Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, graphic sexual situations, narcotics, slash

Disclaimer: All characters are mine. Stay away or I'll cut you.

Author's Note: zOMG! I know! Chapter eight! It took me over a year, I know, I'm horrible. But it was a year and a half that involved a lot of really intense shit going on in my life that forced me to put down my pen and paper (or laptop, as it would be). Starbucks stemmed all my creative juices, and now that I've quit I'm suddenly a flurry of activity, and I find myself able of writing Naomi again, though in a slightly different style, I guess. Things change, people change, I changed, but I'm finally ready to come back to this, because I have madly typing non-stop for the past two days. I apologize for the delays, and I feel horrible for disappearing. I will completely understand if I've lost fans because I deserve it. So, again, my apologies, and things will be going better now. All my love.


Well Smack My Ass and Call Me Sally


Chapter Eight: Conspiracy Theories


I think I plead obsession. With Jared's lips, that is. I mean, I don't know what it is about him: the way he tastes like chocolate and strawberries, or the way he bites his bottom lip, or the way he just exudes sex… I'm the donkey and he's the fucking carrot dangling on a stick in front of my fucking nose.

Obviously, I follow him. I have no fucking clue where we're going, no clue what I'm doing. It's like this weird gay autopilot that is giddily reminding me of all of Jared's positive attributes, which is pretty much everything about him. Life sucks. I think he has a voodoo doll, or something, hidden away somewhere and I swear to fucking god it's propped in front of porno, because I am just indescribably horny… Given it may be because Jared flashes me a look so life-shatteringly, intensely sexy that it's like he has my fucking dick on a string.

And really, I can't say I'm too happy about it. This is not me. At all. And it's only after I actually get into my car and take a deep breath that I'm thinking clearly again, or as clear as it gets for me. But even so, just seeing him on that bike of his… As I said, I have a thing, no, a THING for bikes.

It's the way he looks so hopeful as he flips the visor on his helmet down, or it's his eyes, lips, hair, hands, jacket… God knows fucking what. And I am gay. Obviously gay. In fucking love gay. Tearing at the closet door gay. Okay, maybe I'm over-exaggerating.

He's not perfect. Not beyond a physical sense. Jared is an asshole. Spell it, Trystan, spell it: a-s-s-h-o-l-e. Good boy.

A damned good-looking, seductive rat bastard that you want to fuck silly until your brain explodes. Admit it. And while I'm busy coming to terms with actually getting some ass and the enjoyableness of said ass, I'm still trying to force my hands into steering away from that sweet, yellow crotch rocket. Maybe stopping at a light, or taking a wrong turn, or just plain as hell fucking crashing into the next car to come to a complete stop at a sign. Fuck. But no, my hands refuse to move on command, it's like every nerve in my body is hyped up for more Jared touch, no, every iota of me is craving it, and my thoughts are the only ones still in limbo.

I want to do this. Really, really, really. I mean, no, I don't know what I mean. I know only concrete things, like: Jared is sexy, he's interested, I'm interested and I really shouldn't be following through with this. I want to punch him in the face (again) and then fuck like bunnies, and then punch him again, just for good measure. I also want to run away, as fast as I can, because goddammit, I have worked too hard, made too many sacrifices the past four years to do this at the drop of hat.


I figured it out.

He's a succubus, come to seduce me from the depths of Hell. My punishment for all my (many, many, many) sins. Seriously, I've only known him for four days. This is ridiculous. Which proves my theory, because I have never wanted anybody this much. Jared is a succubus. And I sound like badass extraordinaire Constantine. Who is secretly my hero. Because I am secretly obsessed with graphic novels.

Jesus fucking Christ. I'm an idiot, more than that, a raging, bloody idiot that needs to get smacked upside the head by his girlfriend. Just to remind me of what it is exactly that I am doing. Oh, also the fact that she does actually exist. And I mean, I guess I don't really mind cheating on her, not when we're better friends than lovers, and the sex blows. Okay, so it only blows for me because there's boobs and (eww) vagina involved. I don't even like saying that word. Grosses me out. Ugh. Full body shiver right there. I kind of wish someone else were here right now, just to stop me, shake some sense into me. Or maybe Jared's bike has a Land Rover tractor beam. The government wants to hire me for a special human-weapon-soldier program thing and he's been sent in to collect me while destroying my reputation so I would never want to return. And I thought the conspiracy theories were one of my many issues that therapy actually helped with. Oops.

In an attempt to distract myself from my obviously fucking rampant insanity, I actually look for once where we are going, and let me tell you, we are not in the best part of town. I mean, given the town is not very big and the 'filthy rich' part of town, which happens to hold my home as well, is made up of about forty houses (on like seventy billion acres, or some shit). Fuck, what I mean is we're practically in the boonies; well, I guess they're not really boonies, or projects or any of that, just fucking run down trailers overgrown with dying weeds and foxtails. And because I am a snobbish rich boy with attitude problems, I hate this place. Also because it offends my delicate fucking sensibilities. Either way, I'm grabbing my phone and dialing Jared, because I am pissed that we are here and he seems to be slowing down. Fuck that.


"I swear to fucking god, Jared, if this is your idea of private, I will tear your throat out with my teeth, because half the people here will be drooling through their screen doors, and we'll probably get mauled by underfed, vicious, rabies infested dogs that will then proceed to drag our bones across the town and then everyone will know that I died during a tryst with a guy, because they can tell from DNA, and then my parents will be chased from town with pitchforks and torches and will die of starvation in the deserted fields that surround us…"

Okay, A) I am paranoid, B) I can't keep talking because I said that all on one breath and smoking never did me any good and C) there is only silence on Jared's end of the line before he bursts into laughter and nearly wrecks his bike on a rusted carcass that may have been a car at one point, but now sits on blocks of cement and practically has a fucking tree growing through the floor. Oh! And D) have I mentioned I do not take well to being laughed at?

Next thing I know, I am leaping (like a beautifully graceful tiger) out of my car and punching him in the jaw. But the little bastard has learned, and he punches me back. Hard. Pay back, instinct, or self-defense, I don't know which, but the fucker packs a strong blow; also, I am not expecting it, and I end up winded and a little dazed (hey, give me a break, it's been a while since I've taken a punch like that), my lip bleeding, sprawled in the muddy gutter. And I don't know when it happens, exactly, but Jared is straddling my waist and holding my arms down above my head. It's kind of sexy, if it weren't for the fact that I am furious, hissing and spitting like an angry cat dumped in the bathtub, writhing for freedom like a bronco at the rodeo.

Not fucking fair. Jared weighs a fucking ton and he's stronger than me. He's got this pissed off smirk on his face that I want to take an axe to, or kiss; my mind is still torn in half on that one. And you know how people usually calm down when they see they can't win? Yeah… I don't. Jared is making me angrier, and I swear there's people at the doors already, mutated, cousin-kissing freaks. The asshole thinks he's got me. Ha, fat chance. It takes a moment, but I manage to latch on to something with my teeth. I never said I don't fight dirty. But my mouth is now full of t-shirt and what feels like…


Pierced nipple.

In teeth.

God that's sexy.

Brain. Shutting. Down. I think I just spontaneously combusted.

And that asshole, he knows he's got me now, fucking bastard. I guess it gets the reaction I wanted, because he lets go of my wrists; but even knowing that he's got his nipples pierced isn't going to stop me, I feel cornered, trapped and enraged, because he should tell me stuff like this. Really, I would be totally fine with, "Hey, I'm Jared, I think you're hot. Oh, by the way, I ride a motorcycle and I've got my nipples pierced," as an introduction. I really would. A-okay. Bloody fucking brilliant. I'd still punch him in the face, but it would be a sign of my love, not anger.

He looks surprised and fucking mildly amused when I manage to shove him off me and scramble away, mostly in a mad rush to hide a semi, but that's not the point at all. I'm seething, and ready to tear him another asshole, and my jaw fucking hurts. Okay, so I deserve it, that's not the point either. I hate losing. Really, really hate losing; as in scaring people into letting me win, hate losing. Fuck, I know he's taller than me, and probably has more muscle, but usually my ferocity gets me through. Could have told me, then I wouldn't have gone for the nipple. Ugh, asshole.

"Hey, Trystan…"

At least he has the decency to sound apologetic.

Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.

That's all I'm doing. Mr. Cranky, yup, that's me! Also, I really like the word 'grumble.'

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, you're right, I'm really not."

Oh my god, some honesty, for once. This is as big a shock as they come. I'm fucking amazed, enough to glower at him over my shoulder. I swear, I could turn people to dust with this one, but Jared is still stubborn as hell, and he stands there as if he doesn't feel the high power lasers coming out of my eyes.

"I don't like being laughed at. Or losing. Or random new guys not telling me they ride a motorcycle and have their nipples pierced! You just don't fucking withhold information like that! Asshole."

So back to grumbling, I guess. And I can tell he's trying not to laugh again, but I'm just tired, the residue of my raging hangover this morning tugging at my mind and all the stress of the last twenty four hours dropping on me all at once. Fuck. All I want to do is go home and sleep it all off, and then stay in my room until the weekend being generally pissed off at the world. But I guess I've already gotten myself into this mess, better go through with it. Though I'm glad there was something to sober me up and pull me out of that stupid stupor I was in the entire way over here.

"Look, why are we in the trailer park anyway? I hate this fucking place."

"We were just passing through, you dumb shit."

"The fucking road doesn't go anywhere, douche bag."

"You sure?"

Theory number one: Jared is a succubus.

Theory number two: Jared is a government agent.

And now theory number three: Jared is a faerie, and he lives in a commune underneath the fields; it is time for him to find a mate and he has come to kidnap me.

And as I start to follow him again I realize that all three of them are bullshit, because the road through the trailer park, covered with broken beer bottles, cracks in the cement, does indeed turn into this dirt road that makes me fucking ecstatic that I've got four wheel drive. I don't know how he handles it on his bike, even at fifteen miles an hour, it seems to go on forever. Okay, so maybe he is indeed a faerie, because it is suspiciously dark and I can't see anything up ahead. It's hard for me to trust people, especially when they have the gall to punch me in the face, sexiness is not a valid reason to trust someone, I need to keep telling myself that. And about the faeries, I used to be a huge fantasy freak - even learned some elvish back in the day, so sue me, okay? Also, I have a very overactive imagination.

Finally there are lights up ahead, and I am almost (almost) relieved to see them, because all I want right now is a shot of whisky and a bed, preferably my bed, but I guess that's not happening. And even though Jared is still damn sexy, I'm just not in the mood, my hangover is oh so slowly sidling up to me again and this is really not a good idea. Okay, okay, I'm repeating myself, but I just can't handle this right now. Yeah, me, Trystan, that can dole out pain at the drop of a hat and handle pretty much anything thrown his way losing his cool over some asshole. Inconceivable.

Not really.

Karma's a bitch, huh?

But the lights turn into a house, a fucking creepy house, like out of some slasher flick. I mean there's even an attic, with a dusty window, and vines twining all over the porch and even, get this, some cobwebbed furniture on said porch that looks like it hasn't been used in years. What is this place? It's like I've suddenly stepped into a horror movie, complete with crazy old man on the stairs holding a shotgun. Holy shit! I thought I was hallucinating it, but there he is, overalls, white hair all over the place, a scowl, and it's not a shotgun, but a hunting rifle. Like that's any better. I'm secretly freaking out. And I know I'm not imagining things. Seriously.

See, this town is kind of out of the beaten path and surrounded by two colleges, there are crazy people living on the outskirts that like to kidnap, rape and murder the students because they're easy game… The old man on the porch of what appears to be Jared's house is probably one of them. And Jared is quite possibly his slave, sent out to retrieve prey. I am so going to put up a fight. The fucker.

This is so fucking twisted. I mean, given that the town really isn't that small, and we've got a police force (which I hate) large enough to deal with the drunken parties and various crimes that occur when overstressed students go wild. They've had to deal with quite a few homicides and I know my parents will report me missing, though probably more for other people's safety than my own. How considerate of them, huh? I mean, I could hold my own even with that rifle. I have been pistol-whipped, long story, don't ask. I definitely don't want to talk about it. Either way, it only pissed me off more and I beat the shit out of the guy who did it with a keyboard while bleeding profusely from the head (that's the scar on my forehead). Dark alleys, dumpsters, I won't elaborate any further, it wasn't pleasant, though it was fun, and that's that.

But suddenly, Jared is rapping at my window, and he looks amazing, hair a mess from the helmet and just dripping sex. Fuck. I keep getting distracted from what a bad idea this is, especially with the appearance of creepy man. Not good. I open my window about an inch, because, yeah, I'm paranoid. I've said that already.

"Who the fuck is the creepy man on the porch who looks like he wants to lock me in a dungeon and do unthinkable things with my body and then chop me into bite size pieces for stew?"

Jared kind of blinks, confusion on his face before glancing over his shoulder and realizing what it is I'm actually talking about. Oh god he's an idiot slave to Creepy McCreep Creep. Fuck. He starts to laugh, aw, how cute, he remembers what happened last time he laughed at me and quickly turns it into a hacking cough. I can see right through him. Trystan is a genius, pretty much, also possibly psychic (Note to self: investigate further in future). Snaps.

"That's my grandpa. He's a little defensive of his property, they get kids trying to steal their mailbox every once in a while."

"So he's not going to brutally murder me? Because I'm seriously not down with dying."

It occurs to me that he may be lying, but I will never know. And as I said, I could probably hold my own. Okay, so I should probably be questioning why Jared is living with his granddad, but I'm selfish and I'm worried about my personal safety just a little bit more. I mean I'm seriously not cool with being dead.

"Unless you're planning on stealing his mail box, you should be good."

I give Jared a glare, just because I can, and climb out of the car while eyeing the gun warily. As I've mentioned, I have had a bad experience. If there's one thing I've learned, avoid guns at all costs, they hurt. Well, they hurt more than is necessary. Just my fucking luck, y'know? It's when we're inside the house, which is actually very cozy looking, and once I've been introduced to the creepy grandfather, who is actually very nice and not half so angry looking when you see him in the light, that Jared gives me that look. The one that tells me in precise detail everything he wants to do to me. It makes me weak in the knees, which I hate, and sends my stomach into acrobatics I had not thought myself capable of. If I didn't secretly enjoy it, he'd be writhing on the floor from the righteous retribution doled out by my fists.

Mildly, sheepish, and slightly out of breath, I follow Jared into his room. God, the man is a neat freak. Everything has a little label, its own little spot, exactly like Max's room, though he doesn't usually let me in there, because according to him I secretly carry a mountain of clothes around that ends up strewn across his sparkling floor. I mean, I guess the only difference here is the lack of Playboys on the bookshelf and the absent pin-up girls on the walls. Either way, it's too clean for my liking, and it almost makes me fidgety, itchy and uncomfortable until I find myself, quite unexpectedly, because my senses are dulled from lust and curiosity, shoved up against the door with Jared's tongue down my throat.

And oh god.

I swear to god I'm drowning in him.

He's got one hand tangled in the collar of my shirt, the other squeezing at my hip and I can't do jack shit but grab onto his shoulders and hold on. My knuckles hurt from the scabs and the ferocity with which I am digging my nails into his skin. Vaguely, I remember he had a jacket, but making use of his mad ninja skills (no doubt to make me even hornier than I already am) he's managed to ditch it somewhere. What an assh-


He's got his knee rubbing up against my crotch and I'll be fucked if I ever sleep with a girl again. Smug and smirking he pulls away, and I am much too distracted to even think about exactly what the repercussions of this will be. I seriously think that I am in love. At least my dick is in love. But I guess that's not really difficult to achieve, considering I've been fucking deprived. Yeah, yeah, it's my own fault, I don't care, I've been deprived, that's it.

"Hey, pay attention."

I guess I'm zoning, and shit does look hazy, though I'm not quite sure how I could avoid it. But god, I manage to make eye contact and all that violence that I usually have is turned into lust because Jared is staring at me like I'm a lamb and he's a lion, and I don't like that look, as sexy as it is. I take the opportunity to spin us around and slam him against the door (I wonder if grandpa minds? Ewwwww. Ruin the moment why don't you), of course, I feel better when I'm not pinned. As I said, I hate being trapped, even if it is in Jared's arms. Dear god that is such a cliché.

At least he has the decency to look surprised when I crush our lips together, this is the first time I've actually kissed him, sober, and judging by his hands tangled in my hair he is thoroughly enjoying it. I rock. I am amazing. I think there should be epic poems published in my honor. That will be the day. I realize I'm breathless and I can't really think coherently, I don't want to even try talking because this is so fantastic I don't know how I ever managed to get it up for Maggie. But Jared's hands have already pushed my jacket off of my shoulders and his hands are sneaking up my shirt, slowly tugging it up and oh my fucking god…

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

There's electricity wherever his hands touch my skin and I'm so turned on it hurts. I could cry right now, I'm that happy. Yeah, I've only known him for four days, but it feels like we've been making out against the wall for years, and I don't ever want it to stop. Ever. I want to stay like this for the rest of my life. Screw everything else. Seriously.

And then my phone rings. And it's Maggie, because crappy, polyphonic Rammstein (she downloaded the ring tone because she has an unhealthy obsession) is blaring suddenly and I realize how quite we've been, besides the whole bodies-slamming-against-door bit.


And I'm literally scrambling for that damned phone; I've only missed Maggie's phone calls a couple of times, and even then, I was forced to (can anybody say 'hospital'). Finally, I manage to find the damned thing, which is still playing annoying, tinny music, and manage to flip it open, only to be accosted, and brutally torn away from my tryst (which is now making me cringe guiltily), by the sound of sobs.

It freaks me out. Honestly, I've only seen Maggie cry once – when her grandmother died. She just doesn't break down like this unless something is seriously wrong. Meanwhile, Jared stares at me like a hurt and slightly angry puppy while I'm plopping down on his bed. I guess I look worried as I mouth 'Maggie' at him followed by a quick 'Shut up' because he doesn't complain, just settles down on the floor between my legs and leans on my knees (doesn't seem to bode well, does it?).

"Maggie? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Yeah, so I'm a little bit of sap when it comes to her, I guess I've come to think of her as a little sister, which is kind of weird because I guess then I'm fucking my sister…Anyway.

"Trys, I'm so sorry."

"What? About what?" Now I'm confused.

"I cheated on you." Oh that bitch!

"Why? With who?" I mean, I guess I'm okay with this, considering I've got Mr. Sexypants with his hands on my thighs and am effectively in the process of cheating on her. On the other line, slightly muffled, she just starts crying harder and I am getting seriously annoyed, because my make out session just got interrupted. Why does life hate me? Though I guess it really doesn't, because this is a fantastic reason to break up with her and open myself up to other options. I should of guessed, I can't imagine the sex was anything special for either of us, and (I know, I know, I've said this before) we've always been better friends than lovers anyway.

"Maggie, look, I won't get mad and I won't beat the shit out of him. Just tell me and we'll talk later, okay?"

I guess the expression on my face has gone from worried to just plain irritated, because suddenly Jared's hands are on my zipper and I have to grit my teeth to stop my voice from going all shaky and high-pitched from excitement. I mean, couldn't he have picked a better moment to take my pants off?

And meanwhile Maggie is still sobbing into the phone and it makes me realize one of the reasons I'm seriously not into girls: I really hate dealing with them.

"I promise I won't beat him up, Mags. Cross my heart, hope to die."

She says something so quietly I can't catch it, probably because my pants are around my knees and Jared looks like he's about to find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.

"Oh fuuuuuck…" Oops, I guess I was right, and I have to catch myself, scramble for a continuation of something that was definitely not the beginning of a sentence, "Mags, just tell me alright, you owe me that much at least."

"For fucks sake, Trystan! It was Alys, I cheated on you with your little brother!"

Ouch. I guess it would hurt more if my dick wasn't half way down Jared's throat and I could actually make myself care. As it is, I'm trying to hold back a moan as hard as I can and struggling to make letters into coherent syllables, which is proving way, way, way too difficult.

"Okay. I'll be over in an hour and we'll talk." She's probably calling me a cold-hearted bastard right now because I don't seem like I care at all. Oh well, she'll probably sign it off to shock.

Either way, I snap the phone shut because I really can't make a sound outside of moaning right now. I am in heaven, floating with little wings. And if this is heaven, if heaven is this warm and wet and has a tongue that can do that, fuuuuuuck…

"Fuck, Jared…" And he just purrs (not even kidding, fucking purrs, believe me) as I pant out his name and does something that steals all the breath out of my lungs and makes me buck my hips and sends waves of electricity from my dick straight to my brain and the tips of my fingers and abso-fucking-lutely everywhere until I'm coming into his mouth because oh god I've never felt like this before.

"Liked that, did you?" He teases as he pulls away, licking his lips, which are, like everything else, too detailed, everything too bright and much more real than I've ever seen things. I think I'd just be babbling if I tried to speak, so instead I pull him up to me and kiss him. He tastes like strawberries and chocolate, salt and smoke. And then he pulls away and drags his shirt off over his head.

Leans in and whispers in my ear, "Let's see if we can't find something to do for the next hour," pure sex dripping from his voice, I think I'm starting to like him more and more.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am in fucking heaven.


End Author's Note:

So this did not turn out as planned at all. AT ALL. When I started this chapter, I had a completely different idea, but, since that was a year and a half ago, once I got inspired again my ideas changed and I think I'm happier with this than I would have been with the other option for this chapter. Those of you who read, I thank you. Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers. Mucho love and gratitude. I adore all of you, and once more, thank you for being patient with me. My life is turning around and I'm in a much better place to continue this now.