#another rough shorty boyos

[edgelordfucker]

Belos: and what are your qualifications for being my wife

Reader: I have big tits, I’m dummy thic, and I can play run Joey run on the kazoo

My energy drink is kicking in and it’s making me hyper so this is all that’s on my mind

Anon, this was the perfect way to get me to listen to David Geddes 1975 Hot 100 Top Ten Hit 'Run Joey Run' IT WAS DEEPLY 70's and I am now dying to hear a kazoo cover of it.

I have the same affliction, an addiction, to those cans of Monster energy. My poison of choice are the white ones.

You didn't ask for this, but I made it anyways.

"And what," he asks, having made himself quite comfortable in the combination craft-room and office space that you have in his apartments in the castle, bored and looking for some stimulation from his favorite girl, "are your qualifications for being my wife?"

You're mid slurp, drinking yet another one of those barely legal vibrancy tonics that are so popular with youths and young adult witches, hard focused on the screen of your laptop - one of the things that had made it across dimensions when you'd fallen through - but you shoot him a look without turning to him anyways, swallowing as you roll your eyes.

"What are your qualifications for being my husband?" you retort, swiveling to face him. "Tall? Yes." You raise your eyebrows, shaking your head to indicate that it's true, but you're unimpressed by it. "Handsome? Duh." Belos smiles as you shake your head again in a similar way. "Are you my best friend, and the love of my life? Absolutely." You sigh, like that really isn't all that remarkable, even as the words make his stomach flip pleasantly. "But can you name two Bauhaus B-sides? Do you know who Paul Williams is?" You set your can of Smack/Pop down in a definitive manner. "I hate to tell you this, but, like, right now you're just sort of in the boy-toy zone. I don't know if you're malewife material."

Belos laughs, short and sharp, leaning into the bit. "Malewife? What is that?"

"A step above long term roommate, which is a step above boy-toy."

"So, you don't even think of me as your roommate? We live together, my love."

"I think we're in a spot where we just sort of cohabitate between sex. I'm sorry, my pretty blue-eyed boy, but we're just not that serious yet," is your playful reply. Suddenly, he's consumed by a terrible need, hungry for a taste of that smile on your face.

Belos stands, crossing over to you to brace his hands on the arms of your chair as he leans down, looking you straight in the eye. You giggle, squirming as he lets the anticipation build.

"I think..." he starts, low and warm, and you glance at his lips, your little pink tongue darting out to wet your own, a reflex. "That I could make it serious." You look into his eyes again, your own sparkling in a way that makes his teeth tingle and his mouth water.

"Yeah? I dunno - you can always try." You gasp softly, like something had just occurred to you. "Maybe if you really impress me, I might marry you." His fingers tighten, cutting subtly into the foam, as he gazes at the person he had decided would be Mrs. Philip Wittebane quite some time ago.

"Brat," he says, longingly, twisted even tighter around your little finger. And then he kisses you.