#he literally kept saying faggot right to my face while telling a story

[slowlyhardgoatee]

I couldn’t believe the rumours were true. 

A couple of my mates told me about this new go-go dancing boy at The Eagle who loved nothing better than sucking fat old bears’ cocks. I went down there with them last night and there you were, boy. 

I remember one of my mates pointed you out to me - you were just finishing up a routine and had all these low-value bills in the waistband of your jock - and he said ‘Here, there’s that faggot we were telling you about’. And I said back to him, ‘You watch. That faggot’s gonna be my slave within the hour.’ 

I sidled up to you at the bar, boy, remember? Didn’t even look at you, but I felt you notice me. I turned 60 yesterday, boy, and it seems big, stocky old granddads like me are just your fucking type because I literally heard you intake your breath. I said ‘Haven’t seen you here before, boy. You new?’ And you stammered out some stuff about you’d only been there a couple weeks, you only turned 18 last month, and then went quiet. And I just went, ‘I think that money in your panties belongs to me, doesn’t it, faggot?’ And you instantly said ‘Yes, Sir’, and I took my fucking time taking every single bill out of your waistband while you whimpered. 

I ordered a beer at that point, and when it came I said ‘I think it’s time you were on your knees, boy, don’t you?’ And you said ‘Yes, Sir’ again, and instantly got down on your knees, so I just pulled my cock out of my pants and said ‘Eat it, pig. All the fucking way down. Deep throat that granddad cock. Slut. You ain’t getting off my cock until I’ve finished my beer and blown a load down your fucking throat, faggot, is that clear? Tug on Granddad’s nipples if you understand.’

And you did. Just like a good pig. 

Of course, I had to keep that promise I made to my mates though, so when I was close, I said ‘I think what you really need, boy, is to be my full-time cum dump slave, isn’t it pig?’  And then I put my hands firmly at the back of your head and said, ‘Boy, we’ve already established that you’re an inferior sub faggot. If you agree that you also need to be my full time slave, all you need to do is keep sucking that fat cock.’ You tried pulling off, but I just went ‘Ah - I don’t think so, pig. You ain’t getting off my cock until I’ve dumped a load down your faggot throat, remember?’ And you whimpered again, but kept sucking. ‘So’, I said, ‘it’s agreed. You’re my full time breed pig and slave, isn’t that right, faggot? Suck me once for ‘Yes’, twice for ‘Granddad’. Good pig.’ As for what happened next… well. You know all about what happened next, don’t you boy? 

Yeah, you do. That collar I put on you in front of everyone last night tells a full story. And guess what’s gonna happen now, boy? Now it’s time for you to take your first good hard breeding as a collared slave. Lie on your front, faggot. Good boy. Now, you’re gonna keep your face and shoulders on the floor, and bring your knees up below your arse. Yeah, just like that. Reach back so your hands are holding your butt cheeks - good lad - and now spread ‘em. Spread that cunt as wide as you can, pig. That’s the fucking stuff. Look at that arse. Ripe for a rape. Ready to get bred for the first time, boy? Yeah? Then beg for it, pig. Beg me to rape that faggot pig hole. That’s exactly what I wanna hear out of your mouth, boy - ‘Rape my pathetic faggot pig hole raw please Granddad’ - go on, cunt, say it. Louder. Louder, pig boy. Fucking scream it.

Yeeeeeah, good pig. Here it comes, slut boy. Here comes Granddad’s meat. Fuuuuuck yeah that’s a tight cunt. I’m gonna be breaking it in good and proper tonight, I can promise you that much, faggot. You’re gonna take me balls deep until I say otherwise. It’s gonna hurt. But you’ll learn to beg for more. You’ll learn to crave my meat, faggot. Now hold still, pig. Granddad’s gonna breed. Oh fuck yeah… fuck yeah… tighten that cunt up for me, pig boy - oh, fuck yeah you diiiiirty little slut. Yeah! Get that fucking fat old granddad cream right up ya, you CUNT. FUCK. 

Fuuuucking hell, pig. That’s how you break in a slave. Did you cream? No? Good. Get really fucking used to it. My cock’s the only one that gets off round here, slut. Now go in the bathroom and clean yourself up. When you come out, I hope you’re ready for my belt across your arse. For a start. That slave collar’s never coming off you, faggot. Welcome to your new life as an owned pig. 

[ontheblock]

BABE U WRITE FOR SALLY FACE?? Anything with Travis (male s/o with him obviously) or Sally please :O your writing is amazing!!

YES I DO !! i used to have a bunch of wips i still haven’t finished but i figured i can still add sf to my list since it was such a comfort game when it came out haha. as per usual, this isn’t beta read, i fucked the formatting up twice but just squint when you notice any errors- also thank you love <3 i‘d give you a free bologna sandwich for requesting trav ily. 100% beef obviously /winkwonk

fabric

•warning: abuse, religious guilt, homophobia and f-slur use, bad first kisses, badly written fluff, travis being travis

Travis was meant to live a life molded for him by his father. The pattern was already placed on the fabric when his first cry shook the hospital room at 6:33am. He was supposed to be cut from his father‘s mold but Travis‘ fabric was already old and frayed, the intertwining strings of muted tones that held him together felt lose by the time he could run. Sometimes he thought about the reason why he was incomplete. His fabric wasn‘t strong enough to hold his family name, not stretchy enough to bounce back from his father‘s reactions. Travis‘ mother patched him up every time there was another bruise on his back or face. She would cut parts out of her own fabric to cover the ripped strings her husband‘s belt left on their son. But she had only so much left when the beatings got worse.

Travis was in middle school, attending a christian summer camp a few hours away from Nockfell. He never noticed how different the air was at home but the sky was so murky compared to literally everywhere else. His father thought it was a good idea to let the boy out of town while he took care of the Ministry business which was code for something Travis shouldn‘t stick his nose into. He never asked but someone went missing while he was gone. Tragic.

Not as tragic as the camp counselor calling Travis home on their last day. The boy didn‘t know about that but they told his father about some inappropriate behavior his son showed with a fellow camper - a boy his age, Kenneth didn‘t care for the name or where he was from. All he needed to know was what his son did with that boy. The counselor tried to calm the angry parent on the phone but as soon as the information was exchanged the line went dead. He didn‘t want to hear the washed up excuses. His son was young and it was best to get these urges out of his system before they could even develop - dig for the deepest root you could find and rip it from the still fresh ground before it bloomed into something ugly, even if that meant that the garden would never bloom at all. Kenneth was a man of action after all.

That evening Travis came home clueless while his father already stood in the hallway with his wife behind him, holding onto his hand and uttering whispered quick prayers but his thick fingers already curled around the leather painfully hard. The strain it caused in his hand only fueled the need for a release as he charged for his son who didn‘t even have the chance to slip out of his worn sneakers.

That evening his mother didn‘t stay when Kenneth told her to go to bed early. Travis asked himself if it pained her the same way it pained him when his skin split under the force his father put in his first few strikes.

“You want to hold hands with boys now?“

“My son isn‘t a faggot, is that clear?“

“I gave you a place in this filthy town. You will appreciate it and live a proper life!“

“You will thank me when you don‘t burn for being dirty.“

It wasn‘t meant for Travis to answer because by the end of the night he would not even think about a boy‘s hand to be soft and warm anymore.

Travis was older now but he never found enough of anything to mend the damage his father did that night. Travis didn‘t try to explain that he held onto the boy because they figured that they wouldn’t slip on the wet mud that way. Instead he kept quiet about it ever happening and his father was content with this as long as he pulled his son from the devil‘s path to sodomy.

And Travis thought so too until a thread of blue fabric pulled together a gaping hole in his fabric. It stuck out like a sore thumb - too vibrant but warmer than any patch his mother gave to him and when he sat on the grimy bathroom floor in school after Sal Fisher of all people gave him a fucking pep talk, it felt nice. The warmth let his tears evaporate so he could pull himself together for the rest of the day.

But it was short lived. The warmth spread through him so fast he felt like burning up whenever he sat in class with Sal. He tried everything to get that blue thread out of his life but pulling on it only felt like strangling himself and he regretted ever letting his bully persona slip in that bathroom just because Sal fucking Fisher found the note he threw away - the note that was about him but Travis never had it in himself to tell him that. He regretted his promise to be less of an asshole because he knew he couldn‘t. Not even three days later the heat in his belly was so hot that he boiled over when he saw Fisher talking to that ginger nerd by the lockers. He ended up calling him a faggot because how dare he be openly gay in the same town Kenneth Phelps lived? How dare he be happy like this?

Sal tensed at the insult. Did he actually think Travis could be better? And why was his freakshow friend not hurt at the insult when it still burned in his throat to say it? Why did it feel like the slur wasn‘t meant for Todd at all? Travis swallowed hard as he fled the hallway in such a hurry that the three folded up pamphlets in his barely zipped up backpack fell on the muddy vinyl flooring.

“Fuck, Phleps. Just wait. Travis!“ The boy in question tucked at his collar as he turned a corner just to slip into another empty corridor. They had a free period right after gym class and Sal Fisher was determined to finally talk to the boy who relentlessly bullied him to now avoid him like it was the other way around. “Jesus, I‘m not gonna pry but if your dad-“ Sally harshly bumped into Travis as he whipped around, finally coming to a stop. Shame crawled up the taller teen‘s neck when he didn‘t find the prosthetic nose digging into his sweater uncomfortable.

“Shut up! God, just stop!“ Sal was surprised that he would use his Lord‘s name in vain like that and if the situation was anything but this he would‘ve laughed. “Travis, I don‘t know how you feel but-“, Sal tried again but Travis was at his limits this time. “You don‘t and you never will, Fisher. Your dad would accept you being a dirty faggot but mine doesn’t!“ He tried to fill his words with venom but it all bounced back on the guy‘s mask anyway with how much his voice actually trembled.

There was a moment of silence that made Travis want to literally get struck by his God‘s angry lightning. He couldn‘t even leave. It was like all the root his father dug out slowly crawled back to feed on his shame and ground him in front of Sal who still had to react and maybe Travis should just tell him to fuck off so he wouldn‘t have to find out what he wanted to say next.

“Travis...“ Sal lowered his voice in a fake moment of privacy. “Are you-?“ Travis already shut his eyes as he clenched his fists. He didn‘t like where this was going but there was no more fight in him. “Nevermind. You don‘t owe me shit but I saw your back.“ Travis exhaled through his mouth until there was nothing left in his lungs. He knew where that question was headed. Are you gay, Travis? Are you the faggot and that‘s why you‘re so angry? He was glad that Sal changed his approach because even Travis himself was too scared to find the answer.

“So what, Sally Face? You‘re sticking your nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. If you even have one under that stupid mask.“ Travis harshly pushed his index finger into the boys chest and the sharp inhale he made almost made him freeze up and apologize. But he couldn‘t. He was too deep to go soft now. The look in Sal‘s eyes was enough to make Travis finally stumble backwards and push past him.

He didn‘t follow him this time.

His verbal fights with Sal Fisher were like a damn wake up call for the teen. The rush of warmth it spread in his chest and the cold shiver in sent down his spine were shaking his body every time. He started noticing that Nockfell wasn‘t that murky. Travis used to really like yellow as a child because it reminded him of his mother’s favorite sunflower dress. She was a different woman now. The vibrant yellow was fading just like her hair. Maybe it was just Nockfell, maybe it was because of her suffocating husband draining her of her life and slowly unraveling her fabric. It didn‘t matter now but to make a depressing story short, Travis didn‘t have a favorite color anymore.

But the sky looked like a pretty shade of blue on some days. He never noticed but his bathroom tiles had blue specks in them. He always thought they were just a weird grey. There were tiny flowers blooming in the most vibrant blue behind the school and he wished that they were behind the church too but nothing ever grew around that building. But he would pluck them sometimes when he was skipping gym class. His last fight in the empty hallway was weeks ago and he hoped that Sal finally gave up on his savior complex. But why did his chest sting at that thought? His fingers slowly clutched his sweater as he stared at a withering flower by his foot. Travis jumped out of his thoughts when the metal door creaked open.

“Yo.“ Sal pushed the door closed with his shoe as he held up a hand to casually greet him. His face scrunched up. “What do you want?“ Travis lowered his head again. The boy obviously noticed the fresh shiner on his face already but facing him still felt like he exposed himself. “Just wanted to confirm that the church boy was skipping class.“ Uninvited, the teen sat beside Travis on the grass, with a healthy distance of course. “Shut up. My faith has fuck all to do with school“, Travis spoke lowly but his voice was tired. Sal just hummed in agreement before silence draped over them. Not uncomfortably like the usual strained void of reactions when one of them dropped something they weren‘t prepared for. It felt ok like this and it felt like a blanket. To Travis that blanket was soft and blue but before he could shake it off and stand up there were strings of the obnoxious fabric already weaving themself into his personal space.

“We don‘t have to fight all the time.“ Sal didn‘t look at him and neither did Travis. He really didn‘t have a reason to disagree. Not one that wouldn’t blow his cover at least.

“Maybe I could come to your little church and-“ Travis head snapped up. “Don‘t“, he blurted out a little louder than he meant. “It‘s a joke. I‘m not religious.“ Sal snorted, plucking a few pieces of grass. “Yeah, because you‘re a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. You f-“ Travis had to physically stop himself by biting his lip. Sal looked over at him and Travis wished he didn‘t. “Sorry“, Travis mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes, or eye since he was pretty sure his other eye never moved before. “I‘m trying to not call people that anymore.“ because all I hear is my father saying it.

“It‘s cool.“ It wasn‘t. “Why are you skipping?“ Travis huffed. It was weird to not let the conversation derail into verbal abuse. “I don‘t know. I fell. Hit my head on the door pretty bad. As you can see.“ Sal just hummed. “That‘s why you‘re limping, too?“ Travis blurted out a “yes“ a little too fast. Why was he nervous? His whole school life already revolved around cover up stories about the strange aches and bruises he got out of nowhere.

“Right.“ Sal let it slide, again. “You‘re acing algebra, Fisher.“ It wasn‘t a question so Sal didn‘t say anything. “Hmm.“ Travis cursed himself for never learning proper social skills but his father didn‘t like him bringing strangers into the house and his teen years were a constant feeling of push and pull of picking fights with boys that sparked an ugly tingle in his belly.

“You need a tutor?“ The silence seemed to be enough for Sal. Fuck him and his open fucking hand. “Maybe.“ Travis flicked a flower with his finger, dismissing the clear offer because his stomach ignited at the fact that Sal didn‘t hate him enough yet. “Maybe there is a tutor in Addisons Appartement, Room 402, who‘s free on the weekend.“ Sal couldn‘t help but smile under his mask as Travis huffed. “Fuck you, Fisher.“

Sal already forgot about his offer when lunch passed and his dad stood in the kitchen, washing their dishes, enjoying the background noise of his son watching TV with his cat. They were so engrossed in the VHS tape Sal put on that he didn‘t hear the door until his dad whistled from the kitchen. “Sally, door.“

“Huh? Oh. Yes, dad.“ He jumped to his feet, leaving Gizmo to the slasher movie he seemed to like. “Weird, Larry said he‘s busy“, Sal mumbled, opening the front door. “Oh.“ It was a knee jerk reaction from Sal because he expected everyone but Travis Phelps to knock at his door and truth be told, he looked like he‘d rather be anywhere else with the way his awkward greeting caught in his throat and died on his tongue as a huff. His eyes followed the way the blue strands hung over Sal‘s shoulders, the mask straps upsetting the smooth texture as a few chunks hung over the elastics. Travis hasn’t seen him with his hair down. He looked smaller in big sweatpants and a band shirt too.

“Travis?“ The boy‘s eyes snapped back to the mask in front of him. “So, algebra?“ Sal tilted his head a smidge. A small habit he picked up to better communicate what would otherwise be shown in his facial features. But it made Travis want to scream for a multitude of reasons as heat crept up his neck. “Obviously.“

Anyone else would‘ve told him to fix his tone or fuck off but Sal held open the door for him. It felt wrong but Travis took the invitation, rubbing his clammy hands on his pants. “Who is it?“, a deeper voice called and Travis almost jumped. He had to remind him this wasn‘t Kenneth. Mr Fisher wasn’t anything like his dad and he didn’t have to be on edge around the boy. “A friend“, Sal replied shortly, only getting an approving hum.

A friend. Did Sal see him as a friend? He couldn‘t dwell on it since he was pulled into the boy‘s bedroom that looked nothing like his. “Just sit anywhere.“ Sal wildly gestured into the room and Travis sat on the barely made bed as Sall dropped his books next to him.

Travis felt like there was something breathing down his neck the entire time they sat on Sal‘s bed. His shirt collar felt like it was about to cinch his neck closed, the dangling cross necklace he kept under his shirt felt hot to the touch like it burned the shape of Jesus into his chest with every sinful thought that crossed his mind as Sal explained the most bland and unerotic subject.

“Travis?“ The boy almost choked on his own spit.

“Romans 1:26-27.“ Travis stumbled over his own words but the verse was engraved into his head after writing and reciting it for a month straight under the stern eye of his father. There was a briefe silence for a moment.

“What?“ Sal looked up from the book in his lap.

“What?“ Travis felt breathless as he stared back at Sal. “Nothing“, he quickly added before Sal could even say anything else. “Explain that again?“ But he didn‘t. Instead, Sal pushed the book off his thigh, still staring the boy down. “Did you really come here for algebra, dude?“ No. “Yes.“ Travis fiddled with the hem of his shirt, not knowing if it was anxiety, anger or just bile scratching against his stomach lining to crawl out of him.

When Sal didn‘t say anything else Travis just reached over the boys lap to take the book himself but there was already a hand pressing against his shoulder. Travis hissed as he pulled his arm back, making Sal pull back just as fast. They stared at each other for a moment before Sal‘s gaze darted to his shoulder. “You fell pretty hard on that door.“ Travis clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Fisher, and back the fuck up.“

The boy shook his head, scooting away an inch. “Listen, you can say no because I would too but I can at least get you ointment for that.“ Sal gestured to his back and shoulder and something in Travis just crumbles as he lets his hands drop into his lap, staring them down to not look at Sal. “Ok. If it gets you off my back you parasite.“

Travis didn‘t plan this when he knocked on the apartment door. He expected to maybe stay 20 minutes before something would make him see red but all he saw was blue. Maybe he was cursed. All these years of plucking out the roots his father couldn’t reach were rendered worthless now that he sat on the rough carpet, holding his shirt up as Sal dug out the ointment.

How did he even get here? His heart beat in his throat when he felt a presence behind him. He felt the need to say something. He wanted to make it clear that this meant nothing to not make it weird but wouldn‘t that make it weirder? Wasn‘t this the same as his mother putting a bandaid on his cuts and whatever herbal mixture on his wounds? It wasn’t because he never felt the sick urge to kiss his mother.

“Ready?“, Sal asked, kneeling behind him with a glob of cool ointment on his index and middle finger. Fucking hell, why did he have to make it weird? He definitely had to say something now.

“It was my dad.“ Travis spoke fast enough to mutter his words but the long pause probably meant that Sal heard him anyway. He wanted to melt into the carpet, leave behind a stain on the boy‘s floor to annoy him just one last time. He didn‘t know what he expected him to say to that and he also didn‘t know why that was the thing he had to say. But Sal made it easy on him by just not answering at all. Instead, he dabbed the cream on the first bruise, making Travis inhale sharply but otherwise biting his tongue. Sal figured that Travis wanted to act tough by not showing that it hurt but actually, Travis didn‘t trust his voice under Sal‘s soft fingertips.

“Travis“, Sal spoke again. Travis wasn‘t sure if he hated the heavy silence more of the fact that Sal was the first to say something while he was rubbing little circles into his back. He didn‘t answer but that never held Sal back.

“Are you gay?“ His voice was so quiet that Travis wouldn‘t have heard it if they sat a little further apart but it had the same effect as screaming it for all of Nockfell to hear. Sal felt him tense up under his touch, already expecting him to jump up or at least yell at him. But neither of them did anything. Sal‘s fingers rested against the heating skin, feeling it rise with every ragged breath he managed to take. “Travis-“

“Fuck, Sal. What? Do you want me to tell you about the times my dad beat the gay out of me or do you prefer that time I wanted to kiss you in that gross fucking bathroom?“, the teen finally barked, letting his words sink in first before he hissed a quiet “shit“. The fingers on his back pulled away as Sal sat on his heels. “You wanted to kiss me?“, Sal repeated, slower than Travis but he just pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw shapes and felt like the pressure would crush his face. He heard Sal shuffle around the room, probably getting ready to throw him out like he should‘ve done a while ago. But the shuffling stopped in front of him and something told him not to look but cold hands were already on his wrists to peel his cramping hands from his face. Travis opened his eyes just in time to see that mask uncomfortably close but before he could say anything, there was an odd sensation on his lips with minimal pressure. Sal was kissing him and it snuffed the flame in his stomach for just a moment, allowing the torched butterflies to unfold their wings and fly high enough to even make his heart pump overtime. But the feeling was lost just as soon when Sal inched backwards, pulling his prosthetic back in place before Travis could even take any of this in.

“Sorry.“ Sal threw it into the room for Travis to interpret. But the gears in his head threatened to jump out of place already so he reached out to Sal who already flinched backwards, holding onto his mask. “You don‘t want that.“ Sal pushed his hand back a little. “How would you know?“ Travis furrowed his brows at him but he was thankful. He wasn‘t sure if he could take seeing the boy bare like that but he was craving that feeling his father tried to snuff so desperately.

Sal just shook his head as Travis inched closer. “I‘ll close my eyes.“ Now it was Sal‘s turn to hole up in silence, knowing that neither of them could handle the mask coming off. Something made him trust Travis‘ words as he opened the bottom clasp which was the cue for Travis to shut his eyes. He did and seconds later he felt Sal on him again. One hand clamping over his eyes just to make sure and the other fisting the front of his shirt.

This time Travis felt the cleft in Sal‘s lip and the scar tissue ripping up the soft skin. He leaned into the kiss. Where were his hands supposed to go? When Travis didn‘t find the answer his body moved on autopilot. One hand threaded through the surprisingly smooth strands as the other clung to the small of his back.

Travis should‘ve been grossed out by the drool pooling out of Sal‘s torn lip but he wasn‘t. He should be grossed out by Sal being a boy but he wasn‘t. When Sal pulled back he kept his hand over Travis‘ eyes while the other wiped the spit off his chin. The kiss alone was enough to patch up his murky fabric with bright blue strings that dominated the colors his father painted him in. Travis didn‘t know what would happen after high school. Hell, he didn‘t even know what would be tomorrow. But he didn‘t want the bright fibers to unravel him again.

A knock on the door startled both of them, making Sal pull his arm away and Travis rapidly blinking. He didn‘t notice the mangled face first as the unruly blue caught his eye. His hand did that. His heart beat in his throat again as he overheard Sal‘s father say something and Sal shooting a hum of agreement back. His prosthetic was already on his face again before Travis could catch anything besides the scar tissue crawling up his jaw and chin before splitting his lips and exposing teeth and gum.

Maybe blue was his favorite color.

[thelifepartners]

E. Ray

Far away from #metooLand

I was recently gay, and my girlfriend and I weren’t hard on the eyes. That’s what Cowboy had said when we walked into the apartment the linemen were sharing together: “Mindy, I’m glad you found someone as good looking as you, it’s just sad, you know, when that doesn’t happen.”

Cowboy had just moved into the place, and wanted us to see his room, and asked us, kind of like a little boy, to touch his bed, so he could say we were the first two on it. Mindy said had said, “No,” and then walked out of the room. Cowboy hadn’t looked abashed at all, just seemed cheerful, and followed us back to the kitchen, where there wasn't any silverware out, so everyone was eating the BBQ from paper plates with their hands.

Another guy, Ryan, asked me my name, and I told him Jessica, so he immediately called me Jess, and then, like it was normal, which it seemed to be in the house, he asked me whether I liked to lick buttholes. No one batted an eye really, but all the men—Cowboy, Ryan, this quiet guy with a mousy face who kept pointing out every time someone used a multisyllabic word, and a tall guy, who owned the house—they all seemed pretty interested in my answer.

I wanted to be nice, and also cool, because Mindy had to work in the office where the men checked in and out with paperwork every day, and I didn’t want them to give her crap or the cold shoulder, and we were at this dinner because of a person she actually liked at the office, Lola, who was sitting in the corner next to the quiet guy, but was already slumpy and quiet from drunkenness herself.

“I take the fifth,” I said.

“The fifth means you do!” They all said, in pretty impressive unison for how generally disorganized and how many beers and vodkas in they were.

“She’s not going to answer that,” Mindy said, sounding bored and forceful, and they all accepted it, and I felt jealous she’d figured out how to make herself sound so alpha.

Ryan went on, talking about how, of course Mindy and I licked buttholes, because when he did it, women orgasmed pretty endlessly, screamed a lot, and since Mindy and I had the same plumbing we must know it was a good idea.

He stopped talking, and then Mindy changed the subject.

*

A little while later, Mindy had gone over to give Lola some water, and Ryan had kind of cornered me to tell me this story about when he’d been diagnosed with colon cancer, and I wondered to myself whether that was part of his fascination with buttholes, but decided not to ask.

“I told my boss I was taking a week off,” Ryan told me, “And he was like, ‘are you coming back?’” And I said yeah, just I couldn’t wait the week before the results came back, so I was going to Vegas.”

So Ryan tells me he went to Vegas, took $30,000 dollars in a duffle with himself, but not his debit card because he didn’t want to spend any more than that, and the first night he gambled $5,000, and somehow tripled it, and bought $15,000 dollars of cocaine, and got a hooker and a penthouse suite for the week.

“The cocaine dealer asked if he could stay and do some with us, and I said I was the only cock allowed in the room, and he said it'd be fun to do together, and I told him to get the hell out.

“And then the hooker asked if she could call her friends, and I said yes as long as they had pussies, and so she called them, and we had a great week of it. On the plane ride back, I didn’t have anything in my pocket but my cell phone.”

I just sat there, listening, sometimes saying “wow” or nodding, but he seemed to be looking through me more than at me, so I wasn’t too worried about him liking me for Mindy’s sake.

“And then the doctor called and it turned out I didn’t have cancer.”

“Wow, that must’ve been stressful,” I said.

“Best week of my goddam life,” he said. And that kind of upset me a little because I like to think there are more fulfilling things in life than cocaine and hookers, but when I pressed him a little he said it was true.

*

Mindy was still by Lola, she’d given her the water, but Cowboy was talking to them about how the Canadian linemen had started calling him Golden Cowboy because of his sunglasses, and he’d put them on and kept them on to demonstrate his point even though it was night and we were inside.

“They call you that because you’re a faggot,” the quiet guy said, and Cowboy had explained, no, it was because of the golden sunglasses.

“It’s fagotty, it’s because you’re a fucking faggot,” Ryan said. “No offense to faggots, everyone is so sensitive nowadays, I’m just saying it because it’s true.”

Ryan was mixing up what he called Mexican corn, which was BBQ corn mixed up with Hellman’s and paprika, as he said this and I decided it wasn’t a good time to point out that Mindy and I were literally faggots, it just didn’t seem like it would do much good.

And then the room quieted and we were left to talking again, and Ryan started telling me how he hated when kids had cancer, it wasn’t right.

“I bet you think I’m just an asshole,” he said, “And I ride a Harley, but people like me have big hearts. Every time I see one of my friends’ kids has cancer, I sell one of my guns.

“I sell them on Facebook, and my friends have said I can get in trouble, but I say if someone wants to arrest me for selling guns to give money to kids with cancer—well, they won’t do that.

“So you see, I’m a good guy.”

I nodded, and said I agreed guys who ride motorcycles can have hearts too, and then there was silence between us and I didn’t like it, so I raised my glass, this cranberry vodka Cowboy had mixed for me, and I said, “To the kids,” and Ryan responded, “To the kids,” and lifted his solo cup, and then we were quiet again, waiting for everyone else’s conversation to sweep us up, but we got to act like we’d had a solemn moment together until it did.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Boys Boys Boys: A Solangelo Fanfiction

I’ve been severely lacking in inspiration because of how busy I have been. So I went back to basics: some personal experiences I’ve had at bars in NYC and around where I go to school, and a College AU set up. Could I be inspired to continue this? Heck yeah I probably could. 

I hope you all enjoy!

Trigger Warning: homophobic slurs 

Also read on AO3 

Preview:

Will immediately half-swerved, focusing desperately on keeping his gaze forward at the line of liquors mounted on the wall, and not ogling at the dude next to him because damn he was fine—the kind of fine that would have him sobbing on the carpet of Lou Ellen’s dorm at four-in-the-morning while stuffing his face with veggie pizza and watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race later. But for now, it definitely wouldn’t help him to freak out the dude by staring. Besides, everyone knew that hot guys in leather jackets who wore Iron Maiden tee-shirts were generally as straight as boards. No use getting his hopes up.

It had started out for Will as a relatively tame night out with his two best friends Lou Ellen and Cecil. Will barely ever had time to actually hit up bars, drink, or do things that could be considered vaguely social. But Lou Ellen had burst into his dorm room with a half-empty box of wine, sporting a new undercut with a lightning bolt design and hair dyed silver, and an idea about how she wanted to spend the rest of her weekend, and Will found it extremely difficult to argue with her.

               That was the way it generally went. Will Solace tended be a workaholic. If he wasn’t at class or the lab, he was studying, doing homework, taking care of the plants he crowded around his window, helping out the Bio Society, or doing the million other things he occupied his time with. He was always thankful for his best friends though, they seemed to always somehow know when it was time for him to take a break. Whether it was Cecil showing up with chicken wings at four in the afternoon, or waking up to find Lou Ellen casting spells in the kitchen, both of them had a knack for knowing when it was time to have fun.  

               So there he was at a bar that was trying to be something between classy and sporty, with dark wood bar, spindly stools and tables, but playing WWE on a projector towards one certain side of the room while some pop song played. But the generally pleasant vibe was being ruined by the painfully drunk dudes who kept bugging the bar tender for more shots that they obviously didn’t have the stripper-ones to pay with and their girls who kept wandering in looking to use the bathroom without getting any drinks despite the bouncer’s warnings. Cecil, Lou Ellen, and Will had occupied one of the tables and had split a bottle of whiskey between them and had been talking while the shenanigans continued to unfold behind them, talking loud enough to be heard over the subtle roar of people and music and TV.

               “I’m telling you dude, I just can’t get a date to this formal coming up,” Cecil groaned as he took a sip of the beer he was using as a chaser. “This is literally the third girl who’s turned me down.”

               “Well it would help if you asked out girls you didn’t just see in the SU without any context,” Lou Ellen scoffed as she knocked back another shot.

               “Listen, she was my soulmate. She had the cutest fucking dimple you’d ever seen in your whole life and her hair was doing that thing where it was artfully falling down—artfully, I swear to God,” Cecil half-sobbed before he pounded the table. “Why are girls so cute, man?  Where do they get off on doing that?”

               “I think you are preaching to the wrong choir here with your gay best friend and an ace from outerspace,” Will told him with a pat on Cecil’s shoulder. His face was feeling pleasantly flushed, and he rolled his shoulders back. Will felt good, extraordinarily good. It was just so nice to talk with his friends and not worry about the ten million assignments he had lined up in the future.

               “Oh come on, we’re on the same team really. You think girls are cute, but you just don’t want to date them or do any hanky-panky, and Dr. Frank N. Furter is our religion,” Lou Ellen pointed out.  

               “Wow, thank you Captain Obvious,” Will said as he stifled his laughter, which didn’t end up working. Instead, all three of them broke out into a chorus of giggles as Will poured himself another shot and held it up. Lou Ellen and Cecil mirrored his actions. “To Cecil’s search for a girl, and to my continued support. If one should ask me, I’ll scoot them his way.”

               “Against their own self-interest!” Lou Ellen snickered.

               “You guys suck and I love you,” Cecil said with a wide smile.

               “Next time don’t wear a Cubs jersey and fluorescent orange socks when you are out to woo a lady!”

               “Don’t go dissing the socks!”  

               They all laughed and clinked glasses and downed their shots, the alcohol burned pleasantly and smoothly on the way down. Will reached over for his glass of water and found it empty except for half-melted ice-cubes.

               “I’m going to go grab some water,” Will announced to them, before getting up. He used extreme caution as he navigated the tables and chairs and drunk people considering he was also slightly tipsy. He ordered his water from the bartender and waited patiently as he leaned against the counter.

               The first thing that caught his attention about the guy sitting next to him on a stool was the flash of silver—a skull ring he kept twisting around his long fingers. Long dark curls that were mostly held back by a pony tail, amazing facial structure that made him look like a piece of art, from the bottom of his (chained) combat boots and skinny jeans to the vintage leather jacket on his shoulders.

               Will immediately half-swerved, focusing desperately on keeping his gaze forward at the line of liquors mounted on the wall, and not ogling at the dude next to him because damn he was fine—the kind of fine that would have him sobbing on the carpet of Lou Ellen’s dorm at four-in-the-morning while stuffing his face with veggie pizza and watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race later. But for now, it definitely wouldn’t help him to freak out the dude by staring. Besides, everyone knew that hot guys in leather jackets who wore Iron Maiden tee-shirts were generally as straight as boards. No use getting his hopes up.

               Will had just managed to get his water from an apologetic bartender, when suddenly he was knocked into by one of the very drunk dudes with only ones in his pocket. He barely kept the liquid from falling into hot-guy-in-the-jacket’s lap.

               “Uh, excuse you?” Will asked the lump of muscle that had plowed into him. The guy blinked at Will blurrily for a second, acknowledging for the first time the person who wasn’t the girl half glued to his arm, and he snarled at him.

               “What? Why you looking at my girl?” the drunk guy slurred, and Will held up his hands.

               “Trust me, I’m very much not interested in girls—uh, your girl, and girls in general yes but—“ Will blurted out over his booze numbed tongue.                

               “Excuse me, you fucking faggot?” Drunk-and-Ugly growled, puffing up like an angry rooster.

               “What the fuck did you just say?”

               The words came out of nowhere and half stole the breath from Will’s lungs. Suddenly the hot guy next to him had gotten off the stool. He wasn’t physically big or imposing, he was a head shorter than Will himself and was built slender and wiry, but something about the way he stood tense and ready broadcasted: WRONG PERSON TO FUCK WITH.

               “Butt out!” Drunk-and-Ugly warned, and Will noticed the other people at the bar moving away but found himself rooted to his spot.

               “What did you just call him?” hot-guy demanded, his jaw working with rage.

               “I called him a faggot,” Drunk-and-Ugly repeated with angry glint in his eye.

               “You better apologize right now!” Hot-and-Scary growled at him, his voice a combination of deep and gravely that would have been amazingly sexy if not slightly terrifying and if Will hadn’t been a little drunk and horrified he might have been able to sift out what was what.

               “Why? You some kind of faggot lover?!”

               Drunk-and-Ugly took the first swing, but Hot-and-Scary answered by punching the dude right in the face so hard that the dude dropped like a sack of potatoes, and the next second he was on asshole and kicking the crap out of him.

               “How does it feel to get your ass kicked by a faggot you piece of shit!” Hot-and-Scary yelled as he continued to unleash righteous vengeance on the dude, with Drunk-and-Ugly managing to get in a few punches of his own, until Will reached to grab Hot-and-Scary under his arms and pull him away by force as Hot-and-Scary thrashed in his arms. “Let go of me! Let me at him, I’m going to rearrange his face!”

               “Woah Nico, calm down!”

               A much larger Asian guy helped Will haul Hot-and-Scary, whose name was apparently Nico, away from the unfolding action, as the bouncers tried to deal with the group of very angry drunk friends who kept being egged on by the fact Nico kept yelling things along the line of “Fight me bitch” at them. The chaos was controlled by the time the cops rolled in, and by that point a bunch of very disappointed drunk college students were in the process of stumbling home.

               Will was interviewed, and told his story to a relatively understanding cop. Eventually Will ended up meeting Nico on the curb after the cops had let him out of the car. Will handed Nico a cup of ice for the black eye he was now sporting (and somehow made look so good), and Nico pressed it against his face.

               “Thanks…sorry. I kind of really lost it in there,” Nico said and Will gave him a smile as he sat down on the curb beside him and held out a napkin. “What’s that for?”

               “I’m Will Solace, senior bio-major. Your nose is bleeding,” Will informed him. In the lamp light and blue and red flashes, Will definitely caught Nico’s ears redden.  

               “Nico di Angelo. Classics and Italian double major,” Nico answered as he took the number hesitantly as he sniffed and wiped at his nose which was dripping blood. “Ah, shit. You’re right. I think I broke my fucking nose.”

               “Let me see,” Will said, touching Nico’s face. His expression flickered before settling into a guarded façade, as Will inspected his nose, gently probing the side. “You seem to be okay. It was probably just the trauma.”

               “I would have been pissed if he had managed it. Bastard had a wimpy punch anyways,” Nico reported, as if this definitely wasn’t Nico di Angelo’s first rodeo. Will directed Nico on the proper way to pinch his nose to stem to bleeding, and held the cup of ice for him as they sat together. Will noticed a pretty African-American girl and the Asian boy speaking the police, as well as Lou Ellen and Cecil. “It was supposed to be my sister’s night—Hazel, she’s over there. She just totally killed her interview and got her internship. But I just can’t seem to human properly.”

               “Well you protected my honor, and you were a total badass. If you were going to get thrown in jail, they probably would have handcuffed you, so I think you’re good and she’ll forgive you.”

               “You were pretty cool to. I mean, I lost it, but you pulled me off. Thanks for that.”

               “I don’t think we’re even though,” Will told him, as he placed the cup on the ground. He called over a lady who handed him a pen from her purse. “Here, give me your hand.”

               Nico held it out, obviously confused. Will quickly scrawled his number on Nico’s palm and then released his grip. Nico stared at the number dumbly for a moment, before comprehension flickered over his features and he blushed. For a guy who had kicked the shit out of another human being about a foot bigger than him, Will was finding him increasingly adorable.

               “Will, you’re a free man! Our Uber is here!” Cecil called out to him as Will stood up and brushed off the street-grime from his jeans.

               “Call me,” Will told Nico di Angelo with a sunny smile. “I’ll take you out, if you are interested, and I really hope you are.”

               “Uh—yeah, that sounds—yeah,” Nico stuttered, offering an almost shy wave as Will walked away and loaded up in a Honda Accord with Lou Ellen and Cecil.

               “Please tell me you got his number,” Lou Ellen told him as she shook his arm. Will watched Nico’s sister give Nico a hug as the car pulled away, and he smiled.

               “I don’t think I’ll be free next weekend to be your date to the formal Cecil,” Will reported.

               “Damn way to leave me hanging, Solace.”