#mumu sweep as ever

[arkiwii]

before the great Rhine Lab Breakup (tm), which director threw the best department picnic?

do i need to explain

she would force all those nerds outside, and if she can't, then she'll make inside INTO outside, because she simply can. and you better accept coming at the picnic or she'll make a fuss and insist until you do.

however Dorothy is a close second, just be careful of what's in the sandwiches

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 21: I Got Better

Rated M for language and violence (for now).

Turns out vampires have anticoagulant spit! Who knew!

On AO3.

An earthquake!

The shaking cuts through the crushing depths around you and jolts you awake. You flail, inhale something, and end up coughing and gagging on your side in the dirt.

“She’s not dead,” Shadowheart’s voice is calm and cool in a way that sounds really bad.

Your neck hurts. There’s something horrifically heavy squeezing down on it. And it’s rained in the night; as you shift, the neck of your tunic clings to you.

The sun flickers.

Wait.

That doesn’t happen.

You open your eyes. They’re crusty and gummed up and too heavy.

“What’s happening?” you say only it comes out, “Wuhbthhh.”

“Hand me that potion,” Shadowheart says. Still rigidly calm.

It’s night. Weird, soft light washes over you. You’re on your side, your mouth disgustingly sweet, your tongue all cracked and dry. And someone is trying to choke you.

“No, Eleanor, don’t move,” Shadowheart says. “Gale, give this to her.”

The light shifts. Gale, still in his mumu pajamas, sits on his folded knees. The light follows him, and you realize it’s some kind of magic fireflies swimming around his head. He fiddles with something, and the cool, smooth lip of a bottle touches your lips.

“Careful,” he says and tilts it.

Healing potion tastes like sweet chiles, for some reason. Vaguely sweet, mostly burning, but more like strong alcohol than capsaicin melting your taste buds. You sip it, wincing at the crushing pressure on your throat.

Your head clears a little as Gale tilts the last of it into your mouth.

It’s still night. No moon. The fire is low embers, so Gale has cast some spell. Shadowheart kneels over you with a rag pressed to your neck.

“What,” you start.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

“It looks like the bleeding has slowed,” Shadowheart says, easing off a bit.

Your tunic is damp and a bit crusty. Because it’s covered in blood. Yours, this time. Anticoagulant vampire spit. Motherfucker.

Shadowheart casts her jesus-hands spell on you. It feels like strong sunlight soaking into your skin. The bite on your neck itches as the scabs form. As the skin slams into production to grow over and seal the puncture. As your bone marrow kicks into high gear to churn out more blood cells.

“Water?” you say. You’re so thirsty it hurts.

Gale hums, even as he lifts up a waterskin. “She must have had time to drink her last Potion of Tongues. And couldn’t have been so long ago, as it’s still working.”

You latch onto the waterskin like a starving thing. Slam back three gulps before Gale—that bastard—pulls it back.

“Slower,” he says. “Don’t want to go rupturing your stomach.”

Which sounds made up.

“Here,” Shadowheart says. Finally, the awful pressure eases. Her body heat washes over you as she leans in to inspect her work. “That’s closed up nicely. You’re lucky. If Gale hadn’t woken when he did, you might have been stone dead come morning.”

You do your best to sit up. The world spins. Gale hands you the waterskin and you chug down three more gulps, lowering it before he can chide you again.

“What time is it?” you say. Remember that no one has cell phones or watches.

“About halfway between moondark and dawn,” Gale says. “Do you remember anything?”

You remember all of it quite distinctly. You take up more fluids and hope it hides the flush you feel sweeping up your face. Apparently you have enough blood still in you to pull that off.

You must have passed out while still bleeding. And the wound hadn’t closed because vampires are, turns out, literally giant leeches. Your tunic is plastered to your shoulder and even your weak, human nose is filled with the metallic tang of blood.

And the cause of it chooses that moment to come strolling into Gale’s spell light.

“On no, what’s happened?” Astarion says in the most bullshit bullshitter tone you’ve ever heard.

Gale tenses next to you. Shadowheart, still hovering over you, goes eerily still.

Astarion stands there, all stupid, floofy hair and stupid, frilly shirt. He hasn’t made near a mess of himself as he left all over you.

A soft sound, and you twist to find Lae’zel standing back there with a neutral expression. And her hand on the hilt of her sword.

You can’t see Astarion’s face in any detail at that distance and in this light. You do, however, catch the subtle raise in his shoulders. The way he shifts his weight onto his back foot.

“So, the vampire reveals himself,” Shadowheart says. “I was wondering how long you would try to keep your ruse going. If you can even call it that.”

“I…what?” he says.

“What?” you say.

Gale has fully turned to face Astarion. Shifted himself between the two of you, even. He glances over his shoulder at you. “It’s alright, Eleanor. We’ve got you.”

“There’s been some mistake,” Astarion says. “I’ve been patrolling. I thought I heard something and came back to check on the rest of you. Has something happened to Eleanor?”

You roll your eyes.

“It seems a blood drinker attacked her in the night,” Lae’zel says.

Attacked? Wait, shit.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” you say. “Everybody calm down. I wasn’t attacked—”

“A vampire?” Astarion says. “Here?”

“You really thought we hadn’t noticed?” Shadowheart says, a pleased little hum in her voice. She’s gloating.

“Hey,” you say.

“What’s it to be, Astarion?” Gale says. “Will you leave willingly?”

“Hey.”

“This is all a misunderstanding.” Astarion lifts his hands. Takes another step back. He’s going to bolt.

“HEY! Will you chucklefucks just listen to me?” you say. “Fuck’s sake. The lot of y’all getting all pissy and hopped up for no goddamn reason!”

It’s enough to startle Shadowheart back an inch. Judging by the slight furrow in her brow, that’s more to with your vocabulary than any genuine force you have (it was chucklefuck, wasn’t it).

“Ain’t nobody got attacked. I let him have some blood, you hear? I volunteered.”

It’s like you whipped a trout out of your shirt and smacked them in the face with it. You’ve seen church ladies look less affronted at a teenage, drive-by mooning.

“You…?” Shadowheart trails off. Her nose wrinkles in delicate distaste. “Why?”

You make eye contact with Astarion (or where the shadows hide his eyes, anyway). You’ve seen him murder-horny, smug, nervous, bored, and smarmy. You ain’t seen him shit scared before. Oh, he’s trying to hide it. Sweep it under smooth reassurance, plaster it over with confidence and faux concern. But the man is an alley cat backed into a corner. If he had fur, it’d be standing on end.

He tried to bite you in your sleep. Tried to do the exact thing everyone is so upset about. He looks at you, and you look at him, and y’all don’t even need brainworms to understand how aware of that y’all both are.

“He asked,” you say. Perhaps not technically a lie, at least not after he’d explained himself. “We got no idea what we might find tomorrow, and it seemed like a good idea to make sure we’re all at our best, right?”

“You aren’t,” Gale says. “Not after this.”

Astarion bristles. Opens his mouth.

“I’m about as useful in a fight as tits on a boar hog,” you say. “We all know it.”

This last part to Lae’zel behind y’all, with her gaze still fixed on Astarion, but her posture looser than it was.

It’s Shadowheart who snorts first. Covers her mouth to hide it. “Sorry. Sorry, that’s just…”

But Gale still frowns. Still glances between y’all. Focuses on Astarion. “Did you dominate Eleanor?”

That…cannot be an accurate translation.

It doesn’t faze Astarion, though. He slaps on a self-deprecating smile. “Were I a real vampire, I might be capable of that. Sadly, though, I’m just a spawn, as I explained to Eleanor. Along with answering all of her following questions.”

Passing the ball back to you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, but you’re still caught up on “dominate.” He didn’t hold you down, and there wasn’t any weird sex stuff. The fuck…?

Gale looks to Shadowheart, who shrugs.

And then it hits. You never actually read Dracula yourself—too dry and boring. But you watched that movie where he turned into a werewolf to bang that girl out in the garden (you mostly remember her tits, honestly). He could mind whammy her. Enchant her.

Dirt potion, for some reason, translates that to “dominate.”

You think, anyway.

In a normal situation (nothing about this is normal and you’re not going to think about that because you might start screaming and never stop), Gale would be completely justified in asking that.

Exsanguinated, exhausted, and emotionally fucked up, what fills you is spitting rage.

It’s not your fault you sinned. You’re too weak and stupid to resist the devil’s temptations. It’s not you getting angry, it’s the devil’s whispers. Not you crying, but the devil making you weak. You have no will, no opinion, no ideas. They’re all the fault of the devil, because you are filthy and pathetic, and you could never, ever know better, now go cut yourself a switch.

You tear yourself from the bedroll, even as your brain shouts how stupid that is. Force yourself onto feet that wobble. Have to catch yourself on Gale’s shoulder as your head floats off your neck and everything goes sort of fuzzy and ringing around you.

“Gale of fucking Waterdeep, don’t you ever suggest I cannot make my own decisions.”

He moves as if to step away; catches himself (probably) when he realizes that will one hundred percent end in you eating dirt. He holds up a hand in a pacifying gesture. “Please, I don’t think this wise at the moment. We’re only trying to ensure the safety of the group. Shadowheart?”

But Shadowheart’s arms are crossed. She makes no move to guide you back to the reasonable ground.

Astarion hadn’t told you because he was afraid of this. You could kinda see people maybe being unhappy. He made you wary, yeah. A little creeped out, even. But these people turned on him so fast—

Because they found you bleeding out.

“Fuck,” you say and bury your face in one hand. Gale is good enough to keep his arm steady as you slide down to your knees. And yeah, he was right about standing being a terrible idea.

“I thought I could take care of the cleanup,” you say. “He didn’t go all rabid on me or nothing. Stopped when I told him to and backed off.”

Astarion lifts his chin at that. Fixes Gale with the most self-righteous look. Even though you both know you’re fudging that, too.

“I’m guessing your spit is an anticoagulant?” you say.

“I’m…I’m not sure.” He catches the looks from everyone. “That is to say, I’ve never, ah, fed on something that needed to survive the encounter. I hunt animals. It’s never been an issue before.”

Around then, it hits how epically stupid you’ve been. You thought he did this regularly. Vampire, and all. But that statement? You let him at your neck unsupervised and unchecked. He could have drained you dry. He’s used to doing just that.

“How many people have you killed?” you say. The pitch is higher than you’d like. All the adrenaline and other pants-wetting hormones dumping into your bloodstream now that you know exactly what type of venomous snake you’ve stepped on.

“Oh, plenty,” he says. “But never for food. I…”

A shadow crosses his face. His lips thin and the barest flicker of a sneer wrinkles his nose for a second. Then he sighs. Clears his throat. “You were my first thinking creature.”

No one moves. No one says anything. Crickets hum and the wind rustles softly through the leaves.

Shadowheart’s laugh is shrill and borderline ugly. “A virgin vampire?”

You’re not following. Look between all of them. Gale finally softens in amusement. Shadowheart doesn’t even try to hide her grin this time. And Astarion is…still wearing a smile. But there’s something about it now. Something about the way he’s holding himself.

It’s a mask. And the Astarion below that, he’s wildly uncomfortable. The set of his shoulders. His hands are too still.

He’s never bit a person before. That’s what he’s saying.

“Ch’k,” Lae’zel finally speaks. “All of this talk of an undead threat, yet I see no threat.”

“We had to be sure,” Gale says, and thank baby jesus, the man finally relaxes. “I’m sorry you were the one who took the brunt of this, Eleanor. I had assumed he would go after myself or Shadowheart, as you are an unknown entity and Lae’zel is…ah, formidable.”

Lae’zel lets out a crocodile hiss. You’re beginning to wonder if that’s a laugh. “Should I ever wake missing so much as a drop of blood, Astarion, I will open you from throat to belly.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he says.

Gale turns to you, all solemn. “As it was my idea to wait before confronting him, I take full responsibility.”

“I’m just surprised he didn’t do it sooner,” Shadowheart says.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He seems as befuddled as you feel. Because that sounds like they already knew. Knew for a couple of days, at least. And even talked about it?

“Y’all knew he was a vampire?” you say.

Gale holds up one finger. “We theorized.”

“He didn’t even hide it,” Shadowheart says. “Look at the mark on his neck.”

“Your complexion is rather corpse-ish.”

“And his eyes? Red eyes?”

Lae’zel even jumps in. “His temperature is that of the air. Even amongst istik, that is a known inaccuracy.”

This fucking…the whole time?

“Wait, wait, wait,” Astarion says, one hand pressed over, yeah, those certainly are bite marks on his neck, aren’t they? There’s a heaping tablespoon of bitchy in his voice. “You, all of you, knew what I was? This entire time?”

“I certainly had my suspicions,” Gale says. “I waited for a few days to verify my observations, and then brought it up to Shadowheart who confirmed it.”

“And you didn’t think to, to stake me?”

“I wanted to,” Shadowheart says.

Gale steamrolls her before Astarion’s sharp glare can turn to sharp words. “You’d been behaving yourself, contrary to all the lore. Considering our shared circumstances, it seemed a waste to turn away potential allies should you prove to be one. Until tonight, that is.”

“I asked permission!”

“He did ask permission,” you say.

“And that is to your credit, Astarion.”

“What about you?” Astarion says past your shoulder. “When did they rope you into all this?”

Lae’zel gazes impassively. She honestly looks bored now that she’s lost her chance to cut someone in half again. “They awoke me shortly after finding that one bleeding out.”

She throws a glare at Shadowheart. It bounces right off.

Astarion huffs. Takes another step back, only he doesn’t seem two seconds from sprinting off, so much as a pout. He runs a hand through his ridiculous hair. His eyes catch on you. They narrow.

“But not you,” he says and it is one hundred percent an accusation.

One that draws the attention of the others. You can feel Lae’zel’s disapproval glide across the back of your skull. Shadowheart’s incredulousness warms the side of your face. Gale’s concern and burning curiosity skitters over your brow.

You throw up your hands. “We don’t fucking have vampires where I come from! I told y’all we don’t got monsters. How the fuck was that supposed to occur to me? I thought he was just albino!”

“Al…” Gale starts. Snorts. Runs a hand across his face. “Once we’re free of these parasites, you and I need to sit down to a nice bottle of Blackstaff with as many scrolls as I can carry. I have so many questions.”

Lae’zel sighs. Her sword has been sheathed this entire time, but now she lets go of the handle. “I go back to sleep. Do not wake me for foolishness again.”

Astarion glances to everyone and falls into his theater posture. Spine straight, hands loose at his sides, casual smarm back on display. “There now. We’re all friends again, eh?”

Gale looks to you as if seeking confirmation. You shrug at him. The skin where Astarion bit you is warm, but the wounds themselves are closed. You down more water.

“Alright.” Gale nods. “As Eleanor is the aggrieved party here, if she will allow you to stay, I have no objections. Though I do have to warn you, Astarion, I taste terrible.”

The goddamn vampire gives a little, swooping bow. “Thank you. And noted.”

Shadowheart lingers a moment longer. Looks at him. Looks at you. Back to him. “If I wake up with you hovering over me, I’ll blast you to ash.”

He gives her the same bow, with a touch of a leer to it. You’re not even sure it’s intentional.

Shadowheart pauses as she stands. To you,” I do suggest that if we find a bell, we tie it to him so he can’t go skulking about in the night.”

She leaves, but not before setting two apples and another waterskin. You dig in as best you can while lying down.

“So,” Astarion drawls. “I think that went rather well.”

You glare at him. “Y’all got some real fucked up standards over there.”

Gale clears his throat. You’d thought he’d started back to his tent, but now he stands there all apologetically, holding out a steaming cup he didn’t have two seconds ago. When you lift one eyebrow, he says, “Tea. You’ll probably need it.”

If he has sugar or honey to add to it, that would be great. But something about his face makes you hesitate.

His lips press and he sighs. “I assume you were saving that potion for whatever we find tomorrow, correct? Most potions, that one included, wear off once you sleep. I’m also assuming you passed out too quickly for your body to actually rest or heal itself—as it does during sleep—and that’s why it’s still working. But if you want to retain the effects of that last bottle—and I don’t know how long they will last, mind you—you should probably avoid sleep for the rest of the night. Not to worry, though. We’re not terribly far from dawn. And as I know what a night spent pursuing knowledge is like, and as, well, this is rather my fault, I offer my services, such as they are, to help you pass that time.”

“Oh~ Gale,” Astarion says with such a fucking tone. “You’re being quite direct, aren’t you?”

That fucking asshole. You find a twig to throw in his direction.

Gale frowns. “I meant reading. Aloud, since I’m aware the potion doesn’t extend translation to the written word. Though this could be the time to start to teach you that, as well.”

So after hiking all day, enduring Lae’zel’s death march, getting drained almost to death by a vampire, you now have to stay up the rest of the day.

“I fucking hate it here,” you say.

Astarion sniffs. Says, “Well, I wish you luck, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

This…this fucking guy. You and Gale watch him prance back over to his tent, almost whistling. Bastard nearly killed you, and now he’s leaving you in blood-soaked clothing, to keep yourself awake for the next god knows how long, all so y’all can go traipsing around a fucking swamp looking for what will probably be another goddamn fight. And yep, there he goes, ducking into his tent, letting the flap swing shut, and flopping down onto his own bedding.

“That fucking guy,” you say aloud.

Beside you, Gale hums in agreement.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[knightcallie]

for the tav backstory ask game - 6, 8, 9, 23! :3

"Welcome to Baldur's Bounty! Our special guest today is Weichei Zauviir, a drow visitor from Rubenschaun! Mr. Zauviir, we have some burning questions for you!"

The drow slightly tilts his head, giving a polite smile. It seems he has experienced this kind of thing before, clasping his hands together on the arm of the couch. "Oh hallo! Come, sit!" he invites. When we finally sit, he says, "Ask away good saer," as he leans back a bit.

9. What did they do for work/to get by?

His dark lavender eyes sweep up and back to us, lips pursing in consideration. He shifts, replying, "I'm not sure how Faerûn feels about this career." It's careful, gauging. "But I am a bounty hunter by trade. It may have some overlap with monster hunting, but overall I have handled missing persons and on the rare occasion, it was strictly getting more information." It isn't always so gruesome. "I'll admit, I did lose much of my paycheck because of..." A sheepish, guilty smile appears. "Inn damages. For the better part of a decade or two."

6. When did your Tav learn their abilities/skills?

Weichei inclines his head, humming thoughtfully. "I've learned everything I know quite early on. Maybe too young for some," he admits. "My older sisters were in the assassin trade since they were in their double digits, so they prepped me since I was a baby." (What do you mean,, since you were a baby?) He rolls an open hand as he replies, "Well, small, small poison microdosing. Puzzles in varying forms." He brightens. "I especially like the weapon ones, lots of hidden compartments and all. Oh! And Vaddy and Ya-ya--"

He rambles about how each member of his family helped grow his skills and abilities. His father (Vaddy) is a blacksmith, so he knows how to discern good metals, good weapons for certain applications.

His twin older sisters (Yasdia and Vierna) taught him how to fight, how to sneak, how to do sleight of hand, how to craft weapons and poisons. They taught him the ins and outs of the dangerous trades and those connected to it, taught him the languages known in the trades.

His mother (Mumu) imparted some wisdom about her time as a poisoner, he could remember her foraging for specific species of plants and mushrooms, the murmured instructions as she pounded her mortar and pestle.

Then came various mentors and colleagues over the years as he went into the bounty trade. If going by the time he's been in the trades, he had the introduction of the assassin trade at 14 years old before fully committing to the bounty trade at 16 and then on. But overall, it was simply part of his childhood.

8. Does your Tav have any pets?

He breathes out a fondness, smile reaching his eyes. "Not many. Back in my early days, an old friend and bounty partner was given a loris as a gift from his deity. It wasn't exactly my pet, but I was the primary caretaker of Lor Jr when I put in a group with him."

There's some clarifying questions about this odd pet before he continues. "Then there were these two cats--" There's a reminiscing tone in his voice. "Mer, my deceased husband, and I took care of. The white one was Cushy, and the black one was Wishy. They just reminded us of each other, they were so cute..."

More recalling about those cats before moving on. "We've had a handful of other cats throughout the years, but we also had a lot of dogs. Beau, my other husband, grew up with them. But he always had a, kind of a...? Druidic? dog companion? His name is Boloo :)" He shifts to tuck his legs underneath him. "Jr comes and goes, but we did end up having hamsters, mice, rats, more cats, a stray ungulate? ever since having three daughters and a son."

23. Share any hcs/anything you want to say about your Tav’s backstory

He thinks about a fun fact to leave the audience with, ponderng intensely. "Did you know... I went to a spelljamming academy for a couple months?" Upon seeing our shocked surprise, he explains. "It was probably years after Mer passed away... My friend Syretia suggested applying to the academy, even would recommend me too. It was, what...? Only about a little over a month of training?" He does an unsure waving of his hand, face considering. "But after getting froze to death in a simulation and nearly getting charmed by a mindflayer--" (Aren't elves immuned to getting charmed?) He gives an unsure gesture. "I decided it wasn't for me and returned back to our world."

[lnguyenhub]

2/30

Today, I consumed a lot of social energy but was able to recover with some tasty food. This morning, my roommates and I attended the football game against Miami-Ohio. The stadium was crowded, there was a lot of energy and noise, all of which I took in. Afterwards, we went to MuMu Tea, where I bought and drank a very expensive Purple Yam Bubble Latte. We then went home and made brunch. Later in the day, my roommates and I were hit with the painful realization that our apartment needed a deep clean (the sign being our super dusty vents). Mopping, sweeping and vacuuming the floors consumed a lot of energy. In the end, we rewarded ourselves with some take-out, which was birria tacos (one of my favorite foods ever). A few hours later, my friend picked me up to go to a bonfire at her house. It was super crowded, and I had already been tired during the day so socializing drained me even more. That night, I went back to my mom's house and fell asleep tired, but full from the tacos. :)

[artificialqueens]

Cherry Bomb (Katlaska)- Squeaky

Brian and Justin go from professional drag queens to wing men. It gets out of control.

It had started like all of Brian’s best ideas did- after a bottle of beers, two shots, and three swigs of whiskey.

“I’m tired.”

“How can you be tired when you haven’t done anything all day?” Justin said with that smirk. That smirk. The one that made Brian want to punch him in the face.

“No, I’m…tired of this- this thing,” Brian slurred and moved his hands out to gesture at everything and nothing.

“Hm?” Justin murmured as he turned to check his phone.

Brian childishly swiped the phone away: “Pay attention to me, Jus’n.”

“Okay, you fucking pain in my anus. I’m listening,” Justin sighed and leaned down to rest his head on his hands, “What exactly are you tired of?”

Brian leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “The game.”

“Drag Race?”

“No, dumb-ass. I’ll never get tired of Drag Race. I’m tired of the whole pretentious-ass game of picking up trade, pretending to be sexy and normal to get men to put their dick in me. Like having a cock wedged up my anal cavity is some kind of treat.”

Justin rolled his eyes, “Is that what this is all about? Just because you haven’t gotten laid in a month doesn’t mean that you need to take it out on me.”

“Got laid last week.”

“With who? That blonde midget?”

“He gave good head.”

“Honestly, the less time that I spend thinking about your libido, Brian, the happier I’ll be.”

“Don’t roll your eyes- I’m fucking serious. Dead. Fucking. Serious. The chase of the game and the mediocre-ness and the mess and the morning after? It’s not worth it to me. I feel like I’ve over-sex-saturated my senses and now it’s just all, like, whatever. A bleh blob.”

“Did Brian Mccook just tell me that sex wasn’t worth it? Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink for tonight.”

“Think about it though…all this dick chasing has gone stale. The dicks are bread, and I’m done collecting salty crumbs,” Brian said and dramatically tipped back his bottle to lick out the last drop. Justin grabbed the bottle from him and helped him get his ass into an Uber. Brian sent him off with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and urged him to “think about it.”

——————-

That should have been the end of it. Just a drunken ramble born from his usual inebriation and gone by the morning light. Brian didn’t think about it until he rolled out of bed and his phone rang.

“‘Ello?”

“You know. I was up all night, and I think…I think you were on to something!”

“Huh?” Brian blinked and held the phone away from his ringing ears. All he could remember from last night was downing shots and Justin rolling his eyes. Oh, and that insufferable smirk. Everything else was a pleasant blur.

“I think that the game has gotten stale. It’s all the same build up with an inevitable let down.”

“Uh huh,” Brian yawned as he went to brush his teeth. His mouth tasted like how goat sex looked. Bad.

“So why don’t we spice it up? Put a twist on the game?”

“Russian roulette?”

“Kinda. I have to find you the perfect guy, and you have to find me the perfect guy. Deal? First one to find the other a boyfriend wins.”

Brian laughed with a mouth full of toothpaste: “‘Ow tha’s fooking genius!”

“Loser has to suck the winner’s dick?”

He spit and wiped his mouth. “I like the way your twisted mind works. Let’s do it tonight.”

——–

Brian ran a hand over his bare chest, as Justin flipped through his shirts. They’d decided to dress each other up. Brian had quickly picked out a pink button down for Justin with a pair of slacks. Yet, here Brian was, still languishing away on his apartment bed. He looped his fingers and tugged at his jeans-

“If you wanted to lose this bet and just suck me off, Lasky, all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m working on winning it, but your boy wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired,” Justin snapped as he threw a Hawaiian mumu at his face. Brian pretended to strangle himself in it.

Finally, Justin pulled out a black shirt that read simply ‘Carpe Diem,’ which he didn’t remember owning. Brian pulled it on and wrinkled his face at how tight it was. When he raised his hands, the black material rode up to reveal his white stomach.

“Doesn’t fit.”

Justin smoothed down his shirt, fingers lingering: “Fits perfectly.”

Brian’s stomach twisted a little as he looked down at Justin’s fingertips and how they looked splayed across him. He was already getting horny, for some reason, and they hadn’t even left for the club. This low simmering state of semi arousal made it hard to concentrate. In the cab, Justin pressed up close, and Brian leaned in even closer, so he was practically plastered to the older boy’s side. Brian was happy to glance down and see that Justin was just as flustered as him.

“See something you like, Lasky?” Brian teased as he leaned in, slight stubble brushing against Justin’s soft shoulder.

“We’re not even there yet. How can I see anything but your annoying ass?”

Brian only giggled as he playfully reached down and pressed the heel of his hand to Justin’s crotch: “Seem flustered.”

Justin groaned and roughly pushed him towards the other side of the cab. It quickly turned into a tickle fight in the back seat that left Brian more excited than he’d started. The cab driver watched them through the mirror as Brian straddled Justin and tried to pin down his hands. The cab jumped, and Justin pushed him off.

Justin’s hair was sticking to his forehead, and Brian snickered as they stumbled out the cab, side by side, and flicked his fringe. The humid LA night made him glad for his own buzz cut.

“You look pretty gay.”

Justin rolled his eyes: “No, really? Did the fact that we’re walking into a gay bar give it away? Or maybe how hard we got from our hetero-no-homo tickle fight.”

“I’m a growing boy,” Brian teased. “I get hard from anything. What’s your excuse?”

“Mhm.”

“But it’s true, Lasky,” he continued over the beat of the club music as they wove their way through the crowd. It must have been Hawaiian night because Brian had already spotted ten guys dressed like Maui and one like Lilo.

“How about Mr. Tan-line in the corner? He give you anything to get hard over?”

Brian ordered a cocktail, and, not looking away from Justin’s insufferable smirk, slowly nodded. He should be paying attention to the dance floor, but Justin’s hair was distracting. Brian reached up to push back his fringe and Justin let him, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

It was like a back and forth game of ping pong as they sent each other to different corners. Each guy that Justin picked up for him was even better than the last. They all had soft eyes and easy smiles, but Brian found himself making excuse after excuse to get back to Justin. They were all too tall, too small, too thin, too thick…too much…but also not enough.

“You’re being picky,” Justin huffed as he slung his hand over Brian’s shoulder. He leaned into his side and just shrugged. The fringe had flopped back, and Brian reached up to push it back into place. Justin slapped his fingers away with a rough order of ‘concentrate.’

“Hey! Maybe I’m just holding out for Prince Charming. Need me a man like that to come sweep me off my feet. Someone with a sense of humor…soft…but a bit of a freak.”

“Sounds like you wanna fuck yourself,” Justin teased as he looped his hands around Brian’s chest and tugged him closer. They were weirdly spooning now. Actually, was it considered spooning if you weren’t lying down? Whatever, they were doing some gay ass shit that Brian didn’t know how to explain. All he knew was that he didn’t have eyes for anybody on the dance floor.

Justin squeezed him: “How come I haven’t seen you trying all night? Given up already I see. Seems like you’re pretty desperate to get on your knees for me- hoping to pleasure your reigning queen?”

“Nah, I just know someone perfect for you,” Brian said as he twisted around, so his chin was resting on Justin’s chest. He looked up at him through his thick rimmed glasses.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, she’s got long, blonde hair…always keeps ‘em coming back for more…kind of a high class, Russian whore-”

“Bitch!”

He leaned up on his tippy toes, so his lips were right by Justin’s ear: “I hear she’s a scorching hot mess in a skin tight dress.”

Justin’s hands settled on the curve of his back, right above where his shirt rode up. Brian leaned in, so the hard line of their chests were pressed up together. He could feel the heat of Justin’s breathe curl around his neck. Goosebumps.

“Sounds like my type. Does she put out?”

“For the right price,” Brian promised, switching his voice so it was huskier. He realized to the untrained eye right now they must look like a couple. To the trained eye….no, they probably still looked like a couple of married fags, Brian realized.

“How much you think it’d cost to buy her mouth?” Justin murmured, and his voice had gone from teasing to something else. Those large hands settled over his ass, and Brian whimpered a little as they squeezed him through the denim of his jeans.  

“10,000 dollars…”

“Via paypal?”

“No, I prefer cash. Or credit.”

Brian gasped as he felt Justin’s leg pressed up in between his own. He was painfully hard now, and, whatever game this was, he needed to keep on playing. Brian experimentally ran his hand through Justin’s hair and dragged him down by the roots for a peck. He waited for some shocking revelation, but it was just a kiss. Maybe he should try again? So Brian pressed in closer and tasted the vodka still on his lips. He felt Justin’s cock twitch against his thigh as he took control of the kiss. 

Brian let go for a breathe of air, and he was pleased to see that Justin’s eyes were just as dark as his, pupils overblown with desire. Fuck, Brian bit his lip, he wanted to taste him.

“But I haven’t found you Prince Charming,” Justin weakly protested as Brian tugged him towards the bathroom stall by his wrist.

“You win. I lose,” Brian said as he pushed Justin into the bathroom stall. Click. Justin pulled him in by the scruff of his black shirt and kissed him. Fuck, Brian wouldn’t mind just slowly rutting off against his leg, like a horny animal.

“Oh, that’s new, huh?” Justin taunted. “You losing to me?”

Brian roughly squeezed Justin through his denim jeans. He was so firm. God, the feel of him in his hands made his mouth water. 

“Listen, ‘Lasky, you want this blowjob or you want a slap?”

“Kinky.”

Then Brian was down on his knees, tugging down Alaska’s slacks. He bit his lip when he saw the ‘ALASKA’ underpants. What kind of marketing genius? Brian pressed a kiss to the thin boxers, and Justin throbbed against his lips. When Brian looked up at him, Justin smirked down at him.

“You look kinda gay like that.”

Brian groaned, and his jeans were too tight. He felt a bead of precum drip down Justin’s boxers as he massaged him through the material. Brian sucked him through the fabric just so he could see how sinful Justin’s cock looked straining against his boxers. 

He treasured every moan that he stole from Justin’s lips. He knew those sounds would find him in his wet dreams, and Brian whimpered as he sucked down, cheeks hallowing. 

“Stop teasing,” Justin pleaded, and Brian loved the hint of desperation in his voice. The door opened, and Brian knew how he must look like down on his knees. 

He pulled down Justin’s boxers and just held him there. Justin whimpered as he swirled his thumb over the slick skin and slowly pumped down his hard length. Brian twisted his hand as he pulled up, just like how he liked it himself, and Justin’s knees buckled.

Then he was back at it, with his wrapped his lips around him. Brian bobbed to the beat of the music. He could tell by Alaska’s sharp breathe that he was pushing him closer to the edge.

“A-ah, Brian!”

He held him there and swallowed up every last drop. He licked him clean, loving how wrecked that Justin sounded.

“Is that how you play a wing man?” Justin laughed as he pulled Brian up for a kiss. “Didn’t know it came with complimentary blow jobs. I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.”

“Yeah, how about a new game? Let’s pretend to date until one of us catches feelings.”

“You’re a crazy, bitch, you know that, Brian?“ 

"You love it.”

“Fuck, I do.”