#but after that i can slap some flat colors on them and post it

[icybreaths]

//

[genericpuff]

On today's episode of "Rachel exaggerates things to make herself sound cooler-"

Soooo this is a lie.

No seriously, this has to be a lie. I don't make these kinds of accusations willy-nilly. This has to be a lie.

First of all, if her file sizes are truly 11GB for each episode, that would mean her file resolutions would have to be stupid high, and I just ain't buying that when so much of her art comes out looking like fried chicken.

But again, look at the backgrounds. Crystal clear. Which supports my theory that Rachel has her assistants draw the characters flat and exports them as PNG's so that she (or another one of her assistants) can slap the backgrounds in afterwards which is why when they pinch and zoom, the backgrounds look fine (as they're added in afterwards) and the characters look like they've been drawn with chalk. The shading itself isn't deep fried though, which is, again, because Rachel adds in the shading in post after her assistants have sent her all the flats.

Anyways, moving on from that, if her file sizes are actually 11GB per episode, that would mean her resolution would have to be STUPID high and that would mean there's no excuse for panels to look like this. This is not a Webtoons compression problem, Webtoons does compress images for you if you don't do it yourself but they don't result in specifically deep fried textures like this, that's ALL happening on Rachel's side. If it were a Webtoons' problem, the entire comic would look like that, not just select panels.

This is also what the panels tend to look like in book form. The book art is clearly very compressed and blurred from being too low of a resolution for print, which means either the editor is not being provided the root files, or the root files weren't ever that crisp to begin with. Either one is plausible and either one isn't good.

But of course, I'm not going to make these claims without my own proof. So here's the file sizes for Episode 12 of Rekindled, the longest episode in the series so far by panel count and page length, clocking in at 42 panels and an average of 25 layers per page (and that's including the text layers which adds a good chunk on its own, the actual art layers are like, half of that).

Also, here's what a pinch and zoom panel in Rekindled comes out looking like:

You can still pick up on some fuzziness, but the lineart doesn't look straight up chunky like it does in LO.

Meanwhile, one of my longest episodes of TIME GATE: [AFTERBIRTH] has a file size that honestly shocked me with how small it was.

Guess how many panels that episode had?

Go on, guess. Take a second. Compare it to the file size of Episode 12 of Rekindled, take your best educated guess. Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] is also a full color webtoon with full shading and rendering that I used to upload once a week. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Ninety-seven.

Ninety. Seven.

Not only is that more panels than what LO dishes out on a weekly basis, but its overall file size doesn't even come out to be 10% of what Rachel is claiming LO's file sizes to be.

This is what Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] looks like, by the way:

(don't mind the blurriness that's working against my point, that's Tumblr, not me LMAO)

But, let's face it, I didn't want to just use my own examples as a comparison, because that seems unfair. I'm not an Originals creator, I just put myself under similar pressures as one because I'm an idiot who tries too hard.

So I asked one of my Originals pals. I will not disclose their name, but they are someone who works for Webtoons Originals and has similar panel requirements and deadlines. They also work with a similar flatting + shade workflow as LO, they have cel-shaded colors and bold flat coloring.

When I asked them how big their file sizes were, they said that at 2500px width - similar to what I draw at, 2400px width - and 200-300k pixel length (again, they're drawing an entire episode on one canvas) their episode file sizes come out to roughly one gigabyte, very rarely much bigger than that.

Rachel is full of shit. This is some Tommy Tallarico level shit, exaggerating stupid things that don't matter to try and make herself seem impressive. It isn't impressive. It makes her look like an unorganized dunderhead at best, and at worst, makes her look like a flat out liar who needs to prop herself up on the dumbest shit to make herself look good. File gigabyte size isn't impressive or indicative of anything, you can achieve high quality art without your file size amounting to 11 GB, and let's face it, Lore Olympus is not high quality art. You're telling me art like this:

amounts to 11 GB?

Now the only way I can see this happening is if maybe, maybe she had like, a bajillion layers full of garbage-

Oh. Oh no. Lore Olympus. Is a sprite comic.*

(*edit for clarification: I've had people confused over what I mean by sprite comic because LO clearly isn't made with 16/8 bit sprites. Sprite comic was a term universally used back in the day for comics that reused the same body parts, heads, expressions, etc. much like how sprites are designed, often keeping an entire file full of different layers made up of these assets to make for easier development. This technique was utilized in comics like CTRL + ALT + DEL. LO is definitely not literally a sprite comic but the way its layers are designed feel very much like something that's being cobbled together like 'sprite' comics were. I'm old.)

Even with these pics for proof, with 600+ layers on one canvas, if there's barely anything on those layers, then it still wouldn't make up that 11GB file size because the amount of layers doesn't necessarily add to file size on its own, at least not by that much, unless they're actually filled with stuff. And again, Rachel's art in LO doesn't scream "highly detailed with many layers". It only had many layers because for some reason she insists on working that way even to its own detriment.

From the looks of it, Rachel's importing all of her assistants' PNG's as separate layers and adding all the shading and the extra details on their own separate layers and basically dividing everything up into tiny bite sized pieces. That's the only clear explanation I can come up with. But if so, that means she's being INCREDIBLY inefficient with her workflow that it's amounting to SIX HUNDRED+ LAYERS AT 11 GB PER EPISODE. THAT IS ABSURD. THIS COMIC IS WAY TOO LOW QUALITY TO JUSTIFY THESE FILE SIZES AND LAYER COUNTS. RACHEL DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK SHE'S DOING-

She's also very clearly using the cloud as a way to backup her work and work with her assistants. God knows how much she's spending on cloud space because of her own incompetency.

Honestly, at this point, as I sit here playing the Photoshop equivalent of Cookie Clicker, clicking the 'new layer' button over and over and over again with my mouse to truly understand what it would feel like to operate at 600+ layers per episode of a webtoon, I'm more inclined to believe she's just lying. Capping. Pulling shit out of her ass. Straight up making shit up. It wouldn't be the first time she's done that. But also because the alternative is a lot more grim - the #1 best selling webtoon on the platform is being operated like the world's worst group project and still coming out on the other side looking like deep fried garbage despite its stupid high file size.

[wings-of-ink]

First Devlog?

Hello everyone...boy, there are a lot of you already, still trying to digest that...

So, I gather that I should do these logs on occasion. I do not know how often, perhaps just when I have a few things to say. I will try not to ramble too much, but my fingies like to talk.

Anyway, I am working on chapter 3 right now. There’s some fun moments so far in it that I hope you’ll like, and we’ll get to meet Zahn, Duri'naan, and then Rundis. I’m trying not to rush because there are some exciting scenes that I’m eager to get to. I’ve outlined them to tide myself over until I get that far. There’s some quiet moments you’ll get to have as well, and right now I feel like that’s what I’m struggling with. Those areas of my story are like bridges to the next, more exciting, parts and sometimes I feel like they fall a little flat. But, I’m trying to keep in mind this is my first draft. I’ll go through it another time or two to perk things up. Those moments are still important for letting the MC get to know each RO.

My mind has been in a million directions lately too, and I’ve had a lot of ‘duh’ moments. I’ve done so much world building since I started this last year (around August/September I think), that I have pockets of important details that I kinda just forgot! So, I plan to re-read all the notes I’ve made and try to also put them into one place. I have some in my phone, in a notebook, and in no less than three folders on my laptop. It’s a wonder I have survived this many years…

What you can expect for coming updates…

-A couple fixes, of course – thank you to those who found some of those pesky buggy bois for me.

-A nicer front page, instead of being slapped with my ramblings, I’d like to actually have a nice start page. I’ll figure it out eventually, lol.

-I’ll be adding a name bank to the MC’s Nameday scene that will also show you what each name means, so if that is important to you, it’ll save you the internet search. If it tickles your fancy, the name selection will correspond in some way to the marks (names meaning "night" or "storm," etc.) so you can theme your MC a bit.

-Extra coding in case you decide to shorten MC’s given name to just “Ravi.” I did not once consider that anyone would do this, and my first play-tester – my own spouse – did….He told me about it since it made some dialog with Oswin make zero sense, and then I published the story without fixing it because I completely forgot about it.

-Different contrast color for dark mode links. I feel like I have drastically improved this with a new gold color. In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t use the gold before. I love it as an accent, I use it all over! The blue never felt 100% right, but my brain shut down after thinking about it too long. Here’s a sample and a (M) Zahn tease:

When can you expect an update?

I’d like to make my next update during the Amare Games Festival, ideally containing both chapters 3 and 4 since they go pretty tightly together. This will also insure that you meet the rest of the posse. It’s a tall order for both chapters to be submitted on time, and I don’t want to rush them either, but I’m going to try really really hard, lol. I will focus first on polishing chapter 3, so that no matter what, I can at least get it out in time.

Here’s a link to the post about it:

And this is the submission time frame: open from March 31st 2024 at 11:00 PM to May 1st 2024 at 12:00 AM

As a side message, should you want to read on…

I also wanted to give you all a big, like really big, heartfelt thank you. I have received so many kind messages and comments that I just can’t believe it. I am so happy (and honestly, genuinely shocked) that you’re enjoying my IF, and I’m motivated to work hard so you also enjoy each new chapter of your journey. There’s so many secrets I want to share with you about the world, and I am struggling to be patient myself, lol.

I am not usually a very open or social person, and I was scared for a long time to share anything I wrote. I reached a point in my personal life in the last few years where I just needed to embrace what I loved to do and share it with a community that shares in that love. I encourage you to do the same whether there is a story in your heart, music on your lips, or a paintbrush in your hands. Life is NOT about your 8-5. We may not be able to survive without it, but whatever moment you can, do what you actually love. Put away the those things that don’t matter, the things that stress you - including people, and make time for who you are.

Thank you all and take care!

~Lunan

[weirdfoxdreams]

Maggot Plague Modern Part 2: FoulLurkers and a body reference.

Fan dragon jumpscare!

That’s right! I finally finished the ref sheet…for the male variant of this specie at least lol. What specie you say? Well, I named them FoulLurkers! (When I explain more about these guys, the name will make more sense)

First, the head looks a bit different than the one in the previous part. Well, I decided to change the head shape a bit because it was getting too complex and difficult to draw (specially from different angles) and there were some unnecessary details. So I decided to simplify it without getting too far from the original idea, so simpler horns and bigger teeth!

Second, about the body. As I said before, FoulLurkers are fat and wingless. I decided to go with this part of the concept since the main idea is for them to be based on maggots, so it would make more sense if they didn’t have wings and weren’t thin. But giving them a flat maggot body without anything else would make it look like I slapped a dragon’s face on a…maggot. The solution I found for this was to make the arms and legs more evident (as if the body was like a turtle shell) and adding these big spikes. Wait, why are there spikes?

This brings us to the next aspect of the design: how these guys hunt/fight. Flightrising doesn’t have the possibility of feeding our pretty and beautiful dragons rotten food, so I unfortunately had to make FoulLurkers carnivorous (meat only in this game), instead of necrophagous (animals that eat decayed dead animals). So these slow guys have to hunt the food themselves, instead of only eating the remains of other dragons’ food. However here’s the catch: the spikes, claws, and saliva of these dragons produce a powerful venom that on NON-SENTIENT Beastclan initially causes the affected area of their body to be in intense physical pain. However the area then starts to show a duller color and the blood flow on it starts to get harder. After some time, it starts to release a strange fluid with a strong putrid smell. (“This is basically necrosis-” yes but I don’t know if I can mention something like this in a game like flightrising so let’s call it the Foul Venom instead) This smell attracts FoulLurkers to the poisoned prey and since the Beastclan would be too weak to fight due to the amount of pain they would be feeling, the dragon is able to easily kill it. However this hunting method is only used if the FoulLurker’s prey escape initially but got harmed by them. Therefore the name FoulLurker: “Foul” relating to dead or putrid stuff and “Lurker” because of well…they go after things affected by their poison. (Another thing to specify: on other dragons and sentient Beastclans, the Foul Venom only causes the intense physical pain for an unknown reason).

And that’s it! Here’s most of the things about these guys! Next posts will be about sexual dimorphism and how Secondary and some Tertiary genes will work on these guys

[for-lovely-things]

domicofo commissions | OPEN!

I would be really happy if you would commission me or signal boost this post!💕 Please read the following rules!!!!

What I WILL draw:

Your OC

Canon characters

Real people

Pets (only together with person/character)

NSFW & SFW, nude

Preferable fandoms: Cyberpunk 2077, Winx Club, The Witcher, Dragon Age, but I can draw on every other fandom you’d like ^^

What I WON’T draw:

Mechs, hardcore gore (blood & injuries ok), furries

Inc*st, r*pe & anything else that feels weird (kinks are ok)

Some ships, which make me uncomfortable

NSFW art rules:

price on NSFW drawings from now on is indexed on 10% from full price

nude doesn't count as NSFW, I love drawing naked people

masturbation (1 char) and sex (2 chars) count as NSFW. Kinky stuff too

And some more things you need to know:

Every additional character +75% to the price

+5$ to the price for detailed clothes and tattoos (I won’t charge extra for Kerry’s tattoos, but if any other char has complicated tattoos you:

a) give me their tattoos as flat png images so I can slap them on their body;

b) pay extra for me to draw them by hand

c) don't pay, but I simplify them)

+10$ to the full price for complex background (I won’t do something too complex like complicated perspective, only nature, rooms, blurry townscapes etc.)

The style of fullcolor may vary from lineart+color to color-no lineart (you can request the preferable one)

Line art can have one/two spot colors

I'll send you a sketch of commission if I won't be sure about composition

I can draw you traditional art commission too, if you want it :) It will cost the same as digital one though (i do watercolors and pencils)

I accept payment by Boosty, 50% of the price no refund ahead, the rest 50% after I finish. FOLLOW THIS TUTORIAL ON HOW TO USE BOOSTY or WATCH THIS STEP-BY-STEP VIDEO

Tell me, if I have any deadline to which I should hurry up, but usually commission takes me 2-4 weeks

Price can always be negotiated ;)

NEW! Character sheet

Consists of one character full body, 8 quick sketches of outfits (OR sketches of poses OR sketches of facial exressions)

Can consist of more elements like turns, rendered face and etc, but the more you add the more it will cost

PLEASE let me design you an OC from zero (moodboard or description) I can do that!!!!

If you wanna commission me please DM me here on this blog, write to my e-mail likorzhan@gmail.com or contact me via Discord - Domicofo#0080 . I’ll need descriptions of what you want to see and as many references as you can provide~ Would be perfect if your references would be collected in one Google Drive folder beforehand.

DM me or leave a comment below this post if you still have more questions. You can see more examples of my works by the #my art tag, for more examples of NSFW works stop by at my Twitter

Stay tuned, gonna announce more fun stuff soon ;)

[xarrixii]

On the fifteenth day of Writemas a writing prompt game hosted by @agirlandherquill

The blast is disorienting.

My respirator clicks absently, as though it can't tell there's a chip taken out of it of some indiscernible size. Let it be known I have never survived a grenade before. I've never even been within the blast of one.

Somehow, I get away with a distinct ringing and swiping a feather or two off from my face.

I'm gasping desperately for clean air.

Someone is appearing at my side. Their face is one I can barely make out, just the fear. The overwhelming amount of fear suffocating me as bodies flee the room.

Fates and Magic. Fuck.

"What do you need?" the person asks me. There are black blobs twitching behind him. "Look at me, please. What do you need?"

"Resp," I can barely speak. "Broke."

"Do you have a spare anywhere?"

"Bag, black. Outside. Window." They have yellow, orange. No red. I can only tell that they don't mean me harm, but everything else is muddy.

"Okay."

I cough when they sling me over them. My fist digs into a mass of something soft, and that flinches at the touch. The same general texture envelopes me from other sides. "Save, other,"

"We're the last ones in here."

I raise a free hand to cover the hole in my respirator, and it works, slightly. The air is all dirt, dust, and smoke. Worse than the typical undercity.

Beige, brown, yellow, orange. It's not a very great mix of colors. My mother would've liked experimenting with it.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

People are shouting outside. There's a sound off near the city, this warehouse was a bit far out, something siren-y. I told Barrow not to follow me, but she's not great at following directions. Outside is better air than inside, though, and I relish it.

"Here. Do you need help?"

"No," I cough again, finally realizing this stranger found my bag and my spare respirator. I take it from him and toss the chipped one to the ground without really thinking about it.

The stranger has the sense to grab it and put it in my bag, looking out at the city and back at me. The spare respirator clicks and groans, but I can breathe steadily.

Everything else still sucks.

"You have a stab wound," the person holding me enunciates. "I'm going to wrap it with something, and then we'll figure it out from there."

"Get, leave," I sputter awkwardly after making the observation those black blobs are probably a set of wings. "Wings. Unnatural."

He hesitates significantly, and I'm set down flat on some kind of rock.

He rips off a long piece of fabric from part of his clothes. Shakes it off. Complains about it to the open air, and bends down to me again. I give him permission to lift my shirt enough to apply it as a bandage. It's better than bleeding out for Barrow to find me.

It's hazy. He tries to tell me something, and I can't hear it. There's chatter in the background.

He picks me up. I wince. He says something, and my face is slapped by air. Branches, likely, hit my skin and probably begin some bruises, and they prick. My side hurts. Everything hurts, but not as bad as the knife that trafficker from earlier slung through me.

I black out.

related to YELLOW MEANS FEAR on my pinned post

prompt: The prickle of branches against skin

join me (and several others) this writemas! write when you can and know we're writing together.

link to prompt post | link to writemas invite

[aforestescape]

as a little treat to myself for autism awareness day(at least it’s the day i wrote this; doubt i’ll finish/post today)

simon ‘ghost’ riley - how simon helps you when you need extra stimulation

content includes: suggestive topics, autistic!reader, mute!simon my beloved, non-sexual kink, knives, sensory deprivation, impact play

⊹ sex and related activities tends to take a long prep time. as a person who needs more stimulation, many toys are included during such times. twenty plus minutes spent making out and touching. groping each others flesh between greedy hands and light to medium smacks against coloring skin

- vibrators, ropes, edges and earplugs are just some of the things that fill the locked chest that comes out when you’re ready to play

⊹ some scenes aren’t even meant for sex. sometimes you’ve just had an overstimulating day, a meltdown or shutdown, and need to feel in a way you can control

- well perhaps you aren’t the one in control this time. simon wants to help you feel better so whatever you need he’s right there. he’ll help you undress and help massage out your muscles in your bed. lighting the candles you like because they aren’t too overwhelming and turning on some white noise to drown out the sound of light and electricity

⊹ depending on the mood he’ll have tied you up. denying you movement as your limbs are spread apart, tied to the pillars of your bed. he likes to watch you squirm for a while. it’s cute to him that you think you could escape knots he’s tied

- simon will flit through the chest of toys and pull out a blindfold and earplugs. holding them up as if asking which you’d prefer or if you’d like both. when you just keep squirming he grins before stalking over to you. slipping the soft fabric over your eyes and then blocking out your sound

⊹ after you’re relaxed he’ll move over you. pressing kisses to bared skin. teasing sensitive points with a soft breath or swipe of his tongue. when you’re too pliant to notice he’ll place another soft kiss and then follow it with the gentle drag of an acrylic blade

- using the flat of the knife to allow you to feel the cold material. it never fails to make you jerk in surprise, goosebumps growing over your skin. and he always chuckles when you do. a rough rumble from deep in his chest as he moves the blade to another point of flesh

⊹ he’ll keep this up for a while. playing with different pressures and drags. moving along your shoulders, the dip in your back, the swell of your ass. a particularly long and slow stride as the tip of the blade drags back up your spine.

- as he gets more comfortable with playing with you he’ll move his hands along the flesh he’s left indents in from the knife. soft and soothing brushes of large fingers. a heavy palm squeezing flesh and then a quick slap down to your ass

⊹ this time when you jump he doesn’t stop to admire his work. just goes right back to soothing touches. another drag of the blade between a roll of flesh. a sweet kiss to your neck as another slap meets your reddening cheeks

- there’s an hour of you just laying there. forced to anticipate when simon will touch you next. what he’ll do and if it’ll be soft and sweet or a snapping sharpness. they both leave you equally breathless as your mind slows. until you can’t focus on anything but your breath and the leering sting of him. just a being of felt touches and emotions

⊹ when you’re done playing, simon will usually do a light cleanup. removing the rope, blindfold and earplugs and letting them fall into the chair near your bed

- when you’ve had enough you’ll tug him into the soft mattress. pressing yourself against his body to decompress. holding each other in a cuddle and taking time to just breathe each other in

⊹ you like to bring your hand up to stroke simons hair. petting and running your fingers through golden strands. whispering to simon your thanks

“thank you for that love.”

“you were wonderful.”

“you’re so good to me.”

- praising him because after care is a delicate balance for you two. you know that even now his upbringing still haunts him. in this space, after such harsh scenes that are built upon the heavy trust you have in each other, you like to remind him most then that he’s amazing. that he’s enough and that his violence doesn’t have to be painful. that you appreciate him in every space he occupies with you

⊹ he’ll reply by lifting his head slightly. enough for you to find his pretty brown eyes, and he’ll jut his chin out. leaning in so he can give you a sweet kiss. pulling back just enough to press another on your cheek. pressing them all along your face until he’s satisfied. you’ll stay in that space for usually an equal amount of time to the scene before you decide to bathe together and worry over what to make for dinner since you’re out of safe foods

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update 2.20.2024

Well, I had another very solid week. I hesitate to call it good, because I didn't actually enjoy it very much, but I did grind out 8,642 words last week. I finished Chapter 8 and made a solid dent in Chapter 9a. Basically, I just tried to write at least a thousand words a day, which I accomplished almost every day. Yesterday, I only did 800, but I did 2000 on Sunday, plus the 800 was the ending scene for the chapter, so I deserve a little grace there. And it was a three-day weekend for my kids!

I am at the stage of the fanfic where most of the ambiguity is gone--I know what scenes are left and I just gotta write them. It doesn't matter if I want to or not, the fanfic isn't going to be done until I write them, so I just do it. I always worry that writing in this mindset is going to produce bad, unlovable writing--like, if I don't love writing this, how is anyone going to love reading it? Historically, though, that doesn't bear out--big chunks of Call Me Back and What We Do with Our Hearts were written in this exact fugue state, and I often end up loving them after the fact, and they still contain parts that are really funny or insightful or heartfelt or whatever. I literally do not know how this is possible, it just is. Also, like: there is going to be editing. It is truly astonishing how hard it is to slap anything at all down on a page and then how easy it is to shape it up into something good later on. It is a lot like throwing flat colors down on a piece of art and then adding a little texture and shading later.

The other thing I don't like about writing in this mode is that it makes me actually insane, which I don't like. I just roll word counts and percentages around in my head 24 hours a day and I'm not really able to relax and do things that are not grinding away at my writing. I can do it for short periods of time, but I think I have too much of this story left to tough it through, plus, like, what's the point? This is the thing I allegedly do for fun, and even though I really really really want to be finished, I feel like I should actually try to enjoy the process a little, at least.

So anyway! My first goal for this week is to be less insane about my fanfic. My second goal is to finish Chapter 9a (I think I have about 3-4k to go). My third goal is to edit Chapters 7 and 8 and send them to the beta.

After that, I'll just have 9b (of which I've already written about 4k) and the epilogue to do. After that, of course, there's still more editing, a beta pass for chapters 8->the end, and then I may try to read the whole thing through again from the beginning. So, 3 weeks, maybe, give or take a little?

In the interest of trying to have a little fun, I think I'm gonna try to post some previews for the next couple weeks? In the past, people have enjoyed previews. Today's is a little long, but it's the opening to the whole thing. It's below a cut for those who'd rather wait until the whole thing comes out.

“I don’t know if they’re trying to capitalize on Boy’s Day, or what,” Rukia said, idly inching her hand toward the plate of hot, steaming gyoza sitting on the countertop next to Renji’s stove, “but they’re having some sort of Seafood Festival out in East Sixth.”

A dish towel appeared out of nowhere, the tip whipping painfully against Rukia’s hand.

“Ow!” Rukia howled.

“They’re hot! It’ll hurt worse if you jam one of those in your mouth whole like I know you were gonna,” Renji replied, stuffing the dish towel back into his obi, and juggling the pan of gyoza he was currently frying. “What about a Seafood Festival? Why the Hell is the East Sixth having a Seafood Festival?”

“It’s being put on by the Train Museum, I hear,” Rukia continued grumpily, rubbing at her hand. “I guess they’re hauling a bunch of spring fish up from the Shiranui Sea at the other end of the line. It only takes a few hours to get out to Six. There’s probably carts making the run that we could take, but I would honestly just flash-step, at least on the way out. I want to eat my own body weight in katsuo. Possibly your body weight in katsuo.”

“Mmm,” Renji replied noncommittally, dumping the rest of his gyoza onto the plate and turning off the stovetop.

“I was thinking of asking Hisagi if he wanted us to take some pictures and do a little write-up for the Bulletin,” Rukia went on. “Get us a little walking-around money.” Not that Rukia lacked for pocket money, but it was a little more expensive than their usual weekend activities, and Renji got a little cagey when she tried to treat him to things.

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Why? We had fun the last time we played reporter!”

“Grab the bowl of sauce, would you?” Renji gestured with his chin as he picked up the plate of dumplings and the teapot to carry them to the table. “Don’t you remember when they built that damn train line? Took ‘em over over thirty years, and there were three to four articles every single Bulletin about the delays, the graft, the politics, the environmental impact, whatever. People got so mad about the idea of a train inside the Seireitei that it doesn’t even go anywhere useful. I didn’t even know they used it for anything aside from twee holidays for bored nobles.”

“I heard a story from my friend, Lady Akizuki, that the old head of the Seshimo clan actually lives on the train! He hasn’t set foot outside it in fifteen years!”

Renji cocked an eyebrow at her. He looked like he desperately wanted to hear about the Train Noble, but also did not want to be a guy who cared about Train Nobles. “Anyway, don’t mention the train to Hisagi unless you got six or seven hours to kill. Preferably when I’m not there.”

Rukia picked up the big, fragrant bowl of ginger dipping sauce with both hands. “It was just an idea. So what do you think? Do you want to go?”

“When is it again?” Renji asked, frowning.

“It’s running for all of May, but the weather has been so nice lately, I thought maybe we could go next weekend,” Rukia suggested. 

Renji was quiet for a moment, but Rukia figured that maybe he was just focused on serving her dumplings, which was, in her opinion, very important. 

“Ru,” he finally said slowly, as he poured her a cup of tea. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Is it that you want to go to the Seafood Festival with me?”

Renji took a big breath through his nose and let it out again. “If things work out, I’d love to go later in the month. Next weekend’s not gonna work, though.”

“Oh.” Rukia frowned. “That’s fine. That’s no big deal.” She looked down lovingly at her gyoza and then up at Renji hopefully. “Itadakimasu?” she asked hopefully.

Renji blinked. “Huh? Oh, yeah, please help yourself. That… that wasn’t the thing I had to say.”

“Well, spit it out, already,” Rukia groused, her mouth already crammed with gyoza. “Why are you being weird?”

Renji still hadn’t touched his own food. He had circled his right wrist with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand and was rotating it back and forth. He used to make that gesture a lot when he was young, and Rukia realized that she hadn’t seen him do it in years.

“I’m having some surgery,” Renji finally said. 

Rukia froze. After a long moment, she slowly finished chewing her dumpling and swallowed it. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m getting my arm fixed.”

Rukia watched him rub his wrist for another few seconds. “Did it not heal correctly after the, um, accident?” “The accident” was when Byakuya had stabbed him through the forearm during a demonstration fight the week prior. Everyone was being very polite about it.

“Wellll…” Renji drew out. “I mean, no, that healed up fine. Very clean cut, Senbonzakura, as always. But, uh, while I was at the Fourth, the topic of my burnt-out kidou ducts came up. Captain Unohana thinks she can fix ‘em. And I’ve decided to, um, let her try.” “Oh,” said Rukia. Her chest was filling up with a lot of strange feelings. “Oh.”

[munadrawson]

Commentary on the Beach comic

Here is the commentary post. However, I may explore this theme again because I want to tell cute beach scenarios, especially one with Deep Cut as a group being old farts even though they are in their 20s... That's what happens after college. After you graduate, one hot summer day after leaving the gym, you reminisce.   FYI: This is long AF. Also mention of colorism and misogyny at the final thoughts section.

Background:

As I mentioned, this fan comic was unexpected but had a purpose. I did not want to jump into the folk song fan comic until I ironed out the few doubts in my mind:

Which desi river folk songs do I want to use to tell this story? What would be the theme? What would Frye and Shiver wear? What would each of their hairstyles be? Location? Location? Location?

The body proportions between the two were also in doubt. So I took the opportunity of this being a learning experience.

It is difficult not to beeline and draw it when I cannot stop playing the scene in my head whenever I listen to the songs. I HAVE to let this story simmer. I know it won't be perfect, but I want to tell it right.

Set-up:

Initially, the comic starts with Frye bringing in the watermelon for the rest of the crew. However, the delivery falls flat since we know about Frye's antics.

Plus, as much as I love the yellow desi-inspired inkling, I want to give equal attention to the other two. The most difficult one to draw is SHIVER. I see too much myself in them, let alone the chubby square face shape with sharp eyes. Whenever I indulged in fanfic, I would react like, "oh noooo. What is up with these sudden attacks? I just want to read a cute story and not be CALLED OUT LIKE THIS." The game makes it worse, tho.

Anyway. I have trouble drawing Shiver and Big Man (easier than Shiver) and have yet to write a comic where the two would interact. The two are the comedy duo in this story, while Frye has no intention besides munching on some grub. Mood.

Design:

I wanted to approach this fan comic as lazy as possible, but it can't be helped. An overachiever perfectionist is in my bone. I'm already exhausted from designing a college mascot as my day job. I didn't feel like using my brain.

And yet, I drew details onto their swimwear. *cries*

I had been referencing writers' works in each of my artworks. For example, Shiver and Frye as gaymers. Multiple fanfics had them adorably playing video games together. Another example is The Big Comfy Couch. There are numerous fanfics where they would have Adult Fun Time on a couch, whether in the dressing room or at home, as if it were part of a mythos. Some fluff moments are on the sofa, but Adult Fun Time outweighs them. I'm not complaining! It is rather amusing.

Me: *Slaps an arm of The Big Comfy Couch* "This bad boy can support so many adult fun-time sofa scene fanfics on it. It's a staple!"

This time, I referenced the swimwear from chapter 6 of Girlfriends by IslandsChickenScratch, the mahi mahi resort scene. The foundation because, as I stated, I went on adding the details and the add-ons... Thank goodness these characters don't have mammal-like hair, or else I would spend days drawing each strain.

I'll talk about the least to the most troublesome I had when designing the swimwear.

Shiver:

The most challenging character to render yet the easiest to give them an outfit. The cool n chic masc energy, let's goooooo.

The foundations for them were swim shorts and a strapless bikini top. As well as the back tentacle pinned up. I added the bottom bikini or a g-string to emphasize their hips. They enjoy flaunting their hips. Also, it gives off that cutout design of their default pants without the actual cutout.

The design of the swimshorts is a combination of the "Chili Octo Aloha" button-down shirt with S3 sunken scroll ten sharks:

I also added the orange gills on the top bikini to break the solid blue. Before, I had flora patterns in mind, but then I remembered that I loved seeing other illustrators draw Shiver with scars. It truly embodies the shark-like energy—one true blahaj.

Gosh, I am so envious of their chest size. Sure, mine has gotten smaller thanks to the gym, where sometimes I see them as pecs. But dammit, it would be great not to deal with sports bras. *grumbles* Oh well, on the brighter side, they did get smaller. So, I'm happy with the result, lol.

Lastly, I added the octopus medallion??? Pendant onto the kanzashi but with no additional frills. Simple, the better.

I love seeing other fan creators incorporate those pendants with different outfits.

Big Man:

You would think drawing a triangular, ideal Doritio body would be easy. Nope. Not at all. Not one bit. The struggle is real. But I give my best.

His base swimwear was the diving mask with a snorkel. I opt out of the snorkel because… I was too lazy to draw it lol—also, the war flashback of drawing the slopsuit helmet on him. I can't.

However, after taking away the snorkel, he felt so naked. I know he's a nudist. Big man the truest punk who doesn't conform to societal norms. I fold it instead.

I added the garland, adored with Brazilian flowers. It looks adorable on him! It is not a lei. I'm connecting it to a queer animatic story that I came across on youtube, "Pritty" by Pritty Not Pretty. Queer black boys love story by the poolside. It is so cute that I watched it three times. I can't wait for the animation.

I've seen some fan creators depict humanoid Big Man with Afrocentric features. I ain't that creative, and I don't want to draw a humanoid version of him. He's a blessing because, sometimes, I don't wanna draw LIMBS. He is a nice break. Delta.

Despise the lack of ears; a necklace is always a great choice because he's pritty cute. *Frye's finger guns*

Frye:

She's the opposite of Shiver when it comes to drawing. She's more freeing thanks to her personality, but the damn outfits tho. The problem is that she can wear anything.

She wore a one-piece bikini with cutouts in that scene. So, I combed through a folder of old references I gathered I had saved for my project. I found this orange one-piece bikini with a sarong and sunhat. Sure, it is a more mature look, but it is hot. Hot cute. The sunhat adds the cute factor. Subjective, I guess.

Similar to Shiver, I placed her pendant on the hat.

I added additional jewelry because the girl is at the beach, and of course, there are some desi songs associated with the anklet, nupur paye, to a stream.

Unlike the gold bands where she wore one on each arm and wrist, I only drew one anklet. I connected to a Bangla pop song, "Ek paye nupur amar," by Anila and Topu. Gosh, the music video is so dated and awkward, but basically, the song talks about the two options of a relationship. Would you rather deepen the connection and jump on the ship with them or have it severed?

I signify that Shiver will always choose the anklet, the one by the sea. Although the sea can be unpredictable with it's rough waves and storms, they would happily take Frye to the next level, and Frye would happily agree to it.

Yes, this comically fan-comic was kinda deep lol.

*cries* Why can't I just draw Frye crushing a melon... Then have gay brain goes "brrr me totes gay." "OTL

Final Thoughts:

Whew, this commentary is getting pretty long. I learned a few things when it comes to coloring the environment. I hate being a colorist. It gave me a migraine for a few days. So, I'll do flat colors for the folk songs fan-comic except for the bonus part.

It will be a doujinshi length worth. Ohmigawd, my first one ever?! All this effort is going for a certain gay yellow desi-inspired squid? Yes. Why?

I could not abide watching from the sideline as I looked and read comments about Frye. Have her music be reduced to just "Bollywood" music. Look, I do listen to old movie songs, and I do enjoy them, but there are other genres...

And also, sigh. The blatant misogynoir. As an observer who witnesses colorism and misogyny close, approximately within and outside the family. I had to step in. It hurts knowing it hits close to home.

Me as Marie in January 2023:

"...I guess I'll step in. I don't wanna work. I just climbed out of the rabbit hole, battling my two years of depression, but as a light-skin desi with whatever art skills I gained over years, it is my responsibility to do something about this. I am a bottom feeder of an artist but, I DO have that privilege. SIGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

It does feel cathartic whenever I happen to draw Frye pretty. I usually announced it to my younger sister afterward, who always replied without a hitch, "Thank you."

It is a small step but a worthwhile endeavor. The duty of an older sister.

I'll continue to draw a small fan piece or two while working on the long-ass folk song fan comic. I want to finish the new fan comic before I go to Bangladesh in November.

[ppersonna]

good for me | ksj - m

“ stay on the ground until your knees hurt. no more praying baby, imma be your preacher ” - church, chase atlantic

✹ summary- You’ve forgotten something very important and your husband, Seokjin, makes sure you never forget it again.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim seokjin x reader

✹ word count- 2.3k

✹ genre- smut, pwp, no plot, you’d have to DIG for a plot, like............. thats all there is to it. there is nothing else.

✹ warnings- hard dom!seokjin, oral sex (m receiving), spanking, degredation, dirty talk, shower sex, established relationship, 

✹ a/n- this has been in the drafts for some time. i debated posting it because it literally has no substance LMAOOOOO but hey fuck it. here’s some hard dom jin because 🥵 i needed it. thank u to @chimoona​ for her help and for my ladies @xjoonchildx​ @ladyartemesia​ @untaemedqueen​ always giving me the hype.

The best part of exercising is the shower afterwards. 

Sure, you enjoy the benefits of cardio and weight training, but nothing ever feels as good as a hot steamy shower after you’re drenched in sweat.  

It’s what you’re looking forward to as you climb out of your car and trudge your weary body to the front door. 

It’s late in the evening now—Seokjin’s car is in the driveway next to yours, and you figure he must have returned home sometime while you were gone. You open the door and call out to your husband, alerting him to your return as you drop your keys onto the entryway table and kick off your gym shoes. 

It’s quiet in the house, not a single reply from Seokjin, but you quickly dismiss it. He’s likely busy, or stepped outside to the backyard for a phone call. 

It’s no matter. All you can think about is turning on the shower and stepping into the spray and allowing the shower to soothe away tension and wash away the slick. 

Your body is sticky with sweat and the bra and legging combo you wore is an unattractive darker color from the moisture.  You’re peeling off the clothes as you make your way upstairs towards your shared bedroom.  The clothes land somewhere near the laundry basket—you don’t care where—and you’re completely naked by the time your feet touch the marble of the bathroom floor. 

The muscles in your body relax the instant you turn the knobs of the shower to hot, as hot as you can make it. It takes a moment to warm up, and you generously use the time to roll out your sore muscles and gaze at your figure in the mirror. 

There are still marks on your body from your last playtime with Jin. 

Some nights, you have sex with him like a normal, married couple. Missionary, soft and gentle, plenty of emotion and sweet whispered words. 

Other nights, however, you willingly allow the sadist in him to gratify the masochist in you. He takes control, demands submission, and you freely give. 

Your time with your husband last night was the latter. He bent you over the bed and paddled your ass until you cried, and your pussy drooled onto the floor below you. He was relentless, powerful, and it made you putty in his hands. There was no one else on the earth you trusted more than Seokjin. You knew he would never intentionally hurt you in a way that didn’t bring you pleasure. And it made your desire for him burn even brighter. 

The bathroom is steamy by the time you’ve finished checking out the delicious marks your husband left on you, and you slip into the shower with a grateful sigh.  The pressure feels incredible on your muscles and you allow your eyes to close as you bask in the steam and heat. 

The cascading water and intoxicating heat clouds your mind and you never notice the bathroom door open or the sound of clothing being removed. You’re so distracted that you never hear the glass door of the shower open. 

And it’s too late now. 

You’re instantly being pressed up against the cold tile of the bathroom, a hot and hard body behind you making you squeak in surprise. 

Jin has joined you in the shower, and he’s pressed your chest to the cool wall and tangles his hands in your hair. 

“Look what we have here,” he tuts. “Nice to see you showed up.”

You furrow your brow, confused on what he’s talking about. He plays with your hair as he continues to hold you against the wall, cheek turned and flat against the tile. 

“Jin, wha—,” he cuts you off before you can finish. 

“That’s not my name, baby doll.” 

His voice is distinct from his usual.

This one radiates power. It oozes danger. And your cunt is already squeezing around nothing at the sound. 

“S-sir,” you gasp. Your breathing is heavy, body overcome with desire. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. He lets a free hand travel down your wet back towards your ass, where he cups a cheek in his hand delicately. 

“Now, can my good girl tell me what she did wrong today?” 

His hands rub the globe gently, and you shiver. His hands feel so strong, so ready to deliver the firm swats or gentle caresses you crave the most. 

You’re racking your rattled brain as hard as you can, desperate to figure out what you’ve done wrong. 

“I—I can’t remember,” you murmur. 

He tsks, upset at your answer. 

“You better start remembering, little one.”  

His hand rubs at the skin of your ass once more, before he’s lifting his hand and bringing it back down onto your cheeks with a crack. Your body jolts in reply and the stinging of your buttocks travels straight to your core. A low whimper leaves your lips—a sound of brewing desire more than despair. 

“Don’t you want to be my good girl?” He asks as he rubs the reddening mark. “Tell me what you’ve done wrong and you won’t be punished.” 

You puff out a breath in frustration, unable to remember what you’ve done. 

Jin notices and delivers another slap to your ass, this time on the opposite cheek, and you yelp. 

“I-I,” you stutter, brain spinning desperately to remember what it is you’ve missed.  

“If you’ve forgotten how to use your voice, then please, let’s put that mouth to use.”

He turns your body, your back now pressed against the tile where your tits once were. Your eyes widen. He looks like a fucking god. He’s wet and dripping from the spray of the shower, and his eyes burn like coals, stoked by his desire for you. He steps back from you, allows you to drink in his image pridefully. 

His cock is rock hard, straining and thick against his abdomen. He doesn’t bother to touch it, doesn’t stroke or grasp it. His eyes are drilling holes into your own with intensity and you can feel your submissive nature begging you to kneel. It’s what he wants.

He knows you—knows you better than you likely know yourself.  You’re lowering on to your knees with no thought, eyes fixated on his like he likes. 

“No hands,” he speaks gently. “Dirty fucking whores don’t get to use their hands.”

His powerful hands grip your damp hair, gathering a bunch and bringing your face to the tip of his cock.

“You wanna suck daddy’s cock?” He asks, tone almost teasing. He rubs the head against your plump lips, allowing them to collect the generous pre-cum at the tip.  

You nod, big simpering eyes peering up at him.

“Please, daddy,” you beg. “Let me suck your cock.”

He rubs your lips a few moments more, before grasping your jaw in his hands and prying your mouth open.

“Suck.”

His hips thrust forward and suddenly your mouth fills with his length.  You almost gag, almost, but you squeeze your fists tight and will it away. Jin smirks as he sees the tears build in your eyes from the pressure and continues forward until his cock fills your entire throat.

“Oh fuck,” he sighs. “Look at you take it all like a practiced whore.”

He pulls out slowly, torturously calculated and measured, before he’s slamming his length back into your throat and starting a pace.

Your mouth becomes a simple vessel for him and his pleasure. You tuck your teeth in as best as you can as he fucks your throat, cheeks hollowing as you attempt to tighten the space in your mouth, and lave your tongue over any inch of his cock you can find.  

He keeps his hand on your head, grip tightening steadily on your hair.  

“Shit,” he puffs a breath. “Best fucking cocksleeve.”

His head tips back as he enjoys the slurping, sloppy sounds your mouth is making. Saliva is sliding down the corners of your mouth where it gathers and drips to the wet marble floor below.  

Jin delights in the way you submit to him. He feels powerful, feels like a god. He loves you, every single aspect of you in the bedroom and outside of it. And he absolutely loves it when you’re on your knees, begging like a good girl. So good for him, even when you fuck up.

He peers back down at you, pushing more hair out of your face tenderly while he fucks your willing mouth.

“Mm, this is where you belong, isn’t it? This is what this hot little mouth is meant for.”

He punctuates his sentences with quicker, rougher snaps of his hips that force his cock to the very back of your throat. Your eyes spill over with tears and your throat tightens in reaction, squeezing the head of Jin’s cock.

“Ah, fuck yes, choke on it.”

He’s absolutely enamored by the way you work harder, mouth bobbing along with his thrusts.  You get off on this just as much as he does—you love to be degraded and treated like a whore in the bedroom while he treats you like the queen you are outside of it.

His queen, bowing in front of him to give him pleasure through her submission.

It’s one of the many reasons he loves you so fucking much.

He can feel his stomach tightening, core clenching as his orgasm builds. Simply watching your tears, mixed with the shower water slip down your face has his balls and heart yearning.

“You ready to swallow my cum, doll?” He asks, fully knowing the answer.  

Your impossibly beautiful and big eyes widen even further and Jin stifles a groan at the sight of you, the definition of submission personified. 

“Mm, I know you are.” He pumps harder into your gaping mouth, groaning at how wet and hot it is despite your aching jaw. “You love swallowing cum. It’s your favorite meal of the day.”

He’s gritting his teeth as his orgasm becomes more and more apparent and you bob your head earnestly to bring him off. You easily accommodate him without your hands, and he swells with pride at how good you are for him.

“That’s my perfect little slut,” he grits. He’s staving off the orgasm as long as he can, wants to soak in every moment of you gagging on his length. 

Your hand seeks purchase on Jin’s thick thighs, holding on for balance as your head bobs quickly and your throat works overtime to accommodate his length. Another quick glance up to him is all it takes for him to fall to pieces. He can never resist the way you look at him with a mouth full of cock.

His cock pulses with each groan and you whine cutely as he fills your mouth with his seed. You slow your movements and stay put, staring at him as his cock twitches.

He gently pulls his spent cock from your lips, panting as he attempts to right himself.

“Open up,” he demands in a gentle voice.

You’re compliant—mouth opening to display Seokjin’s thick cum pooled on your tongue. It makes him grin. 

“Nasty,” he winks. “Swallow, my love.” 

He rests a hand on your throat, wants to feel as you swallow his seed down. It makes his cock twitch back to life, ready to go again and again. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been married to you—he’ll always find the stamina for a round two.

“Are you ready to discuss what happened today?”

Jin holds out his hand for you, which you take gratefully to stand up inside the shower.

“Yes, please.”

Jin wraps his arms around you and pulls you under the spray of the shower. He places gentle and soft kisses up and down your neck as his hands slither up and down your wet body.

“What’s the date today?” He whispers as he kisses the shell of your ear.

“It’s the eighth--,” you start, before your eyes wide. “Oh, my god.”

He smiles and pulls back to look into your eyes.

“It is the eighth, yes, and?”

“It’s our wedding anniversary.”

Your heart sinks. In the hustle and bustle of the day, it slipped from your mind of your anniversary. He had planned an entire evening to spend together, and you had forgotten all about it, abandoned the plans for a night at the gym.

“Oh, my god, Jin, I am so sorry. I totally forgot.”

Jin kisses at your face, cupping your cheeks with his hands.

“Baby, it's okay,” he assures as he kisses your shower-slick lips. “I’m not mad. The steaks are a little cold, but…”

You cling harder to your husband. 

“God, I’m an idiot. I owe you!”

He chuckles in your ear as he wraps his arms tight around you. Anniversary or not, Seokjin is in love with you. And he can forgive a simple mistake. Especially when you make up for it so sweetly.

“You’re not an idiot, baby. You can show me how sorry you are tonight when you’re tied up to the bed and taking my cock, hm?”

You lick your lips, already excited for the delicious punishments Jin must have planned for you.

“I love you,” you murmur, standing on tip-toes to press another kiss to his full lips.

“Mmm, and I love you,” he replies. “And you’re going to be good for me tonight, aren’t you baby?”

Jin is turning off the shower as you nod.

He gathers a towel and steps out, drying every inch of your body before guiding you to the bedroom.

“Show me.”

© ppersonna - 2021 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author. 

[happytroopers]

crosshairs fic idea: reader is gossiping with coworkers (maybe medics idk) about who the most attractive clone is and reader mentions crosshair and he somehow finds out and teases her

Teasing // Crosshair x reader

“It’s definitely Captain Rex. ” Tula, a Rodian nurse from the 212th, stated decidedly. You giggled into the shitty GAR rationed caf.

“That’s just cause your into blondes.” You teased, content with the rounds of chuckles at the mess hall table as Tula’s teal cheeks blushed blue.

“I still don’t know why we’re having this conversation, they’re clones, they all look the same! Thats like the whole thing.” Rys groaned uncomfortably, the only man at the table of civilian enlistments. It was rare for some many of your friends to be in the same place at the same time- but medical staff and engineering alike, every six months after your first deployment civilian enlistments were shipped back to Coruscant for a week long training refresher.

“You can’t say that, it’s rude!” Tula slapped his arm, eyebrow ridges furrowing over her galaxy eyes. He held his hands up in surrender.

“Yeah Rys, we won’t assume you’re any less straight if you admit that Wolffe is clearly the most attractive.” Raina grinned, her peach colored lekku twitching at the thought of the commander. You considered the idea but shook your head as other names got thrown around.

Kix, Fives, Bly, Keeli, Cody, and a couple other names you didn’t quite recognize the names of were tossed around the table. Haircuts, scars, tattoos, personality all became deciding factors as you at your dinner, occasionally chiming in to tease your friends.

“Ok then, who do you think the hottest soldier is?” An engineer from some outer moon data post asked after you teased her for her choice- Tup, a younger soldier in the 501st that you hadn’t met since your transfer to Clone Force 99.

You held your hands up, ready to evade the question. But Raina interjected, a challenging look on her face. You’d gone through academy with the peachy colored twi-lek and her sharp tongue was almost faster than her flying. You knew that look, and it didn’t bode well.

“If you don’t answer, I’ll tell every trooper I see all week that you said it was them.” She threatened with a smirk that said she already knew she had won. The smirk grew to a grin when you let out a defeated sigh.

“Well, in my own personal opinion, that Crosshair is the most attractive man we work with.” You admitted quietly. An honest answer on your part, you did think he was attractive even if you’d never say it to his face. Immediately, several pairs of disbelieving eyes landed on you.

“What? He doesn’t even count!” Rys pointed an finger at you to emphasize his point, “he doesn’t even look like the other clones!”

You shrugged as Tula slapped the back of his head again, her voice scolding as she hissed, “You can’t say that either!”

Then she looked at you, “Really though? He’s meaner than a burned gundark.”

“He’s scary.” Raina nodded.

“He’s an ass.” Another one of the 212th enlistments echoed from down the table. You’d forgotten that a few of the units they were assigned to probably had worked with Clone Force 99 at some point. Nevertheless, suddenly, you felt a need to defend the sniper who had finally become what you’d consider a friend.

“Ok, so it takes a while to get to know him, but...” you started, thinking of all the amazing qualities no one else saw because they weren’t with him all the time, “he’s loyal to a fault, really funny, always pulls me out of sticky situations and usually manages to keep me out of them to begin with, once you get to know him and how he is, you see how much he cares about his-��

“Ok, sure,” Raina cut you off, clearly not believing the cold eyed sniper could care about anything or anyone. She paused to pitch her voice up, flutter her eyelashes, and clasp her hands beside her face like a cartoon princess, “we don’t know him like you do~”

She interrupted herself with a snicker before she continued in her normal voice, “and all that bantha crap, but this is about attractiveness. What makes him hot? And don’t give me any of this, personality is all I look at shit.”

“And if I tell you, you’ll leave me alone?” You asked, though it was more of a demand. Tula nodded, she had always been a little boy crazy, and was dying to hear the scoop. You sighed again, hoping your cheeks weren’t too flushed, “fine, He’s very unique looking, in all the best ways. He’s very tall and lean, but crazy built. I’m into the silver hair, and believe it or not, under the armor that man has the best ass you’ll ever see.”

Tula was leaning on the table, giggling wildly at the juicier bits of you description. Raina had leaned back in her seat, and rolled her eyes, “To each their own, I suppose.”

Fortunately for you, the conversation switched to complaining about to the soldiers that were in charge of your training. There was a rumor the Fox used “civilian training” as punishment for his men when they earned a reprimand. It made sense, all the Coruscant guardsmen that were tasked with running drills with you weren’t exactly thrilled to be there. As if any of you were either.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t understand that attitude. We get it, you don’t want to be here, neither do we, but we are so let’s just get it over with- with out the..... are you even listening?” You were in the middle of your tangent when it was clear none of your group was listening to you. Instead there were all staring over your head with varying looks of slight fear, curiosity, and overall disdain. Tula was the one who attempted to subtly point behind you. At first you feared it was one of the troopers in charge of your training, so you quickly turned around with a forced apologetic look on your face.

To your surprise, you found Crosshair. Helmet free, as usual he had a toothpick between his teeth as he gave your group an appraising sweep. He had the same look on his face that he did when he was sizing up ‘the regs’- until he got to you. It took a year for him to stop looking at you that way, but his slight sneer eased out to neutral-which when it came to the sniper, it might as well have been an ear to ear grin.

“Crosshair! What are you doing here?” You asked, turning around in your seat. In addition to his sudden appearance, just his president was slightly confusing. Typically, Hunter would come himself, or send Tech- all to avoid a potential fight. Your training mates looked slightly bewildered at the amicable exchange.

“Springing you. We’ve got an assignment.” He shrugged after plucking the toothpick from between his lips. Like a true creature of habit, he started twirling the stick between his fingers. You quirked an eyebrow motioning to the other civilians.

“You can’t ‘spring me’, it’s GAR regulation for me to do this training refresher.” You reminded him, he rolled his eyes- but you weren’t sure if his disdain was for your use of air quotes or just disdain for GAR regulation in general. With any member of the Bad Batch, it was usually general disrespect for the rules. You gave him a look before continuing, “I still have three more days.”

“Is it really training? You could run circles around anyone here, especially them.” He drawled as he nodded his head over his shoulders at the table of red painted troopers who were eyeing him in distrust. Your eyes went a little wide, was that a compliment? And then you ducked your head at the offended glares of your table. In an effort to prevent a fight, you stood quickly before letting him lead you off.

“They’re aren’t gonna let me leave, Crosshair.” You reminded him, looking up to meet his eyes. He smirked a bit, setting his eyes forward.

“How are they gonna stop us?” He challenged, dropping his smile to glare at a passing trooper.

“Well, ion cannons come to mind.” You mused before clearing your throat, “You guys could always go with me, you went on plenty of missions before you got stuck with me. It be like the good ole days.”

He didn’t laugh at your joking tone, but shook his head, “You’re one of us, you stay with us”

You were stunned to silence for a second, despite your friendship he’s never referred you you as ‘one of them’. Heat rose to your cheeks as you exited the corridor into a lift, so Crosshair diffused the tension.

“Mission takes precedence over regulations. When have we been know to follow the rules, anyways.” He mused, swiping his ID card so the lift would let you out in the hangar. He relaxed a bit when you snorted a laugh before he continued on, “Besides, how can pull you out of sticky situation if you’re on a different planet?”

You froze in your spot, stomach dropping and cheeks flaring with red hot embarrassment; you had forgotten the cardinal rule of working with Crosshair.

If you didn’t have eyes on Crosshair, Crosshair definitely had eyes on you. And in this case, apparently ears as well.

“Ok, look-“ you started, hoping to ease your embarrassment, but all of the excuses you could come up with fell flat before they made it out of your mouth. Fortunately, the lift door slid open, allowing you to escape before you could further your embarrassment.

Crosshair actually chuckled out loud, long legs easily traipsing past you as he headed towards the Havoc Marauder. Momentarily, he twisted around to walk backwards, pointing his toothpick towards you, “Don’t worry, your ass is almost as good as mine.”

[luxwritesfanfic]

400 LUX

Sherlock wants to cut things off but the reader thinks he should really think it over. Or, the one where Sherlock isn’t one for saying “I love you”, but he has always offered you a sword. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You could hear the water running in the bathroom as you slipped down the hall to make coffee, your phone in one hand pressed against your ear as Mary went on and on about all the things that you two needed to do today and the other hand held your shear kit that you barely used. It was a few days  before the wedding and things were in full swing for you as Mary’s bridesmaid and Sherlock as the best man. Mary, God bless her, was having a breakdown every other day and it was all you could do to not to set her off by picking the red velvet with buttercream over the vanilla cupcakes.

“— and we need to go by the florist today, too, and I probably should stop by and speak to the DJ... and John, he’s not worried about any of it! He’s asking for tea and biscuits as if I’m not already balancing the most important day of our lives!” Mary was talking at a mile a minute and as she continued the never ending list of tasks she had set for the two of you, you began situating all of your supplies to cut Sherlock’s hair. He had insisted you do it before the wedding, and not even your lack of experience was enough to convince him to just go to the shop with John. Sherlock’s hair was something he took very seriously so you were unsure as to why he’d even ask you to do this.

Speaking of the devil, you rounded the hallway and started for the bathroom.

“One second Mare.” She didn’t miss a beat and continued right on talking once you muted her, and you wondered if this is how John felt talking to Sherlock. Knocking on the door before walking in, you fought through the steam to find a comb on the counter.

“If we’re going to be in here at the same time, you might as well join me.” Sherlock’s head popped out from behind the shower curtain, his hair and face sudsed up and glistening from the water. The longer you realized you had actually been thinking about taking him up on his offer, the quicker you knew that you had to get back to your task at hand and get out of the line of fire. You pulled open some of the drawers and rummaged through them.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that.” Hoping that the steam was thick enough to hide your growing blush, you turned back to the vanity and opened the mirror cabinet. “I need you to hurry up. Mary’s having a-“

“You would, too.” You could hear the smirk in his voice and that was enough to make you roll your eyes. Luckily for you, the mirror door was hiding your face from his prying eyes. Smug and darling as always, your man was. You snuck a peek at him and realized he’d moved back from the curtain and resumed washing his hair.

“Seriously, Mary will probably have a heart attack if I don’t leave within the hour. If you love me, five minutes.” You shut the cabinet and slipped out of the room to finally return to your phone call.

“Sorry M, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sherlock is being Sherlock.”

“Now you’re really starting to sound like John. How’s his suit fit? Does he need any adjustments? That reminds me, I should call the tailor! Be a doll and bring something to eat on the way? Love you!” With that she hung up, leaving you in the dust trying to comprehend if she actually was speaking words or Simlish.

—

“Four minutes, fourteen seconds.”

You turned back to him while you gestured for him to sit down so you could wrap the towel around his shoulders. His hair was still pretty wet so you wouldn’t have to spray it much.

“What are you talking about?”

Sherlock only smiled to himself in response, and you figured he’d just moved on from that conversation already. Combing out small sections of his hair and clipping the rest up, you asked again.

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I really don’t mind going to your usual stylist with you. I don’t want to mess you up for the wedding.”

“Y/N, I told you already, if I’ve asked you to do it it’s because I want for you to do it. It’s only just a trim. Come on with it.

So you began at that, snipping away little by little. You had cut John’s hair for him a few times right before a date but his was much easier than Sherlock’s and it grew like a weed so even if you did mess up, his date could hardly tell. You told Sherlock all about your plans with Mary for the day and he seemed to be listening intently but you could tell his mind was wandering. You knew him better than you knew yourself.

Moving to stand in between his legs to trim his face framing pieces, you asked him about his plans for the day.

“Hm,” he started, resting his fingers tips lightly on your hips in front of him, tapping away as he thought out his answer. “Mycroft insists he has words for me, despite my telling him to keep them to himself, so I suppose I’ll be seeing him at some point. John is coming here to talk wedding...” which you were almost certain really meant a case, “and I want to tell Mrs. Hudson you’ve decided to give up your flat entirely to live here.”

You had just finished trimming his hair when he had said that and luckily so because you were sure you would have chopped off a lot more than needed being caught by surprise like that. Running your fingers through his hair to be sure you didn’t miss any sections, you contemplated what exactly was happening between you. You had never really brought up completely moving in even though it was true that you practically already did. You hadn’t slept in your own bed in months because you always chose the opportunity to sleep with Sherlock. Moving in seemed like a dream but you always had it in the back of your mind that one day Sherlock would have a change of heart and change his mind on whatever the two of you were, and you didn’t want to be without if that happened.

When he realized you still hadn’t replied to his request, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at you. “Is there really that much to think about? John said you’d say yes if I made it clear I was the one asking you to. Had I not done that?”

You couldn’t help but smile, because seriously, what could you have possibly done to deserve the opportunity to love someone as... well, Sherlock, as Sherlock. He was everything everyone said he was, but he had shown you willingly that he was also so much more. You’d choose the life with him, whether it was one of a house and kids and a white picket fence or if it was one that consisted of running around London in the rain because Sherlock swore he saw something suspicious and the only viable option was to run after it. You would choose him. Every single time.

Even with all of your declarations of love, you two had never said talked about the fact that you were definitely exclusively dating which often hindered a conversation of the future. You had told him you loved him more times than you could count but he had never said it back and you were okay with that. He didn’t have to reciprocate it for it to be true. But, it did leave room for doubt that this might not always be what Sherlock chooses.

You thought of all the ways you could bring it it up and realized that straightforwardly was the only way to go. You brought your hands from his hair to hold his face and rubbed your thumbs in slow circles and he relaxed on the spot. He was putty in your hands, as much as he hated to admit it.

“I just don’t want you to feel stuck with me. It’s a big step. And if it ends up making you miserable, I just- I don’t know. I don’t want to be the one to make you miserable.” Your voice was soft as you spoke and you realized that with Sherlock’s bangs being much shorter now, you got to see more of his pretty face. Although, currently, it was contorted as he worked through trying to comprehend what you were saying to him. Blinking away at you for what seemed like forever, Sherlock cleared his throat and took your hands from his face and into his own instead.

“I’m... not sure I understand. I don’t mean to be rude at your expense but if I wanted to leave you, I would. I could rather easily. Just as easily as you could leave me. But you won’t. And I won’t... I’ve tried to show you in all the ways I know how. So would it not make sense for us to live together?”

It slowly started making sense for you and you could slap yourself for being so blind. Sherlock had let you take the lead in a lot of aspects in his life recently that you couldn’t explain what for. He urged you to pick out the next case he would work, allowed you to pick out his new microscope (Y/N, they’re the same color. Pick one. I don’t know Sherlock! I feel like this one is cool grey and this one is light grey, it makes a difference!), and now you were cutting his hair, the most important part of his appearance from his point of view. He trusted you to make the right choice every time and there really was no right choice, your choice was the right choice.

You were pulled from your thoughts as you phone began to ring with Mary’s picture posted on the screen.

“Shit, I’m so late! She’s seriously going to kill me.” Your gaze drifted from your phone to Sherlock who surprisingly patiently awaiting your answer. “Tell Mrs. Hudson as soon as John gets back from holiday that you two will start moving my stuff over. And make a little space for me in your closet, okay? I need more than just a few drawers.”

Sherlock smiled at you like you like he did when you called him brilliant and that was your highest honor to date.

You expected the usual slick remark but he simply said, “You’ll have what you want. Mary will be calling again in about 30 seconds. You should really be hailing a taxi right about now.”

And there he was, the Sherlock you wouldn’t change for the world. You wished you had time to tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine but alas, duty calls. You kiss him like you mean it- because you do, and rush off to your friend’s rescue but not without stopping in the doorway.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. But even more importantly than that, I trust you. I’ve had the time of my life fighting dragons with you and I’d happily spend the rest of my life doing it if you’d let me. It’s nice to know that you will. I just thought you’d like to know.”

Just like that, you turn his world upside down as you rush down the stairs, leaving him speechless. He thought his story was one that would be written about him and him alone and as sure as he used to be in that, he’d come to the realization that he was just as sure that two was better than one.

“And I, you.”

[shirophantomvox]

Chrollo, Hisoka, and Illumi Headcanons

Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi, and Leorio headcanons

Hello, anon! I am so sorry for taking longer than usual to respond to this post. I have been so busy with A LOT lately but I have time now! I don’t know if you want N/SFW, romantic or non so I’ll go based on what comes to mind! I know many Tumblr users have made these types of assumptions for them a lot but I wanted to join in. I started writing this last night so forgive me if there are any unbearable grammar errors. I hope you like it anon, I tried my best. I have to work on my headcanons for them because I try to keep them in character. Since we don’t have much background info on ⅔, I have to keep it as realistic as possible. FYI N/SFW content is mentioned.

Discord for Voltron and HxH fans

Let’s start with Chrollo.

Chrollo (SFW)

I’ve seen on here that a lot of you headcanon Chrollo to be an understanding man when it comes to feelings for his significant other. Given his soft voice and calm demeanor, I’m sure that is somewhat true.

It seems like Chrollo isn’t on board with over-the-top PDA meaning he would agree to hand-holding and his arm around you but nothing more. He saves the...other stuff for when you two are alone. Because of Chrollo’s past, it seems like he wouldn’t want to be seen in public that much because that can cause him to get caught by the authorities.

He takes your safety very seriously. You understand that when he is with the Phantom Troupe that you are not to interrupt until the business is over. He doesn’t allow you to get involved with the missions because of how dangerous they can be (example: the auction). He knows you can handle it, he prefers for you not to be involved. Feelings and work can make things difficult.

Although Chrollo hides in the shadows, I imagine he lives in a penthouse with expensive furniture, white and black color pattern, and large windows that have an astonishing view of Yorknew.

After you both have worked long and hard, you open the door just to see the lights dimmed so dark that it matches the night atmosphere. There are rose petals leading to the bathroom where a bubble bath is waiting. As you enter the bathroom, your boyfriend is waiting there, submerged in bubbles sticking his arms out. Candles light up the tiny room casting a romantic shadow from your body. You grab his hand and gently sit in the tub. The warm water felt amazing; it helped your aching muscles (from exercising) feel better. Chrollo gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm, loving embrace. He wrapped his toned arms around your body and rested his chin on your shoulder. He didn’t say a word but instead breathed heavily, kissed your shoulder, and leaned back against the wall. On days like this, he didn’t say much but his actions spoke louder than words.

Chrollo NSFW

I think Chrollo is a passionate lover. This assumption comes from his calm demeanor. He seems to be incredibly patient so if you aren’t positioning yourself the right way or something, he’ll work with you to make sure you get it and you are comfortable.

He is touchy. That means during the nitty-gritty, he likes to touch your face, chin, lips, and your torso as a way to show more affection.

When he is in the mood, he moves slowly then very fast. He cannot resist the urges and feelings he has for you.

He loves to do this while the drapes are open although you have expressed that you like your privacy. It’s ironic. He doesn’t like extreme PDA but is ok with sleeping with you while the lights from the city shine near your penthouse window. Ah, guys are confusing.

After the climax, he lays flat on the bed and pulls you close. He leaves about an inch in between because heat is still radiating off your bodies and it’s summertime.

Hisoka (SFW) If his significant other was shy.

People have mixed feelings about Hisoka, feelings, and whether or not if he is gentle or not. I don’t think that Hisoka is gentle but begins to lay off the harsh jokes or pranks as he sees that you both have fought before and you’re not as weak as he thought.

Unlike Chrollo, he is all for PDA. This ranges from hand holding to playful kisses to passionate kisses. When I saw Hisoka for the first time, I immediately thought he was a fuck boy. A fuck boy is a boy that is only interested in sleeping with someone and doesn’t intend on pursuing a relationship.

He’d take the pleasure of appreciating your presence as well as testing your patience. If you are shy and are easily flustered, he will change that. He’ll do things like kissing you, calling you affectionate names, or anything that will cause you to respond. You hit him jokingly. Still not getting the message, he continues and you hit him harder. This is where he releases a medium moan which causes everyone to look in your direction. You freeze; face flushed and he’s laughing his ass off.

“What’s the matter,” he asks, covering his mouth. “You look flushed~♥.”

“You’re doing too much. Stop playing around! People are staring~💯.” You cover the side of your face. True enough you were a little mortified but in a good way. You knew he did this because he liked you but sometimes he played too much.

This is when he pulls you closer to his face, your ear next to his mouth, and whispers something in your ear that sent chills down your spine that made you blush more than before. He nearly puckered his lips as he spoke. He took his index finger and thumb to caress your cheek.

“Raising your voice at me? That simply won’t do. Aren’t you aware of the consequences~♥?”

You knew better than to not say anything because he would cup your cheeks and pull you into a deep kiss, and wouldn’t let go until he was sure that everyone was looking.

Both of you enjoy red, white, and rose wine. To him, wine equals classiness and sophistication. After fighting each other for hours (which he considers training for you and exercise for him) drinking wine and watching Lifetime (television for idiots) is a great way to end the night.

NSFW

As stated above, I originally thought that Hisoka was a fuck boy, so I am going to roll with that thought. This man has the potential of being rough and if he is too rough this is the time where you can speak up and say so. He’ll listen to you. Similar to Chrollo, he can be very romantic if he wants to. The rose petals gimmick was played out.

Instead, he hides in the darkest part of the living room waiting for you.

You turn on the lights and immediately head to the kitchen to drink a bottle of ice-cold water. Summer nights in Yorknew were hot and humid, almost unbearable. It felt like you were being suffocated. Becoming impatient, Hisoka clears his throat loudly causing you to nearly jump out of your skin; choking on the water you were drinking. He released a sexy chuckle. When you turned around, there stood your chiseled buff boyfriend bare with a ribbon tied in various directions around his body. Your birthday was two days ago and he was your gift. Although you have seen him like this before, for some reason you were too flustered to make a move. He already knew that you were tired from work, so he carried you in his arms to the Exercise Room and laid you gently on the floor. You smiled as a rush or passion took over your body resulting in you tearing off the ribbon tightly wrapped around his body. Since this was your birthday gift, he made it a night you’d remember forever! Surprisingly, no roughhousing, just soft and gentle. This proves that Hisoka has the capability of being humane. His strokes were to your liking and the gazes that you both exchanged were mind-blowing. Why couldn’t he be this way all the time? After it all, you fell asleep at her quickly. You were on the floor but now on top of your king-sized bed, with the message control on high. He stayed awake, watching TV, and thought about how he was going to pick a fight with you at the crack of dawn.

Hisoka’s ability to flirt and send the intended person swooning is a talent of itself. Lots of people do not possess this talent. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not. He speaks softly and smoothly, are he has to do is ask and it shall be done.

Illumi SFW

Illumi gives the impression that he is a “quiet” freak. This means that true enough he is focused on his job but if the moment comes along he will give in. He isn’t into PDA at all and if he does feel like showing some affection it will be done in private. Even though he appears to be a zombie, laying on or even cuddling with his significant other will help him relax for once. Imagine having to complete many missions in a day, exhausted, and have a wonderful person waiting to act as a human pillow for your weary head. Even Illumi can’t resist that.

If he likes you and plans to marry you, he will make that known to everyone to avoid confusion. Illumi represents the stereotypical shy boy; he is anti-social, prefers to only be around people he knows and trusts, and carries out the duties of his job.

After everything has been completed for the day, he wouldn’t mind ( and secretly begs) for silent cuddles with his significant other and to just fall asleep. At this point, you are used to it so this is all you want and you are satisfied. When he does talk, it’s usually about something he found out from work that he knows should be kept quiet but he tells you anyway. Late nights are the time of day where Illumi vents for a few hours. The details of these vent sessions could range anywhere from “I wish you were there to see it” to “No, it would be too much”. As quiet and reserve as he is, his love is shown in a unique way that you have grown accustomed to.

NSFW

When the urge slaps him across the face like a sack of rocks, he cannot resist. Usually, he fights off the urge by exercising (mainly because you are out of the house or sleep) but this time he couldn’t shake it.

Before he gets started with anything, he styles his long hair in the shape of a bun so it doesn’t get in the way of action.

Although he is portrayed to be an emotionless zombie, he has some feeling deep inside him that he unleashes just for you. This is shown by gentle moist kisses being placed along your neck and once he reaches your shoulder that is when you wake up. Halfway through your sleepy eyes, you see a man with a devilish smile painted across his face. Who is this man? This couldn’t be your boyfriend. No way, no how.

Once he sees your sleepy smile, he just releases so many kisses that you throw the blanket off and he pulls you in closer.

Illumi will allow you both to switch the roles meaning he is in charge one time and you are on another day. Since you were still asleep, he decided to take on the role. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning but as soon as it takes off, your ride him like a donkey. It ironic; he releases more noises than you! You have to remind him that noise travels! Great, you’re doing your job well! While it is important to take your job seriously, you need to have time to release that stress.

He uses his large eyes to stare into yours; you always found yourself lost in his gaze.

After it all, you lay back down waiting for your boyfriend to return from the kitchen. Illumi craves food like crazy after a good session. What’s better than donuts at 3 AM? COMFORT FOOD!!

These urges also come when you two are training together. Several times he’s had to guide you from behind on how to aim his needles. This time you noticed the packing of his pants which surprised you.

“Any questions,” he asked in a monotone voice.

“Yes. Why did you wear jogging pants? You’re giving yourself away.”

It was at this moment, he knew he fucked up. But let’s be honest, ok? He is standing behind the most beautiful person in the world, nostrils full of perfume, hair tied up, and has his left hand placed loosely on your thigh?! What was he thinking by wearing jogging pants when he was with you? He acted as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“You really don’t know?”

You kicked your backside out against him causing him to fall to the ground.

“Wow! Your legs are like jelly!”

“Why tease me,” He asked breaking out a small smile.

“You’re the one denying it.”

“Just get to it. I can’t wait any longer or else I’ll explode.”

The quiet ones are always the freakiest.

[traincat]

I’ve been trying to piece together a few things from your Twitter and Tumblr posts alike and still can’t make heads or tales of things, so would you mind helping out a FF & spideytorch noob? 1) what is currently happening with Johnny in the comics? (I’ve fallen head over heels for this guy, largely all your doing) 2) when’s the last time he and Peter have interacted, canon wise? (And do you think upcoming interactions are likely?) 3) your thoughts on if they’ll have him come out in the near future? (has that ‘biggest change to the fantastic four’ teaser come to pass yet?) Love all your content, thank you!

I'd say no problem but then I started thinking about this current run again and got a headache. But yes, I can do that to save you from reading it, because it is very largely not good.

So I don't think it's unfair to just flat out say the current Fantastic Four run is not very good, largely due to writer Dan Slott's efforts. Slott was previously on Amazing Spider-Man for 10 years, to mixed opinions, but a large portion of Spider-Man fandom, myself included, blames him near singlehandedly for the decline in quality of Spider-Man books over those ten years. I will say, in the interest of fairness, that Slott as a writer has an incredible fondness for the Spider-Man/Human Torch relationship, and that a lot of the recent teamups and interactions between them have been written or co-written by him. So it's all not all negative here. But in general, I personally find Slott's more recent comics (the last seven-ish years especially) to be badly plotted out, messily characterized disasters that feature characters written with all the emotion of a cardboard cutout. That's me putting it nicely.

To explain this fully, you have to understand the position Fantastic Four comics were in from the years 2015 through 2018, both in the fictional 616 universe and in the real publishing world. Following the 2015 Secret Wars event (great if you want some Johnny angst in the background of your plot), the Fantastic Four were disbanded -- Reed, Sue, and their many biological and found family children were presumed dead but in reality were remaking the multiverse, unable, for a reason that was never clearly defined, to reach home. Ben and Johnny were left on Earth. They had an unspecified falling out, likely due to Reed and Sue's absence, and went their separate ways -- Ben joined the Guardians of the Galaxy and went to space. Johnny was featured on both Inhumans and Avengers books. What's notable about this period is that it's the first time since 1961 that there was no Fantastic Four book being published by Marvel. Now the real world reason behind this is both complicated and extremely petty: Marvel really wanted the Fantastic Four film rights. Marvel denied this explanation at the time, stating that the reason was sales motivated, but it was a thoroughly flimsy excuse and Jonathan Hickman, writer of 2015's Secret Wars and overseer of the current X-Men plot, gave an interview saying the decision was film rights motivated. This decision kept the Fantastic Four books off the shelves for three years, up until the Disney-Fox merger, which secured the X-Men and Fantastic Four rights for Disney's Marvel Studios. Marvel then announced that the Fantastic Four book would be returning. So that's a little bit of background as to the precarious place the Fantastic Four currently occupy in the Marvel universe -- it's worth noting that this year is their 60th anniversary, and Marvel has done very little for it. Compare this to the X-Men, whose film rights Marvel also obtained during the Disney-Fox merger, and whose books are currently dominating the publishing lineup. The Fantastic Four definitely occupy an unpopular position, one Marvel themselves is at least partially responsible for forcing them into.

But to move back into the actual content of the book -- the readjustment period Slott wrote reintroducing the Fantastic Four into the Marvel universe can be described as clumsy, at best. It's never fully explained why Reed, Sue, and the kids couldn't return to Earth, something that was explored in Chip Zdarsky's 2017 Marvel Two-in-One, which featured Ben, Johnny, and Doom on a multiversal roadtrip to try and find their family and which I on the whole recommend, despite it having an awkward ending due to being cut short by Slott's announced Fantastic Four main title.

(Marvel Two-in-One 2017 #4)

Instead, the Fantastic Four return to a Marvel universe a little different than how they left it, with the Baxter Building -- formerly the offices of Parker Industries, the company Doc Ock started in Peter's body during Superior Spider-Man that Peter inherited after his defeat and then lost spectacularly when he trashed his own company to fight nazis (good for him) -- occupied by a different fantastic foursome in a plot that goes nowhere and does nothing. This is somewhat emblematic of the early days of Slott's run -- he introduces ideas that fail to go anywhere, including Johnny's rekindled relationship with his other best friend and former college roommate, Wyatt Wingfoot, who he was seen being very cuddly with in the early issues.

(FF 2018 #1) A small group of Fantastic Four fans have argued for a while that if Marvel was to have Johnny come out, a relationship with Wyatt would feel very natural -- they're already close, with Wyatt being an important Fantastic Four supporting character since the '60s. I have some further analysis here on the conspiracy theory that Johnny and Wyatt were supposed to be in relationship at the beginning of this run but that that plot was, for whatever reason, nixed. I don't know that I entirely believe this theory, for the record -- but I do think the pieces line up remarkably well.

Anyway, that didn't/hasn't yet happened, obviously. Slott instead for the most part put Johnny on the back burner for the beginning of his run, up until the Spyre arc, which I have reason to believe is the main story he pitched that he credits with securing him the Fantastic Four title. The Spyre arc suggests that the Fantastic Four's failed space exploration during which they got their powers wasn't just to beat the commies to the moon, as Lee and Kirby envisioned (simpler days), but to reach a specific planet outside of our galaxy. When the team sets out to conquer this mission, they arrive at the planet, but are quickly captured. The planet, they find out, operates like a soulmate AU -- everyone has a fated person that they are matched to via a gold armband. Reed and Sue are soulmates (and Ben is confined to an underground subterranean with the other monsters, because this is a Fantastic Four comic) while it's discovered! Shocker! That Johnny is actually the soulmate of the one the planet's inhabitants, a winged woman named Sky, with the suggestion that this is both why Johnny's previous relationships have never worked and why he loves space exploration -- he was just trying to get to his Soulmate TM.

(FF 2018 #15) "What's going on here? Where are my clothes?" As you can see, this didn't start off super great, with Johnny being separated from his family, stripped naked, and put in Sky's bed with a soulmate armband slapped on him. Did I mention they're only removable if your soulmate takes it off for you? And that Sky has consistently refused despite Johnny asking her to? Yeah. It's bad. (I think it's important to note Johnny's long history as a victim of assault plays into this narrative, whether or not Slott is personally holding that in mind while writing, which I don't believe he is. cw in the linked post for discussions of sexual assault.) There's an additional issue here in that Slott has a history of problematic writing regarding women of color, featuring characters he's created to act as love interests being oversexualized, infantilized, villainized, or some mix of all three, with two examples of this phenomena being Cindy Moon and Lian Tang, both of whom he introduced in quick succession in Amazing Spider-Man. Slott certainly didn't have to write Sky as manipulative or controlling towards Johnny, but that's what he chose to do, and that factors into the bigger picture of unfortunate themes in his writing.

Sky returns to Earth with the Fantastic Four despite Johnny appearing unenthused about the idea and initially generally reluctant to interact with her. Apparently they went on a few dates after this and kind of made up. I don't know because I stopped reading for about ten issues in there but I feel confident I missed very little. It's hard to talk about the Sky plot without referencing Johnny's previous interactions with a character named Lyja, a Skrull whose relationship to Johnny I have a long breakdown of here. It's doubly hard, because Lyja actually showed back up in Fantastic Four during this plot. Lyja's modus operandi has remained consistent throughout almost all of her appearances, which I guess makes sense, because she literally has no storylines that do not involve her being obsessed with Johnny, and this recent story isn't any different: Lyja shows up, Lyja disguises herself as another woman in Johnny's life to get close to Johnny, Lyja gets caught and claims it was all fine because she did it for love. This time she disguised herself as Sky.

(FF 2018 #32) Not gonna lie, kind of proud of him for this one. That's one of my problems with Slott -- very occasionally, he busts out good moments, only to undermine them with the rest of his narrative.

In the same issue, Alicia Masters, the first woman Lyja impersonated in order to get close to Johnny, uses her supervillain stepfather's radioactive clay to control Lyja's mind and send her back to space, and I do think she utilized girl power when she did this. Johnny, left reeling after Lyja's latest attempts to trick him into a relationship, ends this issue by sleeping with Victorious, Dr. Doom's right hand woman.

I know she pegged him. I know it. This scene was a little controversial in Johnny fandom, because a lot of people viewed it as Johnny cheating on Sky and thought that that action was out of character for Johnny. I'm personally of a little different opinion, which is that regardless of whether or not you view Johnny and Sky in a committed enough relationship that Johnny's tryst would count as infidelity when all Johnny and Sky are bound by are magic plot soulmate bracelets, I think Lyja's involvement changes things significantly when it comes to Johnny's characterization. All of Johnny's "playboy" periods, if we can call them that, coincide directly with Lyja having been in and then left his life again, which I think makes a certain amount of sense -- it's Johnny trying to wrest control back after a situation where he had none. None of this is explicitly canon, I have to note, but sometimes in comics you have to do the work yourself. So I think this is a case of something being accidentally extremely in character that Slott accidentally stumbled into because he had these love triangles in mind, not because he put a lot of thought into it.

Speaking of love triangles! Johnny sleeping with Victorious gets more complicated when Dr. Doom announces his intent to marry Victorious -- not because he has any romantic interest in her (this engagement caused a lot of uproar in Fantastic Four because Victorious had been previously referred to as being like Doom's adopted daughter) but in order to install her as Latverian regent in his absence. I'm not going to lie, I love a political wedding. Victorious, for some reason, thinks Doom will be deeply upset that she slept with some closeted blond twink and the member of the Fantastic Four he views least as an enemy and more as an annoyance. Johnny, who Sky is currently not talking to because she "felt" him sleeping with Victorious through their magic plot soulmate bracelets, also feels nervous about Doom finding out about this, which I guess is slightly more valid. Anyway, for some completely ridiculous reason, Victorious decides the best time to tell Doom about this little indiscretion is when they're standing at the altar, which coincidentally the Fantastic Four are also standing at, because Doom asked Reed to be his best man in a not at all homoerotic little setup involving midnight swordfighting and Reed slipping Doom's emerald ring onto his own finger. Sorry to sidetrack into DoomReed territory here but it's just like. It's just a lot.

(FF 2018 #33) Also, Ben walked the bride down the aisle. :,) Look at his gigantic hand.

Anyway then Doom decides he's going to kill everyone in a completely reasonable and not at all overblown reaction to Johnny and Zora having what was most likely both disappointing for Zora and weepy for Johnny sex. And that brings us up to where Fantastic Four comics left us yesterday -- in answer to your "big change" question, that's most likely coming up in the next issue, so it hasn't come to pass yet.

Having gotten all that out of the way -- the last time Johnny and Peter interacted canon-wise was in the recent Empyre Fallout Fantastic Four, at the end of the Empyre event:

It was cute! Slott does right good interactions between them. This is possibly the Stockholm Syndrome talking. I don't know if more interactions are likely imminent -- the Empyre event was fairly recent. On the other hand, Slott does like writing interactions between them. So I'd give it about a 50/50 shot. I was skimming the letter page in the latest issue and someone wrote in asking if Peter was likely to appear in the pages of Fantastic Four again any time soon, so there is definitely a demand.

As for Johnny coming out -- I don't know. It's not a call I feel comfortable making at this moment, which I guess means I wouldn't bet money on it. I'd like to say yes, especially because I think Slott set up, whether that was his intention or more likely not, several good places in his run where Johnny could have come out. The beginning, when he's implied to be living with Wyatt again and where he and Wyatt are paralleled against Ben and Alicia. Ben's bachelor party, where Johnny laments not finding the right person -- specifically person and not woman -- and where Ben tells him to "be brave, Johnny Storm." And the soulmate planet plot, where I think could have had a very different and much better ending if Johnny had told Sky that she couldn't be his romantic soulmate, because he knows he wants to be with a man. But those are just places that I think would have made good opportunities for a coming out story. Instead, Johnny's been involved (dubiously) with three different women over the space of the last 10 issues, which is more heterosexuality at one time than he's been confronted with in the last 60 years. So my thoughts are still that it's going to happen eventually, but quite possibly not anytime soon.

Hope that helps! And that my incredibly long answer about what's currently going on with Johnny in comics sheds some light on things!

[tigerdrop]

so. this is my attempt at posting a 20k-word-long g/t frenrey RP that kogo and i were doing at the start of this year. its not finished and im not sure when were gonna pick it back up, since we are currently working on co-op game theory instead of a filthy RP that takes place like 100k words down the line of co-op game theory. but ive been sitting on it long enough so here u go

i never really planned on posting this anywhere so its really self-indulgent and not as polished as our usual stuff but look. this is a ludicrous amount of erotica im dropping here. cut me a lil slack

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

Gordon tries to keep moving, but eventually his pace slows to a stop, his legs growing heavier and heavier until he can't bring himself to lift them.

"Okay. Okay," he pants, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man! I'm tapped out! We've been walking all day - or, well, I have, I don't know about you. We can't... can't all be alien god fuckers, floating around or whatever." He pauses to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body aches from the strain of hopping around Xen in the HEV suit. Sure, gravity doesn't have quite as strong a hold here as it did back on Earth, and that makes all that metal easier to lug around, but it seems like time doesn't work the same way, either. Gordon can't tell how long it's been. Feels like days.

Smells like it, too, now that he's got a moment to breathe. He's covered in dirt and slime and congealed alien blood and God know what else.  In short, he needs a fucking break. And Gordon aggressively takes one right then and there, dropping to his feet. What's the rush, anyway? "Like we're ever gonna find out way out of this fucking place," he mutters.

> Benrey watches as Gordon collapses, a pile of metal and smells. Odors. Sweat and dirt and tangled hair. His head tilts to the side but his expression remains flat as he lifts his head and gazes out into the vastness of Xen, before turning back to Gordon and furrowing his brow. They hadn't even gotten far, not really, so it doesn't really make sense that he'd just crumple like this.

> He sniffs, shuffling in a circle on his feet as Gordon bitches behind him--something about never escaping Xen, as if Benrey hadn't traveled from one end to the other to find him in the first place--and chews his lip in deep concentration, trying to think of literally anything that would maybe make the guy stop. Stop with the, uh, whining and whinging and "blah blah, we're not all alien god fuckers" or whatever.

> (Though, well, technically, Gordon was an alien god fucker anymore. Their time back with the space maggots and the gun bugs and that skinny doppelganger had seen them in a couple of situations where Gordon happily fucked an "alien god.")

> But. Wait. No. Mind wandering. Wandering to fun places, places more fun than being lost in Xen (though he's not lost; they'll find their way out eventually), but not anywhere useful. And, for once, he has to think along those boring terms. Being, you know, reliable or whatever.

> What matters is making Gordon go. The hamster wheel in his head turns and turns until the rodent is slung clear off and, with a slow blink, Benrey accepts defeat. Ideas are not his forte when he's actually trying to be helpful. He turns to his human, he tilts his head in the other direction, and he waits for his human to look up at him. Then, he speaks without even waiting for eye contact.

> "So, uh... what can best friend Benrey do to... make you. I dunno. Less dumb?"

> Nailed it. Benrey is getting good at this "empathy" thing.

Gordon drags his gaze up from the ground to Benrey, and immediately scrunches his eyebrows up. "Wow, that was almost nice of you," he says, a touch of genuine surprise in his voice. It doesn't outweigh the disdain, though. "You know what? Just don't do anything. The best thing you can do right now is to stand right there and do absolutely nothing... and let me just... catch my breath."

He hopes against hope that, for once, Benrey will do what he says. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise. His internal monologue turns a bit haggard. Well, it's not like there's anything he could do about it, anyway. Even if he was fit as a fiddle, if Benrey wanted to fuck off and get lost, there was no stopping him.

He can't hold Benrey's stare for long, though. It's-- it's always harder to look him right in the eye like this. Something about the size of him makes it uncomfortable, like he's staring right through Gordon. So he darts his eyes away, scanning his surroundings. The perils of an alien landscape: all the little islands and chunks of earth start to look the same after awhile. Rocks and strange, angry plants and pools of mysterious fluids. He's seen it all. There's a number of all these things and more around him, but the one thing he finds himself wishing for is something to eat. You can't trust anything out here.

"I just want a burger, man," Gordon groans. "Sick of jumping around like I'm playing some kind of platformer. You know, they never tell you how exhausting this shit is! My heart's-- my heart's racing-- like, adrenaline? Hate fucking jumping over these big-ass pits, I'm tellin' you."

Or, failing that, like, a nap. Or a bath. He vocalizes both of these things before burying his head in his hands. Maybe he could get one of those microsleeps going. If he can just calm the fuck down, anyway.

> Food? Nap? Bath?

> Benrey's mouth curls into a jagged smile. Of course Gordon would just need some of that weird, seemingly pointless human stuff. You would think after two grand adventures of dragging this sad sack around and listening to him complain every two meters, he'd have picked up on the human necessities. Things like 'burger" and "bed time" and "smelling like preferred smells, and not the natural smells that are apparently 'bad.'"

> A huge sigh heaves out of Benrey and he watches in amusement as it makes Gordon's hair puff out of his face. Small little tiny man, curled up on a chunk of rock, not able to embiggen and make things easier. It's sad and pathetic, almost as sad and pathetic as Gordon looks, but Benrey knows he's capable of being a good enough guy for the both of them. A real bro. A best friend.

> Because he knows Xen inside and out for some reason. And he's observant. He's seen things and can do the mental math necessary to figure out how to problem solve, sort of. He's spent enough time floating around Xen to figure out what those sparkly puddles do, and he's seen enough of those people back in the Wrong World eat the not-Lamarrs (or, at least the Vorti-bros did, which were close enough).

> And, well, Gordon could literally sleep anywhere. There was dirt for days, lots of rocks to align the spine. Fun nap places. Good for Gordon.

> With a burst of pride and dagger-toothed grin, Benrey propped his elbow on the island where Gordon was whining and held out his hand, palm up and flat, extended as an open invitation.

> "Oh. Uh. That it? That's, uh... that's a cool I can do. Big cool for you."

He stares, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, that's a-- What are you doing?"

> "I'm doing a cool," Benrey responds. Though his voice is still fairly flat, there is a bite to it, hidden almost completely under his monotone. As if to emphasize the point, he lifts his hand and slaps it back down into the earth once more in a way he thought was light. Judging from the way the ground shook and the island rocked, perhaps not as light as he'd imagined.

> "Gonna, uh... help. Or somethin'. You gettin' on or you gonna be a babyman about it?"

Gordon yelps as the ground shakes around him, even though he's (relatively) safe on the ground. "Jesus, Benrey! Watch it!"

What the hell is he doing? His eyes dart between Benrey's hand and face as the gears struggle to turn. It's been a long fucking day, all right, and Benrey's... Benrey-isms are hard enough to understand at the best of times. This is supposed to help, somehow. So, scratch the burger. And the nap, too, probably. So, does that mean he wants to--

No. That's stupid. He's stupid for thinking it. Gordon steadfastly ignores the way his ears prickle and shakes his head, like a dog ridding itself of water.

"Please tell me you're gonna just carry me the rest of the way," Gordon sighs. It's a visible effort for him to get back to his feet. "Hey, actually, why didn't you just do that from the get-go? You're not even breaking a sweat!"

He complains, sure, but it doesn't stop him from dizzily shuffling forward and stepping on. Better late than never. He'll have plenty of time to chew Benrey out for this once he's out of this alien hellscape and back in his own goddamn bed.

> Benrey blinks.

> Oh. Yeah. He probably could have carried Gordon, huh? The thought never really occurred to him at first because, well, why would it? Was he a bad guy--a bad friend--for believing that his bestest buddy was a capable man? Color him insensitive for actually expecting things of Gordon, but he'd just watched the guy win Space Invaders in real life.

> After that, traipsing through Xen should have been a walk in the park.

> Best not to point that out, though. Gordon may take offense and, for once in his life, he isn't out to make him mad. He's trying to be good, trying to carry that camaraderie they built from Shit World Without Sony Products back to Good World With Heavenly Sword. Highlighting Gordon's stupid human failings would only work to reset the karma he'd worked so hard to build up in their social link. Or, you know, however humans fucking worked.

> Instead, he lets Gordon crawl onto his hand and then turns away, wracking his mind for the last place he saw a good puddle. After all, it made sense to start with a bath, right? Eating while gross would make Gordon complain, and sleeping while gross wouldn't be much better. Drifting past island after island, his head swivels to see if maybe there are some good candidates going forward.

> And there's... really not. Testicle stalks. Pointy rocks. Less pointy rocks. Tit-on-stilts that is aggressively spitting little Lamarrs over the edge of a rock chunk that looks like Swiss cheese. Benrey isn't sure what it's hoping to accomplish, but it's sure as fuck not accomplishing it.

> Then, he sees it, in the distance: A glittering pool of blue that sparks like electricity and glitters like cheap body mist. A strange smell, not unlike Sweet Voice, wafts from its direction. It's certainly one of the Good Smells Humans Like. Gordon will love it.

> Wordlessly, he glides toward it. Gordon's smart. He'll know what he's getting at.

Benrey's not saying anything, which is mildly concerning, but he is looking around like he knows what he's looking for. And when Benrey fucks off, Gordon in tow - held in a grip that's a little looser than he likes - Gordon lets his brain wind down for the first time in... a long while. Flying around Xen like this is nervewracking, yeah, but in a way he's more equipped to handle. Benrey's chest at his back helps. It's solid as a wall and deceptively warm, and if he keeps himself pressed flat against it, he can almost forget about these bottomless pits they're flying over.

He lets Benrey go like that for an indeterminable amount of time. (He may have dozed off a little.) But Gordon comes back to himself once Benrey's velocity changes. Gets a bit more pointed. Eventually, Gordon puzzles out that he's heading for one island in particular, one with a shimmering pool on its surface. Not exactly what the endgame was.

Wait. Gordon's brain chugs. He was looking for... some kind of water? Oh, Christ.

"Wait, were you being serious about the bath thing?" he asks as they approach. "I-- I wasn't being that serious about it! Getting out of here kind of seems like the more important thing!"

> "Huh?"

> The word falls off of Benrey's lips despite the fact he actually heard everything Gordon said. He heard him and even registered him, but he just didn't get him. After all, he's fairly certain that Gordon wants a bath considering it was one of the big things that spewed out of his mouth when he was being all needlessly fussy before, so why isn't he just saying it? Owning up to it?

> Was it because it was a detour? Slowing them down? Or was it just Gordon being whatever-the-hell-Gordon-was?

> Yeah, that had to be it. Gordon just doesn't want to get side-tracked. That's fair, he supposes. Or, at the very least, he assumes that's what a human would consider fair, considering how obsessed with "time" and "schedules" and "fast" they all were.

> "Real quick dip," Benrey promises, hoping to put Gordon's mind at ease; it was a far cry from what he typically did, so he could only hope it landed properly, that he was saying the right things and had the right inflections. "Real fast. Get'cha all nice. Wet. Uh. Soaps and hygiene. You know."

"Oh my God, man, it's gonna be a whole fuckin' production!" Gordon agonizes as Benrey brings them to that strange, glittering watering hole. "Saving the world's kinda time-sensitive, you know? And it's always such a hassle getting in and out of this thing! And-- Okay, hold on, you actually want to-- Okay. Fine. Look, I'm just saying, this is weird even for you, Benrey!"

Soaps. Hygiene. You know. Letting his best frenemy peel him out of his suit so he can scrub him clean, like normal people do. A shiver runs down the back of Gordon's neck. There's gotta be some kind of catch, but honestly, he's having a hard enough time keeping up with events as they're written. If there's some kind of malicious subtext to this whole thing, well, that's not his problem. He's got more important things to worry about, like convincing Benrey that it would be a little more prudent to just keep forging on rather than waste valuable time on a bath.

...Unfortunately, he's close enough to smell whatever it is that wafts off the surface in waves, and it makes Gordon's resolve waver. It's a clean smell, warm and vaguely fruity, with an undercurrent of salinity. Like a shower that's just been used, almost. God, he'd really like that, wouldn't he.

> The words don't really have weight to them anymore. If Benrey had a nickel for every time Gordon called him "weird" or told him he was endangering the world by taking detours, he'd have enough nickels to melt them down and make a big-ass nickel. And, judging from the way even Gordon's mouth wasn't running anymore, it didn't seem like Gordon had put any weight into his own words, either.

> Which was good. Real good. It meant Benrey was doing a nice job of not pressing every one of Gordon's buttons like a kid in an elevator, and being a proper friend. Best friend. More than friend? God, he fucking wished.

> And he'd shut up right in the nick of time, too, because the urge to tease is building up inside of Benrey like pressure in a flaming aerosol can. It's hard not to want to pick at him when Gordon is griping like this, just goading him on with his (strangely cute) bullshit. Benrey mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done as he glides to the edge of the island and leans carefully over the tiny expanse of mottled dirt and glittering water.

> "S'fine. You're fine. S'gonna be fine. Just cleanin' you up, makin' you pretty. Like a good friend. Best friend."

> The water bubbles against the back of his hand as he extends it, dangling Gordon over the surface so he can get a good look at it himself. Maybe, with the proper viewing, he'll realize that this will be a pleasant time all around. Good for him. Fun for Benrey. Bonding experience.

> "Gonna make you, uh, real shiny. Polished.  A, ah, regular... Casa... Casa del Nova."

> With that, he hooks a nail under one of the thigh pieces of the HEV suit and waits, eyes resting on Gordon's face in search of approval. Approval he selfishly hopes comes quick, before reflex takes over and he pops it off regardless.

Gordon peers over the edge of Benrey's hand to look down at the water, where it lies placid and clear and a vivid blue-green. Mysterious bubbles aside. It's... it's like one of those pools at Yellowstone, he thinks dizzily. They look so warm and inviting and then you step in and suddenly your flesh is deciding to melt right off of you. Gordon's stomach swoops unpleasantly.

Then Benrey offhandedly mentions making him pretty, as if he were just trying to sell Gordon on a new restaurant, and it swoops for an entirely different reason. An irritating reason.

"Don't just fucking say things like that," he says hotly, his voice pitching up and cracking from nerves.

But it becomes an afterthought in short order when Gordon feels Benrey's nail tugging at his HEV suit, and he realizes that Benrey's very, very serious about this. Especially when he fixes Gordon with that intent stare. Like he's waiting for something. Permission? It must be, since he's not making any moves to pop off the armor on his thigh. Gordon looks down at Benrey's finger, chipped black paint peeking out from the corners, then back up at Benrey.

Oh, fuck this. He hates when Benrey does this. It's one of those mind games, or something. Make Gordon be the one to make the call, like it's a game of chicken and Benrey's trying to get him to lose. Instead of, you know, not derailing his entire fucking journey in the first place with the suggestion of a bath. One where, well, it does smell really nice. And he can feel the ambient heat from the water from his perch on Benrey's palm. And Benrey's offering to pry him out of his suit and, presumably, do the washing for him. So Gordon doesn't have to move a muscle. Or even think about it.

His face twists and turns its way through a melange of emotions before he decides, fuck it. Even if this is weird, and Benrey's probably playing some kind of 4-dimensional chess, his mind's already sold itself on the idea. So Gordon's tongue darts out to wet his lips, mouth unexpectedly dry.

"I-- Okay-- You know what, fine. We're already here. Just... no, fucking, tricks or jokes or whatever, man. If you leave me on some fucking rock with my dick out, I'm going to kill you," Gordon tells Benrey.

> What Benrey wants to say is that Gordon is being a baby. A bitch, even. There's no reason for him to get all flustered and pissy when they've already done so many things together. Things that only the closest of bros do, like take down a hostile invading force and push their dicks together and make out. But instead, Benrey takes a deep and steady breath as he works his nails deeper under the chassis of the HEV suit and tugs up with a satisfying click as the latches come undone and the thigh piece flops uselessly off of Gordon.

> "Cool."

> He moves onto the next section, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting above his nose as he looks down at Gordon and tries to focus. Head empty, aside from trying to figure out how in the hell he's actually supposed to undo all the delicate bits with fingers as big as his human. It was easier when he was small, and he supposes he could be small again, but that would be no fun. Perhaps he could just rip it off of Gordon with his teeth like the top of a sardine can, but it would be even less fun to deal with the little guy yelling at him for hours.

> Getting Gordon's goat was fun and all, but god, did the guy know how to harp on a subject like no other person he'd ever met.

> Instead, Benrey's tongue pokes out between his fangs as he presses the tip of his finger against the inside of Gordon's other thigh and lets his fingernail search for the seam, the latch. He cocks his head like an owl and leans down close enough that Gordon could touch his face, heaving out a huge and uncharacteristically irritated breath. From here, he can smell the musky odor of sweat and dirt and grime and alien goo, and it's strangely nice. Earthy. Very Gordon.

> He'd smelled it before, when he wasn't quite this big, when Gordon was unzipping his suit and climbing into his lap and drool pools at the corner of Benrey's mouth, equal parts saliva and lusty Sweet Voice and--

> Click.

> The other piece of thigh armor falls away. The noise shakes Benrey to his senses.

> "Turn please," he orders mindlessly. His voice is a bit more husky and demanding than it had been a moment before.

Gordon watches as Benrey pops off his armor like it's nothing, like Gordon hasn't spent hours fruitlessly trying to do the same himself. It would have saved him the constant indignity of relying on Benrey to get him in and out of the fucking thing. He tries really hard not to think about the indignity of this, too - Benrey's face so close to his, a hot, irritable breath fanning over him, and fingers at his--

Oh. Gordon jumps a little at the insistent press of a fingertip against his inner thigh, and heat rushes to his face. This part's mildly embarrassing at the best of times, when Benrey's smaller and more human-sized, but now? With fingers much too big for the job? Spreading his legs apart where he sits, rubbing insistently against his inner thigh... He can't help the shaky breath that forces its way out of him.

Jesus Christ, his hands are big, Gordon thinks, mind racing. Sure, yes, he's had this thought before, when Benrey was using them to slap gunships out of the air, but it's a little more pointed when they're prodding him like this. He tenses. Not entertaining these thoughts today, thank you. The whole point of this, presumably, was for a normal, ordinary bath. In a pool of mysterious alien water. With his rival stripping him down and scrubbing him. While he's so big that he could squish Gordon like a bug, if he wanted... or pick Gordon up and maneuver him around, broad fingers all over him, sizing him up. If he wanted.

He comes back to himself when he hears a command. Turn please. Quick and insistent. Gordon's eyes jerk away from where they'd been staring at Benrey's finger.

"Turn? Like, fucking-- God, ow--" Gordon hisses through his teeth as the motion twists one of his aching muscles the wrong way. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not like this was stopping you... You know, I'm starting to think you just like bossing people around for no fucking reason." Despite his bitching, he does as he's told.

> Maybe he does like it. The bossing, that is. Benrey isn't sure. It's one of the few human things he knows--his job back at Black Mesa--and it's one of those things he's good at. Usually. At least now he feels good at it, with Gordon actually listening to him.

> He watches as Gordon turns, head shifting to tilt in the other direction, watching as his human trustingly turns his back to him and displays himself in a way that makes more Sweet Voice seep from between his teeth. He sniffs, he uses the back of his free hand to wipe away a trickle of fluorescent fluid trailing from his lips, and quickly wipes his hands off on his pants. His eyes never leaves Gordon's back.

> Lower back.

> His ass.

> Benrey had told him before that it was a nice one, and it was still true... uh, even if he can't really see it with Gordon sitting and all. He can imagine it in its entirety, though, nice and small, even as he fumbles with the latches on the back of the chest piece. He hardly notices as he clicks it open and the front hits the pad of his palm with an audible slap of metal against skin. He reaches around to pluck it away, the side of his hand brushing against Gordon's front.

> Gordon's heaving chest. His soft midsection. His...

> Benrey shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. An involuntary laugh snorts out of his nose as he leans down, peeking over Gordon's shoulder like a creeping dragon, breath hot against the back of Gordon's neck.

> "Cute."

> And with that, he grabs the next part of Gordon: his arm, raising it up effortlessly like a doll's and carefully searching for the next latch.

Maybe facing away from Benrey wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect. It feels like he's closer, somehow, his breath coming hotter and faster against Gordon's back. Benrey breathing down his neck should be, like, gross. Creepy. Gordon knows by now that Benrey likes to make a big deal about keeping them clean, but it's not like he knows when Benrey brushed last. It shouldn't smell... like that. Sweet. A distinct chemical note on the underside. Like ketones on his breath, but nothing that Gordon can place for certain.

Sweet Voice, probably. It's muted and subtle. He's not belting it out like he usually does, so Gordon can only guess what Benrey's feeling. Unfortunately, he's all too aware of what he's feeling: goosebumps, pebbling his skin from the neck down. A little frisson. They crawl all the way down his arms and make him shiver.  He can practically feel Benrey's eyes on him, too, all up close and personal. Don't break a sweat, he wills himself, because he knows Benrey's watching him like a hawk.

It doesn't stop a bead from pooling at the back of his hairline, then losing the fight against gravity and slowly trickling down his neck.

Benrey snorts, and Gordon flinches, cursing under his breath. He couldn't even have that, huh. Then Benrey has the audacity to call him cute. And that makes his blood pulse, briefly flashing his skin with heat, before receding just as quickly and leaving a chill in its wake.

"Wh-- Whoa, okay," Gordon starts. His indignant response is temporarily cut off by Benrey lifting his arm between a thumb and forefinger. He offers about as much resistance as a fucking action figure, even creaking a little for good measure, and it's distracting, okay?

After a few moments, though, he regains his bearings. "Shut up, man," he says, flustered. "I'm not even-- Just-- Quit being weird, okay?" Because, frankly, this is weird. He's not used to Benrey being so... accommodating. Helpful. Nice. And he doesn't know what Benrey's endgame is, here. So it just leaves Gordon feeling off-kilter. Uncertain. A little hot in the face.

> Benrey's eyes flick up like a lizard that's spotted its next meal when he hears Gordon's words, conveniently at the same time as he finds the latch with his nail. The armor on his upper arm falls away with a clonk and his fingers move down to the much-easier-to-remove gloves and wrist pieces, which come undone with a light twist and an even lighter yank. But his gaze isn't even looking at what he's doing, instead resting on the back of Gordon's hair, now wet with sweat and the dampness of his own breath.

> His skin is raised up in little bumps, and so are his hackles. Something bright and violet and base, fluorescent, builds at the back of Benrey's tongue, and he swallows it down. He has to focus, keep his composure. Get the other arm with a few quick clicks, fingers now more adventurous than they were before. The pads trail across Gordon's back, the undersuit bunching with his touch, pressing into his side for no reason other than the urge to feel. Then, when the second arm is freed, he remembers he forgot the boots.

> "Not being weird," Benrey protests as he wrangles Gordon in his grip, sighing heavily as he pinches him lightly in his grasp and rolls him in his hand like some kind of trinket. Until they're face to face once again and Gordon is flat on his back in his palm. He takes a moment to idly scratch his chin before reaching for the metal encasing his lower legs and feet.

> "Not weird to, uh, help a bro out. Be a friend. Friends call friends cute. All the time. Every day. S'pre... pre-requi... prere..." He pauses and stills and, then, with unwarranted confidence, forces the word out and continues fiddling. "It's pre-registered to, uh, do that. Yeah."

Blunt fingers at his arm, his back, his sides, prodding and rolling him around - each investigatory touch makes Gordon cognizant of just how much he's holding his breath. Until Benrey manhandles him into laying flat on his back, that is. A startled noise bursts out of him, and then Gordon's looking straight up at Benrey, with nowhere to go to escape him. Even without a hand pinning him down, he can't help but feel like he's stuck in place, anyway.

At least Gordon can sit up on his elbows a little. Less like he's some kind of specimen that way. And he lets Benrey fiddle with the boots, the strange feeling that curls in his stomach easing up on him the longer Benrey messes with something other than his soft, fleshy, vulnerable bits. He lets out a shaky breath of... relief. Let's go with that.

"IIII don't know about that," he says. "I'll be real with you, I'm not the kind of guy who does that... Uh. Well. Except there was that one time in high school? But it kind of weirded her out and she stopped talking to me."

Gordon pauses for a moment, brows wrinkling in thought. Then he shakes himself. "Anyway, that's not even the point. The point is," Gordon emphasizes, feeling like he's trying to present a convincing legal argument to a judge with all the size and breadth of (and possibly, the powers of) some ancient Greek god, "I think you have a, uh, tenuous grasp of what friendship entails, buddy. My friends don't call me cute."

As an afterthought, under his breath, he adds, "Nobody calls me cute." It comes out more bitter than he expects.

> The boots come off, one after another. The shin guards, too. Politely, Benrey scoops up all the miscellaneous pieces piled in his palm between his free fingers and puts them to rest next to the pool of... well, "water." Liquid. Something, though he's hard pressed to tell you exactly what it is. "The Bath."

> He listens as he does so, to Gordon squawking and muttering and saying, well, things. Things that he's not really listening to as he brings his hands back up to Gordon and tries to figure out where the zipper to the bodysuit is. Technically, he knows where it is, but his fingers are huge and the zippy-uppy part is so small, and he's prodding and poking with gentle strokes along Gordon's chest and belly where he saw the seam once-upon-a-time. He feels his nail click against the metal and it's... uh, well, it's aggravating.

> And Benrey isn't used to this kind of aggravation. Fuck's sake, he just wants to see some dic... ah. He just wants to help his best friend get a nice bath and feel better. Because he is a good guy who does good things like kill gun bugs for tiny dudes who can't shoot straight and not drive off with vehicles when Gordon leaves him alone. He's a good guy who doesn't want to be bad and--

> "Uh," he drawls, his mouth moving before he can really catch himself, "fuckin'... maybe people would call you cute if you, uh, weren't such a, uh, mean. So mean about it. Mean to me, just trying to say nices. To my best friend. Being such a good and a cool."

> His voice dies as he misses the zipper again. Fuck. When he speaks again, it darkens.

> "Please unzip suit? Please? Thank-you."

Soon enough Benrey's got him down to that reinforced bodysuit, the last piece of armor sliding off his hand with little resistance. Usually, this is where this process stops: Benrey gets him out of the armor, and Gordon fucks off and does whatever it is he needs to do. Change. Wash up. Sleep. The part where Benrey starts tugging at the fabric in search of the zipper? That's new. And it catches Gordon so unawares that he can't even speak.

That fingertip strokes him, almost, warm even through the black fabric, and a harsh breath whistles through Gordon's nose. It feels him up from his chest to his belly, a warm and insistent pressure. All the words in Gordon's brain get trapped in a mental sieve. In their place is a single, repeating thought:

Oh, God.

Benrey keeps trying, again and again, fingernails scraping uselessly against Gordon's belly. And his eyebrows furrow harder with the effort, frustration evident in his frown. And his fingers. Their grasping grows rough and imprecise and Gordon's trying so hard to bite his lip because there's an ugly noise threatening to punch his way out of him and Benrey's saying something to him that he can barely focus on and then finally, finally, he's giving up and pulling away. Christ.

It takes a moment for his mental fog to clear and for Benrey's words to sink in. Unzip? Himself? Oh, no. Somehow that's worse.

"Can you, like... give me some privacy, maybe?" Gordon complains.

He immediately feels stupid afterward. It trickles down from his scalp like something cold and slimy. So he clears his throat, and admits, begrudging, "I, uh... I'm not trying to be mean. It's been a long fucking day, okay? You're... uh... Well. Thanks. I guess. For trying to be nice."

There's a beat before the silence gets to be too uncomfortable, and Gordon hurriedly follows it up by saying, "Don't take this the wrong way. I think you could still use a few pointers on being 'nice' to 'humans', you know."

> "Wha?"

> In a second, the irritation is gone. Benrey's expression turns flat. He leans in close to Gordon and inhales deeply (yup, still smells like Gordon) and exhales just as hard.

> "I'm nice," he defends, eyes flicking down the pile of HEV parts on the island. "Fuckin', ah, Mother Tuh-ree-sah. You're the one who is bein'--"

> A pause. Nice. He was being nice, and he wasn't going to pick at Gordon. He wasn't going to point out that he was the one being snippy, while he was out here undressing him, and carrying him around, and getting ready to give him a bath, and maybe touch his--

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

> The word tastes bad, real bad. The kind of bad that makes Benrey want to scrape his tongue off on his teeth. That isn't how they'd played these games before. Is this even still a game, though? Did "nice" contradict "games" too much? He isn't sure and he doesn't even give himself a chance to think about it as he nudges Gordon encouragingly with a finger and the words just start rolling out of his mouth.

> "No? No place to private at, bro. Maybe gonna have to just, ah, suck it up, friend. Besides--"

> Benrey leans forward on the island on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. As his body tilts, Gordon raises higher up due to his shifting of positions.

> "Can't, ah, can't not look. Dinosaurs and, uh, zombies out here. Ghosts. Gotta keep my eye on you. Safe-tee."

Safety. Right. As much as Gordon doesn't want to admit it, Benrey has a point. He's... vulnerable like this. And it would be just his luck that he gets beset by a peeper puppy with his dick hanging out. More to the point, he knows that it's stupid to develop a sense of modesty all of a sudden when Benrey's seen his dick before. It's just, you know, the size. The scrutiny.

Heat lodges itself in Gordon's face and makes a home there as Benrey brings him all the closer. As if to see him better. "Dinosaurs and zombies," he snorts. He can't believe that's the justification Benrey's giving him. And he can't believe he's buying it.

"Just... fucking, okay. Don't stare, at least," Gordon tells him, as if it will help.

The zipper's nestled in the seam at his neck, right in the center. Gordon fishes it out with shaky fingers. And then, slowly, he drags it down his front.

As he does, his flesh starts to spill from the suit in a creamy sliver. He's paler underneath, skin shielded from the sun for so long that his characteristic tan has all but faded. Consequences of running around in a HEV suit in the middle of Bulgaria. The rattle of the zipper rings in Gordon's ears, louder than life. First his chest, then his stomach, prickling with goosebumps in turn as they're revealed.

Finally, he pulls it down to its endpoint, just under his navel. Gordon's face burns with embarrassment.

> That... was easier than Benrey anticipated. Usually there's more resistance or, you know, playing involved whenever he asked Gordon to do something like that. Usually he had something a little more snide to say. Something in the air has changed, though, and he dimly wonders if maybe all of that advice he'd taken from the Resistors (Resistance? Transistors? Alyx, basically) has actually paid off.

> Learning how to human does, in fact, make interacting with Gordon easier.

> His pupils widen as he stares, mouth slightly agape, as more and more of Gordon's skin is revealed to him, a pretty porcelain color that looks incredibly soft and as delicate as a china doll. Usually he's darker, tanner; Benrey didn't know humans could change colors like that, but it's an interesting development and one that requires further investigation.

> So he leans closer, head tilted, watching the zipper come undone. Curiosity grips him as he gingerly reaches up and hooks his nails into the open edges of the suit and tugs, enough to jostle Gordon and peel away the wrapper but not enough to actually knock Gordon off his feet. As he does so, he ignores the sounds of protests, mouth opening wider and lifting in a sharkish grin.

> He's so pale now, but he's just as soft as Benrey remembers. Just as warm. Hair's still in all the right places, muscles in his arms growing visible as Benrey tugs the sleeves down, then the rest, leaving the top half of the bodysuit dangling from around his still-covered waist.

> He waits a moment, drinking in the sight. He could almost see his--

> No. No. No dick thinking, not now. No. He wasn't going to say anything because he was seriously just trying to be nice. And make Gordon shut up. And...

> And...

> "Cute."

> The word comes out while his brain is still arguing with himself. For a moment, he considers apologizing, or trying to pretend he never said it, but ultimately decides to stand by what he said.

> His eyes lift to rest on Gordon's face as he silently doubles down, waiting for a reply.

"Hey, careful," Gordon yelps, caught off-guard by fingers at the edges of his open suit. "You don't have to fucking-- Benrey, I can do this myself!" But there's no fighting him off before Benrey's tugging it down his shoulders, baring him from the waist up.

Impatient. That's the word that comes to mind. Benrey's itching to get him out of this thing, Gordon realizes. If it wasn't already obvious by that insistent scrape of nails against his jumpsuit, or the way Benrey's looking at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted. That heat in Gordon's cheeks crawls down to his chest. He's staring at Gordon like he's hungry, and all the pasty skin being revealed to him may as well be a juicy T-bone steak. Being half-naked ought to be making him pretty chilly in a place like this, but for some reason, it feels way too fucking hot right now.

Thankfully, Benrey stops there, which gives him a moment to get his bearings. On the other hand, Benrey's calling him fucking cute again, and Gordon was having a bad enough time handling that earlier. Now? Jesus, the guy's barely paying attention to him. Mumbling it like it's an afterthought. He doesn't know what it means.

"I-- I'm not fucking cute, dude, we already established this," he insists, doing his level best not to meet Benrey's stare. Gordon folds his arms, irritable and flushed a bright red. "I'm too mean or whatever. I got the picture. You don't have to keep fucking with me."

> Oh, he's changing colors again. Red now, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and Benrey snorts a laugh. Of course humans can change colors. He'd seen him do this before. A few times actually.

> But he's just turning red, and being snippy, and he's not making a move to take off the rest of the suit. Benrey's eyes flick from Gordon to the water and, with a low chuckle, he decides to take the cue. Which... was a cue, right? He's pretty sure it's a cue, but humans were weird to begin with and Gordon was odder than most.

> Has to be a cue, he decides after a moment of silence wherein Gordon doesn't budge. He grabs the draping top of the suit and gently peels it downwards towards Gordon's feet, watching it pull away from sweaty, dirty skin. Watching it expose dark curls of hair just below his stomach, and watching Gordon's dick spill out into the open air. Benrey's teeth dig into his lips as he watches, even as his hands move clumsily to strip the rest of the rubbery material off of his legs.

> He's touched that before. Wants to touch it again, wants to say something about it. But he can't because apparently it was bad form to say shit about your best bro's average-but-good meat when he wasn't specifically asking, or at least that's what his stupid, skinny doppelganger had said and--

> God. Wait. No. He shakes his head. Best to focus on anything else.

> What else had the Resist-y Squad said? To listen? Humans liked listening? Even when they were being bitchy little drama-snots?

> Then he should... listen, right? But... what had Gordon said? He wasn't actually paying attention. He furrows his brow and his stare intensifies as he tries to piece together enough of the words he did hear to paint a picture. It takes a moment, but soon, it clicks.

> Oh. Yeah. Not cute. Blah, blah. Something, something "mean."

> Benrey's mouth snaps shut as he struggles to tear his eyes away from Gordon's cock, instead keeping a trained eye on his face. His mind is a machine running on fumes with rattling parts, but he struggles through the distraction. He's going to be reassuring. He's a good friend.

> "Uh... yeah? Mean? Cute? You can be both. Bratty little, ah, Gordon Meanman with his nice... cute. Cute little hog."

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

Oh, God, okay, so none of what he said got through, clearly. He squawks out as much. Gordon's mind spins into overdrive as Benrey manifestly does not let him take care of it himself, instead peeling the jumpsuit clean off his hips and legs and exposing him from top to bottom. His heart thunders in his chest, and he presses his legs tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

"My-- my cute little-- Jesus Christ, Benrey, you can not say shit like like that!" Gordon snaps. He jams his hands between his legs to cover himself, humiliation boiling over.

Fucking Benrey. Always saying the worst possible shit, the most embarrassing shit. Gordon thinks this as furiously as he can, because if he acknowledges that there's anything other than purestrain embarrassment and indignation at play, he's gonna snap like a twig. That's all it is. He's a normal guy, and normal guys don't feel their dicks twitch when their best friend calls their dick cute. And... little. That's worse. Much worse.

The thing that Gordon's still failing to understand is why Benrey's still calling him cute. Yeah, it gets his goat, but it's not like Benrey was in the habit of pulling this shit before. And... And Gordon doesn't know why it's getting to him so much, either.

The first time seemed like a prank. A bad joke. The second time, an accident. And the third - fourth - fifth? The times after that, he's not sure anymore. But each time it gets his skin burning hotter and his heart skipping a beat and Gordon's still pissed off but he's not sure exactly why. (Well, in the general sense. This time, it's because Benrey's straight up insulting his dick, thank you.)

"Why did I even agree to this," he moans, head hanging between his shoulders. "Everything's always gotta be a big fucking ordeal for Gordon. You know what, just put me down if you're gonna-- gonna make fun of my meat or whatever! I'll get myself a bath and then we can go and forget this ever happened."

> There is something about the way Gordon fusses at him that makes Benrey's heart skip a beat, though it also awakens something in the back of his mind that he's been consciously trying to tamp down. The urge to pick at him grows as large as his smile as he hooks two fingers under Gordon's arms and lifts him up and out of his palm like a claw in a skill crane. Words dance on the tip of his tongue, ones better fit for a schoolyard bully, and he rumbles a dark laugh as he contemplates what to say.

> It seems the crack about his hog got him all worked up in a delicious sort of way, judging from the way he's still bright crimson and his dick seems appreciative of Benrey's attention. He could double down on that. Then again, he was supposed to be nice in this situation, wasn't he? He'd been doing so good up until this point, and he could imagine the Resist-y People would be proud if they could see him now.

> But the reaction. It's... it's good. Seeing Gordon's dick twitch, seeing him bright as a tomato, seeing him sweating and nervously dodging his gaze. All were signs that he was interested, that he may just be thinking the same things Benrey has been trying not to think and... fuck, them's good thoughts. Great thoughts.

> Maybe there's a line to walk between. Play the game and still be "nice." Benrey wets his lips and huffs a sweet-scented laugh into Gordon's face, before gently lowering him into the water. The surface of the pool practically sparks as Gordon's bare feet make contact, and a shimmering azure mist billows into the air.

> "Nuh-uh. Nope," Benrey replies with a pop of the p. "You're, uh, tired. Gonna, y'know, get you sparkly. Clean. Squeaky. Pretty. Make you feel so good you'll, uh, wanna buy BFF necklaces after."

> Once Gordon is nestled in the pool, he leans down close and presses down on his shoulders to urge him into a seated position.

> "'Sides, ah. Not making fun. S'nice. Cute. Fun size."

> Emphasis on "fun," Benrey thinks, and his smile widens.

A tingle effervesces across Gordon's skin as Benrey slowly lowers him into the water, something like carbonation but not quite. For one, bubbles aren't nucleating on him so much as drifting toward the surface, sluggish and small. But the effect is as curiously refreshing as a cold glass of Pepsi.

In contrast, the water itself is warm and clear, and the humidity fogs up his glasses in short order. Makes it hard to see Benrey before he's firmly suggesting that Gordon sit down. With his hand. He's not expecting it, and he sinks to his knees with a splash and a quiet "whoa, shit".

Gordon rights himself, sitting back against the edge of the pool. And he opens his mouth to say-- well, something, you know, there was a lot to unpack in whatever the fuck Benrey just said to him, but he barely gets it out before Benrey's talking over him.

Cute. Fun size.

"Stop, okay, just stop talking about my meat! Can we please move on? Any other topic?" He crosses his arms in front of his face.

This is, it's too fucking much, okay, there's-- it's just-- the word was already starting to crawl under his skin, and he's just an average American male! You're not supposed to say this shit to another dude! And you're not supposed to, fucking, swallow and shudder when you hear that shit, either. Not supposed to like being talked down to like that. By... by such a big guy. Who probably does think he's a fun size right now. Probably wants to...

Gordon splashes his face with water. Then he takes off his glasses after the fact, feeling like an idiot. See, this is why he's got to get Benrey to knock it off. Too much. Gets him lost in his own head. Gets his blood pumping. And the last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by looking a gift horse in the mouth, getting a boner when Benrey's just trying to do him a solid.

Well. At least that's what he's saying he's doing. The jury's still out on that one. But either way, the most likely outcome is that Benrey never lets him live it down, and Gordon doesn't know if he can handle the psychological devastation right now. So.

"Here, look, I'll even... okay, so, what is this stuff, anyway? It feels like I'm taking a bath in a... a hot energy drink. But like, in a good way?" He cups some in his hand and lets it spill through his fingers. "Last time I jumped in this stuff, I think it fixed a bone. Is that normal? Weirdest fucking thing I ever felt, man."

> "I 'unno," Benrey answers honestly. Because, well, he doesn't know what this stuff is. Even if he knows a lot about Xen (and would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how he knows these things), it's not like he knew much more than "this thing will eat you" and "this thing won't." All he knows is that these pools feel good and smell good and do things that are good, and could more than likely get Gordon clean. Make him have a more agreeable scent than the already agreeable people-odor he's already wearing.

> The Gordon smell. It's... a nice smell.

> "It's water. Uh. Bubbles." Benrey dips his fingertips in the pool to wet them and feels the curious, sparkling sensation around his skin; it's warm and cold and fizzy and, honestly? Yeah, kind of refreshing. Like caffeinated Pop Rocks or something. He dimly wonders what it tastes like, but ultimately decides not to drink the bath water.

> "Doesn't matter. You're thinking a lot. About wrong things. Need to focus on, uh, getting you ready. For the ball. Gordo-rella." He pauses, scowling. That was bad even for him. Quickly, he recovers, as if it never happened. "So, quiet? Please? Relax?"

> With that, Benrey extends one wet finger and presses against Gordon's chest, as carefully as he can, working in the glittering water and scrubbing gingerly at his chest hair. He works his muscles with a care he didn't know he possessed, and then maneuvers to his shoulders. He feels Gordon's muscles loosening underneath his touch and it makes him feel... accomplished.

> But his eyes keep straying down, down into the water where Gordon's dick should be, obscured by bubbles and blue. And he exhales, fighting the urge to press a button, to raise him up and see if it's still twitching in anticipation, wondering if he'll see it break the surface and greet him.

> Benrey's eyes screw shut and his fingers still as he takes a moment to force himself to be, as Gordon would say, "normal." It is a foreign feeling.

> He is not a fan.

"G-Gordo-rella?" Gordon bursts out laughing despite himself. "That's so bad, I know you can do better than that!" And the funny thing is, he does know. Benrey's got jokes. He's... good at making Gordon laugh. Even when he's clearly phoning it in.

The laughter sets him at ease for the first time since they'd set out the day before. And when Benrey reaches out to start scrubbing, Gordon flinches, but does as Benrey suggests and eventually relaxes into it.

Benrey's strangely quiet as he does it. Doesn't make any dumb quips. Doesn't start talking about video games or whatever. So Gordon doesn't feel inclined to break the silence, either. The meaner part of him insists that it's just because he doesn't want to set Benrey off on some dipshit tangent, but the truth is, it's kind of nice. The quiet. Even if it's bordering on surreal. All he can hear is the quiet sound of Benrey washing his skin, dipping his fingers into the water. His breathing, measured but heavy. And the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

The bath itself isn't half-bad, either. He didn't expect Benrey to be this... careful. Not a word Gordon really associates with the guy. But Benrey's fingers work his muscles in tight circles, slow and firm, washing off however many days of sweat and dirt and blood, and Gordon's finds himself melting a little. Letting his eyes drift shut.

He groans when Benrey works his thumb into his back just right, dislodging a knot in the muscle he wasn't even aware of until it was gone. "Oh my God, how did you do that," Gordon breathes.

> Oh. Oh.

> That noise was a... nice one. A pleasant one. One that makes Benrey hesitate for a second and lose his smile before quickly regaining it and pretending he'd never misplaced it in the first place. And he figures Gordon likely didn't notice--his human can't see without the glasses--so he says nothing as he dips his fingers yet again and massages into Gordon's shoulders, exploring every inch and feeling how bizarre every groove and curve is underneath the pad of his finger.

> It's odd, but not a bad odd. The kind of odd that requires further investigation because, while he's had his hands on Gordon before, this feels different. Better, even, in some ways. Motivated by equal parts curiosity and mounting desire, he continues to glide across Gordon's skin and work his muscles and feel them loosen and pause to take in the rapid thudding of Gordon's tiny, tiny pulse against his skin.

> Benrey swallows the Sweet Voice pooling in the back of his mouth. He gags. He coughs into his shoulder. His voice breaks a bit as his normally flat demeanor begins to falter amid a mob of intrusive thoughts that march right into his brain like little soldiers.

> "Can do it 'cause 'm not human. Got magic fingers. Call now. For $19.99, we'll throw in a second one free," Benrey recites, but his eyes are still looking for a hint of cock. But not just that--

> "Limited time offer. Supplies going fast. Better, uh, pick up that phone."

> -- his chest, bits of leg sticking out of the water, that pretty neck, that long hair--

> "Call in, uh, next fifteen minutes and I'll... uh..."

> --that stomach, slightly soft around the middle, and arms that were too strong for somebody of his persuasion--

> "Uh."

> -- every inch that HEV suit wouldn't let him see. Gordon would look so much better in something more... breezy. Clingy. Revealing.

> "Fuck," he says breathily. Something roils inside him, and a lot of it is unfortunately roiling below the belt. So much for subtlety. So much for "nice."

Benrey keeps scrubbing, keeps rubbing his sore muscles between thumbs and index fingers, and it takes a conscious effort for Gordon not to doze off. Even the prickling of fizzy bubbles against his skin fights an upward battle to keep him awake. It's just, he's been on the go for way too long, now, and days of tension are leaching out of him, and Benrey's, like, weirdly good at this. For once, Gordon doesn't have to be thinking about parallel universes and the end of the fucking world or whatever. Somebody else can do the thinking for him.

And then he starts rambling about magic fingers like he's hosting some kind of infomercial and Gordon's laugh comes easier and harder than it has any right to. But Benrey's trailing off now, distracted. Swearing under his breath. Gordon blinks open his eyes and glances up at him.

Despite his lack of glasses, Benrey's big enough (and close enough) that Gordon can make out most of his expression, even if it's fuzzy and indistinct. His mouth hangs open a little, and his brows are knotted up under the cast shadow of his helmet. Like he's thinking about something.

"Free shipping?" Gordon finishes his joke for him. Benrey must have lost his train of thought again. Gordon's mostly used to it... mostly.

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders from side to side, grunting and making small, quiet noises as he stretches. Man, that feels good. There must be something in the water, even if Benrey was, as usual, unhelpful as to what.

Finally, Gordon decides to tug out the band from his hair, spilling it loose over his shoulders. He snaps it around his wrist for safekeeping, then runs his hands through his hair to shake it out.

"Uh. While we're at it. Think you could get my hair later? Like, I don't know where you got the soap from, but I'm assuming you can just, like, magic up some conditioner or something, too."

> Benrey doesn't know how to tell Gordon he didn't actually have soaps. He said so, but he... he didn't. If not for Gordon pointing out that he could "magic" some up, he might have been really stuck, but with a quick shake of his head to bring himself back to his senses, his face lights up once more with a teasing smile and his tone eases back into his typical taunting monotone.

> "Uh. Yeahs. Soaps and, uh, condo-stuff. Got'cha."

> There is a flash of green as he lifts his hand above him (in a dramatic way that he hopes is as cool and impressive as it looks in his head), and feels something slimy manifest in his hands. Slimy and, well, scented like a Glade plug-in. Like flowers and "summer breezes" and things that are a lot more Earth-y than the Sweet Voice. It's a nice color, too, but one that doesn't match how he feels it should look, because it smells more like blue than it does white and...

> ... You know what? It doesn't matter.

> Benrey dips a fingertip in the soap like a child about to paint and, tongue poking out between his teeth once more, sets to work giving Gordon a once-over yet again. He hopes that maybe Gordon won't notice or point out the fact he hadn't even used soap in the first place, as distracted as he was, and just accept the fact that Benrey is once more rubbing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Lifting up limbs and maneuvering them to get into hard-to-reach places. Pushing a little firmer than before to feel for that fluttering pulse.

> God, his own heart is beginning to match it beat for beat.

> "Yeah," Benrey mutters at long last as his tongue darts back into his mouth, "I can. Do that. Get your hair."

> His hair. His hair is so pretty when it's down, already having grown out after he cut it in the Bad Ending World. Silky and nice with bits of gray that make him look like he's as smart as he thinks he is--

> No, no. Nice. Nice. He is grappling with the idea of being nice!

> "Get your hair with, uh, real shit. Good shampoo. Actual soaps and stuff that ain't, uh, the stuff. Your stuff. Head and Shoulders. Make you look real good, real nice. Nice for m--uh."

> He pauses. He snaps his mouth shut. He pauses over Gordon's body and thinks for a moment. He wants to say it, he wants to tease and pick and make Gordon flush bright red and play their stupid goddamn game, but now isn't the time. He doesn't think so, at least? Maybe it is?

> Does Gordon think it is? He hopes so, but he doesn't know how to tell. And, apparently, humans didn't like it when their alien best friends played games they didn't want to play.

> "... Mandatory hair inspection," he recovers. "Black Mesa, uh, protocol. Already fucked up the passport. Don't... don't fuck up hair day."

Blood doesn't so much rush to Gordon's face as it crawls, moving as sluggishly as his mind does, processing this. He knows what Benrey was gonna say before he snapped his mouth shut like a mousetrap. Gordon swore he could even hear the teeth click.

Maybe he didn't actually say it, but Gordon's entire system reacts as though he has, because, fucking, he did! For all intents and purposes! A bright, prickling heat surges down his spine that has nothing to do with the water. Why does he talk like that?! Fucking cooing at him, like Benrey's taking some kind of sick pleasure in teasing him in the most embarrassing way possible... but that's about what Gordon expects at this point.

So why did he stop himself?

When Benrey marshals his voice into something more flat and toneless, Gordon frowns. He's... he's really trying, isn't he. Trying to do something decent without turning it into one of their fucked up little games. Some of the mental furniture rearranges itself in Gordon's head, pictures straightened and doorways unjammed.

Unfortunately, all the dusting and clearing in the world can't change the fact that the foundation in his head is wired to make him a paranoid little fucker. And Benrey's always playing some kind of 4th-dimensional chess with him, anyway, right? He's just being rational. Wary.

That said... he's already here. He might as well relax and deal with the consequences later. Especially when... oh.

Benrey's washing him in earnest, fingers pressing into him and manipulating him. They're all over him, probing him without direction, and now Gordon's not sure if "relaxed" is the best descriptor for himself. There's just, there's a lot of touching happening, and Benrey's hands are so, so big, and Gordon can just make out the tip of Benrey's tongue poking through his teeth and something about that intense focus - on him - makes Gordon's breathing go shallow.

Christ. He can't-- He shouldn't think about this. This is the kind of sick shit that only happens in his head, not in real life. Gordon's just a normal guy with something very wrong with him, and that "something" makes him more prone than most to awful little fantasies, intrusive thoughts.

That's all this is. There's gotta be something wrong with him to want somebody ten times his size to touch him like this, but in, like, a horny way. Like some kind of freakjob doing gross shit with an action figure. Maybe it doesn't make him a bad person. So long as he keeps it to himself. He'll keep all his weird little fantasies right next to his heart, and then he'll die. That's that.

It's almost over, Gordon tells himself furiously, willing his blood to stop rushing to his dick and his stomach to stop coiling with heat. If he can just focus, he can will his boner down before he has to get out of the pool and then Benrey will be none the wiser.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't fuck up the passport," Gordon blusters, in an attempt to power through it. "I never needed one before! If anything, I think you fucked up, man. Never told me about Black Mesa Picture Day or whatever."

> Benrey's fingers do not pause as Gordon fusses at him, but his eyes can't stay focused on his own work. He's too busy watching Gordon's throat bob as he swallows around a lump, or how his blush is darkening and spreading. He's gauging the look in his eyes, looking for any indication that he can go ahead and make it weird, but--even though he's sweating and nervous and fidgety and acting just like he does when they're playing--Benrey is too nervous to make a move.

> And "nervous" wasn't a part of his vocabulary until that Alyx lady and Gordon's own downhill slide made it obvious that he actually had to think human to interact with humans. His human specifically.

> So, even though he sees the signs, he decides to bite his tongue. It is foreign, it is uncomfortable, and it's almost painful to choke down. To redirect his alien brain into more terrestrial channels. To try to figure out what a human person would do in his situation and, barring that, just continuing to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place.

> Bathing Gordon.

> "Shouldn't have to tell you. S'in the, ah, employee handbook. Welcome packet. Folder. Right next to Warhammer 401k and, uh, ensure-ants."

> He cups a small amount of water in his palm and trickles it over Gordon's body, watching it drain down his form in sparkling rivulets. They trace his contours, weaving into every nook and cranny and crease that Benrey couldn't reach, and he watches them with an intensity that even he can feel. A warmth in his gut, a twitch of his dick. His tongue laps at his lips like a hungry animal; he wants to lick every droplet off of Gordon and explore ever inch of him as thoroughly as the bathwater.

> But... no. No, no. He's normal. He's normal and human and he's being nice, and Gordon hasn't said anything so he's going to close his eyes, huff angrily, and then continue on his merry way.

> "Everyone knows about, uh, Hair Inspection Day. And Passport Inspection. You, ah, you're just... uh."

> Benrey breathes heavily out of his nose as his eyes lock on Gordon yet again. Staring up at him, red-faced. Hair now adhered to his skin from the water. Chest heaving. He reaches out in spite of himself and presses a fingertip to Gordon's torso once more, feeling that rapid pulse and feeling it rise and fall with each breath. Knowing he could make Gordon's heart race faster and really put his lungs to work.

> He wants to feel him pant, wants to hear each heavy breath accompanied with his name and...

> No. God, it's getting so fucking hard to resist the game, but Benrey is good! Good for his best friend! He's learned and he's going to stay good. He's just being nice. He can be nice without being--

> "Missed a spot," Benrey lies as he pulls his finger away. He pretends to rinse Gordon off once more and sputters a cough. "Now, let's get those, ah, locks. Clean and brushed. Shiny. Barbie Girl, Barbie World, am I right?"

Gordon ducks his head instinctively as Benrey douses him with water, shielding his face. There's a huff from above him, and then another, breath hot and heavy on Gordon's neck. The closest comparable experience is... it's like being trapped under some kind of big fucking animal. A bear, maybe, snorting at the nape of his neck before it decides to eat him. Violently.

Cool. He loves thoughts like that. A pleasant reminder that they don't exactly carry fucking risperidone in the aftermath of a fascist takeover.

He shakes his head again to rid himself of it, then looks at Benrey in surprise when he presses a fingertip to his chest. It just rests there, warm and steady. Not pulling or pinching or shoving or any of the things Gordon expects. Gears whir to life in his head. Benrey's being-- he's being kind of fucking weird, but not in the ways Gordon's grown accustomed to, and when he's spent the entirety of their working relationship trying to get his sea legs, it throws him off just as badly when the boat stops rocking.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but it's not just Barbies who have to wash their hair," Gordon snorts at him. "You got me all worried now, man, I don't even know if you know the basics. It's shampoo, then conditioner, okay?"

After a moment, he slicks his hair back out of his face, too. For good measure. "And try not to get it in my eyes, either... Actually, uh, I'm kind of having second thoughts about this. Maybe you should just let me handle it. No offense."

> "Know what I'm doin'. I got hair. Nice hair. Better than... uh, Mr. 2-in-1," Benrey protests, masking the sudden wave of panic that just roiled up inside of him. Just the idea of not touching Gordon is too much, and he inwardly crinkles at the thought of missing his chance to feel his human again. And again. And again. Petting and scrubbing and massaging and imagining what it would be like to get Gordon close enough to his face that he could taste him.

> But... he can't do that. He's not allowed. This isn't The Game. This is A Nice Favor for His Person and, well, he's got to be normal. And chill. And calm. And this is all really too fucking hard.

> However, as long as he plays by the rules, he still gets a chance to touch Gordon, and he supposes that is a small victory. It's what spurs him on to press his thighs together and shift his weight to hide his burgeoning boner behind the Xenian island so that Gordon can't be alarmed or scandalized or angry or accusatory. It's what prompts him to summon from the ether, yet again, a new supply of nice-smelling soaps and an equally pleasant conditioner that still don't match the color his brain tells him they should be.

> And, with fangs pressed into his bottom lip, he dips his finger into the shampoo freshly spawned in his palm and swirls it gently, watching as Gordon regards him with a mixture of curiosity and what he hopes isn't disdain. He's been working so hard to try to not make the guy angry, and he's struggling not to slip.

> Slowly, he drips a dollop of soap onto Gordon's head--towards the back, since he is honestly trying to obey the request not to blind him--followed by a few drops of glittering, warm water. He monitors the way Gordon's expression changes as he presses against his head as gently as he can and begins to work it into a lather.

> It's... nice. It's not the usual rough stuff and bullying he's used to, but there is something undeniably pleasant about watching Gordon melt into his touch as he works, careful and light, his body rocking with the movements in a way that makes Benrey feel both strangely aroused and, well... warm. As warm as the pool of water, all on the inside like a badly heated burrito. It's new, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he savors it by trying to make the moment stretch.

> From the scalp and downwards, until his finger is stroking the side of Gordon's cheek and reaching under his chin as if trying to tilt his head up for a kiss he was way too big to give. Like a true romantic that he knew, in his gut, he wasn't actually anywhere close to being. But it felt right, and the dazed and pleasant look in Gordon's eyes shatter the alien armor around his heart in one powerful blow.

> Benrey swallows hard and says nothing. He just scrubs and stares. And scrubs. And stares.

> Slow, precise, delicate circles. Enjoying the moment, and buying time as he tries to untangle this utterly alien knot of feelings that is twisting around in his gut. Feelings he isn't sure he understands or particularly wants, but addictive all the same.

"Oh, that's kinda nice, actually," Gordon mumbles distantly, as Benrey starts to lather up his hair.

It's impressive, honestly, just how delicate Benrey's capable of being when he puts his mind to it. The pressure's firm enough that it feels good against his scalp, but he's not being knocked around or given a headache or anything. It's... pleasant. His eyes drift shut again, now that he's pretty sure Benrey's got the hang of it.

That finger slips lower, lower, stroking the side of Gordon's jaw, and Gordon leans into it. Lets him work soap into the underside of his facial hair. (And that's nice, too. It's the kind of thing he figured Benrey would miss.) And if Benrey rubs a bit slower, tilts his head up just a little so that Gordon has to peer up at him through slowly-blinking eyes, well, he's not going to complain.

Benrey's eyes are so big, so close to his and so intently focused that-- that he's sweating a little, just visible at the edge of Gordon's vision. Gordon's heart beats faster, and a strange tension begins to wind itself tight in him. It's like Benrey's trying to scan him. All that attention focused directly on him gins up butterflies in his stomach.

Gordon's suddenly hit by the awareness that nobody's done anything like this for him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And here he is, letting his frenemy (best frenemy, whispers an annoying little voice that sounds suspiciously like Benrey) scrub him clean. Take care of him. How in the fuck did he end up here? And, more importantly, why is he so comfortable with this? This is the guy who got his arm cut off, not, fucking, not his live-in girlfriend. That broke up with him a couple years ago, citing the fact that he was "a puffed-up MIT asshole". Whatever. Details.

After a long stretch of silence, Gordon breaks it by saying, "I, uh, I think that's good. Yeah. Lemme just..."

And he pushes Benrey's finger away before ducking his head under the water, hoping Benrey doesn't notice the way his voice cracks.

> It... almost feels like he's being spurned when his finger is pushed away. There's a quaver in Gordon's voice and he isn't sure if it's nerves or rejection. In an instant, a long-dormant part of Benrey's brain flares to life, leaving him mentally bouncing theories as to why his person had sounded so off. It could have been that he was having the same sorts of thoughts Benrey had been having the whole time, or it could have been that he had done something wrong. Getting advice on how to handle Gordon came with the unpredictable side effect of giving him a lot to worry about in terms of "boundaries" and "behaving," which he honestly wasn't comfortable or keen on dealing with.

> These insecurities melt away as he watches Gordon duck under the water, however. It creates a hiccup in the system, a blue screen that necessitates a reboot. There's something distracting about the way his back arches forward, muscles moving, head dipping beneath the surface. On his knees, ass lifting up slightly so he has a touch more leverage. Hair floating to the top, and then clinging tightly to his skin as he emerges with a gasp and throws his head back and slicks it out of his face and...

> ... His face is dripping. Sopping. Water trailing from his mouth and down his beard. Running down his temples, his cheeks. Like sweat. Like... something else.

> "Holy shit," Benrey mutters with the barest hint of voice. He pauses, he tries to think of something to say that would mask the fact he's not being "normal," and he's been playing The Game the whole time, regardless of what he's been telling himself. The hamster is running, the gears are whirring, but Windows is still updating and he's at a loss for anything better to say.

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

Gordon winches his eyes shut as he wipes water from them, slinging his hair back out of his face for good measure. God, he can feel how much less greasy it is now, and it's like taking off an itchy sweater for the first time. Makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man, that's honestly really... uh..."

He slows to a stop, thrown off by Benrey muttering something. Almost inaudible. It gets him to crane his neck to look up at Benrey properly, about to ask, before Benrey says it again. Louder. Okay, yeah, he did catch that right the first time, huh.

Even though he's out of focus, Gordon can still see how wide his eyes are. How slack his face is. He doesn't need the finer details to notice Benrey's hand hovering in midair, like he's been interrupted in the middle of a thought. Staring at him like... like...

Heat crashes over Gordon in a violent wave, from the crown of his head to the pit of his belly. He's not even-- he's not even doing anything. He's sopping wet, and he can't fucking stand the way his hair looks when it's laying flat and slick against his head like this, and he can't exactly hide all the unseemly scars and and stretch marks and soft spots and all the other issues he's poked at in the mirror time and time again. (He had a growth spurt as a teenager, okay, and stretching him out an extra foot and a half so quickly didn't give his skin a lot of time to adapt.)

In short, he feels more naked and exposed now, half-covered by the foamy surface of this shallow pool, than he did when Benrey had him in his palm with his entire dick out. And it makes Gordon fucking throb under the surface of the water.

He's gotta be making fun of me, Gordon desperately tells himself. Defense mechanism. It's not working as well as it usually does, and he subconsciously presses his thighs tighter together.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, suddenly dry despite the water carding down his face.

"What," starts Gordon. But he doesn't know where to take that question, and it dies as quick as it came.

> Game over. It's done. Benrey's used his final life and lost it in a valiant attempt to beat the final boss, but now he's gawking down at Gordon who is gawking right back up at him with a tell-tale look on his face that makes Benrey almost positive that he's playing just as hard. His own breath quickens as once complicated thoughts congeal into something more comfortable, something more streamlined, something more natural.

> Something that Alyx would have been disappointed to hear, especially after how good he had been doing.

> He inhales sharply through his nose and leans in close, the air coming back out at a low laugh as his mouth twists into a hungry grin. A finger extends and he presses it against the side of Gordon's face, an almost loving stroke. He can feel a burst of heat in his cheeks and he knows, glasses or not, that Gordon can probably see how red he's getting. He shifts his legs as he floats beside the island, trying to accommodate a cock that is now frighteningly hard and twitching against his stomach.

> "What 'what?'" Benrey asks, his voice monotonous but still somehow teasing. "Can't a bro, uh, admire his bro? Have a look-see? Look nice. Pretty."

> His finger drops to the water and stirs it a bit, creating a roil of bubbles that send a pleasant, tingling sensation up his hand, his arm. It seems to travel straight to his heart, which is pounding furiously in his chest.

> "You, uh... you good? Need anymore help? Getting clean? Hard to reach places?"

> A pause. He feels his stomach twist into knots. This has never really happened before while playing this game, but it's powerful. Makes him feel desperate. Needy. Makes him feel guilty and he hates it because he never feels guilty.

> As quickly as the mask breaks, he picks up the pieces and puts them back together. He slides it back on. He takes a deep breath, fumbling with his words.

> "Want to, uh... pla... pretty? Want to pretty? Want best friend Benrey to make you, uh, cleaner? Prettier? Help you? Please? Thank-you."

Two paths emerge before Gordon. On the one, well-worn and well-lit, he would tell Benrey, "No thanks, I'm good," and he would tell Benrey to turn around so he can dry off and crawl back into the jumpsuit. And then he would let Benrey fit him in the armor again, trying his best to ignore those fingers on his skin, and later he would duck away and jerk himself raw thinking about it. Swearing at himself. Wishing he could be normal for once in his fucking life and not develop questionable new fantasies about the one guy who's as out of place in this world as he is.

On the other, bracketed by brambles and dark, uncharted woods, Gordon would... He would...

He'd get it through his head that he's not the only little fucking weirdo in this relationship. That Benrey keeps staring at him like that for a reason.

And that Benrey's trying so fucking hard to play nice because... well... Gordon hasn't wrapped his head around that one yet, but he has his suspicions. Some of them more worrying than others. But the point is, Benrey's not taking the bait. He's got Gordon in a highly vulnerable position, and he could be pushing Gordon around if he wanted, playing their little game and driving him up the wall.

But he isn't. He keeps choking it back. It's unsettling. Gordon doesn't know how to handle it. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Benrey would tack on his 'schoolyard bully' demeanor again. At least that Gordon understands on some level. Push, pull, tussle.

And most unsettling of all is that downright tender way that Benrey drags a finger along his cheek. Anxiety thrums to life in Gordon's blood. No, no, that's not-- This is weird. This is so weird. There's something roiling and ugly churning in his stomach, and he doesn't like it one bit. He's not coping with it, he needs to-- to wrangle this situation, get some control over it, steer it back to familiar territory.

And in doing so, Gordon floors it directly into the woods.

He looks back at Benrey, taking in the hot flush crawling up his skin. The awkward shifting. I'm not the only freak here, Gordon reminds himself, blood pounding in his ears.

So he shifts himself. Sits back, draws his legs up so that his knees peek out of the water. Lets them fall to the sides, just a little. And he says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind his ear,

"What, and you're not even gonna-- That's some low-hanging fruit you're leaving on the vine. Startin' to get worried about you, man. You haven't gone this long without making fun of me in... uh, ever."

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

> Benrey's pupils grow wide at the words, and his smile threatens to falter as he feels the cogs creaking inside of his head. Connecting the dots with all the newfound information he has on human people is like doing the advanced science stuff Gordon seemed to believe he was so special for knowing. There's emotional equations, rechecking the data, counter-arguments for every theory he comes up with, but in the end a little lightbulb flickers to life. The lights are on, somebody is home, and by god does that somebody want to play ball already.

> Benrey's finger stills on Gordon's cheek and he feels an uncharacteristic lump grow in his throat as his face grows redder and sweat beads at his brow. That weird emotion that once wrapped itself around its siblings, Worry and Guilt, finally cut itself loose and tangles itself in his stomach. He doesn't like it--it's too warm, and it's not the horny kind of heat that he's used to--but he allows it to stay. It feels like it may turn into something good if he just lets it incubate.

> "Uh, what? Not gonna... huh?"

> Benrey's voice cracks just like Gordon's had a moment before. He pretends it never happened and seamlessly continues.

> "Not gonna, ah, make fun of you. Gonna... gonna pick that fruit, though."

> His finger trails down Gordon's chin, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. It rests dangerously low on his belly, threatening to dip lower. He grins at Gordon, leans in close, and huffs a laugh that's less malicious than it is honestly amused with its own cleverness.

> "Uh, get it? Fruit? Picked? You're, ah, you're the fruit, bro."

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

Gordon swallows, hard. The implications hit him like a bowling ball. That somebody's dropping on him. Maybe from an overpass or something. He's spinning out a little, alright, and losing his grip on the metaphor.

Benrey's fingertip leaves goosebumps in its wake, and his breathing goes shallow as the nail lightly catches on the crook of his neck. Lower, lower, slipping just below the surface of the water to rest on his belly, and Gordon thanks every deity he can imagine (and some he can't) that the bubbles hide... well. This, feeling it throb where it lies heavy against his hip.

Despite himself, he does actually laugh when Benrey prompts it. It comes out high and way louder than he intended, but still. Now that's a metaphor he's got a good grasp on, he thinks wildly. Oh, Christ.

"That's-- that's not really what I meant," Gordon tries to argue, but not with very much conviction. "But, uh, ha ha! Great joke! Fucking love jokes, man!"

> Benrey doesn't really hear what Gordon is saying. He does know that tone, though, from times they've played The Game before. It's a tone that speaks of permission, a sort of polite denial without the force. The kind of arguing that Benrey knows he can get away with ignoring because it's not sincere. Game talk. A challenge.

> Their own secret language of want.

> "Thank-you," Benrey purrs when Gordon forces a laugh, and his finger rubs a slow, slow circle into Gordon's stomach. He's sure Gordon notices when it bumps a bit too low, because he can feel something tell-tale just beneath the surface of the water. His grin grows at the realization that he was on the right track, tongue slipping out from between his teeth and running along his lips. A show, given to Gordon.

> A show he desperately wants Gordon to notice is meant for him. A tech demo. A promise.

> "But, uh... if that ain't what you meant. What did you mean? 'Cause you seem to be enjoyin' this, best friend."

A noise threatens to burst from Gordon's chest when Benrey starts to rub, slow and insistent, and grazes against-- Oh, God. But he clamps his lips tight, and all that escapes him is a harsh puff of air through his nose. He knows now, he knows, and it's written all over his face, a raised eyebrow and a smug smile and the slow, deliberate movement of his tongue over his lower lip.

It's fucking cartoonish, is what it is. Gordon should laugh. Gordon does laugh, again, another nervous little titter that doesn't communicate "amusement" so much as "flustered hysteria".

"I don't know," he blurts out, and it's the most honest thing he's said all day. "Fucking, God, I'm not-- This isn't what it looks like, okay, you just-- you keep looking at me like that, and I don't know what your fucking game is, man!"

He can't look at Benrey, not right now, not when he knows Benrey's looking at him like that, and so he looks down and oh, no, that's a bad idea. Because Benrey's still drawing tight little circles into his skin, unnervingly gentle. And so Gordon's eyes keep darting around, finding nowhere suitable to land.

At least Benrey's taking the bait. He's not doing that weird sappy shit anymore, and Gordon's in more familiar territory: the push and pull. The teasing. So he pulls harder, in hopes that Benrey will knock it off for good.

"If anybody's 'enjoying this', it's you, buddy! I'm just a, uh, innocent bystander, you know?"

> He doesn't sound convincing. There's fractures in his voice, and his words are stumbling like they fell down the stairs. He's looking everywhere but at Benrey, his face red and his eyes nervously darting from thing to thing to thing. But, in the end, they always come back to him, in one way or another.

> It's tells like this that let Benrey know that he's playing. The Game is afoot, he's been given the go-ahead. It's time to take the ball and run.

> "Uh-huh. Sure. Innocent. Lessee what you're hidin', bro."

> And with that, Benrey removes his finger from Gordon's stomach, instead parting his fingers into a V-shape and hooking Gordon underneath his arms. It's like a claw in a skill crane and, with a snort, he lifts Gordon out of the water. Naked, wet, and standing at attention from the looks of it; his human apparently had been playing along a lot longer than Benrey knew. He watches Gordon dangling a few feet from the pool at the end of his hand and smirks.

> But there's something different now, isn't there? Something Benrey sees in his human that makes that weird feeling he's been fighting twirl and twist. He's barely even noticing Gordon's boner more than he's looking at the way his hair is clinging to his face, and the way his eyes are flicking up at him expectantly, and how warm and small and cute he looks. He looks delicate and handsome and he wants to touch him, but he wants to touch all of him, and his heart is thumping so hard he starts to worry because... fuck. Is he dying? Is Gordon killing him just by being cute?

> Benrey swallows hard. He hopes his expression didn't falter. He broadens his grin in case it did, until the muscles in his cheeks honestly hurt. And he inhales deeply and forces a mocking laugh and squeezes his fingers around Gordon gently in an attempt to further mock him.

> "I 'unno, bro. Looks like you're, uh... you're carrying without a permit. That's... uh, an infract... fracta... infection. You're a bad boy, aren't'cha?"

Gordon yelps as those fingers hook under his arms and drag him out of the water. Oh, God, his legs are kicking out from underneath him, and his hands scrabble at Benrey's, and Benrey's just smirking at him all up close and personal and he's fucked, he's really, really fucked. His fucking dick bobs in the air like-- like-- he doesn't know, he doesn't have a simile for this! Gordon's never been in this situation before! But bob it does, until he comes to a stop right in front of Benrey's face.

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to.  Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

[lemon-wedges]

Hi wedges! I had a question about your art. How do you do the cool patterns on clothes or the logos? They're always PERFECT! Do you draw them all yourself? Or somehow manipulate images on top of the clothes in such a detailed way? Sorry I am just fascinated after seeing Rowena's floral pantsuit and Claire's t shirt in the group shot you recently posted!

Hello anon and thank you for the ask!! :D

I use patterns in these sets!! Tho what I do to them depends on the clothing.

Since rowena's jumpsuit is one large piece I just set the pattern on flat (kind of like using washi tape in traditional drawing) this is what she actually looks like without any shading:

And with a multiply layer I simply paint in some shadows to brings out a little more form.

On the other hand claire is wearing a logo I took from an actual t-shirt pic. Those can be a lot harder to work with since those pics come with their own wrinkles and lighting. Its also smaller so painting over it like rowenas suit isn't gonna look as right. So first what I do is erease everything but the logo and slap it ontop of a of her shirt that's already filled with a solid color Then i use the warp tool on the logo to make it look like it's going over her breasts. (If u zoom in u can totally see all the mistakes lol but I'm not really looking to make it seemless. I just think it looks cool in contrast to my lineart :3)