onto the slope of your shoulder, his hips wanting to rut faster than subtlety or your own movements allow.

People are stomping, clapping, and spraying beer on each other as they half mutter words to drinking songs they realize they only half know.

Mary is a mess, trembling as he presses into you and mewling softly with each pass. Conversely, you’re having a grand ole time: rocking your hips as you sway and sing along to whatever the person in possession of the guitar is currently playing. Ignoring your own wetness and the growing throb in between your legs, you try to give him the pressure he needs.

You can feel his chest heaving into your back and the sweat from his forehead on your skin when it’s clear he’s getting close. His limbs shake as his arms squeeze you tighter, his movements almost stilling to nothing—and then he blows out a held breath like a drumbeat, his crotch pressing into you in pulses as he bites down into the juncture of your neck. Gasping, you spill a good amount of your drink as you jerk forward—Mary still rutting shallowly into you.

A few people cheer at your party foul—which hopefully takes any attention off Mary, who is clearly no longer hiding the fact that he’s cumming hard in his pants. He finally slumps behind you, his arms loosening and sprawling open.

“Shit,” he says.

You lean back. “Mmm … good?” you purr.

His hands sneak back under your top to sink into your flesh, and he leans up enough to whisper into your ear.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“You could’ve stopped me.”

He growls. “You know what you touching my dick does to me.”

“Was I, though? Touching your dick?”

Mary rubs his face into your neck as his hands squeeze your chub.

“Close enough.”

“Get a room, Goore!” screams someone before some of the group toss a couple of empty solos your way.

Mary looks up and grins.

“Maybe I fucking will.” He starts to stand up, bringing you with him—probably to hide the wet patch on his jeans. “See you losers later.”

There’s a general chorus of hoots and whistles, but mostly the crowd goes back to their drinking songs.

“Are we really getting a room?” you ask—arousal curling—as Mary directs you around the second floor, hands on your hips to keep you in front of him.

“A bathroom, yeah.”

There’s a slight wait—one Mary fills with his roving hands and lips—before the woman ahead of you stumbles out, wiping her wet hands ineffectually on her party dress.

Mary ushers you in, locking the door behind you. The two of you look down to inspect the damage. It’s actually not terrible. You can hardly tell at all on his jeans, and Mary undoes them so he can half shuck them down. His boxer briefs are a completely different story; they’re visibly soaked through at the top, and when he peels away the waistband, he reveals a sticky, slimy mess coating his stomach and flaccid cock.

“Shit. This may be a lost cause,” he says as he inspects the inside of the fabric.

“TP?”

“Yeah, unless you wanna lick it off …” Mary looks up at you with a smirk. “Which would be kinda hot, actually.”

“Sorry,” you say as you roll toilet paper around your hand, “but I like my jizz how I like my coffee: hot and fresh from the source.”

He runs a finger through the mess and then wiggles it at you. “It’s still kinda warm!”

You wrap your mouth around it because it’s the last thing he expects you to do.

“Uh …”

He’s momentarily rendered speechless as he watches you suck his finger clean and then smack your lips as if appraising.

“Nah. None of that reheated crap either.”

He blinks down at you. “Should I be horrified that I’m rubbing off on you?”

You give him a smile with your tongue half sticking out as you rub the wadded up toilet paper across his belly.

“I’m pretty sure I was just rubbing you off, Mare.”

Mary’s hands come up and sink into your hair. “Shut up.” He pulls you into a deep kiss. “Fuck. Love it when you tease me,” he says as he pulls away.

“I know.” You beam up at him and continue trying to clean him up.

He looks down at himself. “Fuck it.” He goes to toe off his boots, realizes that he’s wearing his “dress boots”—the less-scuffed ones that lace up to his knees—and snarls in frustration.

When he goes for the medicine cabinet, you step out of the way and toss the slimed wad of paper into the toilet. Making an Ah-ha! noise, Mary turns to you and snaps a pair of hair scissors triumphantly.

“Do the honors, will ya?”

“Wait—you want me to … cut your boxers off?”

“I’m sure as fuck not taking these boots off or spending the rest of the night marinating in my own jizz.”

You snort at him. “Whatever you want, Mare Bear.” You shuffle forward and hop up onto the sink. It only teeters a little.

“Hey! Hurry the fuck up in there!” comes a male voice through the door accompanied by banging.

“Fuck off, I’m taking a dump!” barks Mary.

“Dude,” says the voice, but the banging stops.

Mary shifts forward into the V of your spread legs as he hands you the scissors. He keeps his face close to yours. “Try not to cut off anything important,” he breathes at you.

“Of course—you’re no good to me clipped.”

His eyes meet yours, then travel down to his crotch. Carefully (willing your eyes to focus), you start from the top down, snipping the fabric—bunching it up with each shear—until you reach the end of the leg up to the crotch, Mary only flinching slightly (“Careful with the goods, woman!” “Fucking hold still!”). Once each side is cut, Mary and you work together to pull each half free.

As you ball up the front half to toss into the trash basket, Mary uses the back half to wipe up the lingering stickiness coating his cock and stomach.

“Better?” you ask when he’s finished and zipping his jeans back up, the other half of his boxers joining its twin in the trash.

He wiggles a bit. “Eh, it’ll do.” You expect him to back off, but instead he crowds closer. “What about you, baby doll? Maybe I should check on you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, Mary is shoving up the layers of your skirt and pressing his hand into your damp tights. You gasp at the sensation.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, “seems like you could use some clean up yourself.”

And then he’s maneuvering his head in between your spread legs, trying to position your knees over his shoulders. You let out an Oh, as your hands fly down to brace yourself on the edges of the sink; Mary growls in frustration as he tries to first pull down your tights, then to rip them apart to no avail. Before you can stop him, he’s picked up the shears and has snipped a slit in your crotch.

“Mary!” you yelp, but he just dives back down, tongue wiggling through the rip in the fabric to trace your seam before delving into your folds to flick at your clit. At the burst of sweetness, you moan, and your head thunks back into the mirror.

Head swimming, you lose yourself in the feel of his tongue as it swirls around your nub and then presses into it a few times before he’s sucking it in between his plush lips. He repeats this process, sometimes running his tongue down to your entrance and then back up, and at others holding the tip directly on your clit until you start squirming in frustration … only to then flick repeatedly back and forth.

A finger enters you, and you cry out, “Oh fuck,” as you tighten around it. Mary starts to slowly ease it in and out of you as his tongue continues its massage of your hardening clit. You’re really squirming now, rocking into his mouth and down onto his finger—making sure you light up every sweet spot. You feel like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap, and your pussy pulsates in warning.

Mary sets his tongue speed to 11, and you feel the tidal wave of your orgasm start rushing toward you. You let out a squeak as your one hand sinks into Mary’s hair right before your climax breaks, and you start bucking into his mouth. Like a good boy, he manages to follow the lead of your hips until your pussy stops popping and your body relaxes—your butt slipping down into the bowl of the sink.

After catching your breath, you look down to find Mary’s twinkling eyes staring up at you from beneath the layers of your skirt. You pet down the side of his head with an Mmm, and his eyes close as he leans into the touch.

“I think you only made me stickier, Mare.”

His head tilts to rest on your one leg.

“Not my fault you get wet as fuck. There’s only so much I can lap up at once.”

You shift up into a sitting position as Mary wipes his face—and the lower part of his makeup—onto your tights.

“Shit. Are the tights a lost cause too?”

“Stand up?”

You hop off the sink, and Mary inspects your backside. He gives it a slap before saying, “Nah, I think you’re good. Just a little damp.”

You crinkle your nose. “Well, I feel slimy. Turn around so I can take care of business.”

Mary peers into the mirror to even out his smudgy face before slurping some tap water from the faucet as you get your situation into a tolerable state.

When the two of you exit the bathroom—Mary’s arm draped back around your shoulders—there are two guys lounging on the bottom of the stairs leading up to the 3rd floor. They look up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and one scrunches his face at you.

“Dude. I thought you were taking a shit.”

He holds up a blackened Yankee candle.

Mary shrugs at him. “We don’t kink shame here.”

The guy’s companion bursts out laughing even as you elbow Mary in the ribs. He just laughs as he says, “C’mon let’s get some suds.”

The two of you make your way back down to the kitchen where Shonda The Beer Færie has replenished the coolers again. Mary shotguns a can—foam spritzing everywhere—as you search for the elusive opener. Unable to locate it, you try—and fail—to pop the top off on the counter.

“Gimme,” says Mary—belching—grabbing for your bottle. After fishing for another bottle in the ice, he aligns the caps and pops them both with the other.

“My hero,” you say in an affected tone as you bat your curled eyelashes at him.

“That’s fucking right.” He makes an arm in an attempt to bulge his bicep.

You test it with your hand. “Nah. Too small, throw it back.”

Pouting at you, he says, “You’re the worst, and we’re in a fight.”

You shrug as you take a swig of beer. “Eh. I got what I wanted.”

Mary makes a grab for the bottle, but you twist out of his reach and bolt out of the kitchen. He doesn’t catch you before you seek sanctuary in the living room. All the furniture has been pushed against walls, the rug rolled and resting in a corner, and more bodies than there should be are packed into the center as a party mix thumps from the speakers.

You wiggle your way into the crowd and run into Kara and Elsie, who shout Hooray! and pull you into their bump and grind. The 3 of you raise your drinks into the air to avoid spilling on each other as you rock and sway, alternating who gets sandwiched.

Suddenly, Mary is at your elbow.

“Hey! Gimme back my girlfriend!”

“Sorry, Goore,” says Elsie. “Finders keepers.”

For a minute he looks genuinely put out, but then he just smirks. “Whatever, I’ll just enjoy the view.”

“Pig,” Kara spits.

Mary shrugs and starts to do a god-awful wiggle that you think is supposed to be dancing. He has the rhythm—and his ass jiggle is pretty nice—but that’s about all he’s got going for him in the moves department.

The mix must be trying to appeal to all types, but ends up being a spastic mix with no eye for continuity. Nineties Girl Pop transitions into Metal, which transitions into Country, then into Alternative, then to 80′s Power Ballad, then R&B, then Punk.

After screaming along to “Toxic”, Elsie leans in. “Fuck, I’m about to pass out. I need to get some air.”

“Want me to come with you?” asks Kara.

“Up to you, dear.”

They look at you.

“I should throw Mary a bone.”

Kara smirks at you. “Kinky.”

Elsie rolls her eyes at her friend. “C’mon you bitch ass.”

Seeing his opportunity, Mary gives a head nod as he seamlessly switches places with them. He pulls your back into him as his hands come round to rest on your hips.

“Good thing you emptied my dick earlier, or we’d have a problem,” he murmurs into your ear.

“Don’t be gross.”

“K.”

You and Mary grind or shimmy or jump depending on what the song calls for, your beer long drunk by now. At some point someone opens a window, and the chill, near-January air curls in—its icy but brisk tendrils working their way through the crowd. You shiver a little as the sweat on your skin tingles and cools at its touch, and Mary pulls you in tighter.

Meatloaf comes on—🎶 On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? 🎶—and Mary snuffles his face into the crook of your neck, you tilting your head to the side to give him access.

🎶 Will he offer me his teeth? 🎶

He worries at you with his teeth.

🎶 Will he offer me his hunger? 🎶

His blunt teeth sink into you, and you let out a pleased rumble.

🎶 And will he starve without me? 🎶

“Yes,” he whispers into your ear right along with Jim Steinman.

You roll your eyes even though Mary can’t see you do it, but you let him spin you out—jostling the other revelers—and back into him (stumbling) as the drum beat drops. He tries to twirl you, but the crowd has packed back in around you, and all you accomplish is tripping over his boots.

🎶 …I was dying just to ask for a taste 🎶 he mouths at you.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” you say.

He leans in and nips at your lips, but you turn your head to whisper in his ear.

“I gave you a taste earlier, mister.”

“Mmm, but I’m greedy.”

You let him mouth at your neck as the two of you sway back and forth, Mary’s hands dipping lower and lower.

A sudden commotion is like a record scratch, and everyone turns to the front hall. Mary’s bandmates come into sight—caterwauling with 12 packs of shitty beer held aloft—encouraging the cheers of the other partygoers.

One spots Mary and points his finger at him.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The other band members pick up the chant.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The crowd takes up what has become a war cry:

“Goore! GOORE! G O O R E !”

Mary points back, then puts his hand up in supplication at you as he backs his way out of the room.

“You’re a goddamned tease!” you cry after him.

He shrugs before spinning on his heel to be assimilated in the group, the chant turning into whoops and hollers as they make their way into the kitchen.

Mary had warned you that the band usually did an unplugged set, and you surmise they must need to set up.

Without Mary or the girls, the dance room has lost its appeal, so you meander around the first floor. The drinking games have devolved into “Never Have I Ever,” and while the pizza is gone, a homemade-looking mac and cheese dish in a tinfoil baking pan has appeared.

You pile some onto a paper plate (whose structural integrity you seriously question) and are content to watch the proceedings until a girl in the circles demands you squeeze in with a slurred “None of this wallflower shit!”. They shove a solo cup into your hand, which is then promptly filled with whiskey from a Jack bottle.

For the next hour or so, the guests on either side of you—Lila and Marty—become the best friends you never knew you had while you all hoot and catcall each other to the escalating scenarios. The bromance comes to a swift end, sadly, when Dee appears in the doorframe, sees you, and points dramatically.

“It is time for the festivities!” he yells in deep baritone.

“I’m being summoned!” you yell, and there’s a chorus of boos as you wobbly make your way over.

“Come, yon neophyte, and join us at the gathering spot.”

“Lay on, McDee!”

Dee leads you out into the backyard, which is done up with myriad bulb lights. Mary winks at you as you pass him on the porch—picking your way around the hodgepodge of instruments—before you join Ed, Trevor, Kara, and Elsie at one side of a well-used iron fire pit on the grass. The girls are passing a flask back and forth as they snuggle you in between them.

It should be fucking freezing out, but with the alcohol, the body heat, and the fire, you actually feel quite cozy. There’s a buzz of voices as the band arranges and tunes the borrowed instruments. You think you can see human shapes on back decks in other lots, but it’s hard to tell through the glare of the lights.

The band members take their places, there’s a countdown, and then Mary and the guys jumpstart into their first crowd favorite. While there are some general cheers at favored sections, the intimacy of the party and the lack of mics or speakers make it a quieter affair than their venue shows. You and the girls sway back and forth in your triplet, and even the guys are fist pumping and mouthing along. They play two more of their own songs before doing a few classic 80′s punk covers that really get everyone hyped.

It’s not perfect—none of them are sober, they’re unaccustomed to the instruments, and the cold air isn’t helping dexterity. At one point the lead singer forgets the words and just la la las his way through the verse, which in turn sends some of the other members into a musical stutter. Not everyone is invested in the whole set—some people went back inside after the first few tunes, and others see the band as just background to their conversations. Those who are fully invested have gravitated closer to the porch—but your group of Mary’s bffls are content to hang out by the fire pit where a few people have started roasting marshmallows.

After an … interesting … mashup of “Rudie Can’t Fail” and “Classics of Love” that sounds like a physical representation of a key smash, the band closes ranks, and there’s some whispered conversation and emphatic gesturing.

“Ok!” says Donnie, the lead singer. “We’re gonna switch things up. Usually on backing vocals, Goore is going to take lead for our last song.” There are some boos that probably have more to do with the set ending than Mary singing, but also some whistles that are probably for Mary. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s a party for us too!”

“Huh,” says Elsie.

“What?” you say into her armpit.

“Mary hates lead.”

You know. He’s mentioned ad nauseam.

Mary steps forward and takes position up front. When he brushes his forelock out of the way, he looks up briefly and catches eyes with you. You give him thumbs up. A grin breaks out on his face, and he winks at you. Slowly, he strums chords until he finds what he’s looking for, and you can tell he’s humming along quietly—it’s a familiar sight now to you, but you wonder how much of this crowd has seen Mary chart out a song.

Finding the key he’s looking for, Mary clears his throat. His voice isn’t rich in timbre, but he rasps out with feeling, and his pitch is near perfect.

🎶 So I hear you been wondering I've been wondering too Just what this crazy world has in store for me and you 🎶

You’re surprised at his choice, and you feel your face burn. Mary’s eyes flick up to you—glinting boyishly—and you stick your tongue out at him. He slows the song way down as he sings, changing the frenetic energy of the original into a soulful ballad to which he can growl along.

🎶 You scratching to find a way A tortured soul back from the grave O Baby Doll back to kill them all Now please won’t you stay 🎶

Mary pauses, looking full up at you before taking in a deep breath. A few heads turn to see who he’s looking at. You scrunch your face at him to convey your mortification, but he just shakes his head at you—he’s not going to stop.

🎶 Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll I need you I love you Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll O Please come back to me 🎶

You suddenly feel naked under the interested gazes of the curious onlookers as Mary continues on. He’s mostly singing at the guitar, but his few pointed glances at you make it clear who he’s singing to.

🎶 The tortures of your soul The rotting flesh pain never dulls O Baby Doll you will kill them all Now please come to me 🎶

You try to sink back into Elsie and Kara, who just push you forward again.

“Dude,” Elsie breaths at you.

“This is awesome,” says Kara.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” you mutter through your plastered on smile.

Some of the amassed crowd—which suddenly seems to have multiplied—start clapping to the slowed beat, and it causes a ripple of well-timed claps as well as those who can’t keep a rhythm.

Strumming in deliberate strokes, Mary looks up to hold your eyes once more.

🎶 I see you standing there In the shadows and in the rain A lifeless beauty Nothing could ever ease you of all your pain But Baby Doll the revenge you seek I dunno It will never be sweet But you'll never give it up Now come to me Come on 🎶

You shake your head as Mary continues to repeat the chorus into a soft fade. There’s a moment of silence after he’s finished, and he points out at you.

“Give it up for my very own baby doll!”

Applause breaks out and you give him double Fs.

Mary sets down the guitar carefully as Donnie steps forward again.

“All right! That’s it, motherfuckers! We’re about an hour away from the New Year, so grab a drink and sign up for our mailing list if you haven’t already!”

The crowd is whooping and whistling. A few people crowd up on the porch, as do Trevor, Ed, & Dee. Mary shakes hands, shoulder bumps, and backslaps his bandmates and some of the crowd, but his eyes are on you.

“I’d fuck him,” says Kara with a smirk.

Elsie groans. “Please don’t fuck in front of us. At least find a broom closet.”

You turn to her and give her a wolfish smile. “Who says we haven’t already christened it?”

Elsie buries her face in her hands as Kara tipsily attempts to fist bump you and ends up smushing your tit.

“Whoops! My bad!”

“Bitch, we’re cutting you off.”

“No, you’re not. Who would you do shots with?”

“Suey’s more than capable.”

You make a “who me?” face.

“Mebbe, but I think her mouth is spoken for.”

You’re about to respond, but arms suddenly encircle you, a mouth presses to your neck, and you squawk.

“If you’re not Mary Goore, you better watch your nuts!”

“I’m me, and I have to watch my nuts, anyway.”

You squirm around so that you’re facing him.

“Forget your nuts, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Aaaand on that note!” says Elsie, and she and Kara pat Mary’s arm before heading inside.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes.

“Whatever. You’re pleased. You fucking love that song.”

“Oh? Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I still have my nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then point your finger in his face.

“You’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Mmm, I can think of a few ways you can take it out of my ass later.”

Your stomach flips, and you press into him, grabbing his jaw.

“Damn right I will.”

Mary bites his lip as you wiggle your hand in between the two of you to palm at his crotch. He closes his eyes and sways a little

and that’s when you step away from him.

“C’mon—my cup is empty. I need a refresh.”

Mary’s eyes pop open, and he whines while making an exaggerated puppy-dog face.

You snap your fingers at him. “That’s for earlier.”

There are still enough people mingling outside that it takes a while for the two of you to actually make it back inside—some are Mary’s friendly acquaintances he wants to say hi to and others are fans he can’t help but chat up.

“We’re going to be on Instagram again, aren’t we?” you say when you finally start your trek inside, his arm lazily resting around your shoulders.

His head turns to face you, and he gives you an impish smile.

“Tell me if I give a shit.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “You might give a shit later.”

His smile turns vulpine. “Promise?”

Your hand slips into his back pocket and squeezes.

It’s actually pretty close to the ball drop by this point, so you and Mary grab up two of the bargain plastic champagne glasses you find lined up in rows on the kitchen counter. When the cheap champagne starts being passed around like you’re all in a pirate shanty, you hold out the glasses (Mary’s already lost the base to his) for a fill.

There’s no way everyone is going to fit in the living room; the majority of the attendees are spilling out into the hall, up the stairwell, and out onto the porch, with you and Mary are squished in by the stairs—but the volume for Rocking New Year’s Eve is turned up so loud the speakers are fuzzing, and a few people are streaming it on the phones.

“T-Minus one minute!” someone screams, and a cheer goes up.

“Oh shit!” you exclaim and start digging around in your bra.

“What?” asks Mary as his eyes flick down to your tits.

You retrieve two silver dollars, warmed by your skin, and press one into Mary’s free hand.

“What’s this?” He holds the coin up at eye level.

“Silver dollar. If you hold onto one as the year turns over, it’s supposed to bring good fortune.”

He looks at you skeptically as he turns it this way and that. “Does it work?”

You shrug. “Can’t hurt. My grandma swore by it.”

“THIRTY SECONDS!”

“Where d’you even get these?”

You grin.

“Amazon.”

Shouts come from the living room: “10 … 9 … 8 …”

Mary turns to face you, and the two of you take up the chant.

“7 … 6 … 5…”

He crowds a little closer, the fist holding the coin draped over your shoulder with yours resting on his hip.

“4 … 3 … 2 …”

You don’t get out the “1” because Mary smashes his mouth to yours—just a hard press of lips to lips—then he’s pulling away to press his glass to your mouth. As you try to sip out of it, you fumble your own glass to his mouth. The two of you only succeed in spilling half the contents all over each other before conceding defeat.

There’s some shrieking a moment before everyone in the hall gets sprayed with foamy champagne. Since there really isn’t any room to escape, Mary and you try your best to duck and cover, laughing as the droplets come raining down. The beach ball from earlier comes out of nowhere, and you punch it back into the air, the plastic of it slick from the champagne shower.

Everyone is still screaming, separated friends are trying to find each other amidst the revelry, and some dude on the stairs is shouting Tennyson over an off-key rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”.

“Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Elsie and Kara are jumping up and down from where they are in the living room, pointing, and starting to make their way to you.

“The flying cloud, the frosty light!” 🎶 and never brought to mind? 🎶

The beach ball beans you in the face, and Mary takes it and lobs it onto the porch where it hits the back of Donnie’s head, causing the rest of them to cackle and holler back.

“The year is dying in the night!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Like magic, Mary procures a half-full bottle of bubbly from the train of people maneuvering in the hall and takes a big swig before passing it to you. You chug the rest, coughing as the lukewarm bubbles fizz up your nose.

“Ring out, wild bells, and let him die!” 🎶 and auld lang syne? 🎶

Laughing, Mary wipes at your face with his sleeve, and you realize he’s still got the silver dollar clutched tight in his hand.

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love-skincareroutine · 4 years

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What Does Baby Oil Do For Your Skin

New Post has been published on https://skin-care-routine.com/skin-care-routine/what-does-baby-oil-do-for-your-skin/

What Does Baby Oil Do For Your Skin

A. 17 Uses for Baby Oil That Will Save You Money

See why this baby softener belongs to the home of every financially experienced adult. The next time you need to loosen, soften, shine, shave or make a noise, try baby oil. The lightly scented mineral oil is suitable for numerous applications that have nothing to do with babies. In fact, having baby oil eliminates the need to buy a variety of disposable products, which are often more expensive. Below are more than a dozen uses of baby oil that can save money.

1. Bath oil

I poured baby oil into the bathtub to soften my tired winter skin.

Note: You must then use a cleaning agent for the bathtub, otherwise the next bather may slip and fall through the oily residue.

2. Moisturizer

Don’t you want to scrub a bathtub with oil after each bath to enjoy baby oil? Dry the towel immediately after bathing, then apply a little baby oil to damp skin to retain moisture.

3. Shaving gel replacement

Before shaving, use a thin layer of baby oil instead of foam or shaving gel (or soap) on your legs.

4. Wax aid

If you shave eyebrows, legs or other parts of the body, use a little baby oil afterwards to remove any remaining wax.

5. Eye make-up remover

A cotton ball moistened with baby oil takes care of the eyeshadow and eyeliner without irritating sensitive skin.

6. Temporary tattoo remover

Junior came home from a birthday party with screaming superhero tattoos? Rub them with a little baby oil.

7. Cuticle oil

Sushmita Munda writes on makeupandbeauty.com that she uses baby oil on her hands when she does her nails. Of course, there is a product called “cuticle oil”, but she never buys it.

8. Lip scrub

Munda also does a lip scrub by mixing 1 teaspoon of baby oil, ½ teaspoon of sugar and a few drops of lemon juice. She rubs lightly on her lips every night before bed to remove dead skin.

9. Detergent massage

Baby oil is a cheap alternative to massage oil or cream.

10. Softener for scaly feet

Do your feet look like lizards in winter? Apply some baby oil before bed, then put on plain white socks. While you sleep, the skin on your feet becomes very soft.

11. Ring loosener

Were your hands swollen from pregnancy or air travel? Pour a little baby oil on the swollen finger and gradually loosen the ring.

12. Paint remover

Do you have latex paint on your hands or arms after painting a room? It can rub immediately or become embedded in the ankles and other skin folds. A post on Instructables.com recommended massaging paint splashes with baby oil in a circular motion.

13. Squeaky hinge lubricant

A drop or two should do the trick – and baby oil smells much better than WD-40.

14. Bandage remover

Is it time to change the patch on your child’s knee? Saturate with oil and wait for a while; The patch should come off immediately, without pain.

15. Price sticker remover

If you can’t remove a sticker from something made of glass, porcelain or plastic, apply some baby oil and wait a while. The sticker should come off much easier.

Note: Do not do this on any fabric or paper, as the oil may discolor.

16. Polishing the golf club

Depending on which golf enthusiast you are talking about, you can protect and polish your clubs with gun oil, WD-40, special golf club polishers, petroleum jelly, a silicone gun cloth or, yes, baby oil.

17. Milling oil

If you have a paper shredder – and you should – things go well with the occasional lubrication. Place a few pieces of paper on a baking sheet and spread some baby oil. As soon as the paper absorbs the oil, pass it through the paper shredder.

B. 6 Ways You Can Include Baby Oil In Your Daily Beauty Routine

Basically, baby oil is just mineral oil. It is extracted from oil and is used in almost all types of skin products, such as moisturizers and perfumes. Contrary to popular belief, baby oil is not a panacea for all skin problems under the sun. The theory has resulted in women being misinformed about its use, and that is where we come in. Here are five ways to safely incorporate baby oil into your beauty routine and what you should know about it.

1. Moisturizer

Baby oil can be used as a moisturizer, especially in areas of dry skin that need to be healed. The application is very similar to that of babies; Do this from the shower when your skin is still damp. In this way, the oil penetrates deeply into the skin while the pores are still open. Although baby oil is perfectly safe as a non-toxic alternative to other creams, it is not advisable to use it on your face. Baby oil tends to clog pores and cause acne when used on the face. You should continue to use it as a body oil. However, make sure that it is a fragrance-free product as it can cause problems for sensitive skin.

2. Makeup remover

If you are a fan of the oil cleaning method, this tip is for you. Baby oil can be used as a makeup remover as it helps to dissolve makeup and residue. Just massage a thin layer of oil on your face and dry with a cotton towel. Always use a facial wash to wash any residue thoroughly. Baby oil can also be used to make makeup corrections during application. Use a cotton swab to clean up any unstable lines or accidental stains. Make sure to avoid the eye area

3. Foot care

Baby oil contains the rejuvenating and relaxing properties of vitamin E, making it perfect for skin problems such as cracked heels and elbows. Heat the oil and use it to do a pedicure at home or as a daily moisturizer for your feet. Always wear socks to prevent oily sheets and slips

4. Cuticle care

Cuticle care is a highly underestimated form of self-care, especially if you work a lot with your hands. Dry cuticles can cause unnecessary burning and pain if left untreated. This is where baby oil can be useful. If you don’t want to spend your money on expensive cuticle oils, get a bottle of baby oil to keep them hydrated. Dip a cotton swab in the oil and apply to fingers and nails. Massage the oil into the nail bed. So doing it also gives you a healthy, shiny-looking nail, which is a great bonus

5. Shaving oil

I don’t normally leave a razor near me to remove my hair. I hate it when it grows back with thorns and I don’t like the feeling of shaving creams and foams on my body. I make an exception when baby oil is available. Instead of a cream, apply to the oil and shave. It provides a much closer shave and keeps the skin smooth in the process. It can also be used after epilation to remove any wax residue and soothe the skin

6. Miscellaneous

In addition to the obvious uses, having a bottle of baby oil next to the bedside table can help you in several ways. Broken elbows? Massage in a drop to moisturize overnight. In combination with sunscreen, it can act as a tanning oil. Although they do not contain active ingredients that act against stretch marks, they can be used to keep skin smooth and hydrated and to prevent future lines and wrinkles.

C. Can I Use Baby Oil on My Face?

Baby oil has been on the market for over 100 years and has long been a staple in parents’ kindergartens. It is a clear liquid made from mineral oil and petroleum-based fragrances. According to Johnson & Johnson, baby oil can be applied to the baby’s skin before a massage. It can also help to soothe a baby’s dry skin, especially when used when the skin is already moist with water, for example, after a bath.

Baby oil forms a semi-breathable barrier on the skin. This barrier already retains moisture on the skin’s surface. Some adults also use baby oil on the body to soothe dry skin. Some swear that it gives the skin of the face a special smoothness and shine. People also use baby oil on many other parts of the body, on their hair and as a lubricant. According to a limited amount of research, baby oil may have the ability to increase and soften the skin. Here’s what you need to know if you’re thinking about applying it to your face.

1. Is baby oil good for your face?

Baby oil is hypoallergenic and free of parabens, phthalates and dyes. This means that it is safe for most people to lie on their skin without fear of allergic reactions.

There is a limited amount of scientific research on how baby oil affects the skin and little research on how it affects the face. Based on available research, baby oil is safe for your skin, including the skin on your face.

a. Can you use baby oil as a facial moisturizer?

Baby oil is not comedogenic, which means it does not clog your skin pores. So if you have a dry or normal skin type, you can use baby oil to keep your face hydrated. In a 1993 Trusted Source study, scientists tested four different common moisturizing ingredients to see how they affected people’s skin. One was mineral oil, an important ingredient in baby oil. In comparison to ethanol, glycerin and water, water and baby oil appear to have the greatest moisturizing effect of all ingredients when applied to the skin. Scientists have found that mineral oil has helped to make the skin fatter and to make it more hydrated.

b. Does baby oil reduce the appearance of scars and stretch marks?

There is no direct research to show that baby oil can reduce the appearance of facial scars and stretch marks on the body. The same 1993 study by ResearchTrusted Source, which found that baby oil is an effective moisturizer, suggests that this claim is probably true. Most scars and stretch marks are cut on the skin. The application of baby oil can thicken the skin in these areas and reduce the overall appearance of scars and stretch marks. An older study from 1975 found that the effects of baby oil disappeared 48 hours after use. It must be reapplied to keep the skin looking moist and plump.

c. Does baby oil relieve skin discomfort?

The researchers found some evidence that baby oil can help relieve skin conditions, including those associated with dry skin and diseases like psoriasis. According to a 2012 study of people on hemodialysis, baby oil helped to significantly reduce itching when rubbed on the itchy body part for at least 15 minutes a day for 3 weeks.

2. Can you put baby oil on your face at night?

You can apply baby oil to your face at any time of the day or night to wake you up with smoother, fleshier skin. However, avoid doing this if you are prone to acne, as this can make the situation worse.

3. Unproven claims

Most claims about baby oil, in addition to its moisturizing and fatty properties, have not been proven. Here’s what you should know:

a. Can baby oil treat acne on your face?

There is no evidence that using baby oil can treat acne. Although many people can apply baby oil to their face without increasing the risk of acne, it should be avoided if you have acne-prone skin. Even though baby oil itself does not clog pores, the barrier it forms on the skin can retain dirt and oil that enter the pores and worsen acne.

b. Can baby oil remove makeup?

There is no clear evidence that baby oil can be used to remove makeup. However, many people do this anecdotally. Because it is considered safe to use, it is unlikely to harm you. However, if you have acne-prone skin, avoid applying baby oil to your face.

c. Can you use it instead of shaving cream?

There is no research to suggest that baby oil is a suitable replacement for shaving cream. However, regular use of baby oil can moisturize and soften the skin, making shaving easier.

4. Possible side effects of using baby oil on the face

Baby oil is generally safe to use. However, there are some side effects that you should be aware of when trying to use it on your face. These possible side effects include:

a. Allergic reaction

Research has shown that an allergic reaction to mineral oil, a common ingredient in baby oil, is very rare. However, if you have sensitive skin and are concerned about the possibility of reacting, consider applying a small amount to another, less visible part of your body. Wait 24 hours to see if you have a reaction. If you don’t notice any redness or irritation, it’s safe to apply it to your face.

b. Trigger Escape

Baby oil was developed to be non-comedogenic. Therefore, it does not clog pores, although it can cause acne in people prone to skin rashes.

c. Inability to sweat

Baby oil forms a barrier on the skin. Therefore, on a hot day, it can retain a lot of moisture. This makes it harder for you to sweat, as your body naturally tries to calm down.

5. How to use baby oil on your face

If you want to apply baby oil to your face, do the following:

Wash your face with a mild detergent or soap.

Dry and leave a little moisture on the skin surface.

Inject a small amount of baby oil into your hand.

Gently massage the oil on your face with your fingertips.

6. Alternative home remedies for facial skin

Baby oil is a synthetic product. Vegetable oils are a more natural choice for skin care. If you are looking for alternative oils to soften and smooth your face, consider these more natural options:

Almond oil is a mild moisturizing oil. It is ideal for people with dry and sensitive skin.

Argan oil is a perfect facial oil for people with normal skin. It is moisturizing and full of vitamins that can protect your face from the sun and other skin damage.

Jojoba oil is great for people with oily skin. It is light and moisturizing, but also reduces oiliness.

Rosehip oil works well for people with acne-prone skin. This oil is moisturizing, but it also contains fatty acids that reduce redness and disappear acne scars.

7. Summary

Baby oil is a popular skin care product, originally developed for babies, but it is also used by adults. It can help to increase, soften and moisturize the skin, retaining moisture from the face and the whole body. Although it is a synthetic oil, it is quite mild and rarely causes allergic reactions. However, if you have acne-prone skin, this product should not be applied to your face as it can cause skin rashes. In addition, if you want to opt for a more natural facial oil, there are many vegetable oils for all skin types.

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