Butchies (2019)
31/1/19 01:07![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scubatankfilledwithfarts There are only so many things one can do to keep warm when you live in what should by all legal accounts be a condemned building. Hot water bottles and three pairs of socks, microwaving your underwear until you don’t know if the holes are from radiation or you. Even doing laundry is more beneficial to all the moving energy during these times. Of course, when your landlady (?) is passed out downstairs in the laundry room against the door again, it makes chores impossible. After checking to make sure she’s not dead [the rock-paper-scissors contest to see who’d call the morgue is something no one looks forward to], Butch marches back up to his shared room, compiling a list of blankets he’s going to steal.
The space heater is, naturally, in the middle of the living room and not hogged in Cassidy’s [after the last time she caught her bras on fire, may they rest comfortably in hell] so it’s the perfect place to camp out.
Equally naturally the moment he walks in the frigid air is noticeably not from his partner’s cold gaze but from the draft their space heater had spared them from.
“Any reason Tiny’s dead?”
“It’s a piece of crap,” Cassidy’s quick to hiss out, her arms crossed over her middle in a sign of Not wanting to Talk about it. “Everything dies sometime.”
Count on his partner to be morbid during the most wonderful season of the year for some. The question of what he’s going to do about his freezing [blue] balls is on the forefront of his mind and front throughout the rest of the evening, during dinner when a meatball tumbled down Cassidy’s shirt, and as his dead-eyed gaze follows the latest baseball game on tv. His team is winning, but he feels nothing but the chill of oncoming death.
Soon enough the time has come. The television is switched off. Dishes are piled in the corner for him to wash tomorrow as expected. Cassidy, warm and sleepy at his side, is all long limbs as she rises fluidly from the couch, cracks her back, and turns in, ponytail swinging.
Dread seeps into his belly. Despair encircles him. He wonders if Dave would let him stay with the brothers, and all at once he feels heat blossom to his cheeks. No, no, that wouldn’t be hard boiled!
Cassidy pokes her head in. “Are you coming?”
Angels sing and Butch suddenly knows what it’s like, that coveted ‘and they were roommates!’ She’s in the ugliest long tshirt known to man and mascara is caked to her eyelids but this is heaven.
God, he’s so blue balled he’s half going from the thought of spooning.
[okay but hes always going at the thought of spooning]
Cassidy doesn’t even lay ground rules, too tired and toes too cold against the backs of his thighs for this kind of care. Butch is sure his heart throbs against her back where his chest is pressed. This is exactly how 16 year old girls and Butch imagine losing their virginity. The only thing missing is a rendition of ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis.
She mumbles to herself, squirming, making herself comfortable and Butch overtly aware of every single instance soft, bare skin brushes against his. His partner is stupidly adorable and sexy and he struggles to keep his arms stiffly at his sides, in fear that he’ll wrap them around her to squeeze her tight.
For once in his life all is well. He’s got a full belly, he’s warm, tipping his head just so ensures he gets a whiff of Cassidy’s hair (pineapple shampoo)—completely satisfied in the dark.
He’s awakened from his deep slumber at the touch of something on his feet. Giggling, he lightly presses the toes of one foot into Cassidy’s thigh. “Stop, Cass. ‘m trynna sleep, even my boner’s sleepy…”
When there’s no cute retort from her, Butch dozes again until the pressure turns into what is definitely crawling beneath the blanket. It isn’t sugarplums that dance in his head, but visions of the bathroom scene from Ghoulies (1984) screech to a halt and though he doesn’t want to, he isn’t a coward.
With shaking fingers Butch lifts the covers. Two glowing red eyes come closer and closer and all he can do is scream until he’s hoarse, until a little pee comes out and all at once there is something furry sticking to his face? Claws dig into either side of his temples, his screams are muffled, and he’s down for the count. He isn’t sure if he passes out because a moment later he’s on the floor and a familiar voice, an angel’s voice, punctuates the removal of this ghoul—
“Eugene, come on! We talked about this. You can sleep on your pillow by mommy, okay?” Cassidy coos at the kerfuffled Raticate where it’s rocked back and forth in her arms, all snuggled up in her bountiful bosom.
In a kerfuffle like it hadn’t tried to actually murder Butch! “That little bastard tried to kill me!” He howls, and to his credit there aren’t tears pouring down his face. Eugene probably tore into his tearducts.
“You’re in his territory, what do you expect!” She cocks a hand on her hip, oblivious to the smug look the rat bastard shoots Butch’s way. “Either deal with it or find somewhere else to sleep.”
His heart’s never been so broken, not so broken since the first time she told him his hair color looks more like baby barf than green eggs and ham. The sad part is, he isn’t surprised. When is he going to be mommy’s baby?!
Not tonight.
Badou Nails isn’t a heavy sleeper by any means; between investigations that could get him killed, long nights and an even shorter life span thanks to his current residence, there is not a moment to spare being caught unaware. Which speaks a lot for how he managed to get up, take a piss, and only notice the other body in his bed after crawling back beneath the sheets.
He chuffles and sighs, reaches for what he assumes are long legs, big tits and an even bigger heart.
What he sees is shit green hair and the teary brown eyes of one Butch, the trio of their group.
“Why the hell are you in here?! HOW did you get in here?!” Badou demands, highly offended he isn’t Harley, more so than offended he managed to break in.
“Dave let me in,” Butch mumbles, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. He thumbs at the top of that sheet in that way he does when he’s acting pathetic.
Badou lets his head hit the pillow. He sighs. “Why not sleep in Dave’s room?”
His pillow is retrieved and shoved into Butch’s mouth after his answer: “It wouldn’t be right. Not before the wedding.”
The space heater is, naturally, in the middle of the living room and not hogged in Cassidy’s [after the last time she caught her bras on fire, may they rest comfortably in hell] so it’s the perfect place to camp out.
Equally naturally the moment he walks in the frigid air is noticeably not from his partner’s cold gaze but from the draft their space heater had spared them from.
“Any reason Tiny’s dead?”
“It’s a piece of crap,” Cassidy’s quick to hiss out, her arms crossed over her middle in a sign of Not wanting to Talk about it. “Everything dies sometime.”
Count on his partner to be morbid during the most wonderful season of the year for some. The question of what he’s going to do about his freezing [blue] balls is on the forefront of his mind and front throughout the rest of the evening, during dinner when a meatball tumbled down Cassidy’s shirt, and as his dead-eyed gaze follows the latest baseball game on tv. His team is winning, but he feels nothing but the chill of oncoming death.
Soon enough the time has come. The television is switched off. Dishes are piled in the corner for him to wash tomorrow as expected. Cassidy, warm and sleepy at his side, is all long limbs as she rises fluidly from the couch, cracks her back, and turns in, ponytail swinging.
Dread seeps into his belly. Despair encircles him. He wonders if Dave would let him stay with the brothers, and all at once he feels heat blossom to his cheeks. No, no, that wouldn’t be hard boiled!
Cassidy pokes her head in. “Are you coming?”
Angels sing and Butch suddenly knows what it’s like, that coveted ‘and they were roommates!’ She’s in the ugliest long tshirt known to man and mascara is caked to her eyelids but this is heaven.
God, he’s so blue balled he’s half going from the thought of spooning.
[okay but hes always going at the thought of spooning]
Cassidy doesn’t even lay ground rules, too tired and toes too cold against the backs of his thighs for this kind of care. Butch is sure his heart throbs against her back where his chest is pressed. This is exactly how 16 year old girls and Butch imagine losing their virginity. The only thing missing is a rendition of ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis.
She mumbles to herself, squirming, making herself comfortable and Butch overtly aware of every single instance soft, bare skin brushes against his. His partner is stupidly adorable and sexy and he struggles to keep his arms stiffly at his sides, in fear that he’ll wrap them around her to squeeze her tight.
For once in his life all is well. He’s got a full belly, he’s warm, tipping his head just so ensures he gets a whiff of Cassidy’s hair (pineapple shampoo)—completely satisfied in the dark.
He’s awakened from his deep slumber at the touch of something on his feet. Giggling, he lightly presses the toes of one foot into Cassidy’s thigh. “Stop, Cass. ‘m trynna sleep, even my boner’s sleepy…”
When there’s no cute retort from her, Butch dozes again until the pressure turns into what is definitely crawling beneath the blanket. It isn’t sugarplums that dance in his head, but visions of the bathroom scene from Ghoulies (1984) screech to a halt and though he doesn’t want to, he isn’t a coward.
With shaking fingers Butch lifts the covers. Two glowing red eyes come closer and closer and all he can do is scream until he’s hoarse, until a little pee comes out and all at once there is something furry sticking to his face? Claws dig into either side of his temples, his screams are muffled, and he’s down for the count. He isn’t sure if he passes out because a moment later he’s on the floor and a familiar voice, an angel’s voice, punctuates the removal of this ghoul—
“Eugene, come on! We talked about this. You can sleep on your pillow by mommy, okay?” Cassidy coos at the kerfuffled Raticate where it’s rocked back and forth in her arms, all snuggled up in her bountiful bosom.
In a kerfuffle like it hadn’t tried to actually murder Butch! “That little bastard tried to kill me!” He howls, and to his credit there aren’t tears pouring down his face. Eugene probably tore into his tearducts.
“You’re in his territory, what do you expect!” She cocks a hand on her hip, oblivious to the smug look the rat bastard shoots Butch’s way. “Either deal with it or find somewhere else to sleep.”
His heart’s never been so broken, not so broken since the first time she told him his hair color looks more like baby barf than green eggs and ham. The sad part is, he isn’t surprised. When is he going to be mommy’s baby?!
Not tonight.
Badou Nails isn’t a heavy sleeper by any means; between investigations that could get him killed, long nights and an even shorter life span thanks to his current residence, there is not a moment to spare being caught unaware. Which speaks a lot for how he managed to get up, take a piss, and only notice the other body in his bed after crawling back beneath the sheets.
He chuffles and sighs, reaches for what he assumes are long legs, big tits and an even bigger heart.
What he sees is shit green hair and the teary brown eyes of one Butch, the trio of their group.
“Why the hell are you in here?! HOW did you get in here?!” Badou demands, highly offended he isn’t Harley, more so than offended he managed to break in.
“Dave let me in,” Butch mumbles, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. He thumbs at the top of that sheet in that way he does when he’s acting pathetic.
Badou lets his head hit the pillow. He sighs. “Why not sleep in Dave’s room?”
His pillow is retrieved and shoved into Butch’s mouth after his answer: “It wouldn’t be right. Not before the wedding.”