Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’ve got issues.

For the life of you, you haven’t figured out what those issues are exactly, or even how to go about “fixing” any of them. That’s for your best friend Curly to figure out. He’s the one constantly going on and on, telling you that you’ve got problems. Telling you that it’s okay, that he’ll help you fix it. Make things better.

Tonight, you’re taking the easy way out. You’re at a bar, drinking your sorrows down to the bottom of the glass, and then doing it all over again. No car keys to revoke, you came here by cab anyway. The bartender glares at you all the same. You’re a shitty tipper.

“What’d she say to you exactly?”

Curly interrupts your vibe, those soft blue eyes piercing through the darkest corners of your soul. You hate the way he looks at you, cautious but hopeful. Believing in the better parts of you than the parts that have hurt him.

“I told you. She said she was sorry about how things ended.”

You’re not talking about an ex-girlfriend of yours. None of them would offer such kind words, if you could even call those real relationships. Instead, you’re talking about Curly’s ex. One of them, though they’re all pretty interchangeable in your mind. This one in particular is a new neighbor in your apartment complex, having moved into the unit across from yours. She thinks you’re a great guy because you’re still friends with Curly. Not because she actually knows you.

“Yeah, but...Anything else?”

Your eyes swim through the seas of inebriation to find those fucking blue irises that keep you up at night. Your jaw hangs slack for a moment before you shut it and take another swig.

“Why do you wanna know so bad? You’re still pining after what she did to you?”

“I don’t know.” Curly answers with his usual brand of pathetic beleaguered sighing. “I know she never meant to hurt me. That’s what matters, isn’t it? Why else would she say she’s sorry?”

“You think I know? I didn’t even recognize her until she asked me about you. Alls I told her was that you’re a sky man now. All you know how to love is the stars and the rumble of an engine beneath your feet. That’s true, ain’t it? You’re not the kind of guy who can be counted on in a relationship. You’re gone more years than you’re here in months. Kind of hard to make that kind of commitment, don’t you think?”

This drunken mouth of yours is still as slick as ever. You watch with satisfaction as the hope in Curly’s face dims. The best part is, you don’t even have to pretend to feel bad about it. This is exactly why Curly keeps you around. A cold splash of truth is the only way to abate those delusional flames away.

“I can’t say you’re wrong there.” Curly takes a swig of his own drink, thumbing the rim as he studies the emptied bottom with a furrowed brow. “...Even so. Maybe acknowledging that is the first step towards making a change.”

You keep your mouth shut. It’s the only way you can stop yourself from screaming at him to shut up.

“I’ve made so much progress with this company. They’re planning on promoting me to captain after my next voyage. It would open up so many more doors, but...I don’t know. There’s a part of me that knows there’s a top to the ladder somewhere. Eventually, I’ll be forced to come back down, whether it’s my choice or not. Why not make the choice myself now, while it’s not too far from the ground?”

Curly blinks a few times, shaking his head.

“Did anything I said just then make any sense?”

“Kinda.”

“Okay...What do you think I should do?”

“Christ, Curly. Why do you need to ask me how to live your life?”

“Because you were there for me when my life fell apart.” Curly grabs your shoulder. His grip is tighter than he probably means for it to be. There’s a desperation in his gaze that has your belly twisting itself in knots. “You were there to watch me fumble and fall, and then tell me to keep going. Maybe I haven’t told you this enough, but...I trust you, Jimmy.”

Do you buy that for even a second? Stop, and feel the way his hand trembles as he comes to realize the way he’s touching you. He doesn’t pull away, just gives you more slack. Widens his smile just a bit more, reassuring your ego. You wish you were still capable of falling for this crap. It would make pretending easier.

“Would you trust me if I said you’re better off without dragging her into your mess?” You answer with what you want. You answer with what’s better for you. “You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. Don’t spoil it trying to fit in pieces that you know won’t bend the way you need them to.”

Your words reach him. He lets go of your shoulder, and stares down at his empty glass again. He pushes it to the edge of the counter, and makes eye contact with the bartender. When it’s full and in his palm again, he nurses it with a wet thumb across the surface.

“You’re right.” Curly rolls his other hand across the surface of the bar. “I...I’m just being selfish again, aren’t I? Thinking I can do anything just because I want things to work out that way.”

“...It’s one of your better qualities, Curly.” You humor him. Not because you think it’ll keep things the way they are, but because you want to. You only ever feel this way around him. “That obnoxious optimism is why you’re doing well in this career of yours. ‘Pave the way for humanity, one smile at a time.’ Some shit like that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Curly cackles, his cheeks overflowing with the edge of his teeth. It’s as grotesque a sight as it is mesmerizing. “Y’know. It’s not that easy being up there. If not for the lack of company, then for the lack of knowing what to do with myself. What I’m going to be doing in the future. When I’m out there, I think about what I’d rather be doing here. Instead of going to the bar every day with you, we could do this on the weekends instead, because we’d have the whole year to do whatever we wanted. Maybe even catch a movie. Enjoy it all better without a ticking clock on my mind telling me this can only last for so long. Human lives shouldn’t be spent measured in the time you make for others. It should be about the impression you leave on the people in your life.”

He’s looking at you. Sickeningly, cloyingly sweet as he reaches for your shoulder again. You swear, he makes you ill to look at sometimes.

“I want to fix your impression of me, Jimmy. I’m gonna do that, I promise you.”

You’ve got some serious issues, Jim. When I’m done fixing mine up, I’ll fix yours too.

You are blitzed out of your fucking mind. Thankfully for you, unlike some drunks, you don’t get too angry when you’re inebriated. If anything, it mellows you out. Helps you recontextualize your life. Makes you think.

It helps you act when you’re too cowardly to do so otherwise.

You’re standing in the cold of a December night as Curly holds his phone out between the two of you, his fingers shaky as they try to type your address into the search engine. He’s trying to get you home.

“Hang tight, I—I got this.”

He’s going to send you home. Then what will you do?

You could run into her in the hallway. She’ll ask if you talked to Curly, told him about the museum she’s employed at. She’ll ask if you told him she’d like to have him as her plus one to that fundraiser, give them a better chance to reconnect than meeting at a fucking coffee shop.

Better yet, Curly will go behind your fucking back and introduce himself again to her anyway. Say all you said was her apology, excuse it as you being over-protective. He’ll espouse all those good qualities he sees in you but can never put a name to any.

It’ll end the same way. You, getting to see your best friend more than ever, but it won’t fucking matter. You’ll have lost him. She’ll change him. Fix him. Make him the man he wants to be but can’t on his own. He won’t need to worry about you anymore.

You’ll be alone. Just like you fucking deserve.

You slap the phone out of Curly’s hand.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?!” Curly snaps as he bends over to grab the device, checking it for scratches. How old and cheap was his last model that he still has that force of habit? “Shit. You know how expensive this was for me! Don’t use the excuse that you’re drunk—”

“Money, money, money. That’s aaaaall it ever comes down to, huh?” You wrap your arm around Curly’s shoulder. He’s an inch taller than you. Bigger too. If he tries to actually push you away, he has to reckon with the violence that entails. That usually keeps him humble.

“Money is damn important. You know this.” Curly rolls his eyes. He accepts your leeching yet again. You tap the screen of his phone, and erase the progress he had made towards typing your address.

“If money’s so important to you, forget about wasting a ride on me. Just take me back to your place.”

Your speech is slurred. You think you got about fifty percent of those words clear, and the rest is up in the air. Your arm wrapped around Curly’s shoulder lifts, until your hand comes into contact with Curly’s cheek.

“Poke~” Your finger presses against the lightly freckled skin. You watch as those freckles disappear behind a veil of bright red.

“Wow, you’re just—you’re incredible tonight, you know that, Jim?”

You’re just another mess for me to clean up, and you’re not even a little sorry about it. I’ll take care of it, though. If I didn’t, you’d suffer, and I wouldn’t be able to live with that.

The smallest of victories. A delaying of the inevitable. It won’t wrestle back control into your hands if all you do is crash on his couch tonight. It’ll only be another reason why he’ll choose to forget about you someday.

You have to do something more. You have to take matters into your own hands.

He’s fully exhausted by the time you make it back to his apartment. He’s only two blocks away from the bar, but also up a whole four flights of stairs. The elevator is always broken. That’s Pony Express residential at its finest.

He mutters something about needing to use the bathroom first, so you wait with the discomfort in your bladder as you hear him piss through the thin walls of his apartment. At least his neighbors are fellow freighters. They don’t have to hear a damn thing.

He’s already half-undressed by the time he comes out of the bathroom, a pair of light blue briefs covering his junk and a dirty white t-shirt covering his chest. You can see his nipples poking through the sweat-clad garment. You rush past him into the bathroom before he can get a word out.

“Sorry!!” Curly shouts through the door. He’s apologizing for not meeting your needs in his own home. You don’t get why he bothers.

You shove everything off of your body, and dangle your legs over the toilet seat. You angle your cock just enough to not spray absolutely everywhere. You’ve got issues. You forget to shower most weeks. That doesn’t mean you like the scent of your own piss.

When you’re emptied out, you can’t seem to let go. You massage the phallus in your hand, knowing damn well you can’t tease it the way it needs on your own. You think about that girl. You think about the key she gave you, entrusting you because you’re the closest thing she knows to a reliable neighbor. You think about the mole above her left ass cheek that you saw when her shirt lifted up as she was grabbing her mail.

It doesn’t do shit for you, but you’re already masturbating. Once your libido starts up, it’s hard to slow down.

You think about Curly fucking her instead. You think about him taking her into his arms, brawny and handsome, with that awful fucking clown smile etched onto his chin. You think about him kissing her, rolling his hands around her waist, laying her down to spread her thighs.

You think about how his tits somehow manage to be more impressive than hers, with perfectly shaped nipples perfect for feeding. You think about him sucking on hers anyway, because he’s a sentimental piece of crap who gives a shit about making his partner feel good. You think about her writhing underneath him, begging him to give it a break, but he doesn’t. He keeps going. He knows she can take more.

Your cock is red hot in your hand.

Imagine Curly’s dick sliding in. She’s disgustingly wet, open wide enough to take him and then some. Pre-cum won’t stop sputtering out of him as he pushes in, forming a well within her. His foreskin brushes at the entrance to her pussy, bunching up as he thrusts hard. She screeches as loud as she can, no neighbors to disturb this time of the year. He kisses her quiet anyway, desperate for the validation that he’s doing a good job. He won’t let a single moan go unappreciated.

You look at him in your mind. The adoration in those blue eyes, the sweat that rolls off his skin and melts onto your tongue. You feel the pounding as it hits you like a donkey kick to the back. You fall into him.

You’ve been the one underneath him this whole time.

Your hand is soaked in hot cum. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting lost in your mind again. This is getting old.

These fantasies of yours are just a bad side effect of the gay domination porn you’ve been getting into lately. You don’t swing that way, but the borderline snuff shit doesn’t hit the same anymore. The only thing hotter than a battered and beaten woman is a man that’s put in the same situation.

You don’t want to do that to Curly though. You sure as shit don’t want that to happen to you, either, but it leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth thinking about Curly wearing a bruise around his eye or bearing a limp in his gait. It doesn’t stop you from thinking about it anyway.

The two of you used to be something. Friends. You used to call him your best friend, and he did the same for you. He probably still regards you that way. That, or he doesn’t have many people back on Earth he can rely upon to keep him grounded. You’re the last lifeline he has on this fucking rock. Without you, he’d start getting ideas of staying lost in space. Or so he’s said before.

You don’t buy it. A guy like him needs someone to need him. Someone who’ll miss him when he’s gone, then give him all the attention in the world when he returns. It doesn’t mean you’re not his friend. You’re just not special. Better a lover than some moody asshole he knows from high school.

The bathroom is spotless of your spunk when you leave it, wearing just your underwear and nothing else. Your face is still wet with the water you splashed on it, and as you rub your chin, you notice the pillow and blankets left out for you on his couch.

Snoring interrupts your thoughts from the other room. Light and soft, the softest of struggle before falling into a deep sleep.

You don’t move for a while. It’s dark in the apartment. Your eyes adjust, and your mind slips. Your feet move of their own accord, until eventually, you part open the door to Curly’s room. He didn’t even close it all the way. I̴t̶’̶s̴ ̵l̷i̵k̸e̸ ̷h̶e̷’̷s̸ ̵j̷u̸s̸t̴ ̸a̷s̷k̷i̶n̸g̶ ̸f̶o̷r̵ ̸i̴t̸.̶

The sheet he’s sleeping under slips off his body with ease. He doesn’t stir. He must be used to sleeping with shitty blankets that fall off constantly. Lucky for you, less so for him.

You’re not even sure what you’re doing here, honestly. You mean it when you say you don’t want to hurt him. Not in a way that would leave him to resent you for it. If you have to scare him into feeling guilty for abandoning you, that’s fine. It’s crossing boundaries you have a problem with.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though, right?

Now, now. Don’t get carried away too fast, old boy. There’s a balance to be had here. Surely you can get away with enough without eating the whole cake.

You start by touching his thigh. You’re surprised by the lack of density. Curly looks hard as a rock on the surface, but when you press down into his flesh, you’re given little resistance. Either space does a damn good job of atrophying the muscle away, or those trucker meals Curly’s told you about have fattened him up.

Looking at him a bit closer, you think the latter might be closer to the truth. His gut is soft and round, though it’s not to the point of sticking out past his pectorals. He’s blessed with a body a Hollywood action star would kill for, always looking the part of a leader from the day he was born.

That’s why he was always picked first, and you were always picked last.

You have an easier time of putting on muscle than Curly, but it doesn’t show in the same way. You’re naturally lean and lanky, a twig blowing through the air. Unremarkable. You used to stand in the middle of a room, waiting to see if anyone would notice you. When they didn’t, you decided that meant you were invisible, which made you superior to everyone else. You felt like a god.

Your hand slips underneath the hem of his shirt, rolling your fingers across his belly and squeezing it slightly. He’s so Goddamn warm. That same tingle of godhood tickles your spine. What else can you get away with?

You roll a thumb across his nipple. Over the fabric, since his shirt collar doesn’t go that low. You bet the friction feels better anyway. Curly’s mouth hitches in his sleep, and though you’re cautious about waking him up, you don’t stop. You just slow down, tracing him gently, watching him carefully.

“Mmm...”

A moan. A fucking moan. He’s moaning because of you.

No turning back now.

You do it with both hands to both nipples, thumbing over and around them in sync. His chest rises and falls with each breath, shortening when you tug. His eyes squint, and it’s only then that you back off. He sighs in his sleep, safely unconscious.

Fuck. Fuck. That lower lip shouldn’t look as Goddamn enticing as it is. The wet of his spit calls out to you, begging to be tasted. You want to know what the hell all those bitches are calling him back for now. They know they missed their chance on a good thing, but you’ve never had a lick in all the years you’ve known him. Why not? Why the fuck not?

You straddle one of his legs, and lean over him carefully. As you do, you feel something hard against your briefs. An erection against your erection. You can scarcely believe it until you look down and see for yourself. Curly’s cock is making a valiant escape effort against the fabric of his briefs. When you move your hips, give even the slightest bit of friction, you can feel him react underneath you.

His breath hitches, and you can taste it. Your lips brush against his, too chickenshit to press down, but even just this modicum of touch has you rethinking your principles. If you get lucky tonight, who’s to say you couldn’t give him an extra dosage in his drink tomorrow?

You’re not lucky tonight, though. In fact, you’re fucking screwed. That’s what you’re thinking as Curly’s eyes fly open, face-to-face with a pair of blue irises staring through your soul. You reflexively jump back, mind drawing a blank.

“Jimmy...? What are you doing here?”

Curly’s voice is quiet. Not a whisper, but airier than you’re used to. Higher pitched, almost childlike. As if you needed more reasons to feel like a predator. Well, besides the obvious.

“I...I’m here because—” Fuck. Say something. Say something stupid, even. Make him think he’s still dreaming, even if it’s a nightmare. “You were pent up. You needed me. You said so.”

Those blue eyes sit vacantly, watching you. You expect anything. Resistance. A sneer. Maybe a gun to the head. Anything at all.

“...But...How’d you get on the ship?”

You expect anything but that.

You wave a hand over his face. His eyes don’t respond. His lips stay perfectly parted, as though he lacks the rigidity to keep them shut.

Holy shit. He’s still asleep.

“You kept saying that there’s always a need for pilots.” You pivot hard. He thinks you’re on the ship? That’s perfect for you. Brilliant even. “Now that you’re manning the helm yourself, you don’t want just anyone sitting in your co-pilot chair. Who else do you really trust, Curly?”

Curly breathes for a few moments, deep and slow. His mind is fighting to wake up, but sleep keeps a steady hand on his heart.

“Yeah...That makes sense.”

Curly makes the wheeziest, most ghoulish noise you’ve ever heard. You think it’s a laugh, but it’s hard to say. It’s not like he’s smiling in this near-catatonic state.

His eyelids droop for a moment, and then re-open halfway.

“You’re pretty pent up too, Jimmy.”

You let out a chuckle in spite of yourself. Fuck. Are you actually going to get away with this?

“Yeah. I am.”

You press down on him with your hips. He lets out something between a grunt and a moan. He spreads his legs slightly.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Curly closes his eyes again, his lips flapping between words. “Instead of settling down...Marrying wives...Having kids...I’m dragging you into my world instead.”

“I followed you here.” You grind on him with more confidence now, watching how he closes his mouth to swallow his own spit. “I don’t know how you’ve done this for so long without going crazy. It’s a wonder you don’t skip out on seeing me altogether. I wouldn’t be offended if you needed a week or two permanently camped in a brothel.”

“Mmnghffhh...But...But I care about getting to see you. You’re my best friend...H-Hah...!”

He’s so damn sensitive. You’re barely doing anything. Just some light over the clothes rubbing of your groins, hardly anything worth getting worked up over. And yet, he still is. Interesting.

“Yeah. Your best friend who’s currently helping you get your rocks off. Bet this isn’t the first time you’ve thought about something like this.”

An overt silence hangs in the air, textured with Curly’s labored breathing and your own nostrils flaring with greed. He opens his eyes again.

“No, it isn’t.”

Shock stops you in your tracks. Curly’s sleep-addled brain picks up on this development quicker than you have the chance to formulate your feelings.

“D-Don’t freak out, please, Jimmy, I...It’s just thoughts, it’s never this, it’s never—I wouldn’t think about you that way. I just miss you. I miss being around you, and sometimes that coincides with my personal time...”

He trails off. There’s no way he can make this sound as bad as it is. That’s perfect for you, though. Finally, an edge. A piece of Curly you can scrape off and keep in your back pocket.

Something you can use to hold over his head when you’re done pretending that you’re his personal space pony.

“Shh...Hey. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have similar thoughts about you.”

You resume grinding, this time applying more pressure. Curly lets out a staggered moan of relief, his eyeballs rolling back into his skull. Seems like he’s waking up slightly, but not enough to break out of his fantasy.

“Since we’re both uncut, I was thinking about us sharing sleeves. How’s that sound to you, Curly?”

“B-Brilliant...!” Curly gasps, his fingers forming into fists around the bed sheets below. “S-Sounds bloody perfect, Jimmy...!”

Exactly what you want to hear. You slip your dick out of your briefs, and help Curly do the same. You hold the two of them out together, pressed into your palm, measuring them up against one another. You smugly grin to yourself. There’s one area you have an inch over him.

You switch it up, pressing your tip to his. You’re both spurting out precum like crazy, and it only feels better when you massage your heads underneath your thumb.

“Jim...Shit...” Curly tosses his head from side-to-side. “Y-You’re killing me here. Fuck...”

“How else are you going to get everything out if you aren’t being milked for all you’ve been holding back? Let me keep going. You can thank me later.”

“N-No, don’t stop. Please, please, please, Jimmy. I need this, I do.”

He’s saying the words you told him he said. He’s buying into your story wholesale, for no other reason than that you’re absolutely right about everything else. He is pent up, and he would willingly ignore that for the sake of his stupid career.

It doesn’t really matter that it’s you. You just happen to be the one constant in his universe that isn’t himself.

You lift up his foreskin, and slip yourself underneath. At the same time, you fold back your own foreskin, until it’s wide enough to stretch across his. You keep going until you’re both fully docked in each other’s ports, rubbing up against each other, head brushing against head. You twist your palm around the connection point, and let out a harrowed moan.

“Curly...!” You call his name in a sing-song fray of your own neediness. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“K-Keep your voice down, Jimmy.” Curly reminds you what you should be telling yourself. You’re not trying to wake the guy, but he’s the one who thinks he’s sharing walls with his crew. “I can’t let anyone know we’re doing this...God, does it feel amazing, though.”

“It does.” You keep pumping the two of you against each other. It feels less weird by the second, and more like you should have been doing this with him a long time ago. “Masturbating’s always better with a friend, wouldn’t you say so, Curly?”

“Mm―Y-Yeah, certainly feels that way...”

Curly’s sweating hotter than ever. You place your other hand on his chest, and you can feel his heart practically beating out of his chest. He’s fully fucking awake, and yet he doesn’t know it.

“J-Jimmy, I...C-Can we try kissing? It’ll help quiet us both at the very least.”

He’s rationalizing asking you to do more than just masturbate with him. You make note of it, because it’s something you would have suggested if you were as desperate as he is.

“Sure thing, Captain. Pucker up.”

One hand squeezing Curly’s tit, the other hand squeezing your conjoined cocks, you lean down and press your mouth fully onto his. He’s overly receptive, kissing you back with the type of passion usually reserved for long-awaited reunions. Like he’s definitely thought about kissing you before.

You stroke your tongue across his mouth, causing him to shudder and gasp with newfound arousal. It strikes him down below, his cock pulsating against yours. He opens his mouth, sucks on your tongue, then pushes his own past your lips. You exchange spit as freely as you share pre-cum, stroking and sickly sweet sucking past the point that you could justify this as platonic.

“...You taste like gin.”

“Yeah. And you taste like powdered gelatin.”

Curly giggles like a school child, light and wheezy. Totally unlike that strange cackle from before. It’s more of what you’re used to from him anyway. He so easily dismisses the idea that he’s awake with the lightest of jabs. It’s probably easier for him to handle it that way.

No matter how much he’s enjoying himself, he’s not likely to be pleased at the idea of being molested in his sleep. A reminder to keep playing into the fantasy than out yourself for what you are. For what he continuously refuses to see in you.

You’re both looking into each other’s eyes as you roll your tongues over each other, hands on your shoulders gripping you with corpse-like strength. You’re doing a piss-poor job of keeping down each other’s moans, but Curly seems to have forgotten that plot point. You’re both at the edge, ready to fall over together.

He pulls you down when it happens. Buries his mouth into yours, eyes squinting shut. Five fucking years of cum floods your foreskin, and spills back down into his. He’s still pulsating when he lets you pull back to assess the damage.

“...Let me clean this up before I go back to my bunk.”

You reach for the tissue box next to his bed. As your hand returns to wipe, Curly grabs your arm and squeezes hard enough that you can’t move it any further.

“J-Jimmy wait―” Curly fails to sit up, the dizziness of inebriation and sleep-deprivation both lulling him back to sleep in spite of your interruption. “Don’t go. Don’t―Don’t leave me. At least stay the night. Please.”

“...What would our superiors say if they saw you like this, Curly?” A grin twists itself onto your cheeks. “Would they ever have promoted you if they knew you’d have this weak of a constitution?”

“...I’m weaker around you.” Curly responds in a fittingly tired voice. His eyes struggle to stay open, and his grip wanes enough that his arm drops. “You know that.”

You didn’t, truthfully. It makes sense when you think about it though. After all, what’s a model fucking citizen like Curly doing around a guy who can barely afford his rent like you?

You clean the two of you up. You stuff your cocks back into your respective briefs, and then to placate the guy until he falls asleep, you lie down next to him, pulling the sheet over your bodies.

He turns onto his side to face you, grabbing your shoulder. You wait it out, sleepless nights not uncommon for you. You’ll power through this. He won’t. You just have to be patient.

Time passes. He flips onto his other side. You exit his bed cautiously, holding the sheet up slightly so you don’t tug it off of him. You stay on your toes even after you close his bedroom door behind you.

You make your bed to lie on for the night, and throw on the shirt you wore that day to keep warm. You check his wall clock. You’ve got about four hours of sleep at your disposal, and you’ll probably only sleep through half of that.

Chapter Text

The first time the two of you met was like something out of a cheesy romantic teen dramedy. One where Curly was the handsome and popular jock, and you were the misunderstood and emotionally vulnerable youth. You cast him as your rival.

There was a girl. You don’t even remember her name, but you used to think fondly of her. Enough that you believed the two of you belonged together. Imagine the egg on your face when she started dating him instead.

It didn’t make sense to you. You and the girl listened to the same music, wore the same style of clothes, and even hung out with the same group of miscreants after school. She only knew Curly because the two of them exchanged notes after history.

You got some dirt on her. It was easy, you basically knew everyone she knew. No one really cared for her sudden switch-up in friends. One of them knew she had been hiding cold sores. You decided to tell him.

You caught him in the bathroom one day. You looked him up and down as he stood in the urinal next to you. When he asked him if something was wrong, you jokingly referenced looking for any bright red dots on his junk. He looked halfway between being ready to punch you and sheer panic. You zipped up, backed away, and excused yourself with a line about knowing his girl better than he did.

Apparently, you weren’t wrong. You figured that out the moment she came up and slapped you in the middle of the hallway. You later learned that they’d only kissed, but that still meant he had to get tested. She tried to explain the statistics to him, that most of the world has herpes anyway. It was too late for him to accept that.

You didn’t get the girl, but truthfully, with the way you went about it, you already weren’t concerned about that. Maybe all you wanted was to see the world burn. A fucked up youth more interested with inflicting your misery on a world that had already wronged you, when you should have been full of hope for the future. Just like he was.

You saw him crying, curled up into a ball underneath a stairwell. You did that to him. You should have felt delighted to hear those tears, but instead, an irrational paranoia consumed your waking thoughts. What the hell was he going to do to you when he pulled himself back together?

Shaky hands typed B7 into the number pad of a vending machine. You grabbed the cherry cola from the bottom, and cautiously made your way back to where he was.

He stared at you with tears streaming down his eyes, brow set in a glare. You were the last person he wanted to see. His expression changed dramatically when he saw what you were holding. It was a habit of his not hard to notice. He always worked on a bottle during the chemistry class you shared.

“Girls suck.”

Those were the words you left him with as you handed the bottle over. Wouldn’t want to screw up an offering by tossing the bottle and having it go everywhere. He accepted it, and you walked away.

The last you heard of that girl, she had transferred to start anew. It was a good thing she chose Curly instead. You had more in common with her than you thought.

You wake up without an alarm. You don’t normally need one anyway. Paranoia causes your body to flinch and check the wall clock constantly throughout the night. You give up about a half hour earlier than you’d normally need to wake.

Just as you sit up, the door to Curly’s room opens. You whip your head in his direction, squinting through the pain as he flicks the light on.

“Jimmy?” Curly’s eyes are wide. His brow is lowered in scrutiny. “Wait. You’re still out here?”

“Christ, of course I am.” You rub your eyes, lying to him as naturally as you breathe. “You let me crash here last night, remember? Didn’t think you’d try to fry me out...”

Curly stands in the doorframe of his room, blinking as he sways unsteadily on his feet. He’s in the midst of a crisis, one you started. You gave him a wet dream so realistic, he’s questioning its logistics. You’re not concerned, though. Curly rationalizes enough about you. He’ll buy this without you even trying.

“I...” You watch as Curly’s resolve dissolves in real time. His hands slip out of their grips, falling at this side. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to kick you out. I. I just had a dream last night, you were in it, and...”

He shakes his head. He puts on a grin and finally steps past the threshold.

“Why don’t I cook you up some bacon and eggs before you go?”

You aren’t an idiot to refuse free food when you can get it.

Sitting at his kitchenette’s bar that’s the closest thing he has to a dining room, you snack on a piece of bacon as he attempts to cook the perfect over easy egg. He appears to take great pride in it. It’s not like he gets to cook with real ingredients on his ship.

“So...Care to enlighten me about why I was in your dream?”

You poke and prod where you shouldn’t. The folly of your worst mistakes, but you never learn, do you? It’s hard not to play the fool when you get to watch Curly struggle his way out of answering you directly.

“Oh, um. I had been promoted to pilot, and you ended up as my co-pilot somehow.”

That’s all? You hold back a snicker.

“You were dreaming, alright. Fat fucking chance of that happening.”

Curly turns around, pan in hand. He scoops your eggs onto your plate, avoiding eye contact with you. His forced smile from before has completely vanished, replaced with dejected exhaustion.

“Yeah. I figured.”

“...Care to explain your reaction to finding me in your house this morning? You were looking at me like I was a home invader.”

Regardless of the fact that, in the eyes of the law should they ever find out what you did, you would be.

“No, I...”

“It’s alright. You can tell me. Let me guess, actually. I crashed the ship.”

“No, nothing like that.” Curly puts the pan down on the stove and shuts it off, staring at his own plate that’s gone untouched. He taps at a piece of bacon, eyes glued to the platter rather than you. “You weren’t―you didn’t do anything wrong. Not a damn thing. It was all me. I guess...I was forced to re-contextualize some feelings of mine, and I’m still caught off guard by it all.”

Curly sighs, and pushes a strip of bacon down his mouth. That same mouth you were sucking on with such greed the night before. He can’t get the taste of you out of his mouth.

“...What’s gonna happen now, then?”

You push your gambit. You watch his eyes widen, staring at you. Not in shack or awe, or even joy. It’s pure fear.

“W-What?”

“You know. With us. What’s going to happen? Is this where we part ways?”

“What?! No, I―”

“Look. Even if it’s just a dream, you’re obviously being cagey about it for a reason. My only guess is that you realized you don’t actually miss me the way you thought you did. Thinking about having to deal with me in the closest of closed quarters for over a year would change a lot between us, wouldn’t it? I don’t blame you for feeling that way, though. The writing’s been on the wall for a while.”

“No, Jim, that’s not it!”

Curly grabs your hand. It’s soft, warm, and big, gripping the bones in your hand hard enough that it feels like he could shatter them if he wanted to. He’s looking you in the eyes, and the story in his is one of desperation.

“I...I liked having you there, Jimmy. That’s why I’m so conflicted over it. I liked having you there with me, and...Fuck. Maybe I missed you more than I thought I did, or maybe I just missed being on Earth. I-It could mean either of those things. That being said, whatever writing you’re seeing is complete shite. I don’t want you to go, Jimmy. If anything, I...I was wondering if you wanted to stay here for the rest of the month.”

You’re the one with egg on his face now.

“You serious?” You blink rapidly a few times, your hand aching in his grip. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I am.” Curly stares at you with that same stoic pioneer face that makes him look oh so trustworthy. It’s his signature. The reason why he’s dated more chicks than you have in spite of being a spaceman. “I’d just...I’d feel comforted by your company, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll even pay your rent for the month. I’d really appreciate it...”

So this is Curly’s play then, is it?

“...You missed me that bad?”

You’re pushing it. You just want to hear him say it.

“I did.” Curly squeezes your hand more. He’s leaning across the bar ever so slightly. If you started leaning in right now, you could end up late to work.

Unfortunately for Curly, his plans are far less interesting than what you’ve got going on instead. You regard him with a smirk, and chew down on another piece of bacon.

“Promise to keep me fed too, and I’m sold.”

Whenever you get back home from work, all you want to do is lie on top of your mattress for a few hours and stop thinking. Today though, you’re hardly free of work. You have to pack instead.

It’s for the best. Your neighbor works different hours from you, but you always see each other when you’re leaving for work, because that’s when she leaves for her morning run. You didn’t have to see her this morning, and you won’t have to for the duration that Curly is back. You can avoid her questions about him, won’t even have to lie to her face. It’s perfect.

Your only real struggle from now on is keeping up appearances during the day, and making sure Curly gets some damn sleep so you can keep this up. It’ll be catastrophic if he figures out what you’ve done and where his newfound “feelings” are coming from, but you won’t let it get that far. He’s the one who makes a big stink about how important it is to take responsibility for one’s actions, and this is how you’re doing just that.

He’s the one with the "feelings," after all. Only right that you foster them appropriately. He’ll tell you when he’s ready, and maybe someday he’ll thank you for figuring out your relationship for the both of you.

Your bag is packed with the same three pairs of clothes you usually wear, and a few spare tops for mixing things up. A shit ton of underwear, too. You’re going to need it.

When you arrive at Curly’s apartment, an aroma permeates through the door that instantly has you salivating. Warm and savory, paired with a tantalizing spice that tickles your nostrils. Tikka masala. You lick your lips.

“Honey, I’m home~” You let yourself in with his spare key, an usual air of whimsy accompanying your every move. You haven’t felt a mood this good since the first time you tricked a girl into getting in bed with you.

“Glad you could make it!” Curly calls out to you from the kitchenette, beaming when he turns to look at you. “You think you’ll be good with just that one bag?”

“Should be.” Jimmy shrugs. “It’s pretty much what I live out of as is.”

“Alright, well, let me know if you need anything else. Dinner’s pretty much done, so come on and sit down.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You sit down at the countertop, mouth watering as Curly sets down your portion and his. Tikka masala over chicken and rice. In between your plates is a platter stacked with naan, freshly warmed.

“If I had any doubts about this arrangement before, they’re long gone now.”

You happily scoop a ruddy mixture onto your naan, and deliver a saucy bite to your mouth. Creamy spice happily tickles at your tongue, leaving you with a pleasant aftertaste and invigorating heat. God, you’ve missed food with flavor. 

“I’m happy to hear that.” Curly sits next to you, your knees bumping underneath. Just like they do when you go to the bar. Speaking of, he places down a can in front of you. Your eyes jump at the label.

“Wait, is this―”

“It is. I figured an arrangement like this is a special occasion, so I might as well splurge and get the good stuff for once.”

Oh. Oh, you’re being rewarded for this.

“Shit...I can’t even remember the last time I’ve had a real beer.” You hold the hand tightly in your grasp. “You’re gonna make me weep when I go back to downing the chemical crap.”

“How do you think I feel?” Curly chuckles, cracking open the seal of his own can. “Even water lacks flavor out there. If I avoid indulging when I’m back here, it’s like I went through all of that for no reward. Better the memory of what you’re working for than the misery of living paycheck to paycheck.”

“So you can say.” You open up your can too, delighting in the bubbles you feel bounce across your skin. “I can’t complain, though. I’ve never felt so happy to be a leech.”

You raise your cans together with a chortling cheer. Dinner goes by faster than you can stomach it, leaving the both of you to pat your bellies in satisfaction. Curly insists you get changed for the night while he cleans up. Seems like he intends on treating you like a guest the whole way through.

For someone as lazy and defiant to authority as you, you may as well hit the fucking jackpot. You don’t know what the hell Curly sees in you to treat you with such dignity. It’s starting to make you nervous.

What is this, really? Courtship? Seduction? Maybe even the power of manifestation? It’s weird, whatever it is. You feel like he’s training you. Worse, fishing out from the depths of your soul something that he wants.

Last night was the type of mistake you shouldn’t be eagerly looking to repeat again. If not for the consequences, then for the strange developments between both of you. Yet for some reason, you can’t convince yourself that it’s a bad idea to try it again. It’s not like he’ll remember it properly after all.

Time passes, and soon, you’re headed into Curly’s room butt naked. The less to clean, the better. On your body, at least. You’re going to try something different tonight.

Curly’s bed is big enough that another full grown man can park his ass down, hip-to-hip in an old fashioned “no homo” way. You’re hard without even trying, your hand slipping across Curly’s thigh while your other one grabs your dick. You’re twisting in tandem with your gropes.

“...Mmn...” Curly moans in his sleep. A little teasing is all it takes for his dreaming self to “awaken.” “...Jimmy...What are you...?”

“Evening, Curly.” Jimmy grins, not stopping in the slightest. “Or should I say ‘Captain’?”

Curly stares at you a while, and then draws his barely alive eyes downward. When he looks at you again, he seems just a tiny bit awake, but not fully.

“You can keep calling me Curly, Jimmy. Uhm...Why are you touching yourself?”

“You didn’t invite me tonight.” You shrug playfully, brushing shoulders with him. “I guess you weren’t prepared for how pent up a guy like me can get.”

Curly’s whole demeanor changes. That placid sleepy stoicism vanishes, and in its place is nightmarish panic as his eyes widen.

“W-Wait, I...I can get ready, too! I was just caught off guard is all.”

“Nah. No need to do all that. I just figured taking care of myself next to a warm body would do the trick.”

“And then it won’t be, and then you’ll be bumming me for a hit in the cockpit.”

“Well. The name’s fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Curly turns onto his side, his dick pulled out of his briefs and brushing up against your hip. When you turn to meet him, they’re touching each other again. Just like last night. It still sends shivers down your spine.

He slaps your hand away, grabbing your dick while dragging your fingers over to touch his. You chuckle as you pull down his foreskin and wrap your palm tightly around his cock. Stroking up and down, you speed up while Curly slows down until you’re moving at the same pace, looking each other in the eyes as you do it.

“Although, you know what?” You can’t shut up and just enjoy a good thing as it is. You want to feel Curly squirm against his perfect boy scout skin. “Doing this right now is great, but doing this elsewhere sounds fun too. It’s not like there’s any cameras on the ship, who knows what we can get away with?”

“We have other people, Jim.” Curly sighs into your touch, bumping his forehead against yours. “Corporate might not care about what the crew doesn’t tell them, but you can’t bet that other people won’t look out for an opportunity to get ahead. Regardless if it hits them in the paycheck, too.”

“Wow. I didn’t think you had it in you to be so nihilistic, Curly.”

“I’m not. You can look on the bright side of things while being realistic.”

You cackle into a moan, shuddering uncontrollably as he pushes his thumb down against the head of your cock. You open your eyes, and see him grinning eagerly at the sight of your demise. He’s enjoying getting you off a little too much.

Two can play at that. You mash your lips against his, an uncoordinated kiss that’s somehow hotter than the tentative lip smacking from the night before. Taking what you want without asking for it. Power over him as he melts into the touch.

He kisses you back with the eagerness of a boy much younger than him. Eager without the nerves to match, as Curly locks lips with you fast and hard. Your tongue scrapes across his teeth, and he pushes his onto yours. Your other hand reaches up and begins pulling and tugging at his nipple. His hand chooses to grope your ass. Your dicks are getting pulled together, hands joining up to jerk around both at the same time.

“Mmph...! M-Maybe...” Your kiss breaks for air, both of you sharply inhaling as you’re nearing your highs. “The, um. The cockpit does have a lock. We could just say we need it to focus on getting through an asteroid belt.”

“Hah.” You bite his lower lip. He rolls into you, sweat on his palm sticking to your skin. “I knew you’d figure something out.”

“Mm...Or maybe I’m just more pent up than I thought I was.”

There’s resignation in his sigh as he kisses you again. Long and soft, sucking sweetly on your lips as his hand travels up the side of your body until it’s stroking through your hair. They’re a bit greasy from lack of showering for a couple days. Curly doesn’t pay it any mind, continuing to feel it between his fingers.

The situation between your pelvises is a different story. You’re both frantically jerking off together, dicks red hot and ready to burst. One, two, fireworks in the night as you remain lip-locked. The two of you wrap your arms around each other afterwards, focused more on  the feeling of your bodies pressed together than getting off.

He tugs at the hem of his own shirt. You stop him. If he keeps trying to get things going again, it’ll be too much for you to clean up. He whines, and you kiss him until he stops.

“We should get to sleep.” You mutter against his mouth, brushing your nose against his. “We can...Always try something new tomorrow night. We’ve got plenty of time, right?”

“Mm...” The light from Curly’s eyes slowly begins to dim. You’re watching him fall back asleep in real time. “We should have...Done this back on Earth. We’d have a lot more room then.”

He’s back on the ship. Cozied up in his cot and sharing body heat with his best friend. Thinking about all that missed time when he could have been doing this sooner.

“Don’t think too much about it.” You encourage in a soft tone, ankle rolling over ankle. You wonder if any girl has ever made him shiver as much as you have. “We’re making up for the past now, aren’t we? Making things right for the both of us.”

“...I...I wonder why I didn’t know I felt this way about you until now.”

His voice trails off, and his eyes close. In a matter of moments, he’s breathing deeply again. Deep enough that you can pull your body away, and he collapses onto his back.

Cleaning up is a bit harder this time around. There’s spots of your cum on his sheets, so you have to wet a towel first and then dry it after. You’re thorough, enough to the point that you don’t even touch his dick directly when tucking it back into his pants.

A little under four hours of sleep awaits you tonight. That’s fine, so long as you make the most of them. You lie down, and as you slip into the unconscious parts of your mind, you can’t get Curly’s words out of your head.

Since when did you find the idea of fucking him an appealing thought?

Chapter Text

Curly didn’t forgive you just because you gave him a free soda. You didn’t expect that he would. You were grateful enough to have him accept it as a tribute. Holding onto the hope that he wouldn’t make your life in high school any worse.

There was a time you were at the vending machine, starving from your missed breakfast and lunch. Once you got a snack, you decided to get yourself a drink with your remaining quarters.

That’s when Curly came walking down the hallway, freezing in place when he saw you. You made eye contact with him, and then began shoving your quarters in as fast as you could. He was gaining on you, and you thought your time was up. You hit B7 and walked away as fast as you could before he was in punching distance.

He tried calling out to you, likely to say you forgot to pick up your drink. You heard his voice get caught in his throat, and later on, you saw him working through it in chemistry. You were forced to play eye contact chicken the entire class. He would sneak head turns towards you whenever the teacher began writing on the board. You zoned out staring at the window instead.

You began dating a girl from within your friend group around that time. Truthfully, it wasn’t a real relationship. She was just some girl who had been teasing back and forth with you for months, even while she was dating someone else. She said she wasn’t ready for commitment again, but she did miss sex. She decided that you would do.

That “relationship” was your real wake up call to how atrociously selfish women can be. You were nothing more than a means to an end. Someone to make her ex-boyfriend jealous while she made out with you and pushed you down in a bathroom stall. Casual, and honestly, you didn’t have strong feelings for her. It just fucking sucked when it ended.

You’d made the mistake of buying concert tickets. She was still your friend, and she’d wanted to go. You didn’t even get to tell her about them before she told you that what you had was over. Maybe if you told her, it could have gotten to her. Made her realize how she’d hurt you. Or maybe she’d wrinkle her nose in disgust, and call you a creep for making more out of what was always a fling.

Maybe, just maybe, had she decided to stick it out with you a little while longer, she might have actually fallen for you. You’ll never know.

Instead, you found Curly in the same spot he was last time. This go around, there were less tears. He was just sitting there, a vacant pair of eyes staring into the shadows of the stairwell. They jumped to life the moment they saw you, brow furrowing into a glare. You put the pieces together quickly.

“That chick from 3C broke up with you?”

He nodded curtly. He’d been dating a girl from a grade above. Everyone had been talking about it. You suspected he had been used by her the same way you were, and instead of wanting to pay tribute, you felt like you could relate to him. It was...Odd.

“Here.” You held out one of your concert tickets, the other in your back pocket. “I was just going to scalp it away at the venue tonight, but you should go. You don’t have to sit anywhere near me or anything, it’s a standing section.”

He didn’t take it at first. He stared at you, as if waiting for the punchline. You sighed.

“It’s loud music. It’ll help you forget to think for a while.”

You waited until his fingers wrapped around the ticket. You let go, and you walked away before he could get in a word in. A question. Anything to keep you there with him while he wallowed.

It didn’t matter if you had, anyway. He found you while people were gathering in for the concert.

“Your name’s Jim, right?”

“It’s Jimmy.”

“Do you know my name?”

“Curly.”

“Why did you have an extra ticket?”

“I got broken up with after I’d already bought ‘em.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you.

“I told you already, didn’t I?” You raised your voice as the audience grew louder, drowning you out. The lights began to dim, and you raised your fist in the air. “Girls suck!”

The concert began with a bang, and you sang along to the lyrics with all you had. Curly could barely stay steady on his feet, disoriented as his head twisted between you and the band. In the middle of the third song, a wall of death began to form. You dragged him in with you.

You circled around with him in the pit, thrashing metal blaring in your ears. He gritted his teeth and bared it until the moment came where he finally let go and screamed along. It was glorious, like witnessing the birth of a newborn foal. Thrown into the world, and he was already on his feet, stomping and punching as he went. He even got you, right in the eye. You laughed it off and made him keep moshing.

It was only after the concert that you let him feel guilty about it. There were adults having an after party on the street outside, a cooler full of cheap artificial beer that they were drinking like water in a desert. You had him bum a few cans off of them, his natural good looks and chin strap making him appear older than you, who couldn’t help but look perfectly horrifically sixteen. The two of you sat on a bench while you pressed a can over your eye and sipped out of another.

“Hey. Thanks for taking me out tonight.” He told you. “And...I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”

Curly was nursing his beer, or maybe it was nursing him. It was his first time trying alcohol, and he wasn’t wild about the taste. You told him to just keep sipping.

“It wasn’t anything serious.” You explained. “She just needed me so she could get back with her ex.”

“Funny. The girl I was dating needed me to hide her real boyfriend from her dad.”

“You didn’t know about the other guy?”

“Not until I showed up for one of our dates and he told me he’d take it from there.”

“Christ. What a bitch.”

Curly chuckled at that. You wondered before if he was one of those guys who would get aggressively mad over other dudes calling women derogatory names. Evidently, he wasn’t. Or maybe he once was, and then he was forced to go through what most guys discover eventually. What’s the point in denying the truth?

“...I miss her.”

Curly took a longer swig of his beer. He flicked his gaze in your direction, smiling just a bit brighter every time he did.

“I don’t think I will for much longer, though.”

You’ve seen the playlist he takes with him on his flights. Every song from the concert you went to is on there.

“I think I’m asexual.”

You nearly spit out your beer, the can still in your hand there to receive the excess liquids sputtering from your lips. You place it down, and wipe your mouth off with your arm.

“What?”

Curly lightly shakes his drink in his hand. Whiskey on the rocks, poured from a fancy fucking glass bottle. He picked it up today before you got home from work. You’re actually more of a lightweight compared to him, so you passed on sharing it with him. With the way he’s going at it, he might not need your help emptying it out after all.

“My mind was taking inventory today.” Curly swallows, tilting his head to the side. He’s keeping his eyes far away from you. “Thinking about my relationships, about my life. About whether this is all building towards something, or if I’m still just running away from a truth I don’t want to confront.”

“Uh-huh...” You sip carefully and slowly, choosing your words with just as much caution. “And what is that truth exactly?”

Curly takes a deep swig.

“In every relationship I’ve ever been, I’ve never been the instigator when it comes to sex.” Curly circles the rim of his glass with a thumb. “I mean, it’s more...It’s not the reason I want a relationship. Not that I don’t enjoy it, or that I’m not attracted to my partner. If anything, I want it more, but it’s only because I want them. I want that closeness and comfort, and whatever else they want with me. Sex is just one aspect of that desire, and that desire only comes around when I realize my feelings towards someone in the first place.”

He’s rambling on about fucking nonsense as far as you’re concerned. You try to humor him anyway.

“Is this why you keep refusing the porn mags every trip? The ones you kept saying were ‘inappropriate’ to keep on the job?”

“...They are, but...” Curly stares at the wall. “My crew’s mechanic brings his own on board, so I’m nothing if not a hypocrite about it. Yeah, I...I just don’t get anything out of looking at that type of stuff.”

“Because you don’t know their names, or favorite colors, or if they like piña coladas and long walks in the rain?”

“I don’t have a relationship with images. I have them with people, and frankly, I don’t find myself wanting that deep of a relationship with just anyone. If anything...It’s harder for me.”

You crinkle the can of your empty beer. Curly tosses back his whole drink, and pours another for himself. He offers it to you too, without meeting your eyes. You decline him with your hand, but take another beer instead.

“You’re sure it’s this?” You ask, prodding a bit deeper. “It’s not just about women, it’s also about men too?”

Curly stares at the countertop vacantly, and then nods. Is he falling asleep already?

“I think...Girls are a lot more open about their feelings than men. That’s why it was easier for me to ignore all the signs.”

“What triggered this, then?” You tilt your head, crossing your ankles as you turn your body to face his. “Did you meet a guy who made you feel the same way?”

Don’t bring attention to yourself. Don’t even act like it’s a big deal. Keep yourself open, available. Make him squirm with how casual you’re being about this. Make it seem like so little of a deal to you that he starts running in circles trying to figure you out.

“No, I...I’ve been having some weird dreams, I guess.”

“What, like the one you told me about yesterday?”

“...This one was different. It was about high school.”

You infer that hesitation to mean he’s leaving out the dream from before you left him for the night.

“I was...Thinking about one of my exes. The one before we became friends. She, um. She actually pulled me aside a little after the fact. She tried apologizing for leading me on. She thought she’d made it clear that our relationship was for appearances only, and that was why we never went beyond kissing and cuddling. I told her I wasn’t comfortable pushing anything onto her like that. Truth was, I was wrestling with my own indecisiveness. I liked her. I couldn’t think about wanting to have sex with her like I did with my ex. I was only starting to think I could when we broke up.”

Curly scratches his forehead, nails digging into his fringe. His palm stays there, covering his eye.

“She said I was such a great guy for respecting her boundaries so much. In my dream, she was different. She became upset, and asked me what was wrong with me. Why didn’t I want her more when I liked her so much?”

“You did. Just not in a way that made your eyes wander for brighter prospects, right?”

“God. I’ve been such a fool all my life.” Curly drops his half-empty drink with a slam and buries his face in his hands. “How the hell did I not figure it out any sooner...? I freeze up when people ask me if I’m a boobs or ass man!”

“...Look at this way, Curly.” You put your hand on his back. He tenses up, but relaxes as you pat him with a firm palm between the shoulder blades. “You get to be a spaceman without the guilt. You don’t have to worry about missing out on a part of life because you already know you’re not into it. Honestly, I’m a little jealous. Life would be a whole lot fucking better if I didn’t have to worry about the needs of my downstairs brain.”

Curly lets out a half-hearted laugh, and sits up, your hand slipping back to your side. He stares at his drink, and then drinks it down.

“I...I know what you’re trying to say, but it’s not that easy. I might as well be a walking contradiction. Wanting love, but unable to perceive it the same way other people do. Thanks for listening anyway. You’re...You’re a good guy, Jimmy.”

Curly’s hesitation is the moment your eyes link up, staring deeply into each other for a full, uninterrupted second. You can see the jump of light that flashes as he’s forced to reconcile with you, his friend, and you, the one from his “dreams.” The one that’s given him this revelation in the first place.

He stands up, and scrunches his nose as he does. He sniffs his shirt first, and then the air.

“Um. I’m going to take a shower before I go to bed, and...You should probably do the same.”

Curly takes a long, long time in the shower. Long enough that the alcohol leaves you drowsy, and you end up taking a short nap. A nap ended by Curly tapping you on the shoulder.

“Jimmy. Are you asleep? The shower’s free.”

You open your eyes slowly. Squinting. His ceiling lamp is too damn bright. Even partially blind, though, you’re pretty sure he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Cool.” You mutter, and toss onto your side before attempting to sit up.

“Have a good night.” Curly wishes you as he disappears into his bedroom. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there’s some tension between the two of you.

Man. It feels damn good to have power over Curly’s head.

You turn the shower on, and bask in the warmth as it rains down on you. You always forget that you actually like the feeling of water on your skin and in your hair. It’s just such a pain to deal with it afterwards. That’s most of life’s pleasures though, isn’t it? Great food comes with high prices or dirty dishes, usually both. A good night’s sleep means a well made bed from the morning before it. Happiness only has meaning if you’ve spent a good chunk of your life wailing at your own misfortunes.

You like what you have going on right now, though. You like getting to fuck Curly. You even like cleaning up after your mess, and you like getting away with it most of all. You like knowing that you’re fucking with his perception of you, and of himself. You like seeing him scared and afraid of losing you.

All it means is that you’re a shitty friend and an even worse person than you’re capable of calculating, but that revelation will drip away down the drain like the sweat off your back. So long as he doesn’t know what you’re doing, you could theoretically do this for the rest of your lives. He stays single and pining, and you get to reap the rewards.

He already said himself that he won’t instigate anything, so just having your company will be enough for him. Besides, it’s not like he’ll get horny for you all on his own. A guy in his position is getting milked nightly. If he’s not pent up, why bother sacrificing a friend to confess some useless heart-stirrings?

You dry your newly cleaned body up most of the way, giving up on your hair as always. So long as it stops noticeably dripping, why bother?

Curly’s door is already opened ajar when you arrive. You’re able to slip on in with ease, cock twitching with excitement. You’re holding an extra special treat in your hand. Something to help open up a different “entrance.”

Stepping to the foot of the bed, you’re greeted with an entirely new position to play with. Curly’s on his stomach, and tonight, he’s decided to sleep commando. Birthday suit bare, as if trying to influence his dreamself to be naked too. His ass, plump and round, invites you in with his legs already spread for you.

You uncap the bottle gingerly, trying not to make too much noise. You squeeze the contents onto your hand, and spread it around your fingers. You warmed the bottle in the sink while you showered, so it shouldn’t be so cold that it shocks him awake.

You crawl onto the bed, straddling his leg and grabbing a cheek with one hand. Your finger slips inside, just one to start. Thrusting gently, downward, you tickle until you feel him react at a certain spot. You aim your finger there repeatedly, his walls relaxing for you on their own. He moans in his sleep.

“...Shh...Don’t worry, Curly. I’ll take good care of you.”

You whisper into his ear, kissing the cartilage as you manage to fit a second finger in. Your cock is dripping as it brushes against his side, desperate for more, but you’ll be patient. You want to do this right. He continues to sleep in bliss.

“Mm...”

Curly sighs out a moan, eyes relaxed in deep sleep. He could be dreaming about you right now. You could be steps ahead of where he wants you to be, or a few behind. Either way, he’s not rejecting what you’re doing right now, not at all. You’re slow, you’re steady, and you’re gentle. You’re oh so careful with him, for no other reason than that you want him addicted to the pleasure until it breaks him.

A third finger fits in soon after, filling him up. The stretch is almost unbearable on your hand, constricting enough that you plan on backing out entirely, but you don’t have to. Curly remains fast asleep, mumbling in his rest as his eyes stay shut. You kiss his cheek as a reward.

“You’re fucking perfect. You know that, Curly? This right here’s the reason why I’ve gotta be the one to protect you. If not for me, you’d have too many buyers for this hole of yours.”

A hole that’s all yours. Your dick is all gross again, even after your shower. It’s a good thing you have somewhere to park it now. You rip your fingers out, and aim yourself with care before pushing in.

You can’t help yourself. You’re moaning harder than you did when you felt a pussy for the first time. There’s a tightness here that can’t be matched, though that’s more thanks to the fact that a colon isn’t exactly self-lubricating. Fuck. Thoughts like that used to freak you out. They’re the entire reason you held off on looking up gay porn, even if the aesthetics of it matched your taste better. Those squicks are long gone now.

“How do you feel so fucking good?”

You’re on your knees, begging at the altar that is Curly’s back. You press your body on top of his and start humping. Small, shallow thrusts, circling your hips to get a feel for it. You can feel Curly’s heart beating through his back into your chest, faster and faster. His eyes open slowly. You grin.

“Don’t tell me you fell asleep through all that prep, Captain.”

Curly’s lips part, and then, feeling you, he chokes.

“Y-You’re...When did we...”

“You were awake when I started.” You suck on his earlobe. He shifts underneath you, writhing. “Don’t tell me to stop now, I won’t be able to.”

More like you won’t.

“Nngh, no, I...Fuck...” Curly spreads his legs wider. He arches his ass into your hips. “Fuck...Fuck...!! You’re...You’re really in me...”

“Damn right I am.” You lift yourself up, hands and knees, giving yourself room to slide in deeper. “I’m making you my bitch, Curly. How do you like that?”

“Jim...” Curly regards you with a starry eyed gaze, twisting himself until he can reach up and brush the back of his hand across the stubble on your chin. “It feels right. I-It feels so right, t-tell me you feel the same...!”

You shock out a gasp from him with a particularly hard thrust. You grit your teeth, his walls slamming down on your cock, sucking you dry better than any woman’s throat.

“Fuck...Fuuuuuuuck!!”

“Jimmy—Guahhgh...Jim...!”

“Yeah, it...It feels damn right. That’s why I can’t stop, you’re practically swallowing me up.”

“Nngh...~!! P-Please don’t...!”

You reach down, fingers pinching around one of his nipples, and tug. He buries his face into his pillow as you keep fucking him, harder and faster than you should. Holy shit, it’s hard not to be rough with him. He’s practically begging for it.

“Jim—Jimmy...I-I’m gonna...!”

He cums before he can reach the word. The shockwaves that hit you spike through your spine, nearly beheading you. When you come to, you realize that your dick has already emptied out.

“Shit.” You were just getting started. How could you cum so easily?

“Mmngh...?”

“Sorry, I—” The word comes to you without a struggle. You don’t feel sorry, you’re terrified. “I-I meant to pull out. I-I didn’t even ask.”

Such an innocent sounding cover. You didn’t pull out because you were stupid horny, and now you’re left with hard to cover evidence stuck up Curly’s asshole. Even if you wipe out what spills, there’s no guarantee you’ll get all of it. Even just one trip to the bathroom, or a stain on his pants—

“...Jimmy...You’re not seriously worried about that, are you?”

Curly giggles, light and airy, lifting his leg as he contorts his body until he’s flipped onto his back around your dick. His chest rises and falls, his hips lifting to ensure the two of you remain connected. He licks his lips, and holds out his arms.

“I’m sure you’ve got a few more rounds left in you, yeah? I want to be awake for all of them, so come here.”

It’s almost painful how fast you harden up again. His blue eyes somehow twinkle in the darkness, and your chest tightens uncomfortably. It only lets go when you lay down on top of him, noses brushing together at first, and then lips.

The two of you kiss as you gently ride into him, his legs crossed over your thighs as he pulls you in. The bed squeaks lightly beneath you as you dig your knees into the mattress, and as you pull back for breath, you and Curly can’t seem to tear your gazes apart. That constricting in your chest returns, stronger than ever.

“...I think that...If we started doing this in high school...If you kissed me after that concert...”

“No. Don’t start with that, Curly.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” That obnoxiously masculine face of his fades away altogether. With the way his eyes melt and his lips spread in such a girlish manner, it’s like he’s become a little boy, younger than any Curly you’ve known. “I can’t stop myself from thinking what might be and what could have been. I can’t help it, Jimmy. I...I think I’ve always wanted us to be this close.”

Wanting without ever really knowing what he wanted. Constrained by the chemicals in his mind, unable to distinguish platonic from sexual. He couldn’t even see you as an option, and you sure as shit didn’t see him as one. Indecisiveness is the biggest bitch of them all.

Then again, if you’d been given an opportunity like this back then, you know you would have taken it. A chance to take down a perfect beautiful boy, emasculate him a bit, make him your bitch. You couldn’t refuse that at any age. Fuck.

“...It doesn’t matter now, Curly.” You lift yourself up, heaving as you grab Curly’s hips. You push your way in deeper, focusing on building a steady rhythm. “We live in the moment. We take what we want when we can get it. We don’t have many options left but each other out here, and we’re choosing to take it. The fact that we’re having a great time comes second to all that.”

You’ve got a good thing going here. No need to spoil it with whatever’s tickling at the back of your skull.

“...Nghh...”

Curly shifts his legs, one sliding underneath yours so his other one can lift higher up. You’re able to go in even deeper as he rests partially on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. His leg in the air rests itself on top of your shoulder, wrapping your arm around his thigh for leverage. All the while, the two of you maintain a hazy-eyed gaze.

“...Why me, then?” Curly asks, digging his free hand into the wet locks of your hair.

“You’re the only one I actually know on this ship, Curly.” You don’t know much about Curly’s crew. There’s a nurse who’s a chick, but Curly’s descriptions about women leave less than to be desired. That’s another hint right there about his lacking in the sexuality department, eh?

“Yes, but...Why are we...” Curly rolls back his head, cussing under his breath. He’s trying too damn hard to have a conversation with you balls deep inside of him, but it doesn’t deter him away in the slightest. “W-Why have we been friends this long? You’re...You’re always there to answer me the moment I get back, and I just don’t know why...”

“...I don’t have many people I’d consider friends in the first place.” That’s the nicest way you can put it. Actually, fuck it. “I don’t. I don’t have friends, period. It’s just you.”

“Why is that?” Curly’s eyes widen. Does that seriously shock him?

“I’m not good with people.”

“Mm, but...You’ve always been good to me.”

“You’re different.”

“How?”

He’s going to keep pestering you with this until you answer him, isn’t he? Well, whatever. How much of this is he actually going to remember in the morning?

“Every time I look at you, every time I think about you, I don’t see you.” You dig your nails into his thighs. Here we fuck-ing go. “I see that one prick who inserted himself into my life like a Goddamn cold sore that’ll follow me to the grave. I’ve spent the better part of our friendship and before that both hating you and wishing to be you, and at the same time never wanting to let you go. You’re a constant reminder of my failings as a human being and you’re also the only person to make me feel like I’m not a complete piece of shit. I’d have killed myself a long time ago if you weren’t in my life, and yet sometimes I resent you for the fact that you keep me going. I hate you, Curly. I fucking hate you and wish you never fucking looked at me with those sad eyes of yours! Fuck...!”

Your words are punctuated with the motions of your body, grabbing onto Curly’s throat midway. You feel like you could burn him with your gaze alone, and yet the contradictions keep piling on top. His lips pucker and gasp tantalizingly, drawing your face closer to his. He keeps lifting himself up, hand digging into the mattress as it squeaks and shakes beneath your motions. His breath is on yours when he responds to your confession.

“You love me.”

The pin gets pulled from the back of your head, and your brain matter spills everywhere. Every vindictive, petty thought floats out, leaving only the subtext behind. Your strength is sapped away entirely, leaving you nothing but a husk of the man you thought you were.

“...Yeah.”

The word slips out without you even realizing it. You can’t say anything more, because Curly’s dragging you into a kiss again.

Kissing and fucking, an idea you had in your mind for the longest time, not knowing how you wanted it, just that you did. You convinced yourself that getting attached was just a byproduct, and all you needed was someone to control so you could get your just desserts.

What happened to that, exactly? That person you thought you were for most of your life. Was it just an illusion? A character you created so you didn’t have to wallow in your self-loathing quite so long? A person who could revel in the misery of your best friend, but only when it was convenient for you.

That person ought to be filled with disgust at what’s happening right now. You, wrapped up in Curly’s arms, humping into him with no real rhythm or care, just moving aimlessly as he kisses you and tells you he loves you back. You don’t even have to say those words, he said them for you.

It won’t be enough, though. He’ll expect it from you eventually. What will you do then? Would you be able to know that’s how you feel then, or will you be just as unsure as you are now?

One hour of sleep. That’s all you have to look forward to when you’re finally done cleaning up the mess you made in Curly’s room. You’re not confident you even got all of it.

There’s a gaping hole in the back of your skull that’s slowly stitching itself back up. You can hear it, that echo of yourself that’s been part of you for so long. It’s reminding you of a truth that’s followed you all your life: This won’t last.

Curly will wake up, see the evidence of your destruction, and figure it out from there. You’ll be called upon to give the game up, or he’ll play dumb in hopes of keeping the peace as ever. He usually chooses the latter, but it’s never a guarantee. What if this is the one time he tries it for sure?

Ṱ̷̂A̶̮̔K̸͍̆Ê̶̟ ̸̮̚R̵̟͘Ḙ̶̋Ś̸͖P̴͔͝Ö̸̲Ń̴̤S̸̼͛I̸͈͊B̴̠̑I̴̛̫L̴̮̔Ȋ̷͈T̴͇̐Y̵̭͑

You break out in a cold sweat. Paranoia won’t leave you be. You quickly begin packing all your belongings and dressing for the day, and then text into work that you’re using up the last of your PTO. You were hoping to save it for a day when you were actually sick. Well, this is close enough, isn’t it?

You pay for your own cab home. You’re here around a half hour before you leave for work. Good, that means you won’t run into her.

When you see your bed at long last, you don’t even strip out of the clothes you’re wearing. You collapse on top of it, feeling the wood of the floor creaking beneath it. You cling to your pillow that reeks of you, and pretend that it’s better than swimming in Curly’s scent. You fall into a deep, deep slumber.

Chapter Text

The period between Curly’s second and third girlfriend was a glimpse into what might have been. Your teen romance had taken a shift you weren’t expecting. Instead of swooping the girl from your rival, you’d swooped your rival from the girl. Curly and you didn’t have a lot in common, and yet that’s what made your friendship so great.

He’d share with you his interests, his taste in shows and games, and you’d blast him with the ugliest, darkest music he’d ever heard. He’d say your taste was strange, but he got why you liked it. You called his taste “just left of normie.” He had a few hidden gems in there that you could both enjoy.

It was almost like you were courting each other. Neither of you thought of it that way back then, but looking back, the signs were always there. The two of you were retreating into each other, saving yourselves from the world and heartbreak. Getting to know one another in ways deeper than two friends usually would. He should have seen you for what you were, but he never did.

Then came her. The girl who lives across from your apartment. The girl who took Curly’s virginity. The girl who held him hostage for three long, long years.

You’ve never felt so helpless in your life as Curly’s hand slipped from your fingers. It was never one you dared to hold, and yet you were cheated out of it all the same. That girl used you, knowing the two of you were close, and took advantage of it to get near him. Start hanging out with your usual mates, then with you, then with you and Curly, and then just the two of them. Once she had him, she seemed intent to never let go.

Curly claimed she was different. Said she was making him into a better man. You could tell when she finally got him to drop his pants. He kept trying to discreetly rub his crotch all day, and in a brief moment where he had a chance to talk to you, he wasted it confiding that he wasn’t expecting sex to be so...Difficult.

You wanted to know what he expected. You wanted to hear him go into detail of what would have made him happy, and you also wanted to wring him by the neck. Your conversations were never about anything anymore. They were always about her. You told him that, and he took the hint.

He stopped talking to you when you graduated high school. You went to tech college, knowing you didn’t have the will to get through a proper university. You gamed, you got your certification, and you made your life from there. You had one night stands, a few girls you rotated around for a while until they decided you weren’t marriage material, and then one day, you saw him again.

He brought his car to the shop you were working at. He saw you, and the sheepishness on his face spoke a thousand words. You thought you were being given a chance to throw your years of loneliness back in his face. That hope lasted a good two seconds before he admitted he was back on the market as of that morning. You got the feeling he had been looking for you, but you couldn’t confirm that.

He’d tried proposing to her the previous night. She apparently had a crisis. The idea of spending the rest of her life with him, something she’d said to him so many times before, suddenly appeared less appealing when presented with a ring.

He loved her. He also loved the idea of her, and that idea of her wasn’t reality. She could see the writing on the wall, of being forced to play the perfect version of herself, or be forced to deal with a husband who would rather ignore conflicts and pretend that everything is fine. When you asked what conflicts she was talking about, he said she wouldn’t say.

You got a drink with him that night, and then told him that his car was shit and he needed a new one. You dragged him around a few dealerships before finding a drop top with a slick cobalt blue paint job. The two of you hopped in, and though you were fired while you were gone, you had the time of your fucking life.

He sold it a few days later, and said he needed a change. Temporary, he said. That was the lie he was sold.

He became a freighter pilot as a means of escaping it all. You promised you’d be there to hang out whenever he was grounded again, and you kept your word. Your life from then on became a rotisserie chicken, locked behind its glass cage as it slowly cooked into something delicious, but you would never know the taste.

Curly would come back into your life. You’d drink, you’d splurge, you’d dance around what it all meant, and then he’d leave. You’d have to go back to your life, empty and cold, and fight through it all again. Sometimes only a few months. Sometimes over a year. You were stuck. He was stuck, too. It was the only part of him you could relate to anymore.

When did you want to know what he tasted like?

It wasn’t recently. There were dreams you repressed from your teenage years, ones you barely remembered the next day, but they haunted you all the same. Wanting to wrap your fingers in his curls, dragging him down, down, until he was at your knees. You saw him shirtless a few times before PE, and you didn’t stop thinking about it all that night. You wrote it off as envy.

There was one, distinct dream you had the night he came back into your life. You got to smell him again, and in that dream, you were holding onto him. You wouldn’t let him go, and though he struggled against you, he eventually gave in. He had no arms, no legs, and he couldn’t even speak to beg you to stop. He had to let you do whatever you wanted to him, and...Your mind blanked on the rest of it.

You struggled to look at gay porn from the moment you discovered you could look up boobs on the internet. You didn’t particularly find breasts all that impressive, and quickly found that you were a thigh man instead. You started out with lesbian tribbing videos, which led you down the rabbit hole of sex fighting. When men got involved, you were jumpy about it at first. You didn’t know why looking at a naked man, brimming with confidence and sex drive, made you react so strongly.

Then you and Curly became friends. You started imagining all the men as him, and it became more manageable somehow. Now it wasn’t about your cock getting a weird tingle when it saw a dude’s ass, and more about “supporting” your friend. He has the right kind of build for this stuff anyway, even if he’s too pretty for it. You felt accomplished when you could finally watch straight porn without it causing you to click off the moment you saw a dick get pulled out.

Gay stuff was still off the table for a long time, until eventually, you clicked on one that caught your eye out of morbid curiosity. Two guys of roughly the same build, one with bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair. He looked nothing like the friend you knew otherwise, but that didn’t stop you from feeling something when he was shoved to the floor and forcibly penetrated.

You tried to stop watching it. You failed each and every time. You kept watching that same video until you had the scenes memorized in your head. It was only a matter of time before you rationalized it away as a taste for humiliation. You wanted to see the big guy suffer. You wanted to make him pay for every blessing in his life.

You remember the feeling of Curly’s lips on yours. The contours of his body, rolling underneath your touch, wanting for it. You remember his eyes, blue and bright, even in the darkness they shined. They shined because of you.

“Jimmy.”

A loud bang on your door repeats itself thrice. You wake up, discomfort lodged in your pants. Ah, your phone. You pull it out, and see an endless scroll of missed calls, and thirty-three messages. All from Curly.

Your doorbell rings.

You open your SMS app and read the first five before dropping your phone and running.

“Jim, can we talk?”

“If you’re too busy at work, I get it. Hopefully your break comes soon, and you can give me a call.”

“Hey, I tried calling you around your break time. I thought you said it was a little after two? If it’s later, just give me a call then.”

“Where are you?”

“Jim. Have you been having sex with me while I’m asleep?”

“Jimmy, open the door. Please. I just want to talk.”

You trip and fall over the clutter on your floor. Fuck.

“Jimmy? Are you actually in there?!”

What fucking time is it? You don’t know. You don’t keep any clocks around that aren’t your phone and your shitty computer. You gun it for the window.

“...Oh...Yeah...It’s good to see you again.”

Either it’s past when you should be home from work, or your neighbor came out to deal with all the commotion in the hallway. Maybe she recognized his voice. Either way, it’s dark outside. You open the rusty latch, the window squeaking horribly as it lifts.

“Wait, you did? Please, I need to get in there!”

She has your key. You gave it to her when she gave you hers. She asked for it. You never would have thought it would come back to haunt you like this.

“Jimmy!”

You’re already outside, grabbing onto the wall as you stand on the ledge next to the window. There’s cars and pedestrians walking by without a care in the world, too engrossed in their own lives to look up.

“Jim? Where are you?!”

Curly’s footsteps are bounding ever closer. You’re helpless to stop them as you’re mesmerized by the swirl of colors below. Were you even thinking consciously before you got to this point?

“No...No, no, no, no―”

Curly’s hands slam on the windowsill, his head sticking out and looking down first before finding you to the side.

“Jim!!”

He calls out to you. You dig your nails into the brick.

“Jim, look at me. P-Please, i’m not―”

“Curly.”

You turn your heads towards him. You’re smiling. You’ve never felt so light as the wind strikes you across the face.

“No one sees me. Not even you. That means I’m invisible, doesn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?!”

“I’m invisible, Curly! I feel like...I feel like God.”

You look to the sky. The lights of the city fade and black out, leaving only the stars above. You belong there, in the cradle of eternity.

You hope this hurts.

“JIM!!”

You’re alive.

You don’t know how, and you’re not sure why. You have a broken nose, a cracked rib, and a sprained wrist. You also wake up with a handcuff around your other wrist.

You’ve been enrolled in a psychiatric hospital against your will. You’ve been told that your work has been notified that this is covered under your health insurance for long leave, but you doubt you’ll have a job when you get back. It’s not like you have options for taking yourself out while you’re here, though, so you may as well play along while you can.

You go to the group therapy circles. You listen to sad sacks explain how and why they’ve reached their low points. The staff treat you like you’re not even human, and in a way, it’s refreshing. You’re no better than an animal, why act like you’re worth saving?

You don’t know what you did to get out of there. You just woke up one day, and they had a cake set out. It tasted like fucking garbage, cloyingly sweet with a terrible dense texture. You ate it, though. It’s pointless, but it might be the last thing made with the thought of you in mind. You’ll go home, and figure out a different way to kill yourself, because clearly, you’re impervious to four story tall drops.

“Number 71, your ride is here.”

You’re sitting in a blue pin-striped button up shirt, freshly pressed and adorned with a green tie loosely hanging from your collar. You’re wearing tan slacks and a shiny pair of leather loafers on your feet. You don’t know how or why you’ve been given these clothes, but they were apparently dropped off before you came here by the same person who checked you in.

Of course, you know it’s Curly. He must be long gone on his voyage by now. You don’t even recall how long he said it would take this time. You can only be sure that the last time you saw him, he was trying so very hard to see you as you faded into the horizon.

You’re walking towards the entrance of the building. Check-in and check-out, occupying the same space. You were never asked about having anyone to call for a ride, so you assume they called you a cab. You hope the fare is free at least―

Wait.

“...Hey. Long time, no see.”

Your grip on your suitcase weakens almost entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Curly walks towards you, grinning a bit wider with each step. His eyes are sparkling, full of so much fucking hope that it makes you sick. You tighten your grip on your suitcase as you try to convince yourself that it’s a bad idea to reach for the entrance guard’s stun gun.

“I’m here to pick you up, obviously.”

“You’re supposed to be in outer space.”

“I quit.” Curly grabs you by the shoulders, continuing to get closer to you without a second of hesitation. “I couldn’t just leave you behind. Not anymore.”

He kisses you. It’s more like he takes a kiss from you, leaving your mind fragmented as you try to gather the lost pieces of your sanity. All that you’ve been working on here, if it’s even worked, it all flies out the window, just like you should have.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He grabs your hand. The one that’s still healing from the fall. You look at his face. He doesn’t remark on the obvious grimace on your face. He knows what he’s doing.

“...Jimmy?”

You stall at the steps leading out of the building. It’s a long way down, albeit less dangerous than the fall you should have taken. You didn’t fall though, did you?

“...You caught me.”

Your wrist didn’t break because of the fall. He grabbed you, and you swung around, face-planting into the wall. It’s a miracle you didn’t drag him down with you.

“You remembered. They said your memory of what happened wasn’t so great.” Curly’s eyes lighten. He squeezes your wrist, flashing you what he thinks is a reassuring smile. “I’m not letting go.”

By the time you’ve collected your thoughts, you’re already sitting in his rental car. Curly drives, throwing glances your way, all the while you sit and stew on how best to pay him back for his kindness.

“Why did you quit Pony Express?”

“Ah, well...It’s a great job to have when you want to dedicate your life to it, but it’s not exactly the type of job you take when you want to settle down.”

You grab your knee, glaring straight ahead at the open road.

“You plan on spending the rest of your life with your rapist?”

Curly stops the car. It’s abrupt. You’re barely out of the facility grounds. He pulls over to the side of the road, head lowered. He’s not looking at you as he grips the steering wheel tightly in his hand.

“Jim.” His voice nearly cracks as he addresses you. You’re very quickly reminded that you’ve never actually heard Curly get angry with you. Not until now. “You have so many issues. I knew a place like that wouldn’t help you work through all of them, maybe not even one of them. They wouldn’t know how to start.”

He lifts his head, turning it towards you, forcing you to see the red in his cheeks and eyes. His teeth are bared. God, he looks so helpless.

“You know what your worst issue is, Jim? You’re incapable of taking responsibility. Nothing is ever your fault, not to you. If you hurt someone, it’s because you were ‘forced’ to do it. You can’t help it. It’s never your fault if a girl rejected you because she figured out you were stalking her. It’s never your fault if a girl breaks up with you because you were sharing photos of her online. Fuck, it’s not even your fault if a girl cheats on me with you!!”

The world is washed in crimson. The parts of your story you left behind resurface, and you’re left with no words to confront them. What can you say that he hasn’t already?

It’s you.

“You really...You can’t change. Not on your own. You need accountability in your life. You need someone to tell you when you’re wrong. Someone who won’t back down just because they care about you. You need help, and I’m not the type of person who can help you with this.”

Your pulse quickens, your nostrils flare. Your eyes widen, and you sit up slightly, gripping your thigh tighter.

“Curly, what are you saying―”

“Jim. Shut up.”

Curly flexes his knuckles over the steering wheel. He meets your gaze head-on, and unbuckles his seatbelt. He reaches over, grabbing your face in both of his hands. He’s gentle about it. If you tried to move away, he’d make it hurt. You can feel that in the way his fingertips play with the side of your skull like piano keys.

“I made you this way. I let you get this bad. All of this is my fault. I’m taking responsibility. I’m going to make you do the same. We’ll go down together, no matter how it ends. I won’t let you hurt anyone else, not even yourself. You can hurt me all you want, pretend you’re not doing anything wrong. I’ll still make you pay for it. If that’s what love means to you, then so be it.”

This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

You wanted Curly to pledge himself to you. The victim you could make out to be the villain. Your best friend, your most hated rival, and the one you lust for the most. He’s everything you could ever need. There’s no reason to hate any of this.

So why do you hate it?

“You can’t do this to yourself.” You furrow your brow. You feel your eyes itch. You’ve been crying almost nightly into your cot. It’s not something you want to remember doing, much less letting anyone else seeing. Not him, anyone but him. “You can’t kill your future for me.”

“It’s done, Jimmy. There’s no going back.”

“You’re―You’re not doing this out of spite. You’re doing this because you’re scared I’ll kill myself if you let me go. That’s all the reason in the world why you should. You can’t keep me in your life, you’ll be fighting against that misery for as long as you’re breathing!!”

You don’t want him to blame himself if you die. When you die, it’ll be because of the consequences of your actions. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like you’re not saying any of this out of the goodness in your heart.

“...Jimmy. Why are you saying all of this?”

Curly strokes a thumb across your cheek. You can feel it stroking wetly across your skin. Your temper flares, and you unbuckle your seatbelt, lunging at him with your hands gripping his collar.

“You know what the fuck I’m saying, Curly! You are throwing your life away because of me. That’s not living, that’s not taking responsibility, it’s just idiotic! You don’t deserve this, you’re worth more than this, than me!!”

It’s the uncomfortable truth you’ve been running from all this time. Jealousy, jealousy, a painful reminder of your inadequacies. You’re nothing more than a little man who wants to feel special, loved, important. You want it without working for it, yet it’s meaningless if it’s given to you freely. That’s what it takes for you to realize the obvious.

“...You feel guilty.”

Curly observes you, the bacteria beneath his petri dish. Searching for specks of humanity in you, wondering fruitlessly if there’s some way to duplicate the protein. Fill you in with good and extract everything that makes you what you are. If he wants to see you, so be it. No holding back now.

“What did she tell you?” Your breath is ragged. “When she told you the reason she cheated on you. What did she say?”

“...She said we should talk about it together, Jim.” Curly tightens his grip on your cheeks. “She said we should all talk about how it happened together, like adults. You were supposed to pass that message onto me. I didn’t even know...”

He chokes up, pulling his face away. You bring yours closer, tugging on the fabric of his shirt even harder.

“She’ll tell you that it was a big drunken mistake. That she seduced me. Truth is, that’s all a lie of convenience. She doesn’t remember a damn thing that happened that night. I convinced her of that. Told her I was just as drunk as she was, but that wasn’t the case.”

“Stop. Shut up.”

“One night. I wanted to feel like I was you for one night, and I only felt like myself. That’s who I am, Curly. The type of guy who gets a girl blackout drunk and makes a woman faithful as a fucking honeybee cheat on the man she loves with his friend from high school. Is that who you want to spend the rest of your life with, Curly? A guy who rapes you and won’t hesitate to hurt everything you love?!”

“Get the fuck off of me!!”

You’re shoved back, hands letting go the moment a fist connects with your face. You’re dazed at first, and then comes the pain, swelling around your eye. A chuckle escapes, and then a full blown cackle. High-pitched and ear-grating, even to you. You collapse against the headrest of your seat, letting out a relieved sigh.

You’re not invisible anymore.

You look back at him with your bruised eye closed. Curly’s burying his face in his hands, tugging on the curls that fall across his face. A sniffle, and then a sob. Your chest aches. You’re reminded of another truth you’ve always been honest about.

“...I just...I needed you to see what you were getting into with me. You deserve to know. I’m sorry.”

You’re so good at faking that last little word. You never mean it, unless it’s with him. You really do mean it.

“...I can’t believe I punched you.” Curly pulls his face from his hands, staring at them as they tremble. He flexes them quickly, and then retracts them back, forcing them flat. “I’m...I’m no different from you.”

“The fuck you are.” You pull your eyes to the sun shining in the sky out the window. You hope it blinds you. “You did the right thing. You pushed me away. You can still do the right thing, by her and by you. The thing you should have done the moment you figured out what I was doing to you.”

Curly doesn’t respond. He grabs the wheel, and then buckles himself in. You do the same as he puts the car back in gear. You drive down in silence. No music, no talking. The shattered illusion of your friendship sits on your lap, cutting you into pieces inside. A month in a psych ward just to plan your next attempt better.

Chapter Text

The city comes into view. Certain landmarks you can easily make out, like the Pony Express inflatable mascot waving to you from the roof of a hanger. The rest of it is a maze of skyscrapers and apartment blocks, all indistinguishable from each other inside the rat race. Your temple clings to the cool coming from the window. God, your eye hurts.

Curly pulls up to a new apartment building. Right, he can’t exactly stay in a Pony Express building if he’s not working there anymore.

“...This one’s nice.”

You remark on the interior of the unit as the two of you step in, looking around. The Pony Express unit was only barely nicer than yours, having a kitchenette living room combo, bedroom, and bathroom. This one has a full kitchen, and what looks like a balcony out by the window.

“My former captain wrote up a good recommendation for me.” Curly explains, hanging his jacket up and kicking off his shoes. “I, um. I got a better paying job close to here.”

“...Ha.” You sit down at the circular table in his kitchen, tapping your fingers against the “wood” grain. “Everything’s turning up Curly in the end.”

Curly goes into his freezer, and pours out some ice into a plastic bag. He zips it up, and hands it to you without a word. He can barely stand to look at you.

“You better not be feeling guilty about this.”

“Fuck, what do you want me to say?” Curly sighs out a pained laugh, wincing as he turns away. “I can’t change who I am any more than you can. I actually feel bad when I put someone in pain!!”

Oh. He didn’t believe you when you said you were sorry.

This is coming from the same guy who’s always launching into superlative statements like “I believe in you, Jimmy!” Or “Don’t give up, Jimmy!”

He fucking hates your guts now.

“...I guess I’ll just wait here until you call them, then.”

“What?!”

“The police. Who the fuck else did you think I meant?”

Curly stares at you in disbelief. His expression quickly morphs, locking you in place with his glare.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I-I’m not letting you run away from this.”

“Running away would be me jumping off of your balcony into the street.” You grit your teeth, and pull your good eye away from his. The sun has left a dark spot on your vision, and it won’t go away no matter how hard you blink. “Hell, running away would be me taking advantage of this lapse of judgment and mugging your wallet so I can finally steal your identity in a way that matters.”

“I know what I’m doing, Jim.” Curly covers his face again, letting out a strangled scream into his palms. “Fuck, why can’t you just let me try and fix this?!”

“You can. Just not in a way that’ll make either of us happy.” You’re doing it again. You’re telling him the truth at the cost of doing what you hate the most. “All I know how to do is fucking hurt you, and I hate it. I don’t...I don’t want to keep hurting you, Curly. You’re the last person who deserves to go through the shit I’ve made you put up with. That’s why...You can’t be the one who makes me take responsibility, Curly.”

Curly raises his head towards the ceiling. He then grabs a chair, and collapses into it, the slats creaking under the pressure of his body. He closes his eyes, then looks at you through the ice pack.

“I...I’ve believed in you for so long, Jimmy.” Christ. He’s still talking to you like you’re friends. “Why can’t you believe in me for once? Why can’t you just try and make things right by me directly?”

“You don’t even believe I regret hurting you.” You pull that out faster than you had the thought to use it.

“You...” Curly stammers on air for a moment, and then squints hard. “If you actually mean that, then why are you trying so hard to hurt me right now?”

“Fuck, I’m not!” You bang your hand against the table. It’s the one with the fucked up wrist. You hiss at the sting of pain, dropping the ice pack as you grab your arm. “I-I’m not...But I can’t help myself. I’m...I’m too aware of what I am now. I can’t go back to pretending I’m your friend with the quirky sense of humor. I’m not the guy who can get away with anything, and I sure as fuck am not invisible. I’m not special, Curly. You don’t need me. You’re...You’re fucking perfect. Who was I kidding, thinking I was ever capable of being you?”

You’re crying again. Jagged tears that barely form, your eyes too dry from the irritation. It’s mostly the snot that gets you, forcing you to breathe through your mouth, making your sobs sound even more pathetic. You would cry crocodile tears as a kid to get what you wanted. It led to everyone around you ignoring you even more. It led you to getting used to being alone, until it was the only time you could feel like yourself.

Then you met Curly, and you realized you hated everything that was you.

There’s the squeak of a chair being moved. You look up. Curly’s right in your face, blue eyes staring you down at your ugliest, most miserable self. His lips, perfect and kissably plump, are set in a straight line. Your breath is full of fear as you sharply inhale.

“You really do love me.”

You feel the weight of his punch on your face again.

“I...” You said all that, and that’s his takeaway?! “Curly, that shouldn’t...You can’t make this about me, it’s about you—”

“You don’t think there’s parts of me that I hate too?” Curly’s wringing his hands, flicking his eyes down as he rubs his fingers over each other. “I’m indecisive. I care too much. To the point I’ll ignore all the warning signs you’ve been flashing in my face. It’s not even because I trust you, but because I want to believe you care about me underneath it all. I believed so long that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or our chances at a future where we could always have a drink, or some fucking awful cake, or...More. I believed you wanted to spend the rest of your life at my side. Do you?”

“...What I want shouldn’t factor in what you have to do.”

“It means everything, Jimmy. Tell me what you actually want.”

He can’t be fucking serious.

“What are you, a masochist or something?” You grab onto your thighs and spread your legs out. “If I had my way, you would have never figured out what I was doing behind your back. I would have kept raping you in your sleep until you begged me to make your dreams come true. Until you were nothing more than a devoted slave, too afraid to leave me or be on your own ever again. I...I wanted to keep you, Curly. I wanted to drag you down until you felt as inhuman as I do!”

“Wanted?”

What the hell is he even doing?

“Want. I still want that, right now, because I’m a selfish motherfucker who wants to own the world and not have to actually deal with it.”

Is this just a humiliation thing? Dragging out your basest desires, placing them on the table so not even you can deny what you hide from yourself?

“...I guess you got what you wanted, then.”

Curly grabs your hands, gingerly taking the one attached to the limp wrist. He rubs his thumbs over the back, bumping his forehead against yours. Your spit gets caught in your throat.

“Curly, you’re—”

“Yeah, I’m making the wrong choice here.”

“All that talk about taking responsibility. You know damn well this isn’t it.”

Curly lifts his chin, light flashing across his eyes and causing them to somehow shine even brighter. It’s blinding.

“You’d be taking responsibility for my heart. That would be enough.”

Lights, camera, action.

That old romantic teen drama re-emerged as an erotic thriller, and now as a full blown comedy. This is a joke, right?

“You can’t possibly expect me to take such a cheesy line seriously.”

Curly giggles, outright blushing like you’re flirting back with him. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and exhale. You grip the hands massaging yours back. “So. Just to recap here. You’re rightfully upset by everything I’ve admitted to doing, but you were somehow seduced anyway by my night time fun, is that it?”

“It...Was actually a bit of a relief when I figured out that those dreams weren’t just wishful thinking.” Curly sheepishly floats his gaze around. “I was so sure that it was my body’s way of telling me what my problem with relationships has been the whole time. It turns out, I’m less smart than I thought I was. I couldn’t imagine you doing something like that, but especially not to me.”

Everything’s calming down too quickly. He’s pulling you in, trying to make you act rather than talk. Talking is your only way out of this.

Why do you still want a way out of this?

“I-It wasn’t even about desiring you for me, okay?” You’re the one pulling your head away now. “I wanted to make you feel small. Beneath me. I wanted to possess you, make you know who you belonged to.”

“You called me a bitch, Jimmy. I think I understood that pretty well.” Curly scoots his chair closer with a squeak. Your knees keep bumping. “Taking responsibility means if you want a bitch, you have to do all the work to keep a bitch happy. Go out with me, eat with me, and make sure I get a good night’s rest.”

Shivers are racing down your spine, little bursts of excitement that go right to the brain between your legs. Your faces are touching already. One little nudge, and you’ll be cementing your fate in his skin.

Is this...Actually what you wanted? If it is, why does it feel so hollow?

Then, he kisses you, and that feeling dims in the wake of your arousal.

“Mm—Fuck.”

“Huh? Are you okay?”

“No, my face hurts. Keep going.”

You don’t let him take a moment to put on a guilty face. You used to love seeing it on him, it meant you were winning your argument. How ironic that the one piece of him you’ve managed to make your own is exactly that?

Make no mistake, this isn’t a victory for you. How long will it take before the two of you are stuck in the desert of the mundane, barely able to look at one another without counting out the day’s resentments? How long before you lose Curly, your one friend, in place of Curly, the hole with a face that’s always ready by night time?

You’re scared. You can’t express that. Not without dragging this whole conversation past dawn, and it’s barely evening. The sun is lowering into the sky, setting over the distant nights where the two of you drank and pretended your lives were content. Concert halls and cake dry as chalkboard. Girls and shitting on girls together. A lifetime of memories, without the bitter aftertaste.

The only thing being fixed is the heart you tried so damn hard to break. Maybe that’s why Curly can’t seem to give you up. He took a piece of you too. The worst piece he could have taken.

“You’re...You’re more selfish than I took you for.” You push Curly up against the wall near the door frame to his bedroom. The two of you stumble in your dance on your way to an undeserved good time, grinding and panting as you go.

“C-Can you really blame me?” Curly groans as he wraps a leg around yours and then lets go, trying to side shift through the open door. “This is the first time in my whole life where...I-I know what I want. I want you, Jimmy, and you’re going to give it to me!”

His bed bounces as the two of you collapse on top of it, a tangled mess of limbs as you grope across each other’s clothed bodies. That video flashes into your mind. You know. That one. The one that got you hooked on seeing yourself in Curly’s ass.

“I’m going to make you watch porn with me.” You lift yourself up, grabbing Curly’s shirt and shoving it up to feel his stomach underneath. “I’m going to make you do every single fucking position we see, no matter how uncomfortable or how long I make you keep going. You wanna fuck up your life so badly? I’ll make damn sure of it.”

“Do...Do you think about me when you watch porn, Jimmy?”

You freeze up, and then quickly start working on removing your button-up.

“When the actor looks like you.”

Deflect. Don’t tell him you deliberately seek out blond babes with innocent faces.

“So you do.” Curly lifts himself up slightly, a wry smirk on his face as he unbuckles his belt and undoes the button and zipper on his trousers. You’re in the midst of doing the same thing, glaring at him. “Make sure whatever one you pull up, there’s an actor that looks like you too.”

“That’s easy. The bottom’s always some stupidly attractive needy little slut while the top is the ugliest motherfucker they could pull from the street. We fit those descriptions pretty well.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re still on that phrenology kick, Jimmy.” Curly laughs, though it’s a pitying reaction. “I keep telling you that relationships are more than just appearances! There’s so much more to attraction than whether your jawline is sharp or rounded."

“Yeah, there’s also per-son-a-li-ty~” You drag out the syllables and roll your eyes. You shove your pants down, and then grab Curly’s hips to do the same. “And you now know damn well what a dumpster fire mine is, so what the hell is your excuse?”

“Nngh...” Curly lets out a relieved sigh as his cock is let loose. He’s hard, dripping, and judging from the way he’s looking at you, needy out of his fucking mind. “You...You have pretty eyes.”

“Pfft.” You collapse on top of him, dick to dick, chest to chest. He rolls his ankles around yours, breath quickening as the two of you roll into each other. “You have the worst fucking taste imaginable. I knew that already though. Who the fuck’s favorite movie is Polle’s Adventures In Ponyland ?!”

“S-Says the guy who tried calling it a metaphor for swinging.”

“Yeah. To ruin it for you. Not because I actually believed it.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. You were pretty passionate. I almost believed you!”

“You’ll believe in anything.”

“Just like you believed me when I said it was my favorite.”

Your chattiness is interrupted by sheer lust overtaking you both. You grind against him faster, faster, Curly’s head rolling back from the friction alone. It’s not enough, though, just teasing it out of you both. You want more.

“Jimmy, can...Can I taste you?”

“That sounds fucking perfect, Curly.”

You lift yourself up, and rotate yourself around. Your hips land on Curly’s head while you bring yourself down to his groin, staring his dick in the face. You grab it, hearing him moan behind you right before he grabs yours. Your knees grow weak, but you keep them up. You have to. You need to taste him too.

His cock stands long and tall, desperate for your touch and yours alone. You spent too many years needy and unfulfilled by women, when this was right in front of you? Pathetic. There’s no room for hesitation in your heart, not when your dick is getting tickled by Curly’s breath. You’re going to take until your throat gives way.

Your tongue draws across the slit at the top, pulling down the foreskin and massaging your thumb across the veins underneath. Curly’s lips wrap around your head, repeating your hand motions up until he pulls your dick further into his mouth. It’s so wet and soft in there, warm too. No teeth, and a tongue that works its way across your veins. You should have had your dick sucked by someone who knew what it felt like a long damn time ago.

Fingers crawl across Curly’s scrote, squeezing and playing with them while you swirl your tongue around his head. He’s quivering underneath you, his cock ruddy with flames as you play with it. All the while, Curly sucks on you like you’re the best goddamn thing he’s ever put in his mouth.

Then, he hits you where you least expect it. His fingertip presses to your anus, circling it and rubbing it gently. Your body starts shaking uncontrollably, but your mouth stays where it is, muffled moans reverberating against Curly’s cock. It’s driving you fucking crazy.

The food at the psych hospital wasn’t the greatest, but it was definitely the most “regular” your colon has ever been. How lucky for Curly. He never has to deal with any shit, not at the same level that you do.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” You murmur out as you lift your mouth, saliva mixed with cum dripping down your chin. “How the fuck does that feel so good...?!”

“Ha...” Curly digs his finger in just a little. Just enough that your body can’t help but react, rolling into the touch. “It was calling to me...You can’t stop twitching down here. You want it in, don’t you?”

He’s talking about the hot rod at your teeth. He’s talking about putting this massive fucking phallic object inside your ass, pushing it in until all you can comprehend is his invasive force within you. It’s terrifying. It’s also exactly what you’ve been running from.

“Jimmy. Come here.”

He’s warm as he beckons you to face him again, cupping your cheek as he encourages you to sit on his lap. You refuse the position, and take one that fits your vision better. Laying down on your back, head on his pillow, his body crawling over yours. You grip the sheets underneath you for dear life.

“You want it this badly?” Curly asks again, one brow raised higher than the other.

“Don’t overthink it.” You dig your toes into the bed too. For good measure. “My mind is a rotating hall of live porn theatre. There’s a variety of acts in there, and the ones that star you can get stale without mixing things up a bit.”

“How many acts involve me?”

“Obsessed with yourself, much?”

“Says you.”

“...Over the years, you’ve...Made it a point to cameo in just about every single damn one of them. One way or another. You steal the show.”

Curly comes down on you, stealing your lips with the hunger of a teenage boy getting lucky on prom night. He truly doesn’t give a shit that you’re the type of guy to fuck a woman while she’s unconscious, or gaslight him into thinking your sexual encounters in the night were just dreams. He certainly doesn’t care that you’re a ragged, deadbeat of a man with no redeeming physical features either. Just a pair of hypnotizing eyes and a bad personality to match.

He’s sucking on your nipple, playing with the other. You writhe and squirm underneath him, every nerve sending signals down to your cock and bringing you close to bursting. Shit, could you actually cum from him just playing with your chest?

“Knock it off, fuck!” You push on Curly’s shoulders. He grabs your wrists and forces them down to the bed, not removing his mouth from the nipple he’s drinking from.

Violence. Oh shit, there’s that piece of you rearing its ugly head. He’s learned to feel a little less guilty about hurting you.

“When you’re so aroused that it drives you insane, that’s when I’ll try fingering you properly.” Curly promises with a smile. He goes to the other tit, lips wet with his own spit, and begins sucking without remorse on that one too.

There’s nothing you can do. He’s fulfilling a fantasy you denied to yourself over and over again, forcing you to feel the weight of his desire. A desire for you, the bastard who should have never been born. A child who somehow managed to make it to adulthood without a lick of empathy to show for it. The best you can muster is gritted teeth as you squirm.

“I-I can’t, I’m going to...!!”

A blinding sensation washes over you, rising through your head until slowly, you’re back in bed, Curly’s tongue caught with a bridge of saliva connecting to your nipple. He’s staring at you, his whole face red. He’s not embarrassed, he’s surprised.

“...Wow...Jimmy, you’re...”

“I’m weak. I know. You don’t have to say it.”

“No, I was just thinking, you’re...You’re seriously erotic. It’s incredible.”

Your eyes won’t stop blinking. What fucked up show are you watching now? Has all of this been some whackjob dream, or has reality taken a dive for the worst?

“I just came from you playing with my tits.” You curl your feet together. “How the hell is that erotic?!”

“If you can’t see it...Boy. You really do have too many issues to name, Jimmy.”

Curly reaches into his bedside drawer. He pulls out a bottle of lubricant. Your asshole honest-to-god twitches in response when you hear the lid click.

“Fucking me...It isn’t going to make anything I’ve done right.”

You’re running out of excuses. Exhausted, your body is heavy and yet inexplicably hollow.

“We have a whole lifetime together to figure it out, Jimmy. It’s going to be okay.”

There’s something wrong with those eyes of his. They don’t even look like they’re blue, not in the way that a color matches its name. They’re not the color of the sky or the ocean, they’re too pale and translucent for that. They’re more grey. Cold, struggling to pick a focus, giving up and staring at the big picture instead.

They’re staring at you now, though. They see you, crystal clear. That blue hiding beneath the clouds comes out in full, piercing through you harder than the finger gently inserting itself inside of you. He is so, so careful about it. Not out of caution for your well-being, though. Nor to keep you complacent, or trick you into letting him go further.

He’s gentle because he wants to be. He’s blue because he doesn’t need to deny himself any further. He’s always wanted someone who was special to him, and you made him take you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...” Your legs spread, you cuss under your breath, and you grab the pillow beneath your head as you shut your eyes tight. “I can’t possibly be this fucking sensitive that even a single finger feels too big...!!”

“You’re getting to see it now then, right?” Curly’s giggles, rolling his finger in and out slowly. “Your body...It’s so damn erotic. You’ll collapse at any kind of touch. I guess it makes sense, given your libido...”

“My libido is an entirely separate issue to whatever the fuck is going on here.” You insist as you slam the side of your face into the pillow, needing a distraction in the form of hurt. Your bruised eye stings even at the touch of fabric, giving you what you need.

“You don’t want to feel good?” Curly asks, genuine and innocent as he tries to ramp up the speed. He slows down again when he sees you wince.

“Nngh...” You open your eyes, trying to rationalize your situation to yourself in the only way you know how. You can’t. You’re frozen in place, voiceless as Curly waits for you to answer him. “Just...Keep going. Do what you need to do.”

“Do you want this?”

“I’m not telling you no.”

“Tell me yes, then.”

You furrow your brow, fire burning in your glare.

“If you stop, I’ll just force myself onto you again. Whatever method I have to use. I won’t fulfill your delusion that this thing we have going on isn’t built off of rape.”

Curly stops, sighs, and rubs his thumb into your taint. You can feel your hole relaxing without your input, slipping from your control.

“I’ve seen your internet history, Jimmy. I know what gets you off. I...I just need to know. I’m the first to do this, yes? Say I’ll be the last, too.”

“...As far as I’m concerned, my desire to take it up the ass is a phenomenon I’ve only ever experienced when thinking about you. In the amount of years I’ve had these kinds of thoughts, that hasn’t changed. For better or worse, you’ve made me what I am, Curly. This isn’t a place I’d run away from. I’m home, aren’t I?”

Curly leans down, his finger still painfully still as it sits inside of you. His lips are stretched up, and yet his eyelids are lowered.

“Tell me more.”

“What the fuck? What else do you want me to say?!”

Curly doesn’t answer you. He’s ready to wait you out. Up until the moment he pulls out of you and waits for you to say what he wants to hear from you.

Words you haven’t actually spoken aloud yourself. Words he said for you. Words jumbled up in the meaning of other, more abrasive words, because they were easier to say.

“You need me to say that I love you so bad?” You reach up with your good hand and grab Curly’s scap. “The best you’re gonna get is an admission of how thoroughly fucked in the head I am over you. I physically can’t restrain myself around you. Why the hell do you think I was in such a hurry to kill myself?”

“That’s not a normal reaction to being in love.”

“You’re as abnormal as I am for smiling about that.”

Curly kisses you, and jams his finger in hard. Your body reacts all too positively, hungry for the friction. He won’t stop kissing you, stealing your breath away, drowning you in tongue.

“Mmph—H-Hey, slow down if you’re gonna add another finger.”

“Sorry, you just felt like you could fit a third already—”

“A third?! When the hell did a second fit in there?”

“You didn’t feel it?”

Your body, the one part of you that you should have total awareness over, is playing fucking coy with you. Accepting silver coins in exchange for kisses and batting eyelashes, all forms of payment you should be able to live without, but they make your heart shake. You dig your nails into his back.

“I want...I think I can put it in, Jimmy. Please. Let go, I know it’ll fit now.”

There’s a rhythm to Curly’s breath that turns your blood to ice. He used to be so laid back when you were kids, and then he grew up. All that talk about how hard it was for him to take initiative when it came to having sex, it didn’t account for what would happen when his fires were stoked.

He can’t stop burning up, and you’re not tinder. You’re gasoline, igniting off a single spark.

“You’re so fucking pathetic.” You hurl an insult at him. You don’t know what else to do. “Either fuck me or I’ll take care of it myself.”

He takes that as permission. Of course he does. He doesn’t actually need to worry about ethics or protocol around you. He can read between your tantrums because he has to, or else the two of you wouldn’t be wrestling around like this.

His dick slips in, and you swear you feel your body ascend.

“Jim—Jimmy, oh, Jimmy, fuck...!”

Curly lifts himself up, hands on your hips, unable to stop himself as he goes at you without a chance to hold back. You could tear, you could break, and he still wouldn’t stop. You can see it in the way he’s tearing up at the sight of you. He needs to make you his.

Why?

“Jimmy, you’re—you feel s-s-so good, Jimmy...!!”

He moans, reassures you that he’s having a great time, calling your name as if to remind you that he doesn’t care about your hole more than he cares about you. All the while, you’re fighting for your life trying not to collapse under the weight of your pleasure. Hurting in a manner so raw that no amount of ice left in Curly’s freezer will be able to preserve you afterwards.

Oh, but your body doesn’t care about that, does it? You’re hard as diamond without him even needing to touch you. This traitorous libido of yours ought to be the end of you.

You try to speak, and choke on your own spit. You stop, afraid of embarrassing yourself further. You feel lesser than you were.

“Jim, I-I’m so...! So fucking close, Jimmy!!”

He’s not pulling out. He’s thrusting faster, harder, all without break or wind-down.

“I-In spite of all that blubber, you...” You cackle between your caught up gasps. You are floating, a mind separate from the body you inhabit. “You’ve still got enough s-stamina to use that dick well, huh?!”

“Y-You think I’m using it well?” Curly grins, his face relaxing into bliss before he’s caught up in his own lust. “J-Jimmy...!”

His only takeaway is a compliment. Just like your only takeaway from this sex is that, in spite of knowing Curly the way you do, you don’t know everything about him. You don’t know why he’d sell his soul to be your sunset distraction.

He cums inside of you. The idea of pulling out never on his mind in the first place, was it? His orgasm rattles him up from the inside, a byproduct of how long he’s spent wanting to do this, no doubt. When he pulls out, you can see the way his dick sticks to your body before collapsing back, shivering uncontrollably.

Holy shit. He was inside of you.

He didn’t even touch your dick after you got on your back, and yet you’re dry releasing with the world’s most agonizing orgasm. It leaves behind a headache and a dry mouth, along with a spicy bite of vulnerability. Curly collapses next to you, sweat dripping from his brow, his arms swooping around you and dragging you in. You loosely cling back to him. One good kick of ennui can make even the sun appear dark.

“Talk to me.” Curly begs, kissing your temple. He tries to make you comfortable, warm you up with more than just a cuddle. A comforter gets pulled over your body. He stares at you expectantly.

“You don’t have to try so hard.” You speak the first thing on your mind. “You can't make me happy, because I can’t control you.”

“...You’re right. You can’t control me.” Curly agrees with the sentiment, bumping his forehead to yours. “But you can’t make yourself happy, Jim. I know that better than anyone. Even if it’s not like this, I’ll make sure you’re not miserable forever.”

“So stupid. Only you would make a promise that idiotic.” You rest a palm on his cheek, tugging at his ear slightly. You can feel the blood rushing through, hotter than your own hand. “...That’s what makes you interesting, Curly. How the hell does a guy like you decide a guy like me is worthy of standing in your presence, let alone earn the right to defile you?”

“That one’s easy. You didn’t earn shite.” Curly rolls his fingers across your chest. He’s fruitlessly looking for your heart. “You just took, and took, and took until I was ready to resign myself to your hands. The worst part is that you don’t even care that it worked, because you never care about the consequences. How the hell do you go through the present not worrying about your future, or making more out of your life than this?”

“Wait. Are you...”

You can’t even say the word. The idea of it sounds so wrong that it stays still on your tongue, holding back at an opportunity where you should be jumping for joy and clicking your heels.

“...People always tell me I’m a great leader.” Curly presses his palm down over your sternum. “What they actually mean is that I’m good at bossing people around without hurting any feelings. That’s worth accolades and promotions, but I never feel happy when I get them. I don’t feel happy about being respected or applauded for a job well done. I can’t stop myself from counting my mistakes. They haunt me even into the next job, and then the job after that. So yeah. I am jealous of how easily you excuse yourself if it means getting to enjoy your just desserts.”

“...Pffft.” Your mind is in full blown meltdown, and the only reaction you can muster is a maniacal laughter that has you forcefully bumping heads with Curly again just to get out of it. “Fuck, you’re...You’re serious about this. You think you need me because you want my secret? You’ve seen me move from job to job, getting on by the skin of my teeth, and you think I’ll give you what you think will make you happy?”

“You do the same to me.”

“You’re you.”

“I’m not living, Jim. Or at least, I wasn’t when I was only doing what I was good at. Dealing with you is impossible, but maybe if I learn some way of managing you, I’ll learn how to accept being happy with good enough.”

You force Curly onto his back and climb on top of him. It’s stupidly easy. He isn’t expecting it, eyes wide and full of terror as you do. An inexplicable smile remains permanently etched on your cheeks.

“You want to believe so badly that this is what you need, even after I forced myself onto you.” You dig your nails into his wrists. The pain in yours is gone. “You can’t handle the idea that there was nothing you could do. You’re so fucking sick of me and my shit, but if you let me run off now, you’re afraid of reading an obituary with my name on it. You won’t stop thinking about all you could have done to fix me. This is the only solution you’ve come up with, and it fucking sucks, Curly. Not for me, though.”

You lean down. Curly’s breath is minty fresh, but there’s a stain of you in there too. He’s gasping like a fish.

“You can hope all you want that we’ll save each other, Curly. It doesn’t matter to me why you’re so delusional that you genuinely believe you can’t live without me. Just know that no matter what you tell yourself, you’re my fucking bitch, and you’ll go down into the ground knowing you were never more than that.”

Curly is fully hyperventilating beneath you, sweat pouring down his skin and leaving a cool sheen. He clamps his jaw tightly, his body reacting to yours on top. You can feel how hard he’s getting again.

“...Yeah.”

He mutters the word out in resignation, eyes shut.

You can feel the weight of the chain around your neck that connects to one wrapped around his. Get too far, and your head will pop right off your body. Stay too close, the chains reveal themselves to be embedded in your skin, conjoining you both into a single abomination. The two of you together are a monster bigger than either of you can handle, so why bother trying in the first place?

In the meantime, you have nowhere else to be. Stick it out together. Make for a fucking awful couple who make it clear at every opportunity how much you resent one another. Stick with it because he’s the only part of your life that has any meaning. Tell him you love him when you’re scared at night, and deny it in the morning.

He’ll tell you that everything’s going to be fine, but you’ll know he doesn’t mean it. He can’t know uncertainties like that, and it drives him crazy. You’ll fight with him over it, he’ll sulk, and then you’ll remind him that the only way to stop caring is to stop thinking. He’ll push you down on the bed and make you take responsibility for his thoughts.

If this isn’t love, you’ll never understand the meaning of the word. Deep down, you know for a fact that you’re incapable of knowing it. You crave it anyway, fruitlessly, and get frustrated easily when it never comes in a way you expect.

When the two of you are lying in bed that night though, restless as dawn breaks through the window, and the bedsheets half-torn off the bed, you see the way he’s looking at you. Exhausted, yes, but also sure. He doesn’t have any regrets about you.

You roll over and take his hand. If your life, as miserable and undeserving as you are, is going to be a teen romance drama with no end, you might as well act like it.

“Sign a blood oath with me.” You suggest as casually as telling him to make you a sandwich. “Let’s make a suicide pact.”

He squeezes your fingers weakly.

“Only if you draw a circle around my finger for the blood.”

You rub your thumb against his left hand’s ring finger.

“Pretty specific. You dreamt about that once?”

Curly pulls his gaze away, pursing his lips together. How come you can't be sarcastic around this guy? How come you always have to be right? When was it that you knew him as deeply as your own unarguably real heart?

“A week after you were checked in. That was the moment I finally figured out what my feelings for you were. It’s why, no matter what you say...Living doesn’t have meaning if you’re not there to make it hard for me.”

“...Guess living’s worth it after all.”

You’ll get the knife later. Right now, all you want to do is sink into him until you’re drowning with no chance of resurfacing. Maybe then, you’ll come out of it a human being.

Chapter Text

You’ve got issues.

“Ahh...M-More...”

You’re sitting on a toilet with the lid down, dressed in only a dirty pair of briefs so you don’t get any blood on you. You watch as the razor slices across your skin, forearm held out and up ahead of you. You’re breathing through your nose and teeth, sweat rolling down your cheek. It hurts so fucking bad, so why don’t you stop him?

“Fuck, just...Stay still, Curly. Stay still as a fucking deer in headlights. I can’t go too deep, remember?”

“Why not...?”

“Because you’ll die, idiot.”

He cares so much about you. He cares so damn much about you that it allows you to look past that tense expression on his face as he slices you up. He’s glaring, but he’s not mad at you. His lips are twitching between a manic smile and a frustrated set of bared teeth. He’s enjoying this, no matter how much stress he’s under. He flicks his gaze back at you.

“Curly. Keep talking. How’re you holding up?”

“Mm...I-It hurts...”

He won’t stop just because you admitted that. It’s what he wants to hear. He likes hurting you. You like hurting you too.

One more slice, down to your mid-forearm. They line up on your skin like pretty crimson streaks, your flesh fighting to escape the prison walls of your exterior.

Pain is how you know you’re still alive. That’s why you let him cut you.

“You just can’t get enough of this, huh?”

Jimmy grabs a cotton swab and disinfectant. He’s grinning as he soaks it up, knowing this is the part you’ll hate most. You bite your lower lip and brace yourself for the sting.

“I-I know it’s bad, but...Yeah, I like it.”

He wipes off the bloodied arm with a cold wet face cloth. Once it’s mostly cleaned, he presses the swab down. You hiss uncontrollably, scrunching your eyes closed. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much that it makes you wish you couldn’t feel a thing. But then, you wouldn’t be able to feel the way his hand is grabbing yours so tightly, trying to distract the pain away.

Your heart skips a beat when you see those dark eyes lift up from the shadows of his face, glancing towards you. He’s looking for signs that you don’t hate him for this. He’s the one who introduced you to this nasty habit of yours, after all.

“I’m okay.” You reassure him. “Do what you have to do.”

You trust him to clean you off properly. Stop the bleeding, prepare you for the bandages he’ll have to change in a few hours. You’re work. You, and all your nuisance whinings. Jimmy doesn’t call you that, though. He’s kinder to you, always insistent that he’s not.

It’s hard not to try and push the limits of your cuts once you’re bandaged up. You want to flex your hand, so instead you’re slow and careful as you do it. You then drop it, comparing it to the bandages on your other arm. The cuts on that one are a day older, but they still felt raw when you stepped in the shower.

“You need a minute again?” Jimmy toys with the razor in his hand, and then tosses it in the trash can. He knows you can’t do anything by yourself.

“Probably a few, yeah.” Your stomach is twisting in knots. Tonight’s dinner doesn’t have the space to fill anymore.

“Alright. Take your time.”

He’s not rushing you to feel better. You know he wants to, but he doesn’t. You know him better than you know yourself, and it’s the same for him. No matter how fucked up the two of you get, you’re grateful. This is true love, right here. You love him so much that it hurts to breathe.

You slowly stand from the toilet, and dare to look at your face in the mirror. There’s the clean-shaven former captain, now commanding his own team in an office space. Your team are all in charge of their own smaller teams, a boss for bosses. During the day, you put on a brave face and pretend you’re still the man you once were, the one you were hired on the premise that you deserved it.

You don’t feel like you deserve anything after Jimmy’s done with you. Bruises line your neck and chest, continuing down the rest of your body with little rhyme or reason. Bites given without a hint of remorse for the pain you were in, but you sucked it up. You always did.

There’s a few marks on Jimmy’s skin, too. They never last as long on him for some reason. Whether it’s his complexion or muscle density, you aren’t sure. You just know there’s never enough evidence on him to say that he’s yours, while he owns you entirely.

You rub your face in your hands. Blast it all. You’re such a fucking knobhead.

You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. You knew something wasn’t right with the way she talked about him. After dropping Jimmy off at the hospital, wanting to wait by his side until he awoke, your ex asked to speak with you alone. She told you, five meters from his hospital bed, that the reason she couldn’t accept your proposal was because she was overcome with guilt from having slept with Jimmy the night before you asked.

In your mind, you knew. The pieces fell together in your mind so easily, there wasn’t a shred of doubt to be had. The man you had believed in for so long was an illusion. A spaceman’s dream, longing for a future where he could settle down, and know a peace worth accepting more than what he had.

It didn’t stop you from wanting to wait at his bedside, but it gave you the courage to walk away. You returned to your apartment, alone with a gift basket of your thoughts to chew on until your deployment day. Your feet screamed to go back, but your mind told you to go to sleep, so you did.

You spent hours, hours, hours, and hours wondering if this is what life is going to be from now on. Your ex asked you to be her plus one at an event, and you told her you would think about it. Her number, newly re-entered in your phone. Tempting.

You deleted it. You erased her from your mind, and thought about him.

For a few months in your chemistry class, Jimmy was paired up with a girl who absolutely despised him. She could see him for what he was, and you snickered at the sight of her moving her body as far away from his at their lab bench. There was a tickle of guilt that’s always there when you see Jimmy doing something bad, especially when you’re getting a thrill out of it. You couldn’t help it, you justified to yourself back then. The faces she would make as he would purposely bump into her were just too funny.

Then one day, you were given front row seats to a lesson on why communication is key. Jimmy poured in just a little too much of one element, and she put even more of another. The ensuing eruption coated her face in a white sticky substance, while Jimmy got away scot free. He came back, hand rolled into a loose fist, and jerked it in front of his waist. Everyone laughed. Boys, girls, the teacher. Everyone.

The teacher denied seeing the hand motion. The students said they didn’t get why she couldn’t take a joke. A few girls admitted to regretting laughing in the moment, as if that would change what they did in the past.

It wasn’t long after that the girl transferred out. The administration did nothing to help her, covering their asses to avoid a bullying claim by calling it a misunderstanding instead. She would have been forced to write an apology to Jimmy for taking part in why the incident happened in the first place.

“I don’t think she was wrong.” You told him one day after school, the two of you hanging out in the school’s basement where it was quiet. For some reason, the school’s janitor gave him a spare key.

“Pshh. She overreacted.” He played some game on his phone, paying more attention to it than you.

“You wouldn’t have cared if it was done to you?”

“Oh, I’d be furious if it happened to me. But I wouldn’t have tried what she did. I don’t get why the fuck she was always so jumpy around me anyways.”

“Could be your reputation precedes you.” You suggested as softly as you could. Rumors are the trade of high school, and you knew more than you wanted to know.

“Please, she didn’t know. I made damn sure no one leaked anything this time.”

Pop!

Egg on your face. Just like that girl, only without the public humiliation. The echo of that eruption repeating itself in your mind, a scratch on a record.

“Hey, hey, hey, be chill. Don’t look at me like that.”

You didn’t even say anything after opening your mouth. You were too frozen in your own disgust, but there was an additional element that kept you from saying anything too, wasn’t there?

“Jesus, Curly. You’re too damn much of a square to talk with sometimes, but I trust you, don’t I? You gotta trust me too.”

“Trust you on what?!” You tried as hard as you could to express your anger while keeping your voice down. “Trust you to keep making the same mistakes, even when you’ve already been caught?! This is serious, Jim, I don’t care if it’s just panties, it’s a felony! Child porn, it doesn’t matter if you’re a minor in the eyes of the law too!”

“Sheesh. You really need to lighten up.” Jimmy dismissed you as easily as he wagged his keyring around his finger. “How the hell else do you think a guy like me gets access to a place like this anyway?”

That was the first time you finally recognized it. That overwhelming sensation of dread, pooling into your stomach and eating you up from the inside out. A wake-up call. Get the fuck out of here. Get the fuck away from him.

“Listen.”

Jimmy scratched the back of his neck, and put his phone and keys away. He scooched closer, your body revolting internally. You could finally relate to that girl, but only when it didn’t matter anymore.

“Curly, seriously...I get it that you’re worried about me. Honest. I’m...I’m surprised that you’d extend your grace that far for me. I know I don’t deserve it.”

A moment of self-reflection. Just one moment. It was enough to lull you back in to hear him out.

“Frankly, she’s lucky to have transferred out of this shithole. You know how many girls get stuck here with their rapist ex-boyfriends because they don’t have the means to escape? It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and we’re sitting in the fucking food bowl. All of us, Curly, even you. The only reason it hasn’t affected you yet is because you’re already at the edge. You’ve got a better view of the horizon than any of us in the pit.”

In the low light of the basement, Jimmy’s dark eyes took on an amber hue. Shining a light until it pierced the veil, revealing the soul underneath. When he looked at you, chin arched up as he tilted his head against the wall, that hidden element wrapped its tendrils around your heart.

“I’m just fighting for a chance to join you up there one day.” He sighed, his resignation leaving him vulnerable. “Down in the pit, I’m nothing but meat on the bone. So’s everyone else. We’re all fighting in our own ways for a chance to escape. Doing shit like this, I know it won’t get me anywhere good, but it could still help me out. You never ask where I get my pocket money from though, so you wouldn’t care.”

You didn’t care how obviously he was manipulating the truth at that moment. You believed him.

You weren’t well off in the way you could get whatever you wanted when you wanted it. You were well off in the sense that you had parents who loved you, wanted what was best for you, and also voted for the party that hurt the friends you went to school with, because they were convinced it was what was best for them. You were well off enough that college was a guarantee for you.

Jimmy knew he could use that guilt of yours and twist it into a fucking knife. He stabbed you with it repeatedly from the moment you became friends, and it worked with an alarmingly high success rate. You never thought yourself as gullible in all these years. You thought you were just being a good friend.

“I do care, Jimmy. I do.” You bargained with him. Grabbed his shoulder and shook him until he looked at you. “I-I know things haven’t been easy for you, either, but you...You don’t have to do this, Jimmy. There are other ways to get by.”

“Oh yeah?” He sneered. “How, exactly?”

“Well...You have me.” You only hesitated for a moment. A moment that should have informed you that you were making the wrong choice, but you proceeded head-long like you always do. “You always have me, Jimmy. If I’m at the top, then I can throw you down a rope. We can both make it together.”

“What, you’re willing to team up with the guy who’s only known for sneaking pics up girls skirts?”

“I’m saying I want to help you become more than that. I know you’re worth more than that, Jimmy. You’re not destined to be evil, no one is.”

You spoke those words sweet as honey, meaning them so thoroughly that you genuinely believed you could manifest them into reality.

“Whatever you say, Curly.” Jimmy plucked your hand off his shoulder, and then scooted closer again, bumping arms with you. “But on the off chance you’re serious...I’ll only accept a fair transaction for any handouts. I won’t let myself be indebted to you all my life.”

“I know you won’t, Jimmy.” You were in love back then. You were wound up so tightly, a coil wrapped into a coil. You couldn’t see a damn thing. He was right. He was invisible to you.

Present day strikes you out of your reminiscing as you’re forced to your knees with your hands shoving up the toilet seat as hard and fast as they can. You vomit uncontrollably into the bowl, stomach lining and acid congealed around the contents of your undigested dinner. The emptiness inside of you grows, and paradoxically, makes you feel whole again.

That hidden element inside of you courses through your blood, fills your guts, and stabs itself through your brain until you go blind. It’s taking over you, bit-by-bit, bidding you to bleed and starve so it can take up more room, more of you. It’s not love, it’s something far worse. The very reason you could never let go of Jimmy, no matter what he did, or what he would do if you weren’t there to stop him. Not that you ever did.

You admire him.

You admire the sick bastard who took glee in selling photos of unsuspecting girls, who did it to his own girlfriend at one point, who bought concert tickets for a show he wanted to see in an attempt to prove he was thinking about her. You admire the guy whose best friend abandoned him and chose to never forgive you for it until you were as lonely and miserable as he was, and made certain that it happened.

You admire the ass who made you his mule over and over again, forced you down, and made you see him for what you’d been denying from the moment he ingrained himself into your life. He is part of you, and all he does is take from you, and you let him, because you admire him.

You didn’t know what you wanted to be when you grew up, but neither did Jimmy. You clung to ideas of life as an adult, but Jimmy was content to let his fate be decided by the wind. You hated that. You also yearned for that sense of freedom. He made you feel like everything you did was wrong, even your own thoughts.

He’d shower you with drinks and motivation and attention, attention, attention. More attention than anyone had given you your entire life, no matter how golden Jimmy believed you to be. You weren’t special to anyone, not even the girls you loved. He made you feel special, and he acted like it was as easy as breathing. That’s why it was so easy to believe in him. You had to return the favor somehow.

You dreamt one night, a week after he was admitted into the hospital, that Jimmy broke out and kidnapped you. He cut you up into pieces, and promised he wasn’t going to let you go again. You were grateful for it. He allowed you to keep one hand, your left, and carved his wedding ring on your finger.

You thumb the scar on your finger as you look at yourself in the mirror again. Cheeks sallow, complexion pale as a ghost. This was the same man in line to be the next captain of the Tulpar, once upon a time. As you sat with your hands on the top rung of the ladder, you grew more and more afraid of how much it would hurt to fall down. Then Jimmy jumped off the ledge, and when you reached out for his hand, you realized you admired him even then.

He didn’t care if it would hurt. You envied him. You wanted to join him.

You threw yourself off the ledge that was your career, no home, no plans, just a letter from a captain who had nothing but good things to say about you. It was somehow enough to pick yourself up from the ground floor.

You have a good life now. You have a steady job, a nice apartment, and a chance to start over if you wanted to. That’s the future you were looking at a year ago, the night you got the call that Jimmy was deemed fit to check out.

You went to that function with your ex. You dressed sharp, and made nice with the strangers who approached her. One night to imagine your life at her side, just like this. Alone with the woman you were ready to marry all those years ago.

All you could see was Jimmy. All you could think was Jimmy. You looked her in the eyes and saw the man who inspired you to take a dive off the edge. She could never be the one, not anymore.

Splash!

Water on your face. Rub away those icky red lines in your eyes and cheeks. Brush your teeth, and then rinse it out with mouthwash to get rid of that bad taste in the back of your throat. Make yourself somewhat presentable for the only person you’ll ever be touched by, because he won’t accept no, and you only want it to be him. Be happy with what you have, this is what you deserve.

“...You good?”

Jimmy’s sitting on the bed, remote in hand with the display paused on a video at the beginning. Porn, of course. He’s found another video for the two of you to mimic.

“Yeah.” You lie. You crawl onto bed, stripping out of your briefs on the way over. Jimmy’s already naked, soft from how long he was waiting for you. The thrill of cutting you only matters if you’re available for him immediately afterwards.

He makes that evident as he shuts the TV off and tosses the remote aside.

“Wait, I-I can—”

You scramble to crawl over to him. You sit on his lap, forcing him to look at you.

“I still want...I-If you want me...”

“Curly.” Jimmy closes his eyes, leans his head back against the headboard. “I don’t always want to feel like a rapist. Just go to bed.”

You never feel so fucking small as when Jimmy rejects the idea of having sex with you.

It’s pathetic, honestly. You don’t need sex. You just want the benefits of it. His arms wrapped around you, looking at you, desiring you. Needing you so desperately it makes you forget how little you think of yourself.

You’ve come this far already, though. No use turning back. Go on. Do what you always do.

Take responsibility.

“I’m sorry.” You wrap your arms around Jimmy’s neck, and pull yourself in close. Chin on his shoulder, you’re practically laying on top of him.

“What’re you even sorry for?” You can’t see Jimmy’s face, but you can feel his hand on your back. Limp, but it’s a start.

“I was being selfish. I wanted you to hurt me before we got started tonight, even though I knew I wasn’t going to be able to recover in time.”

“Right.” Jimmy pauses for a while. “Because you can’t say no to me.”

There’s resignation in his voice. Anger, too. Your heart twists, but you persist.

“I didn’t want to say no.” You run your fingers through his hair. It’s smooth and soft. You’ve gotten him on a every-other-day shower cycle. It’s hard convincing him sometimes, but you’ve managed to stay mostly consistent.

“Your body clearly did.”

“I don’t care about what my body thinks it needs. I know what I want.” You pull back enough to meet Jimmy’s gaze. You grab his cheeks in his palms, and press your forehead to his. “I want you, Jimmy. Whether I can handle it or not doesn’t matter.”

“Do you even hear yourself anymore?” Jimmy shuts his eyelids once more, avoiding you in the comfort of his own mind. “You’re consenting to being raped, and you’re somehow making it still sound just as bad. So fucking dumb.”

His nails dig into your back, scraping up and down your spine. It’s a dull pain, but it makes you feel alive.

“You’re right.” You kiss his cheek, his stubble rough and grainy against your skin. “I’ve lost my mind, Jimmy. I’m as dumb as they get for wanting you to pay attention to me.”

“I never said you were dumb.” Jimmy lifts another hand, this time rubbing around your shoulder blades. “I’m saying it’s dumb of you to care about what I think or want. It shouldn’t matter to you. You’ve got your own issues to take care of.”

“And you know as well as anyone that I’m avoiding them as much as you do yours.”

You grind against his lap, feeling him harden up as the apathy is drained from his body. It’s a dangerous toxin, one you should know better than to let build up like this.

“Nngh...” He moans. He couldn’t repress it in the slightest. That’s earned you another dark-eyed glare. “All the more reason this...Sucks. For you, and only for you.”

“Think that all you want. I’m not stopping now.”

You pull his face towards yours and kiss him fully, mouth-to-mouth with your minty-freshness clashing against the hops on his tongue.

“Mmgh...You fucking brushed your teeth?”

Jimmy’s brows double down, furrowing harder than before. Cartoonishly indignant over you practicing self-care, because why wouldn’t he be?

“I wanted to taste good to you.”

“You taste fucking fine, Curly. I don’t care if there’s a bit of vomit in there, I’m not gonna gag from it.”

You repress a giggle, lifting your body up. You turn your head away, making a real show of it.

“Fine, then. I’ll just go and stick my finger down my throat and get some acid in there for you to taste—”

“Sit your fucking ass down.”

You don’t have to do that. He does it for you, grabbing your hips and dragging you down on top of him. You can feel his cock as it bumps up against your ass, hardening by the second. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you watch as the same happens to him.

“Well.” You smirk. You won him back. “How about you start that video up, Jimmy?”

He’s staring at you. Long and hard, brow still set scrunched up above his nose. Is he still upset with you? Angry? You can’t tell. He has a harder to read face than yours. It’s infuriating.

“...Nah. I’m good with this.” His thumbs dig into your pelvis, relaxing his back as shifts up against the pillows behind him. “You’re enough of a distraction that I doubt I could pay attention anyway.”

“Jimmy, I’m already blushing...”

“Oh my God. Shut the fuck up.”

You reach for the drawer to grab the lubricant. Jimmy slaps your hand away as soon as you do, picking it up instead. He coats his fingers, rubbing them together thoroughly before shoving up two at the same time.

You’re never ready for it, and yet you always are. There’s never any resistance, no matter how cold the gel or his fingers are. In tandem, they don’t help, so all you can do is grin and bear it. He chuckles as he catches you gritting your teeth.

“You’re a damn bitch for me, Curly. How the hell do you get off to crap like this?”

“Mmghn...! I...I love you, Jimmy. Y-You could do whatever you wanted to me and I’d probably get off...”

How could you be ashamed of the truth? Whatever sense of dignity you had, you left it at the door the moment you let Jimmy take over your life. When exactly that was is up for debate, but it doesn’t change the present. You ride onto Jimmy’s fingers as if they were his dick, though the feel is incomparable.

“Jimmy...Jimmy...!”

His name rolls off your tongue with ease. Being in love with Jimmy is unfortunately free. He didn’t even try to take your heart, it simply landed in his ungrateful hand without a care what you thought of it.

You weren’t even mad when you realized he was raping you in your sleep. It made you happy. You were happy to almost convince him that he loved you, and for a brief moment, you believed in happy endings.

“Nnhgh!! N-No, wait, I-I can’t take you touching me down there, I-I’ll...!!”

Jimmy grabs your dick, hard and long and in his face, and pushes down the foreskin enough to suckle the head of it in his mouth. He’s glaring at you from above as he does it, rolling his tongue against the slit as his hand pumps you in tandem.

“Fuck, Jimmy!!” You’re rendered still with the threat of collapsing altogether. You grab the top of the headboard, steadying you only barely. You have a perfect view of him below as he sucks on your cock as though he were eating out a pussy.

Three fingers hit you hard and fast as he glares at you from below. Twin black holes, swallowing you up again tonight. How long until you’re not even the flesh beneath your skin?

“I-I’m coming...!!”

Jimmy doesn’t back down from it, no warning capable of mattering to him. He takes it all, only letting go when you’re dried up. Residue of his cum-soaked spit bridges between his mouth your cock, quick to make you harden up once more. Jimmy doesn’t even have to try to make you feel like a pathetic whore.

He sticks his tongue out at you, and then grabs your scalp with his other hand, dragging you down, down, down. You hate the taste of yourself, but he won’t be satisfied until he’s sullied the hard work you’ve put in to be presentable. He wants you at your rawest, worst self more than any façade you can put together.

There was one dream you had in high school that haunted you throughout the years. A dream that should have been your first wake up call, but considering you never had anything quite as graphic follow it up, you let its message go by the wayside.

In your dream, Jimmy pinned you to the wall and wouldn’t let you go until you kissed him. You were terrified of him. You were also terrified of your body responding to the assault in an overtly positive manner. He was rolling his body against yours, and you were growing desperate for it. You tried to get away with a soft peck, but it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

He kissed you until you came, and when you came to, he was gone. You were alone. He’d eaten you up, and you were left with nothing.

Your kiss breaks as Jimmy pulls his fingers out, his cock standing tall and proud as it brushes against your ass. You spread yourself with your hands as you lower onto it, adoring the sensation for all it’s worth. You love losing yourself to him. It’s all you have left.

“Jimmy...” You sing out his name, your breath foul with the taste of your own cum, and Jimmy bearing smug satisfaction on his cheeks. “It always feels like I’m going to break...Ngh...”

“C’mon, Curly. You’re made of stronger stuff than that.” Jimmy’s hands grope your sides, your ass, your chest. Anywhere they can reach, really. He usually likes feeling up your thighs. “Although maybe tonight is kind of pushing it, considering the whole vomit and bleeding bit.”

“Mm, are you worried about me...?”

“...Not enough to stop.”

His fingers latch around your neck. He was holding back for just a moment. Out of concern for you. That’s enough to get your blood rushing down again, pupils blowing out as you fixate on him entirely. The world might as well not exist.

“Ji―JImmy―I-I...Ghkk...!!”

“Shh...Don’t try to talk. It’s okay. Keep going, just like this.”

Your hips are forced to work on low supply lines as they lift up and thrust down with all their might, and you do it without pause. You can’t. You’d rather be dead than underperform. You can barely breathe with the way Jimmy’s wringing your neck. You love it. It’s exactly what you need, and no one knows your needs better than him.

His name echoes in your mind, a never-ending spell consuming you whole. You want to taste him again so badly that it hurts worse than any scar he could leave on your body. Your desire for him extends beyond that which a human body is capable of providing, and you hate yourself for it instead of him.

He’s done nothing wrong. That’s how you treat him on instinct. Poor Jimmy, caged and misunderstood. No one believes that more than you, the one who wouldn’t let Jimmy be anything other than a victim of happenstance.

Electricity courses through your veins, into your skull, and out your haggard breath. You cum again, and with your anus clamped around his dick, so does he. He hides his face as it happens. You break free of his grasp just to grab his shoulders and push your mouth onto his once more. Suffocating yourself, giving more of you away, hoping you can take a piece of him to fill the void inside.

Laying on your bed, you nuzzle your face into his chest as he strokes his hand through your hair. A comfortable silence hangs in the atmosphere. He’s not itching for the remote, or to get away from you. Moments like these almost make the fight seem worth it. Almost.

“I love you.”

He breaks the silence. You lift yourself up, jaw hanging slack as you stare at him. Panic overwhelms you. Don’t ruin this. Say it back, don’t make it awkward, don’t make him take it back―

“I love you.”

His words. His voice. Softer, this time, but he’s not refuting them. He’s looking you in the eyes, saying what you’ve been longing to hear for a year.

“I-I love you too...What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You hate yourself for asking that. Why can’t you accept his kindness? Why do you have to push more and more until he hates you?

Why do you have to care that he can’t say those words with a smile?

“...Because it doesn’t change anything.”

Your heart swells. Your eyes grow misty. Jimmy’s eyes have never looked duller, and you haven’t felt this alive in so long. He loves you.

He loves you even though he’s hurt you so much. He loves you even though he knows he won’t be able to stop that hurt. Pain and misery are the foundation blocks of your romance, but love remained an uncertainty. It’s always been there though, hasn’t it?

“It didn’t need to.” You reassure him. You press your noses together gently, brushing the backs of your fingers across his jawline. “I don’t need you to change who you are, Jimmy. I never did.”

Jimmy rolls his fingers through your hair. Soft, gentle, and sweet. His ankle brushes against your calf. Little spots of intimacy that mean more than words. It doesn’t make those words lose their magic any less.

“Curly.”

“Yes, Jimmy?”

“I...I won’t be able to jump on my own. I need you to join me.”

You pull back just enough to see his face clearer. The black hole is swallowing you in again. There’s so little left to take, and yet you still reach.

“That’s what this is all about, remember?” You raise your left ring finger. “Tonight?”

He shakes his head.

“Then let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be there.”

“Why?”

His voice is trembling. You connect your foreheads this time, cupping his face in your palms.

“The happiest I’ll ever be is with you, spending the last of our days however we like. I won’t live with regret about the responsibility I should have taken. I love you, Jimmy. I’m not afraid of you.”

You’ve broken him. The black hole ejects you, growing wetter by the second. He forces you to look away as he pulls you in for an impassioned kiss, tongue on tongue as he flips the two of you around, landing on top of you. You kiss, you grind, you give, and you take. The two of you don’t let go, no matter how much ache or hurt frays your muscles.

You can feel it. His heart beating against yours, loud and proud. Alive and human. He’s human, poor thing. You’ve fixed him, but at the cost of his own sanity. He can no longer pretend to be an animal acting on instinct, or an entity of pure evil, justified for acting in his nature.

He loves you. Your blood doesn’t feel foreign to you anymore.