ok, this one shot was written for Amindaya, for the contest doll entry made forever and ever and a lifetime ago. i'm serious, it was so long ago, she didn't even know what i was talking about. :laughs: but the link's on my profile somewhere, if you feel the need. you should.

alright, a bit of a disclaimer: i do not own A Clockwork Orange, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Honda, fetal pig meat puppets, Matchbox Twenty, ecstasy, McDonalds, Harley Davidson, Mission Impossible, Jeffree Star, Hollywood Undead, Burger King, Sprite, Billy and Mandy, Grimm, Elvis Presley, Oldsmobile, Chris Isaak, The Blues Brothers, Hobbits, or redneck jokes. i do, however, own the phrase, "Meat-Flavored-Fatty-Mc-Fat-Fat-Fat," as my cousin and brother can attest. heh.

broke my glasses on thursday, right in half. school starts tomorrow and i'm glasses-less. and i'm screwed. green.

anyway. just thought i'd mention it. SB comes out, i hope, on wednesday, so be looking for that.

hope you enjoy! thank Amindaya for the plot. :laughs:

sunday, 17 august, 2008. 11:02pm.

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

Sometime during the eight hour drive from my home town to the next state over, I came to the sudden decision that I really didn't want to be doing this. But, seeing as how I was already coming through the outskirts of the small town where the 'reunion' was taking place, I figured I was stuck.

Seems so much of my life is that way anyway; no say in the matter.

I had no say in my parents divorcing when I was four (not surprising, that one), had nil say when Mom married Jason when I was eight, and even less say when I gained a baby sister the year after that. I didn't even have a chance to pitch a fit when we packed up and moved three states away my freshmen year of high school, and wasn't that a real shit-kicker for a fourteen year old guy to deal with, huh?

I had no say when, after I graduated, Mom "got into contact" with the man I hadn't seen or heard from in fifteen years, because she felt that "it was time for me to learn roots."

What the fuck ever.

So, after a couple of years and about three phone calls that consisted of me grunting answers to a reticent man who sounded somewhat surprised that I was a man and not some snot-nosed kid…after three phone calls, I was told that his family wanted the whole 'meet'n greet.' As it were. Some of these people, so I'm told, I used to know.

Like shit they won't be strangers to me now; I don't even remember the name of the dog we had when I was five.

I barely remember my dad, and that's only because I have some of the old photos Mom kept around. He was a skinny little bastard with blue-black hair and mustache, and a perpetual smile in his eyes. There is not one photo where he was not grinning or smirking or showing amusement in some way or fashion.

Boy, he'll shit himself to meet me.

I had a boyfriend once complain that I could make Santa fucking depressed from the way I never smile.

I was all, "Hey, I smiled once during Rocky Horror."

"You were stoned, Mitch."

"What the fuck ever."

Not my fault I'm not a chippy tree-hugger out to save the world with hugs and smiles, now is it?

My sister gets me, my Mom gets me, hell, even Jason gets me! True, they make their wise-ass cracks about how 'serious' I am, but man, I can take it. It's not like I don't make remarks on how my sister, Marie, is going to turn out to be a bitchy-ass, slutty whore because she's totally a cheerleader…but oddly, she's a decent human being.

I mean, I actually like her, as a person and not just my baby sister. Must be my humble influence, ne?

But I guess it is pretty strange that the only time I ever crack a smile is when I'm high; I took Ex once, and man, I couldn't stop smiling, so I never took that shit again. The guy who gave it to me had thought me weird anyway, because I happen to talk a lot when I'm stoned, and I don't mean I just talk.

I guess I rant. About stuff.

But, man, that's irrelevant, and neither here nor now.

Because like I said, I passed through the outskirts of town and methodically directed my little beat up Honda Civic towards the motel I'd been booked a reservation at. And shut up, a Civic is not a faggy car!

Even though that might have been the first words out of my mouth the second I saw what Mom and Jason sprang for me just before graduation. So I made Mom cry. And made Jason threaten to run me over with the "faggy ass car."

I feel bad enough about it already, and it was practically three fucking years ago!

Gah, guilt trip. Thanks for bringing it up, jerks.

After settling myself into the non-impressive motel room with the only redeemable quality being that they actually had free wifi, I connected my laptop and surfed through all the email I had missed reading in eight hours.

God, I had been near about ready to die.

Shut up! I'm not faggy, even if I happen to be one, and if anyone who is not a fag calls me one, I'm fucking gelding you.

Without anesthetics.

And I just so happened to flunk the lab portion of biology after I hacked/dissected a fetal pig and used the head for a meat puppet. That actually got me suspended. Huh. I still don't see the whole problem, only two guys threw up and five girls started crying.

I thought it was funny.

Until the butch teacher assaulted me by putting the pincer grip on the back of my arm, that was totally not cool.

I think Mom had to do some fast talking to keep me out of 'the institute' after that, especially as they went on and on about how I was so fucking serious about it, as if I had thought the whole thing was…not a joke?

I don't know; I didn't care then and I don't now. Much.

Sometimes, like that Matchbox Twenty song, I wish the real world would just stop hassling me.

After the emails came my daily perusal of mild gay porn, pics that probably shouldn't have been taken of guys that shouldn't have thought that their bodies were killer. But, when you're hard up, you'll take anything. It was enough to get me chubbed but not really horny, so I let it be and checked out the cable options, not finding a lot.

Man, this place sucks.


As darkness began to fall, I finally put in the mandatory call to Mom to let her know I wasn't lying in bloody pieces on the pavement somewhere, or that I hadn't managed to flip off another officer and land myself a night in the drunk tank for 'belligerence.'

That's only happened to me twice, ok? Lay off me.

'Sides, it's not like I run around in white underwear and derby hats while carrying canes/billy-clubs to beat to death perverted old cat ladies. I mean, c'mon. Give me some credit.

As Mom once put it--after a morning she had to come get me from the county jail, "At least Mitch doesn't rape and pillage and commandeer young virgins for their unspoiled hymens."

The officers hadn't thought it very funny, but I had nearly grinned. Nearly.

After Mom, I cringed and called 'Dad,' hearing him enthusiastically ask me how the drive was and if I had any trouble, as well as to ask…dare I say it…if I wanted to come over for a bite to eat. I was 'this' close to telling him that I saw two skunks and a dead cat on the way, so no, I was stuffed to the back of my left eyeball, but I just gave the lame-ass excuse that I'd stopped earlier. I hadn't, but he didn't know that, and I was already planning to hit the Mickey D's just down the block from the motel anyway.

Which is exactly what I did the second I hung up on the dope and left the room, checking that I had my key before I even left through the door.

Hello, Meat-Flavored-Fatty-Mc-Fat-Fat-Fat! And yes, make mine a double.

-- -- --

I woke up with the usual morning stiffie, and ensconced myself into the shower--where I peed onto the drain with some immature glee before leaning back and allowing my hand to slide up and down my dick, forsaking using the nasty-ass motel soap, as that stuff only makes your skin stick, not slick.

The product of my happy manhandling eventually washed down the drain with the same immature glee as before, and I was greatly refreshed when I stepped from the bathroom and shrugged into some clothes. Nothing fancy; long black jean shorts faded gray through use and neglect, and a long-sleeved Harley-Davidson shirt that ended up with the sleeves pushed to my elbows. And I just might have scrawny elbows, but that's none of your business, I'd say.

Breakfast consisted of another McDonald's healthy-heart fare; mmm, rubbery cheese that sticks in your teeth. Score!!

Well, ok, I caught breakfast just as they were closing down for lunchtime orders, but a nice icy stare at the shrimp behind the counter got me two bacon-egg-and-cheese McMuffins without having to hop the counter and show them what griddle cakes could be made of in the very-near future.

Anyway, this reunion shin-dig was set to happen sometime around noon, so I figured I'd blow it off until one or so, just because.

That's how I ended up in the only reputable place in town; the pool hall.

Pretty empty this time of day, but the guy ignored me and let me play five games against myself before he kicked me out for his lunch break. Geezy old barstid.

By that time, it was exactly noon, and there was nowhere else to go. So, I took my faggy ass to the park in my faggy Honda Civic--with the ding on the passenger side door…from when I ran into a light pole…twice.

It was easy to see where I was supposed to be, because there was a whole gaggle of old/middle-aged people hanging around this pavilion thing, food and all that shit.

I drove past it and parked next to this large yellow county-sanctioned deathtrap. Aka: Windsor Public School's…bus. Buses. Buseses. Bus-i. A cadre of yellow buses! If there were…more than just the one. But hell, its ass is so big, it might as well be a whole fleet of rambling freighters.

Heh. Freighter. Bus. Hauling kids as freight. …You know what? Fuck you.

Slipping from the parking lot to a nice and convenient wooded area (who knew parks were good for something other than meeting up to get stoned on Tuesday nights?), I managed to avoid detection. Totally Mission Improbable. Hell yeah!

And I quickly found the merry-go-round and happily got the metal contraption spinning before I made a haphazardly executed leap onboard so I could spin around and around and around and…fuck, these things are fun!

"This is Kyle fucking Star, and this is a shout out to all you jealous bitches, who get mad because I'm fucking your boyfriends! And don't be mad if they suck my dick, and then make out with you after, ho! …Bitches get jealous I can swallow more cum than they can."

"…Thought that was Jeffree fucking Star."

An amused male voice pulled me up short from my boastful singing as the merry-go-round slowly carried me around to where I saw a kid standing there with a smirk on his…Rosacea'd face.

"Well…it is Jeffree fucking Star," I admitted as I slowed down and made my feet walk me back so I could see him better.

Ok, he's not so much a kid, probably older than Marie but definitely younger than me. He looked…suckable, definitely. If only just sucking face; his lips were the sexiest shade of pink I've seen in forever. And perhaps not all of the redness of his face was due to a skin disorder, because he flushed a bit brighter than before as I stared.

My gaze moved away and I could pretty much feel his relief; "Aren't Hollywood Undead bitchin'?"

He gave a laugh, absently moving closer and pushing against a metal bar to make the puke-a-tron and/or kid-death-o-nater start lazily spinning again.

"Well, they are. But hey, how fast can ya push?" I asked as I stood up and centered myself in the middle, my feet propped against two metal bars as I looked at him, slowly rotating my head to keep him in view.

"I dunno, it's been a long time."

"Push me."

I dropped to my knees and braced myself, raising an eyebrow in challenge at him, and he rolled his eyes but did set himself up to start pushing.

He wasn't weak, but his fucking technique was all wrong.

"Whoa, hold up."

Instantly, he jerked it to a standstill; impressive, as that shit can tear the fuck out of your elbow or palms.

I got up and jumped off; "Get on."


I pushed my faggy ass into his personal space, rounding him up and herding him towards the brightly-colored metal merry-go-round, my palm square against his spine. He gave in with a sigh and hopped up, assuming a position much like mine had been; except he was cross-legged around one bar and holding on.

Oh good, he's not a newbie.

I made a show of wiping the perspiration from my hands against my shorts and then, hauling back, I started the merry-go-round. He tightened his hold as a mildly disgruntled expression came over his face, and I just went even faster, hitting every metal bar as it passed until it was going too fast for even me to keep up.

After about five minutes, the contraption already slowing down, he finally punked out, "O-ok, p-please stop it."

The bars hurt like a motherfucker when I used my fingers to slow it down, until finally doing the same move he'd done for me, jerking it still. Ow, motherfucking bitch, there went my fucking elbow.

"Yer lookin' a mite green."

He shakily gave me the bird, and my lips twisted into a faint smirk.

"I am so gunna puke."

Yet, he didn't appear too displeased, thumping down onto his side as I sat back down and kicked my heels into the packed dirt ring.

"Ugh…tell the world to stop spinning," he groaned, rolling onto his back and pressing his eyes shut.

"Oh yes, I'll send the world the memo. Big time news."

And then, as an afterthought, "You spin me right round baby, right round. Like a record baby, right round, right round."

"Oh fuck, shut up."


I only got a grunt for a response, but I did shut up, still kicking my heels and watching as a group of high school kids did some funky ass measurements or something in the shade of trees.

I continued watching them a while until I just couldn't take it any longer, "What the fuck are those kids doing?"

There was scrabbling behind me, the merry-go-round swaying with his movements before he plopped down with a low grunt beside me.

"They're measuring trees based on their shadows."

I looked at him; "Oh?"

He nodded, and pointed at an average sized tree. "See that one? It's mine. I flunked physics the first time, and Mr. Hillis does the same shit every year."


Nodding, he looked at me and offered a hand; "Michael."

Accepting his hand, I offered, "Grimm."

"Like the cartoon?"

"Billy and Mandy? Sorta."


"Yeah, it really is."


I had to pull the legs of my shorts up above my knees to crouch down before him, only half-heartedly listening to him prattle on and on about the stupid metaphysics of the shadow of trees themselves; I was just staring at the pink of his lips as they moved.

"And that…that's how it works, see?"


His eyes moved up and caught hold of mine, and his mouth went slack in absent confusion before he abruptly turned red, his eyes jerking away from mine as his entire body flinched backwards in embarrassment. Fuck, I smirked again. So not my fault when he's fucking cute, right?

"You're kinda smart, yeah?"

If anything, my comment had him blushing even more, and I slid forward, breaking my crouch by planting my knees and one palm in the dirt as I closed the distance between us. Lips on lips, oh how nice.

What wasn't so nice was how he jerked back and made me nearly lose balance, his face crimson as he landed on his ass, legs sprawled in the dirt.

"Jesus man, all you had to do was say no."

My tone was bland and hid my irritation at myself for…misreading the situation? Still, running the options through my head, I'm pretty sure he was panting for a kiss.

His face became magenta.

"I-I just…."

My eyebrow rose upwards, and he looked ready to cry. Fucking pussy.

…Oh no, oh man, don't tell me he's a newbie!

My eyes narrowed; "Don't tell me you're still struggling with it."

His face was blank, and I leaned forward, pressing, "In denial? Scared of being, 'gasp,' quote, unquote, 'gay?'"

Anger tightened his face and he kicked out with his heel, smashing his foot against my wrist. Pain blasted up my arm and into my brain, and I grabbed his leg and gripped it hard enough to leave bruises, causing his mouth to press together.

"Don't make me beat your fucking ass."

"Then stop being a…fucking asshole!"

My lip curling in disgust, I pulled back onto my haunches, "You started it, fuck face. I even listened to your inane carping about the stupid shadows, alright?"

A low growl made me pause, but I was still unprepared for him to rush forward and knock me backwards, a hot and bruising body flaring pain through me even as lips crushed themselves back onto mine. Ping: we're sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and dial again.

Angry-as-fuck kissing commenced, until the knee slammed into my groin and I kicked him off me only to roll up and die.

"G-Grimm? Um…Grimm?"

Fingers touched me somewhere, and I flailed out with my legs, connecting and rewarded with a hitched cry of satisfying pain.

"My balls, you fuckin' twat, my balls."

Yeah, my faggy ass was rollin' 'round the dirt like a pussy, but you know what? Fuck you! I just got racked man!

Once I was done with my tantrum, I rolled onto my back, crotch still cradled by my hand. Looking over, I saw the kid sitting there rubbing a hand over his shin, face as slaughter red as ever; he looked near about to cry. Again. Grunting, I fumbled myself upright and knee-walked/gimped over, only to fall on him in a graceless clusterfuck of 'poor balance.'

Still, the blushing kid managed to cushion the fall and even went further, lowering back beneath my weight and accepting the way I maneuvered us to where my knee wouldn't rack him in the balls. Much as it'd serve him right, the spineless fuck.

Anyway, the resulting kissing was a little less angry-as-fuck and a bit more closed-eyes-open-mouthed-lots-of-tongue, and no, that ain't a flashlight in my pocket. I was halfway through slowly pulling his lower lip between my teeth when my thigh vibrated, startling us both and causing me to bite down a lot harder than intended.


Hands and legs shunted me off as his fingers flew to his mouth, checking for blood and soothing the wrenching ache even as I swore and fumbled with my vibrating phone in my pocket.

Tole' you it weren't a flashlight, stupids.

The flashing number wasn't one I instinctively recognized, but I had a good guess as to who it was. Swearing, my head dropped back before I reluctantly flipped open the phone and 'accepted' the call.


"Ngh, yah."

"Where are you? We've been waiting nearly an hour. Are you ok?" Dad sounded anxious, and I wondered where his humor was at now.

I paused, staring up at the moving foliage a moment before I dully stated, "I'm nearly there."

"Ah, goo-"

I cut him off by flipping the phone shut, and gave a listless sigh before rolling my back to sit up. The kid was already sitting against a tree, hand still pressed to his mouth and face again blooming into a festive color. He avoided my gaze.

"I'm being paged. Gotta cut."

I offered a slight finger wave before scrambling to my feet and out of the copse, snapping twigs underfoot until back on the even grass. Sighing, I rolled my shoulders and walked back towards the parking lot; the bus was no longer there, and I had the dim thought that the kid'd been left.

But then it became 'not my business' and I forgot about it.

But that mighta been because a short little dude with graying black hair called my name like the chipper ol' asstag that he is. Enthusiastic shit. But, he is my dad, and I slouched over and let him grab me into a 'manly' hug-- A-Frame, upper-chest-touching, no full-body-grabass, man to man kind of hug.

I grunted as he let go, and some of his enthusiasm cooled; "Well, you're not much different in person than over the phone. Laura warned me of that."

Stoopit Mom and her do-gooder meddling. At least his mustache was gone.

After Dad came a succession of full-frontal hugs from a slew of middle-aged women who were apparently my aunts--I nodded at each introduction, pretending I knew what the fuck they were talkin' about each time they brought up my phantom younger, more benign self.

Apparently, I was an incredibly sweet child.

Mom must have gotten a demon changeling then, because I can only remember shit like the time I ran screaming crazy in the supermarket when I was seven, and ruined not just one or two, but four middle-aisle displays. Mom beat me in public and people cheered and nearly slapped the woman who tried to stop her.

You know…me being a changeling sure would explain a helluva lot.

Maybe ten, fifteen minutes into the whole spleen-punching shebang, The Kid came slinking up much the way I had before--and just as Dad had jumped all over me with his boundless energy before, he again lit up and grabbed me by the upper arm.

Contamination. Pestilence… burning… my skin….

"Mitchell, this is my son, Michael! That would make him your half brother."

The Kid flinched, and you know that little voice inside that typically screams during a situation like this? It broke. And then started laughing. Like a Big. Fat. Jackass. Ha ha. Ha ha. …Ha. And, the real shitkicker of it is…I'm pretty sure the fucking little tumor knew exactly who I was.

What we are. Were. Are. …Whatever.

I ignored the fucker--especially when his mottled face grew worse at the way my eyes flicked away and never met his again. But through every conversation, every anecdote, every helping of--pretty decent--macaroni salad, all that went through my head was, 'damn, but I liked kissin' him.'

My brother, man. Like I'd made out with Marie--they're probably near around the same age anyway. So, kissing the kid was like tonguing Marie…but oh what a difference!


It was nearly four-something before they started showing signs of maybe packing things up, and I was all the happier for it. If I had to listen to one more comment of good looks running in the family, I was gonna croak me a few broads by shoving Jello up their nostrils.

McDonalds are half as tasty but fifty-mil better chance of people leaving me the shit alone.

Case in point: Dad hovered near and got that anxious, smiley, 'I really want to be an annoying fucker and ask you something stupid. You will want to say fuckall but probably can't because I will puppy-dog-eyes guilt trip you into it. You dickwad' look on his face.

"Mitchell, you really should come over tonight, eat with the family. It's not right my son should hang around a motel."

Mom should have told him better.

"No, I'm fine, I like it. …But maybe 'Michael' could come hang out with me a while. We could reconnoiter."

Yes, I know a word like reconnoiter. And yes, I did use it--lay the fuck off!

The kid's face was priceless, face sizzlin' up as his shoulders hunched into a shrug at Dad's questioning glance.

"What would you boys do?"

"Talk, connect on a brotherly level…. He could take me places. Show me 'round."

I wanted to smirk, almost did, but squashed the notion like a cricket in a food blender--even processed, you can still make out the legs. Did ya know that? Pretty damn sick if ya ask me--'course, you didn't ask, but I'm telling you, because I'm a kick-ass dude who does that shit for free. But, I ate the cricket mashed in with Burger King fries--fry-cricket pulp washed down with lukewarm Sprite--for ten bucks.

Wasn't half bad, but I'm not all flipping inside to give it another go anytime soon. Not for ten. Maybe twelve or thirteen, though. Maybe.


The kid looked up, dark eyes roaming before he shrugged; "I could do that."

Well, alrighty then.


You'd think The Kid was walking death row by the morbid silence he put out as we walked over to my car; I unlocked my door and slid inside, only remembering to unlock the passenger door when I saw his ass shift around through the far-side window. The car was fuckin' hot and muggy, and I put in my key and turned the ignition, grunting noncommittally as the engine turned over and the AC flared on. Blowing fetid pond smell into my face.

"Fuck you too."

Finger-gun at the vents and 'kapow', match in the gas tank, no fuss.

"…Are you pissed?"

I blinked at the kid, whose Rosacea paled beneath his blush. My god, does he ever simmer down?!

"Should I be?"

His expression was part gape, part 'you're kiddin', right?!' I think he means the whole, 'we're brothers' thing, but as far as I'm concerned, there's not much we can do about it.

Pushing my sleeves back up above my elbows, I put the car in reverse and then into drive, pulling from the parking lot and out into the street. The Kid finally let go of the door grip with some reluctance some two blocks later, his fingers peeling away and remaining hooked for a few moments before he relaxed--only for both hands to fly to the grip as I changed lanes and cut off a minivan mom cursing into her cell phone and flipping me off. Suck me, bitch.

Eyes never leaving the road, I reached forward and punched in the tape sticking from the player, clicks and static greeting my ears as I turned up the volume. Eventually, Heartbreak Hotel came through the static, followed by Kissin' Cousins, and the irony of that made me frown back a snort of laughter.

"…You know Elvis is dead, don't you?"

His dry remark made me nod; "Yah, but he sounds like sex."

He groaned, but I know groans well enough to know his was full of 'I cream in secret to Elvis!' Sure was.

After, came Blue Hotel, and The Kid perked up; "Now Chris Isaak, he's fuckin' sex. I'll blow his voice any day."

"Blow his voice? I'll blow his cock and he can sing to me as I do it."

He laughed and forgot to flinch as I ran a changing yellow light, an Oldsmobile honking me in the intersection. Lick my balls, lady.

By the time I pulled into a parking space just outside my motel door, the kid was laughing at Rubber Biscuit, which I cut from my friend's Blues Brothers album. He was still snickering as I let him in the room, punching in the card and waiting for it to turn green before turning the handlebar knob.

It was fuckin' cold inside, and I pulled down my sleeves to my wrists before dive-falling onto the bed. The blankets in these things are coarse as fuck--like rubbing sandpaper across your face. It wasn't as I'd left it, the comforter thing all wadded up on the floor, so the cleaning crew musta been in while I was gone.

Did they check the towels in the crummy bathroom? Leave me extra soap? Sniff my underpants?

My laptop's hidden 'neath the bed for exactly this reason. I doubt they found it. Still…. I rolled off the bed and onto my knees, scooting around until about where I'd shoved the case beneath; I reached under to my elbow, and my fingers brushed the case exactly where it shoulda been. Hells yes.

Satisfied that all was where it ought, I sat back on the bed and pulled off my shoes and socks, wiggling my toes and idly staring at the small, dark hairs on them. My attention was drawn from my manly hobbit toes by the bed dipping down.

"You, uh…wanted to talk?"

I shrugged; "Nah, just said that to get the ol' man off my back."

The Kid frowned; "'Ey! You barely know 'im!"

I shrugged once more; "Ya think? Didn't even tell me I had a brother, now did he?"

He colored, and I rolled my eyes.

"Got two brothers, actually. Jordan's four."

Well, ain't that a shitkicker, huh? Another one of those things might have been better to learn five days ago when I agreed to come.

"…Dad didn't wanna tell you in case ya thought…like, he'd replaced you or something."

"I'm totally crying about it."

He snorted; "Like you would, even if you really felt that way."

Scratching my ankle, I flashed him a glance and was surprised to see a knowing expression on his face. Stoopit cocky sunuva bitch.

"You think so, huh?"

He smiled for nearly the first time; "Yah, I think so. Even if ya wanted to cry, you wouldn't…'cause you don't even laugh when ya want to."

Even my motherfuckin' half-brother gets me, and I never even met him before today.

Moving, I gracelessly crawled and gimped over the bed towards him, and he shrank back, the blush that'd had a momentary chance to cool only coming back in force. I went to touch him, and he rigidly pushed away, scooting backwards and nearly falling from the mattress.

"What's yer problem now?"

He didn't answer, mouth pressing into a line… oh no, now he's carping on the fact we're related.

"As if you didn't know who the fuck I was when ya kissed me?"

Horror. Help, police, murder.

All of it flashed on his face before he spat, "You kissed me first!"

"Oh yah, but who knocked me down for some fuckin' angry ass macking, huh? Or did you forget who it was so excited he kneed me in the balls?"

"I…" he broke off and I leaned closer, raising an eyebrow.


He gave a sudden snarl of frustration and rushed me, my eyes widening as we both tumbled back and he clambered all over my thighs and stomach, narrowly missing my precious nutsack.

Sticky lips bent mine and almost immediately pulled back, his voice desperate as he whined, "Why'd it have ta be you?! Firs' guy ta ever look me over like that and still talk like it was nothin'!"

"What, me lookin' at'cha and thinkin' 'bout parting your lips with my dick?"

He shuddered, his voice strained, "Yah."

I stared at him before admitting, "I didn't think that."

"…Then what did you--"

My hand pulled him down so I could pull his lower lip between my teeth again, licking and sucking the tender flesh until he was panting for me to let him shove his tongue down my throat--so I did.

His leg brushed against mine, and his jeans had ridden up enough that I felt the developing downy fur on his legs and wondered if he had any anywhere else. Time to do a check-see. Hand up the shirt--bit of fur, but not much.

Except for a squawk of indignation before he remembered that copping a feel during liplock is technically considered a good thing.

When my hand pulled away, his shot out and dragged it back, eyes closed as he breathed against my mouth and silently begged for me to cop another feel. Or two. Maybe four, but only because he's slightly hairy and his nipples pebbled up immediately beneath my touch.

Tongue flicking out between his lips and his eyes still ever-hopefully closed, he stumbled, "W-what…did you think?"

"Suckin' you, kid."

He swallowed, face flaming as his eyes finally opened; "Really?"

I rolled my eyes; "No."

There was a moment before a brilliant grin spread over his face, voice breathless, "Oh."

I cleared my throat, and pushed his hip with one manly-palm. …Fuck you! They're total man-hands!

Anyway, I pushed his hip and shifted mine, demanding, "Grind me."


I scowled; "Fuckin' grind me! Rub me with yer crotch, meathead."

He colored and clumsily tried, and I growled before shoving him off, switching our positions.

Voice quieter, I demonstrated what I meant as I said, "Like this."

And, to make sure the fuckwad wasn't confused, I did it again, harder and with greater feeling. His hands flew up to my shoulders and squeezed the crap outta me, hard enough to make me flinch.

"G-got it!"

Satisfied, I slid off him and waited for the kid to get his head together enough to follow. It took a few clumsy attempts before he scored, and my hips spasmed upwards once he did, eyes turning up without my say-so. I don't have a say in a lot, but for all that I'm the one writhing beneath the kid, I've got all the say in this.

And fuck, it's good.

"T-this would be fuckin' b-better if we were naked."

He colored, mouthing, 'naked?!' before giving a fumbling nod that yes, practically everything was better done in the buff.

My hands beneath his shirt and my teeth testing the dexterity of the skin covering his pulse, and he had the balls to stop, panting, "Naked, Mitch, naked!"

Fingers like claws in his ribs and he shuddered, pulse deafening against my tongue before he whimpered, "Grimm, please…."

Well, since the fuckwad asked so nicely.

Again, I forced him off, thumbing the button and zipper of my shorts before kicking them off, ignoring his own efforts as I rolled my boxer-briefs down and finally hanging from one ankle--the kid clambered back onto me before I had the chance to get rid of them. He forced a kiss on me, hot--not the good kind, no, the muggy-breath sort that's only okay when there's no other alternative--and somewhat annoying.

Until bare dick met skin and he ground down again, and this time, my hands found his shoulders and clawed deep. This is the fuck-yes I've needed since the last time I got laid. Um…whenever that was. And you know what? Take your lame ass comments and shove 'em up your nose.

"Fuck, kid, you make me cum next coupla minutes, I'll blow ya crosseyed," I swore--and no, fuck no, that was not an edge of desperation in my voice!

He sniggered; "You really think I'll last that long?"

His dick poked me in the nutsack, his balls smacking my ass, and I was done for, gone, all that fucking cross-eyed, toe-curling, body-clenching bullshit. I squalled like a fuckin' dying hippo, and felt the body on top of mine jiggle with inane laughter.

Frowning, I ignored the last few shoots from my dick as I dug fingers in his side and made him squeal, following his flailing body mass until I could turn over and find his hips. His cock was red and ready, pubes a sweaty, curly mass that got in my mouth even as I licked the base of his dick.

He froze completely, and the moment I fully took my brother's dick into my mouth, he let out his breath in a choking sob; the feel of his balls tightening was all the warning I had before he shot a wad right against my left cheek, gumming my teeth even as I straightened my head to better take the rest of his load.

His foot twitched as he finished, knee jumping, and I swirled my tongue around the head and heard him sob again--that 'my penis is happy, I am happy, the world is fucking GREAT' sort. Lucky bastard.

And then the awkward set in.

My mouth on softening brother-dick, his entire body enflamed, and my cum all over the fuckin' motel comforter. The sound of my mouth pulling off was overly-loud and wet, and he shuddered in belated revulsion.

Yah, revulsion. Right.

I sat up and turned my back to him, still wearing my Harley shirt that sported a few pale, crusted spots near the hem--I took the time to scratch at them with a blunt fingernail, which only made it worse. Oh well, what's a bit of cum between shirt and owner, eh? The Kid sighed, whole body in on the action before he shifted, lazy.

"…I went cross-eyed."

"Well, that's to be expected. I'm a fuck god."

There was a moment before he again started shaking, the bed vibrating before his laughter could even be expressed through voice; a smirk pulled at my lips, but only 'cause he couldn't see it.

I took a glance backwards to make sure my spot was clear before I lowered back, my right knee coming up so my foot could rest against the mattress. My knee moved of its own accord, left and right, which is pretty fuckin' weird when you stop to think about it. Left. Right. Like a fuckin' metronome, and how do those keep a beat and never falter?!

Halfway through thinking that, my leg stopped in midswing and fell over, bruising my other patella. Hell yah I said 'patella'. What's it to ya?!

Finally, he propped himself up onto his elbow--dry, scaly elbow--and asked, "What does this mean?"

"Means I'm a sex god."

He snorted and poked me in the ribs, pleased by my mute wiggle; "Be serious, fuck-face."

A shrug was about as serious as I could handle. He sighed and fell back down, elbow jabbing me in the shoulder and I never even received an apology. Jerk.

Still, I said nothing as he again sat up and turned, lying lengthwise across the bed and smooshing my only-slightly-furrier-belly-than-his with his fat, hard head. His face was nearly in my groin and hair poked and jabbed my lower stomach; he's got fuckin' straw on his scalp, I swear.

"…That can't be comfortable for you."

"Shut up. It is." His tone warned me not to say anything despite his obvious discomfort, and I rolled my eyes, but shifted, lessening the toll on his neck and spine.

"T'ain't comfortable for me," I grumbled.

"Shut up, it is!"

His tone was the same as before--petulant--and I couldn't help a slight chuckle, feeling him smile against my skin.

"Hey, Michael?"


Fingers picked at his hair, sifting through a chunk and then causing it to go a different direction; he didn't stop me.

"You asked what this meant, yah?"


I stared up at the ceiling, fingers still messing with his hair; "Means, we're brothers ain't never met before today, but we're already closer than most get ever."

He digested, face growing hot on my belly. "Jes't brothers?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. …Does give me reason to come out more to see the ol' man, though."

"…I'm going to U of GAT after graduation."

Not far from me at all. Another smile pulled at my mouth, and I couldn't help pulling at his hair in response.

"We'll see, then, kid, we'll see."

"…You are such a douche."

"But at least I don't rape and pillage and commandeer young virgins for their unspoiled hymens."

"There is that."

We were quiet a moment, and then I asked in a serious tone, "Hey, Michael? How does a redneck get a date?"

He shifted, shrugging one shoulder, "Dunno."

I smirked; "Goes to his family reunion."

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


and, somehow, i wanted to use this joke but never got the chance: mitch sings "kyle fucking star," in the hollywood undead lyrics, when it should be "jeffree fucking star," and i wanted to have The Kid ask him about that. the joke: "oh, Kyle is fucking Star, and he's bi, so there's a good chance that he's also fucking other girl's boyfriends. it really pisses him off when i sing it, but Star thinks it's crazy funny."

and that, is that.