#oh & i have to pick a cabinet enamel color but i need to be at the hardware store with the paint chips

[heckaroniandcheese]

besties I'm running out of things to buy what am i supposed to obsessively research in my spare time

[thiswasinevitableid]

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency. 

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people. 

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe. 

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools. 

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up. 

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal. 

Stern wants to reach through the  screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

------------------------------------

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

--------------------------------------

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus. 

Nope, not at all.

-----------------------------

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions. 

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

--------------------------------------

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on. 

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug. 

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty. 

“What’s your address?”

------------------------------------

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door. 

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times. 

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home. 

Barclay. 

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in. 

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens. 

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words. 

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous. 

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order. 

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere. 

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold. 

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough. 

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies. 

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker. 

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant. 

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world. 

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook. 

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s  a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice. 

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.” 

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

---------------------------------------

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen. 

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does. 

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out. 

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

-----------------------------------

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot.   Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem. 

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best. 

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away). 

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

-------------------------

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs. 

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.” 

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist. 

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks. 

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk. 

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

------------------------------

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together. 

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was. 

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner. 

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. 

[yungidreamer]

Blackout Part 1

Summary: When a storm blows in just before finals it throws life into chaos with no power. But the trio’s home becomes a refuge in the storm. A place of warmth and happiness where everyone can gather to ride out the storm and enjoy some time together. Seonghwa and his love, Yeosang, find some special time together. A moment of respite in the storm.

Word count: 6.6k

Content warnings: fluff and smut, this time featuring Seonghwa and Yeosang, sex (m/m), a bathtub, the stress of finals and a blackout across town. Mostly happy bonding with friends and partners by candlelight.

‘Twas the weekend before finals when all through the city, not a building had power, it was a true pity. An ice storm had blown through late on Thursday coating everything with half an inch of ice bringing down power lines and tree branches. Classes were canceled on Friday and departments mailed out plans for finals, with professors encouraged to make finals something people could take at home if possible to leave halls that might need to be powered by generators for those that absolutely had to take tests on campus.

The dorm halls and residences were dark but at least heated, however, with no promise that power would be restored soon, people were eager to go home for the holidays as soon as possible. Students who were given the option for take home or online files were all making plans to head home early. Those who weren’t were forced to go to pick up meals from the one of the few functional cafeterias on campus. No one was happy with the situation.

In their little house near campus she, Mingi, and Yunho were happy to be in their cozy little home together. They were especially thankful for their fireplace and for the gas stove the place had come with, since it meant the interruption in power hadn’t given them nearly as much trouble as it was giving most of their friends. With the fridge and freezer down, they moved the frozen foods out to the backyard. The weather had remained around freezing since the storm and it would keep it as well as the freezer would have. The things that needed to be kept cool but not frozen, they kept in the little entry porch in a cooler that was just enough to keep things from freezing but was plenty cold. All in all, it was actually pretty nice, minus the fact that they couldn’t watch anything on TV and were only keeping only one phone on at a time. Their travel batteries had been real lifesavers actually.

On Friday evening they learned that Yunho’s chemistry class was keeping their scheduled practical final on Tuesday which he needed to stay for. Mingi’s math teacher, an old crotchety tenured professor, insisted on having an in person final for his 200 + person introduction course. He didn’t trust people not to cheat, nor did he trust the newfangled online tests some people in the department had started using. Luckily that was scheduled for Monday afternoon so it wouldn’t keep them there any longer than Yunho’s. She was lucky and had already been sent her four finals she had left for her classes and was hoping to have them done before they drove home for the long Christmas holiday.

At around 7 that Friday Yunho’s phone rang. It was a frazzled and stressed out Hong Joong wondering if he might be able to come and study with Yunho at their place. With no power he had been studying as much as he could during the daylight hours and making due with a hanging flashlight he had set up in the evening. He grumbled about not being able to make any of the food they had and being stuck with sandwiches for days with no way to cook in the house.

“We can cook here if you want to bring stuff to make some food here,” Yunho offered.

“You can cook?” Hong Joong perked up on the other end of the phone. “Do you have power?”

“No we just have a gas stove and oven,” Yunho explained.

“Wou...would you mind if I came to stay for a little while?” Hong Joong questioned hopefully. “I can bring food. I also have a solar charger we can share to charge phones and stuff. Also a radio I’ve been using to keep me sane.”

“Oh yeah sure, that would be fine,” Yunho agreed. As he finished speaking, he heard a shuffling, and then Hong Joong make an exclamation of objection.

“You can cook?” Came the tight voice of Seonghwa over the line.

“Ye...yes…” Yunho replied slowly.

“Can Yeo and I come study there?” Seonghwa sounded tense and close to begging. “I will cook food and I am good at it. Please. I miss warm food and I want to get out of this tiny dark room. I will do anything.”

“Sure,” Yunho laughed. “You guys can come, too. Maybe bring some candles or light as well as some food to make.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa’s voice was full of relief as he said it. “I have to call Yeo and tell him to meet me. We will bring whatever we can. Ugh, if only one of our dorms just had one of the functioning cafeterias, I could bear to stay there. I just wish we weren’t going to have to come back and forth.”

“Do you mind if they stay for the weekend?” Yunho covered the mic and whisper asked the other two. When they nodded he brought the phone back to his ear and offered, “You guys could stay the weekend. Just come and bring whatever you need to study and clothes for a couple of days.”

“Seriously?” Seonghwa said, unsure if he could trust what his ears had just heard. It was too good to be true.

“Yeah,” Yunho confirmed. “We have room and it will be good to have everyone together in one place for studying. It will be a big help if you cook and bring extra food, so...yeah, you guys are welcome.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa said gratefully before passing the phone back to Hong Joong.

“We can stay over?” Hong Joong asked, a note of extra hope entering his voice.

“Yeah, bring what you need,” Yunho confirmed. “Or at least what you can. We will make the best of this studying time and time to get the finals done before the holiday.”

“You guys are the best,” Hong Joong laughed. “Okay, we will see you soon.”

“So we’ll be having some guests it seems,” she said, setting her study material aside for the moment. “Guess that means I should clean up a little.”

“I’ll help,” Mingi offered, closing his math book for the moment.

“Me, too,” Yunho turned off the screen of his phone and set it on the coffee table. The boys redressed their beds to give the guests places to sleep while she cleaned up a little in the kitchen, doing the last of the dishes and checking what they had in their cabinets, thinking about what they might need. Yunho, when he was done making the bed, went out and grabbed more wood for the fireplace. It was starting to get dark and, while the furnace was keeping the house warm, the light and extra coziness it was giving the house was making the blackout much more pleasant.

They had decorated the house for Christmas after getting back from Thanksgiving with their families. They had bought a tree from one of the lots, strung it with colored lights, and bought a cacophony of colorful glass balls and bangles. It wasn’t the sort of tree that would have made it into one of those home life magazines but it was homey. Off on one side of the tree Yunho had eventually discovered a trio of special ornaments she had bought and tucked off to the side. They were little enamel picture frames, each with a photo of one of them, with Our First Christmas Together and the year written on the back. Yunho was in a bright blue oval shaped frame that had a sunburst sort of design under the enamel that caught the light when the tree was lit. Mingi was in a bright red square frame that had a sort of scaled or feathered sort of pattern that seemed to shimmer in the light. Hers was purple and round with little gems that dangled off the bottom. He wasn’t sure how long they had been there before he noticed, but he made sure to bring it to Mingi’s attention when he noticed it. They both loved it and wished they had thought of the gesture first, but of course she had done it. Silently they promised, next year they would surprise her, but this year they could both still get her something amazing for Christmas.

Mingi had gotten her an antique style pearl choker with a small square panel in front that had a starburst pattern in silver and crystals. He liked the idea of her wearing it, like a mark that she was his, even if everyone didn’t know it. He hadn’t given it to her. He was still deciding if he wanted to give it to her before they went home or save it for when they got back. There were still days to decide, so it stayed tucked far back in one of the drawers in his bedroom, waiting for the right time.

Yunho had bought her a hair comb from a local antique shop. He had gone expecting to get her something simple like earrings but had laid eyes on the ornate, two pronged, silver comb and knew it was what he needed to get her. She often twisted her hair up into easy buns on the back of her head, held there with one or two simple wooden hair sticks she used. This comb, with its gorgeous rococo style curved decorative plate would look perfect sitting in her hair. It was something she would use, which meant he would get to see his gift on her often; just a little something saying she was his.

They had gotten each other something as well. Yunho had bought Mingi a new, expensive pair of Bluetooth headphones he could use when he needed some isolation to keep his mind on studying. His last pair had started to wear out, the battery only lasting three or four hours these days. The new ones were better and would be more forgiving for his usual forgetfulness when it came to putting them on the charger when he was done.

Mingi had bought Yunho a new suit set including dress shirt, jacket, pants, tie, and pocket square. Yunho had noticed that he had outgrown his last set over Thanksgiving and knew that he needed to get something soon but had been putting it off due to school. Mingi had gotten him a steel grey suit with white button up and sky blue tie and pocket square. Honestly, he couldn’t wait to see him in that and really wanted to come up with some date, some occasion to see him in it. The color would go perfectly with his current blond locks he had gotten lightened even a shade brighter during his last visit to the hairdressers. That he was going to give Yunho before he went back home for the holidays, as there was a good chance he might have a reason to wear it then. As long as he brought it back home, since Mingi was dying to take him out in it with their girl.

Before long the house was really ready for guests and for more studying. She pulled out a few more candles and put them on the dining room table to light when people went there to eat or study, whatever might be needed. They had been concentrating the light in the living room, with a few candles around the room and a couple of wall sconces lit that she happened to have. They were remarkably good at lighting the room with their mirrored backs and high hanging light. She had bought them because she liked them, not knowing they would come to be genuinely useful and not just frivolous pretty things she just enjoyed having. 

A little after eight, Hong Joong arrived at their door with a heavy bag in tow behind him, packed with school things, clothes, food, and other useful supplies he thought he could provide. He came into the house, grateful to be in the warmth again after battling icy sidewalks and freshly falling snow that was now coming down. It took him a moment after he took off his coat to take in the room he had entered. The whole place just oozed cozy warmth with its cheery decoration and surprising brightness given that he had been making due with a hanging flashlight.

“Wow,” was all he said when he looked up, taking it all in.

“Welcome to our home,” she greeted him with a hug, helping him take his things into the room. “Is there anything that needs to be kept cold in your stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” he shook his head, bringing himself back to the moment. “This stuff here is perishable.” He pulled out a bag with cheese, milk, meat, condiments, and a few other odds and ends he had that he and Hwa had decided he should take to be useful. “I also have this stuff that needs to be cooked but doesn’t need to be kept cold,” he said, passing a bigger bag to Mingi, who was standing nearby. “I think Hwa and Yeo are going to bring more but this is what I was tasked with bringing.”

“Thank you and make yourself at home,” She said, walking off to put the perishables in the makeshift fridge. “You can take one of the boys’ rooms. The beds have been made. You can leave your stuff in there and pick a place to study. We can do something about food when everyone gets here.”

“You guys are lifesavers,” Hong Joong said as he dragged his bag back towards the bedrooms.

It didn’t take long for Seonghwa and Yeosang to arrive at their front door, laden with food and other things they needed to study and make their place home for a short time. Seonghwa looked like he was ready to cry when he saw the cozy and welcoming interior of their house. After having faced the possibility of having the stress of studying in the dark with bad food, the relief was fresh and sharp.

“I am going to be in your debt for eternity,” he said, dropping his things near the door and drawing a slightly surprised Mingi into a tight hug.

“You’re welcome,” Mingi replied with an amused laugh and a gummy smile.

“This place is really nice,” Yeosang said, taking everything in with a slow scan of the room. “You even have a fireplace...wow.”

“You can put yourselves in the room that Hongjoong didn’t take,” Yunho instructed. “Is there food we need to deal with?”

“Yes but don’t worry about it,” Seonghwa picked up their other things and prepared to take things to the bedrooms. “Let me put things away and then I am going to deal with food. Where am I…” Yunho pointed down the hall and the two boys happily made their way back to take the unoccupied room. They re-emerged from down the hall with Seonghwa’s arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder and one of Yeosang’s slung loosely around his waist in return. Hong Joong appeared behind them, his arms laden with study material.

“Okay,” Seonghwa gave Yeosang a kiss on the side of his head before heading to get the food things he had left near the door. “Show me the kitchen.” Yunho gave an amused chuckle and led him through the wide doors that opened into the kitchen. Seonghwa looked like he was tempted to hug the stove when he laid eyes on it. He was almost in despair at the idea of not having ‘real�� food between now and finals. He instead settled for hugging Yunho again before he set about pulling everything out he had brought so that it could be organized and put away. Yeosang helped to gather the things to be put into the cold as Seonghwa decided what to cook for everyone.

“Is beef stew okay for everyone?” He asked after having taken stock of all the ingredients. Everyone gave affirmative answers and Seonghwa set to work preparing everything to go into the dinner. Yeosang wandered into the kitchen to help and she joined them shortly thereafter, making quick work of the chopping, peeling, and the searing. Soon, all that was left was the hour or so everything needed to simmer in the large pot.

With dinner sorted, everyone settled in around the living room with their books and notes to study. She settled in near the fireplace next to Yunho and Mingi, wrapping herself in a blanket as she pulled out the psych final she had decided to work on first. Yeosang and Seonghwa settled themselves on the smaller loveseat, Yeosang tucked in between his boyfriend’s spread legs as they both studied from large textbooks. Hong Joong stretched out on the couch, his head near the end where Yunho was seated near the fireplace, allowing him to poke at him occasionally as they both studied the material for their final.

By the time dinner was declared done by an ecstatically happy Seonghwa, everyone was ready to take a break from their studying. They served the stew in whatever dishes worked, not having quite enough bowls to go around. She and Hong Joong made do with a couple of large mugs, which were actually much easier to carry into the living room than the bowls. With the plentiful light and warm atmosphere, they decided it was the best place to eat.

“How many finals do you have?” Yeosang asked the room in general as he took a bite of the delicious stew.

“Three,” Mingi replied. “But only one has to be done on campus. The rest were changed to take home stuff given the circumstances.”

“I have four, but they are all take home,” she followed up. “I’m just hoping I can get them all done before we drive home for the holidays.”

“Oh that’s right,” Seonghwa waved his spoon in the direction of the trio. “You guys all came from the same place, didn’t you? Are your families all friends or something?”

“Sort of,” Yunho scrunched up his face a little as he rolled the explanation around in his mind. “They all know each other, but mostly because we know each other, not the other way around.”

“So then how did you all meet,” Yeosang asked as he leaned against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Mingi threw us all in the water at summer camp.” Yunho said with a wide grin, successfully eliciting the reaction he hoped from the other boy.

“Hey,” Mingi objected, putting one hand on his hip as he spoke. “I did not...okay I sort of did. But it wasn’t like it sounds.”

“He got better with the canoes,” she noted with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Especially when there wasn’t the threat of ducks.”

“Come on,” Mingi pursed his lips and grumped at the two of them.

“Imagine if you hadn’t,” Yunho reached out to him, stroking his cheek softly. “Our girl might be with San and...well...we would probably be alone or something. Oof, not a pleasant thought really.”

“I guess we really owe those ducks,” she joked, falling into peels of laughter at the thought. Beside her Mingi huffed, pulling her into his lap for a kiss that ate her laughter. Yunho scooted over, wrapping his arms around both of them with the warmest expression on his face. 

“I think you had to be there,” Yeosang faux whispered to his boyfriend, causing him to give a snort of laughter and slap his shoulder playfully.

“I am so single…” Hong Joong sighed, his eyes looking between the two couples who were there in front of him. He tucked into his soup with a shake of his head, glad to be there but also wishing he had someone to bring with him, like his roommate did. Seonghwa glowed when he was around Yeosang, or Sangie, as he often called him, getting groans and eyerolls from those near enough to hear it. He and Hwa had met in a dance class together last year and the two had been nearly inseparable since then.

They finished the stew and Hong Joong, Yunho and Mingi volunteered for dish duty since they hadn’t helped with cooking. Even though it was nearing 11 at that point, most of them wanted to press on with studying.

“Hey love, can you bring in the big bottle of cider?” Yunho asked Mingi as they finished the dishes. Mingi nodded and headed to the porch to bring in the gallon bottle of cider they had bought a few days ago. While Mingi retrieved that, Yunho scoured the cabinets to find the packet of mulling spices they had somewhere.

“Here you go,” Mingi set the heavy glass bottle on the counter, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Yunho’s neck, causing the other boy to blush and giggle. “What are you making?”

“I thought some cider would be good as a sort of desert,” Yunho shrugged.

“Mmmm, good idea,” Mingi moved to hug him from behind, tucking his head in on Yunho’s shoulder as he watched him work. “Warm and cozy.”

“It’s kind of fun having everyone here,” Yunho noted as he lit the burner under the pan. “Don’t you think?”

“Mmm,” Mingi agreed. “It’s more fun than just studying alone would have been. And Seonghwa can cook; that stew was delicious.”

“Maybe we can have them over more often,” Yunho suggested, swaying in the arms of the other boy.

“Sometimes,” Mingi agreed. “I still want time just with the two of you.”

“Of course,” Yunho turned his head and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Time with you is the best part of my day.”

“Yeah?” Mingi asked shyly, flashing him a gummy grin. Yunho made a mhmm sound and moved to put his arms around his shoulders and took his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

“Awww, am I missing all the fun?” She teased as she joined them in the kitchen, having come to see what had been keeping them since the dishes were done.

“Yes,” Mingi teased, looking at her over his shoulder, not letting go of the man in his arms.

“Poor me,” she pretended to pout. “Good thing I came to check, I suppose.”

“Come here,” Yunho beckoned, pulling slightly out of Mingi’s arms, enough to lift her onto the counter next to them. Mingi took her lips and Yunho nibbled down along the side of her neck below her ear. She gave a moaning giggle into Mingi’s mouth, shivering at the tickling sensation being sent through her.

The hiss of the cider starting to simmer in the pan brought them apart. They portioned the cider into mugs and took them out to the others in the living room. Hong Joong took his mug in his hands, clasping it joyfully and breathing in the fallish scent with a contented grin.

“I forgot how good this stuff could be,” he sighed.  “I swear I haven’t had this in years and I don’t know why.”

“Mmmm,” Seonghwa hummed happily in agreement. “I am loving this all but I am starting to get tired. I think I am going to have to shower and get ready for bed after this. I am pretty sure that the words are just passing through my brain and leaving no mark at this point.”

“Well we have showers and hot water,” she offered. “We even have a nice bathtub if you want to use it.”

“Oh man, it has been so long since I had a bath,” Seonghwa sighed.

“You and Yeo could, uh, share it,” Yunho suggested. “It’s big enough for two if you want to relax a little before you head to sleep.”

“Really?” Seonghwa sat up straighter and sent a look to his boyfriend. It had been a while since they had a place to relax together that wasn’t one of their dorm rooms when their roommates happened to be out.

“If Mingi and I can fit in it, you two should be just fine.” Yunho chucked. “I’ll show you where it is.”

Seonghwa hopped up, taking Yeosang by the hand, and followed Yunho down the hall. They made their way through the shared bedroom to the master bathroom, candles in hand. Yunho pulled out a couple of towels for them and showed them where they kept the bath bombs and scented oils they used in the bath. They thanked him for the help and for the accommodations and let him go on his way. Seonghwa started the bath while Yeosang got their toothbrushes and pajamas from their room for them to change into when they were clean and ready to go to sleep.

The candle light danced off the pale tiles and glinted off the chrome fixtures. The room was warm and cozy as snow fell outside the small distorted window high up on one wall. The sill had a growing line of snow that was building on it as it continued to fall, deafening the world around them. 

Seonghwa stripped his clothes off and slipped into the warm water he had scented with rose. The steam rose from the surface of the water, wafting the scent into the air with it. He shut off the water just before Yeosang returned, clothes and toiletries tucked under his arm. 

“Getting started without me,” he tsked, setting them down on the counter by the sink.

“Just making sure it is perfect,” Seonghwa retorted, sending him a tempting smile. He slid himself under the water, dampening his hair and face in the warm water. He stretched out his hand to his boyfriend, inviting him in with a hungry look through his damp eyelashes. “Come in, the water is fine.”

Yeosang smiled down at him as his hands went to the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting it off over his head. Seonghwa bit his lip as he looked at the smooth stretch of skin he exposed in the flickering light of the room. He could never get enough of him. His slim, muscular body, the soft ripple of his abs that ended in the softest wisp of a happy trail.

Yeosang loved the feel of Hwa’s eyes on him as he undressed. The way he looked at him made him feel like the sexist thing on the planet. There was always a fire in them; an unsated thirst. He loved it, so he took his time as he slowly unfastened the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. His eyes watched the flash of emotions that crossed Seonghwa’s face as he languidly slid his pants and underwear past his hips and thighs before letting them drop and stepping out of them.

He walked over to the tub and slid into the water, sitting himself on Seonghwa’s waiting lap, looping his arms around his boyfriend's broad shoulders. The water lapped lightly around their chests, filling the near silence of the room. Yeosang let his gaze meet Seonghwa’s with an unbroken intensity, not needing words to tell him how much he wanted him.

Seonghwa leaned forward letting his hands reach up from behind to hold Yeosang���s shoulders as he pressed a kiss to his chest. His lips brushed along the soft skin, feeling their way over the lean muscles of his pecs and up to his collarbone.

“It’s been too long,” Seonghwa whispered against him as Yeosang let his head fall back, allowing his lover more access.

“It’s only been a week,” Yeosang gave a breathy chuckle as he felt the other boy’s lips follow the line of his pulse up the side of his neck.

“That doesn’t count,” Seonghwa protested, one hand traveling up to tangle in the soft blond locks of Yeosang’s hair.

“Oh?” He asked breathlessly.

“Sneaking something in during the twenty minutes it takes for Hongjoong to go get something to eat from downstairs definitely doesn’t count,” Seonghwa clarified sternly, before nipping the soft skin just below Yeosang’s ear.

“I thought you liked the thrill of maybe getting caught,” Yeosang teased. “The possibility of someone seeing you fall apart with just my hand down your pants.”

“Maybe a little,” Seonghwa admitted, his lips quirking into a half smile. “But how could I have said no with all that teasing you were doing all day. Sitting in my lap and grinding your wonderful little ass on me every time you knew someone wouldn’t catch you. Ugh, tease.”

“Like you were any better,” Yeosang pointed out, his hands moving to splay over Seonghwa’s chest. “Slipping your hand in my pocket. You knew that hole was there before you did it, too.”

“That will teach you to put off fixing holes in your clothes,” Seonghwa laughed before bringing Yeosangs lips down to his. Their kiss began as a slow, sensual exploration of their mouths that slowly became more heated as Yeosang pressed Hwa’s head back. He raised himself slightly onto his knees until he loomed over him, leaving Seonghwa breathless and at his mercy.

Yeosang pulled back from the kiss and looked down at the wanton face of his boyfriend. He loved seeing him like this. His assertion that what they had gotten in last week ‘didn’t count’ was pretty fair he decided. A quick shared handjob they could sneak in with the risk of getting caught might be fun, but he loved to see the pleasure dazed face he could bring to him even before he really touched him. He loved taking his time with him, tasting the saltiness of his skin and the sweet flavor of his lips.

“Can I make love to you tonight?” Yeosang asked, kissing his way across Seonghwa’s beautifully high cheekbones.

“Make love to me now,” Seonghwa urged.

“Here?” Yeosang gave a low chuckle. “In someone else’s bathroom?”

“Turnabout is fair play,” He snorted, thinking of the first time he had met those three.

“Mmmm, true,” Yeo admitted, letting one hand sink down to brush the pad of his thumb over the tip of Hwa’s growing erection. “Switch places with me?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa nodded and twisted himself to allow Yeo to sit with his back against the edge of the tub and move him into his lap. Hwa felt his boyfriend’s erection brush against his inner thigh as they switched places, sending a shiver through him. He loved when Yeo was inside him as much as he loved the times the roles were reversed. When he was in his lap, he could look down at that beautifully sculpted face with it’s perfectly symmetrical features. He would never get tired of those warm eyes looking up at him.

Hwa brought his face down to Yeo as he felt the other boy's hands slowly make their way down along his back to the curve of his ass. His fingers brushed over the muscles there, enjoying their softness as he gave them a quick squeeze. With excruciating slowness, he moved the tip on one finger to brush over the pucker of muscle nestled between the soft cheeks.

Hwa let out a sigh and ground himself forward at the sensation of the tentative touch. He knew it wasn’t reluctance that slowed the touch of his lover, but the enjoyment he got from drawing out the moment; from the pleasure he caused with his teasing. When they had the time, there was nothing Yeosang loved more than bringing Hwa near to tears with his teasing before he would take him; waiting for that moment of desperation at his teasing before he would do as he asked. Seeing the hunger and desire twist his features into a mask of craving always gave Yeosang that pang of power and pleasure.

“Tell me how much you want me,” Yeo prompted, massaging Hwa’s entrance as he did.

“I need you in me tonight,” Hwa obliged, letting his desire be on full display as he spoke. “I need this moment this week. It’s been so hard and I just want a moment that is just you and just me.”

“I wish I could always take you into my arms like this,” Yeosang admitted as Hwa leaned in to brush his lips over his forehead. “I want to hold you as we go to sleep every night.”

“If only one of us didn’t have a roommate,” Hwa lamented with a sigh. Much as he loved Hong Joong as a friend, lately he had been wanting more space. He wanted privacy and the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted.

“Maybe next year we can get our own place, like this one,” Yeosang proposed as he finally pushed one finger inside.

“You want to live with me?” Hwa gave a shuddering sigh and let his head fall slightly back at the sensation.

“Yeah, I want to be with you more,” Yeosang conceded. “I’d love to be with you every night and make love to you in the morning.”

“That sounds like heaven,” Hwa smiled and pressed his lips to Yeosangs.

“Is that a yes,” Yeo questioned, broadening the circles he was making as he worked Hwa’s body open for his entry.

“Yes,” Seonghwa nodded, cupping Yeosangs cheeks in his wet hands and kissing him more deeply. Their tongues battled slowly as Yeosang worked another finger in, then scissored gently to make sure his lover's body was ready for him. 

When Hwa whined with need, Yeosang finally sunk down slightly more in the water and positioned himself to enter Hwa. He let the other boy work himself down his length, going as fast or as slow as he wanted as he took him in. When he was finally all the way down, Hwa let out a breath he had been holding, relishing the sensation of Yeo so deep inside him.

“Fuck, you always feel so good around me,” Yeosang groaned, his hands coming to grip the other boy’s narrow hips.

“I love the way you fill me,” Hwa returned, gripping the sides of the tub for leverage as he prepared to move. He threw his head back and arched as he slowly began to move himself up and down. Yeosang could only admire the smooth, broad expanse of his lover's chest as he moved. In the candlelight he looked divine, droplets of water sparkling over his skin as they dripped down its smoothness. 

“Have I told you today that you are beautiful?” Yeo breathed quietly.

“Next to you, I hardly compare,” Seonghwa leaned in to press his forehead to the other boys, slightly increasing his speed as he moved himself up and down his length. Yeosang’s hand went to encircle the turgid length of Hwa’s erection wanting to bring him as much pleasure as he could.

Hwa’s movements stuttered at the increased sensation, he shuddered and let out a little moan. “Do you think you’ll last longer than me if you do that,” He challenged, his eyes locking on Yeo’s hungrily as he continued to move.

“Yeah I think you’ll come first,” Yeo set his chin with an angle of defiance as he looked up a Hwa with hooded eyes.

“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we,” Hwa breathed, moving faster and taking him as deeply as he could. The room was filled with the sound of their breathing and the sloshing of the water around them. It was a battle of wills between them and there would be no losers. They both threw themselves into the sensations of pleasure, both the giving and the taking. For the moment there was no one else, nothing else. They were the pleasure and the tension itself.

“I think you’re going to win,” Hwa shuddered, his knuckles going white with the strength of his grip on the curved edges of the tub.

“Then cum for me,” Yeosang demanded with a soft confidence as he expertly moved his hand over Hwa in the way he knew he loved. He watched Hwa’s face with rapt attention as his face and body contorted with the almost painful rise of pleasure he was riding. When his orgasm hit, he paused in his movements, half collapsing forward as his arms and legs quivered from pleasure and exertion. He let out a broken moan, his head lolling forward as he lost himself in the sensation and burst of peaceful satisfaction that filled him up as it passed.

“Can I…” Yeosang asked for permission to move. Seonghwa nodded and braced himself as he tried to catch his breath. Yeo gripped his hips harder and thrust himself up into Hwa as his muscles fluttered around him. He was close and it had been a near race to their finish. It only took a few minutes of his enthusiastic thrusts for him to find his own pleasure, emptying himself into Hwa’s body, loving the way it held him in its warm depths as waves of pleasure rode him.

Seonghwa pressed his lips to the corner of Yeosang’s mouth as he panted, lying limp in the bath beneath him. He looked so beautiful, damp and exhausted by pleasure.

“We definitely need a place with a bathtub.” Seonghwa said as he held Yeo’s face between his hands, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones, leaving droplets of water in their wake.

“Liked this that much, did you,” Yeosang let out a tired scoff and cracked one eye open.

“If I had known you looked this good wet,” Seonghwa joked. “I would have gotten you into a shower or tub months ago.”

“See, you promise that now,” Yeosang gave a dramatic sigh, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “But watch us move in together and have you get bored of me since you can have me anytime you want.”

“Please,” Seonghwa scoffed, and smacked Yeosang’s chest lightly. “As if I would be so fickle.”

“Promise?” Yeosang smiled up at him, pushing a lock of hair off the other boy’s forehead.

“Cross my heart,” he captured the hand as it was pulling away and pressed a kiss to the palm.

They stayed sitting in the cooling water for another couple of moments before Hwa felt strong enough, in both body and spirit, to lift himself off of Yeosang. They both shivered as they finally separated, Hwa giving an unsteady giggle at the sensation. He was able to get himself out of the water, pulling one of the towels off the rack and wrapping it around himself. Yeosang followed, taking the other towel before he pulled the plug on the drain, allowing the water to slowly be siphoned away.

“I think we were a little vigorous,” Seonghwa laughed, feeling the slight puddle on the tiles under their feet.

“Too much water,” Yeosang agreed, dropping the towel he had used on the floor to soak up the water now that he was mostly dry. Seonghwa pulled his pajamas on and hung up his towel to dry and Yeosang did the same when he was satisfied with his sopping up of their little puddle. They brushed their teeth and gathered their dirty clothes under their arms, ready to go to sleep.

They made their way out to the living room, after dropping their things in the room on the way, and bid everyone good night after getting glasses of water from the kitchen. Sex could be very thirsty work. Hand in hand, they padded back down the hall to the room they would occupy during their stay. Crawling in under the covers, Seonghwa curled around the body of the other boy, happily tucking himself along Yeosang from the back.

“Whose room is this, anyway?” Yeosang asked as he laced his fingers with Seonghwa’s where they held him around the waist.

“Mingi’s I think,” Seonghwa replied.

“How many nights do you think he has actually spent in here,” humor danced in Yeosang’s voice as he asked the question.

“Not many,” Seonghwa admitted with a laugh.

“Lucky guy, isn’t he?” Yeosang observed as he closed his eyes with a yawn.

“Not as lucky as me,” Seonghwa muttered as he buried his nose in Yeosang’s neck. Sleep claimed them quickly as the rest of the house also moved to settle in for the night. Outside snow continued to fall, but inside the house was warm and cozy with each room filled with love and contentment. 

[skinks]

mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

[g-w-3-d-damn]

Tricky Treats and Torture Candy (Loki’s Naughty Candy Shop)  Part 1

She stepped over the cracks in the drab concrete, application and resume in hand.  She printed it on plain white nondescript paper.  In the overcast sun, the faded gray streetlamps granted no light to the cramped shaded alley.  Disrepair and neglect crept to the storefront of the Tricky Treats candy store.

She thought, the Tricky Treats Candy Store?  When did that get there?

Her shoulders slumped.  She'd addressed her cover letter and filled out an application for the Torture Candy Sex Shop.  She'd passed the shop on several nights, spotted a Now Hiring sign, googled it, and found her way here.  A similar 'now hiring' sign hung between the brightly colored candy striped pillars of the flamboyant storefront.  In the window, a rainbow assortment of delights awaited purchase; colored spiral pops in purple and pink, orange caps atop magenta bottles, green candy canes, flowers of white icing atop violet petals dotted with tiny red berries their center, plus an oceanwave-like poof of cotton candies dyed blue and spun before a curtain of red Twizzlers all stood in stark contrast against the outside world full of ashen, cracked streets and the chipped, faded paints of the alley walls.  

A bit of her reflection in the glass showed a childlike happiness, a glitter in her eyes at the vision of sweets.  Upon seeing this reflection, she straightened her shoulders and pursed her lips as if to say Happy doesn't look right on me... Ugh, they'll probably force me to smile at this job.  She sighed to herself and entered the store to apply.  The job would not involve sales for the toys she loved, but she figured that at least if they hired her, she would not starve.

So she stepped across the threshold of flamboyancy and into the Tricky Treats Candy Shop, Home of the Trickster's Delight™.

Inside, pinatas of all sorts imaginable hung from the railing of the stairs to the loft, and along the loft railing as well.  A gilded sign and a red velvet rope across the stairs signified that the upstairs area was reserved for employees, only.  A large urn filled with decorated sticks advertized the various prices for the pinatas on display; the sticks were sold separately, and each stick did match a pinata above. Clear jars of candies assorted by color lined a rainbow wall.  A sickeningly pink frilly apron hung upon a coat rack near the door. Sunlight streamed in through the window and highlighted the stacks of Heart Shaped Boxes in various states of decorative gaudiness.  One heart shaped box laid open upon the workspace counter.

The workspace consisted of a reflective epoxy countertop which held an old-timey cash register and a large gumball machine, its globe filled with jawbreakers.  Behind this counter sat a workbench, above which sat shelves of mysterious gift-wrapped product.  An ornate four-tiered cascading chocolate fountain was anchored into the edge of the workbench.  Price tags cut in little squares in pastel colors, some underlined red to denote a sale, marked the shelf under each well-organized line of colorful products.  The products were eclectic in their design; A line of ceramic jars whose lids were replaced with white cloth were tied tight with red hemp.  Tubs and boxes were wrapped in colorful papers and tied tight with hemp or ribbon. Stacks of round, peach colored tins with gold etched in bevels joined gold boxes with red lacquered strawberries on the shelves.  White paper packages with lavender and sky blue labels sat on the shelves above a set of cabinet doors with brass handles.  The thin, babyfaced man behind the counter left this cabinet door ajar, which gave her a glimpse at the rolls of tissue paper and ribbon and wrapping supplies within.  The man snipped a bit of gaudy ribbon, neon orange with a magenta stripe down it's center.  He slipped the ribbon between his elegant pale thumb and the edge of his sharp silver scissors, and pulled.  The ribbon hissed as it slipped between the pad of this thumb and the bladed edge, and curled beautifully at the end of the scrape.  He wound this ribbon onto an equally gaudy heart shaped box before the tiny bell above the door jingled and caused him to look up at her.  She wondered why the bell failed to jingle when she first arrived.  Little did she know, he wondered the same thing.

“My apologies,” he said, “I didn't hear you come in, may I help you find something?”

“I'm... looking for a job if you know where I can find one of those,” she said.

“A jo- Oh, right, the hiring sign,” he said.

He sighed as if he wished someone else he knew would have applied for the job sooner.

“Well,” he said, “let me see your application.  You did bring one, yes?”

“Yes, but um, it was for, hey wait!” she said.

He plucked the papers out of her hand and read over them.  And as he read, his smirk grew.

“Okay dude, look, I was looking for this other place, google said it was right here, and here it isn't, but I still need a job, so-”

“I can't accept this application,” he said.

“Is it because it's for the other place?” she asked.

“What other place?” he asked.

“You know, the sex shop?” she said.

“Oh, no the sex shop is not a problem.  Why would the sex shop be a problem?” he asked.

“I mean, it's not a problem, that's the job I wanted,” she said.

“Hmm. Anyway, I'm afraid I can't accept an application without a name on it,” he said.

“Excuse me?” She said.

He turned the application around to reveal the fields for a first and last name were both blank.  The sight took her aback.  She knew she wrote her name on the application, it was the first thing she did after printing it out.

“Oh, well, I have a pen, may I have the application back and I'll scribble that information in,” she suggested.

“You know it's quite unprofessional, to give an application, resume, and cover letter, all without a name,” he chuckled.

“Quit messin' with me,” she said.

He turned around her resume and cover letter.  Where she had once printed her name in the header in large font capital letters, nothing had printed.  At the end of her cover letter, the last word was “Regards,” without a name written afterwards.  She wondered if she was dreaming, or if she'd had a seizure or stroke at an early age.

“You know, if you don't want them knowing your real name at the sex shop, you can use a fake name,” he suggested.

“Uh, I don't mind if they know my real name,” she said, “they kinda need that for tax purposes, right?”

“Not really.  Do you perhaps have a stripper name?”

“A what?”

“A stripper name.  A street name?  A … sex toy worker name?  Hell, even a tumblr username?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Because we have to put something on this application before you can turn it into the sex shop, and your real name just won't do,” he said, “So, what would you like to be called.... Miss?”

“Communication is usually my strong suit, I apologize, let me just think-”

“Miss Communication, it is, then,” Loki said.

He scribbled Miss Communication on her application.

“Uh...” she stammered.

“Mind if I call you Miss Cum, for short?” He asked.

She burst out laughing.

“Sure, that's fine, just put down whatever you think will land me the job,” she said.

She reached her hand out to him, with the intent of shaking hands.

“So Hi, I'm Miss Communication!  Apparently, I answer to Miss, or Come. What's your name?” she asked.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles gently.

“Loki,” he said.

The magic bell tinkled frantically.  Loki looked past Miss' shoulder and squeezed her fingertips in excitement.

“And here comes our most important customer!” he whispered.

He dropped her hand, stood up straight, and brushed his hair back over his ears.  Miss turned, but saw no one in the shop.  

“Quick, hide yourself,” Loki said.

“Eh, what?” she said.  

Loki pulled her behind the counter and pressed for her to stay down.  A shadow passed over the door, and in walked a tall, broad shouldered man with long thick hair and ice blue eyes.  He greeted Loki with a thunderous voice.

“Hello again!” the man said!

“Ah, Thor! Welcome back!  How are you today?”

“I'm well!  Thank you for asking,” Thor said.

Miss peeked over the counter.  She lost the will to hide upon seeing the tan muscular man's broad smile.

“Holy shit,” she said as she popped up from behind the counter.

“Oh, hello!” Thor said.

Loki cleared his throat.

“Thor, this is Miss, Miss, Thor.  Miss, could you go run the IC inventory in the stockroom for me?” Loki said.

“Hi,” Miss said to Thor.

Under the counter, Loki pushed her away from them.

“Get lost, I have work to do,” Loki muttered.

“Uh huh,” Miss said.

Thor smiled, looked at his feet and scoffed to himself.  He looked back to the pair, locked eyes with Miss, and spoke eagerly.

“So I came by to pick up something special for my girlfriend,” he said.

Miss' jaw tightened in pained disappointment as Thor emphasized the word girlfriend, however, she retained her goofy grin.  Thor turned his attention onto Loki.

“And I just knew you'd have something amazing for me to give her,” Thor said.

“Well, I was just working on something amazing, but it's not quite done yet!” Loki said.

Loki waved his elegant hand over the gaudy heart-shaped box with the crazy magenta striped neon orange ribbon.

“Perfect! I have some time, is it a bother if I stay?  I love to watch you work,” Thor crooned.

“I vote stay,” Miss said.

Loki, blushing from the compliment, elbowed her.  He gave her a look that both silenced and comforted her.  His look was one part “you're in no trouble, but play along,” and one part “let me handle this, I've got a plan.”

“Of course it's no bother!” Loki said to Thor.

To Miss, he whispered, “keep quiet or you're fired before you even fill out the w-4.”

Loki cleared his throat and returned to work.

“Trainees,” he scoffed, “am I right?”

Loki curled another ribbon for the gaudy heart-shaped box.  He selected a cardboard insert for the box and lined it with an azure tissue paper. He side-eyed Miss as he took a gold tin with enamel cherries inlaid from the freezer.  Miss looked at Thor.  Thor beamed, concentrated on everything Loki did.  Miss turned her attention to Loki.  He removed a small red fruit, a cherry.  The neglected cherry pitter rested on a hook on a pegboard near the fountain.  He dipped the cherry, pit and all, into the fountain by the stem, and sat it upon a tiny circle of pinkish paper.  After repeating this process six more times, he reached for a shaker full of sprinkles.  Miss watched as his hand glided past the sprinkles and to what appeared to be a shaker of crushed red pepper.  He shook out an even coating of the pepper, then reached for a pippete bag, filled with a hot pink icing.  He wound the stem in spiral of this icing and wrapped these six up.  He transferred them to six out of the thirteen divots in the cardboard spacer.  He then prepared to make six more, but as Miss squinted, she noticed that whatever fruit he pulled did not look like a ripe cherry.  This fruit looked wrinkled.  As he pulled the next one, she spotted it clearly; these were carolina reapers.

Miss's eyes widened and she looked at Thor to see if he noticed.  He had the exact same studious, unchanged beaming smile on his face as when Loki first began his work.  Reapers dipped, iced, and wrapped up, six more filled the divots.  Loki pulled a special clear plastic container from the stainless steel refrigerator.  Inside, a piece that looked like an ornate corsage shone through with pearlescent violet petals and dewdrops crafted with boiled sugar glaze.  Loki uncovered the artisenal confection, scooped it into the center of the heart-shaped box.  Thor beamed.

“Beautiful,” Thor said.

“Thank you for the compliment, I am glad you enjoy it!” Loki said.

He closed up the box and sealed it with the gaudy neon ribbon.  Thor took out his wallet, handed Loki some bills, received his change and left with a polite wave to Miss.  She watched his sculpted ass as he left.  As the magic bell tinkled to denote his exit, Miss turned to Loki with her hand in the air.

“Fuck the hell yes!  Way to get my back with that mystery girlfriend, you are awesome!” she said.

“Your back?  I've been poisoning this mystery bitch for months, believe me, Miss, I am doing this all for myself,” he said.

“Wait, for clarity, you gay is good, you poisoning people is bad,” she said.

“Oh please, I never send her anything I wouldn't let him eat on accident. So no, it won't kill her, not that I haven't thought about it, but I want it to make her wish she was dead,” Loki said, “so at this point I've hit her with the hottest, foulest, nastiest flavoring I can find and she still won't fucking break up with him.”  

He slumped hopelessly against the counter and looked toward the door with longing.

“He must be absolutely incredible in the sack,” he said.

“Have you tried sending him back with, like, normal shit?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Like, normal, delicious chocolates, in a pretty box with a nice note,” she said.

“Why would I do that?” He asked.

“Because, I mean, he keeps bringing her what you send, doesn't that kinda mean she likes it?”

Loki sighed.

“You might be right.  He's a kinky bitch, I know that,” Loki said, “it's very possible she likes the suffering.”

“How do you know he's kinky?” Miss asked.

“Work here for a couple of weeks,” Loki said, “you'll understand real quick.”

“So, does that mean I got the job?” Miss asked.

“Can you start tonight?” Loki asked.

“Uh, I mean, I'm here, so, sure, I guess?” Miss asked.

“Then you're hired,” Loki said, “go put on that apron.”

She looked to the coat rack by the door, upon which the sickeningly pink frilly apron hung.  She looked back to his uniform, a striped shirt and black slacks and tie.

“I don't have to wear one if you don't,” she said.

“You're no fun,” he said.

“Look, if I'm really working here tonight, you should probably show me what I'm supposed to be doing,” she said. “Oh, you're working,” Loki said, “I was just about to take down the Now Hiring sign and lock up for the night.”

“Wait, if I'm working tonight, and you're locking up now, what am I supposed to do?”

“Training,” he said cryptically.

He walked out the door and tugged on the Now Hiring sign.  He turned the hanging Open signboard to Closed on his way back inside.  The neon open signs shut themselves off, and velvet curtains of deep violet descended over the windows to hide the treats within.

“Miss? I'll need you to stand over here, please,” Loki said.  

He gently held her by the wrist and guided her away from the workspace. The business cards on the cash register each jumped into the air and flipped, one by one.  Before the jump, each white card read “Tricky Treats Candy Shop, Home of the Trickster's Delight™!” in candyapple red ink.  After the flip, the black backside of each card contained candyapple red lettering which read “Torture Candy Sex Shop” and in much smaller letters below, “(Also the Home of the Trickster's Delight™)”.

“What the theoretical fuck,” she muttered.

“Oh dear, I'm afraid I'm not accustomed to having others in the shop for the transition,” he said, “please pardon me.”

Loki pulled her against his chest just as a squadron of sexy mannequins pranced past with boxes of gear.  She yelped as their chests collided.  He slid his hand to the small of her back and took her other hand in his.  He pushed his right toe between her feet, then kicked it out to step to the right, pushing her foot to the right in the process, causing her to step to the right along with him.

“Terribly sorry, try to keep the tip of your toes pointed towards mine, and if I push, you step back,” he said as he pushed her.

She stepped back.  A mannequin bolted behind Loki, hauling the hot, still cascading chocolate fountain.

“And if I pull you, you step forward,” he instructed.

His right foot stepped backward, so she stepped forward with her left, kept the toes of her left shoe pressed against the toe of his right. He pulled her, she stepped forward as he stepped back.  She collided against him as he stopped abruptly.  Mannequins shot by them on every side, and when he pushed her forward again his legs spread to take impossibly long steps.  She strained and reached backwards with her heels in an attempt to keep up with his wide gait.  The inner seams of their pants crossed paths and built friction between their legs as they waltzed among the chaos.  He pressed his back against the back of a bent mannequin, which lifted and swiveled to its left.  Loki swiveled to his left, kept their backsides together, and Miss twirled to the right to compensate.  The mannequin walked away and Loki swiveled again.  When Miss twirled herself into place, she felt her rump brush against the edge of the counter.

“Up,” he said.

He lifted on her waist, and she bounced up to sit on the counter.  He jumped up and straddled her lap with his knees on the countertop as a mannequin ran a swiffer broom beneath them.  She looked at him with a face full of uncertainty at the correctness of their intimate proximity.  Loki smirked.  His eyebrows darted up for a instant, as he pulled away from her face and pressed against her breastbone.

“Down,” he said.

He pushed her, and her back hit flat against the countertop, as he himself hopped down and ducked below the counter until his head sunk between her open thighs.  She could not see this, as her head hung free over the opposite edge of the counter. When she looked to the ceiling, just overhead, a metal bar containing many hangers full of lingerie swished over her.  She sat up to find Loki's smirking face still between her legs.  She pointed her finger right to the cute bridge of his pale nose.

“Not unpleasant, but not okay,” she said.

“I do hope you'll pardon the mess,” he replied, “things get a bit different in here come sundown, nothing looks the same after dark here.  Not even me.”

A lollipop tree swept over his head, over her lap, and her finger caught a clear red pop.  She caught it as it fell from the tree, before it could bonk Loki on the head.  She looked down at him.  His baby face appeared to age.  The smooth, porcelain skin grew a touch more loose and porous.  Parentheses like creases pressed themselves into the edges of his muzzle, crows feet imprinted at the corners of his intense eyes.  The kiss of age rendered him no less attractive, only different.  Miss lifted the gemlike red candy.

“Can I have this,” she asked.

He stood up, put his hands around her waist and drew her from the countertop.  He took the lollipop from her and flung her towards the entrance door, but kept hold of her hand as a line of mannequins ducked down and shuffled between them under their arms.  He lifted their hands and spun back into her arms.  While he spun, he dropped the lollipop back into a second mobile lollipop tree and withdrew a different, teddy bear shaped pop.  He unwrapped it and presented it to her.

“How about this one,” he said, “it's safer!”

“Sure,” she said.

She bit the head of the lollipop and closed her lips around its round waist.  A mannequin barreled toward the two of them.  Loki, wide eyed, silently asked for a little push.  Miss pushed him forward as she pushed herself back out of its path.  Her heel caught some unseen obstacle as she stepped back.  Loki wheeled to face her, grabbed her palm as she fell, yanked her towards him, spun her back into his arms.  She looked up at him wide eyed, and sucked down the cherry flavor from her teddy bear lolly.  The magic bell tinkled out an alarm.  The mannequin squad jumped, scrambled to their final positions.  Outside the last rays of sun disappeared behind the mountains.  The candies that were left on the shelves transformed into various adult novelties and sexy sundries.  The assorted candies in the stacked glass bowls became individually wrapped specialty condoms, energy pills, and single use lubricant packets.  Packets of Fruit Stripe Gum unwrapped themselves and reformed into striped edible underwear, as displayed on one previously nude mannequin. Packets of twizzlers unwound and tied themselves in intricate Japanese knots around a rope-bondage mannequin.  The long, twisted spiral lollies in the vase turned into pyrex wands.  Miss' wide eyed expression turned to one of concerned confusion as her teddy bear melted in her mouth to take the form of a small cherry red anal plug. As she continued to suck on this new-found pacifier, it provided the same cherry flavor.

“That one does look cute in you,” he said.

He stretched out a long, elegant finger and pressed the button on the butt of the plug.  It wobbled, then the edges of Miss' lips blurred as the vibrator whirred.  She pushed the button and it pulsed rapidly, pushed once more and it switched off.  She pulled the plug from her lips with a slurp and stared at it in suspicion.  Loki smirked at her, and each new wrinkle the sunset brought with it displayed itself upon his face.

“You seem shocked at the change,” Loki said.

“I'm just surprised that it's still cherry flavored, considering, y'know, where it usually goes,” she said.

She popped the plug back in her mouth and continued to suck on it.  Loki chuckled.

“You're going to have a lot to learn from my clientele, I can already tell.”

-------  #KristenMackWriter#@debellatis#@teck#@kingloptr#@ruleroftheworl#@adamcansuckme#@lady-loki-laufey#@godly-butt-touching#@toomanylokifeels#@timeasylum#@hailvady#@mangajuicexd#@sparkleslordofthunder

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