Sharpies and Mushrooms
Fic! Goes along with piig's latest story.
You tried to keep it a secret.
But now the world's gonna know.
You tried for perfection.
But then oh uh oh. Erection.
The Faint, Erection.
The night was a pillow of quiet after the damned constant city-noise. No car noise, no siren noise, no people noise, just wind-through-grass sounds, the occasional owl. Crickets. Hunter's mouth was still cool from the water he'd gotten up for, and his feet automatically avoided the creaky boards, though he wasn't awake enough to have done so deliberately. The door to the spare room was closed, but when Hunter drew closer he heard Van mumbling. Talking in his sleep? Well, he was probably asleep. Should be? Even a hyperactive insomniac slept sometimes. Or should. And it wasn't talking, exactly. Humming, buzzing snores interspersed with random syllables. A giggle, disturbingly high-pitched coming from someone whose package Hunter had eyed more than once.
The air in the house was doing that weird thing again, where it had a slight bit more texture than air ought to. Sort of like the wash of cold air that came out of the freezer, but the different-air wasn't colder or warmer, it was just the slightest bit more there. Mass-ier. More sure of itself. What? Tiny really should get that checked out, and Hunter ought to get some sleep before he started seeing vapour trails.
Another snorking inhale from beyond the scuffed old door, followed by a "Mee? Hrrgle." Hunter shook his head, stifled a yawn with his forearm, and padded back towards the living-room. The light was a harsh wash of yellow that made him squint, but he wasn't about to hunt for the sharpie without it.
Rrreeeeeek, went the old door, but Hunter had moved slowly and the snoring didn't stop or sink in volume. Hunter uncapped the sharpie and stuck the cap onto the back-end, then used it to scratch his chin. The black-licorice chemical stink of the sharpie wound round him.
A faint diffusion of light made it along the hall and into Van's room. The bed was empty, though the snoring continued. The bed was empty because Van was a curled hunch atop the dresser. What? How did that begin to make sense? That didn't look comfortable at all. Hunter drifted over. His last Tanuki segment had involved a cameo by Van wielding a purple goggle-eyed sockpuppet, and he'd had the temerity to bite Tanuki's nose with said sockpuppet not once but three times. Hunter figured a little permanent marker to the face was adequate retribution.
Van wore his t-shirt and jeans, as if he'd fallen asleep on the couch and some fuddled parent had carried him to bed and missed. The weak yellow light caught the lines of his nose and forehead, the unlikely curve of his cheek, and it was like art, like those smoky paintings on a wall someplace. He'd kept the window shut so the whole room had a sleepy human smell, a Van-smell that grabbed at something feral in the back of his head, his gut. Not that Hunter had ever sniffed Van. Even the snuffling sleeptalk he had going was cute. Hunter wouldn't kick him out of bed for talking all night. Hopefully he didn't kick too much, but talking wasn't a problem. He could have crackers, too. Hunter realized he was hovering over Van in the dark, a few more inches and he'd be nuzzling the Star on his HomeStar Runner shirt. Oh, it'd be such a little thing, to wake Van up with Hunter's beard on his neck, haul him to the bed and help him get sleepy. Hunter'd put money that Van was a biter.
Tempted, tempted. But was Van even interested? It was hard to find someone who wanted to come out here, nevermind someone who wanted to stay with Hunter. How bright Van's eyes got when he was on a whirl of energy, how he twitched and bounced and snapped his fingers, had to touch everything in arm's reach. Suppose he freaked? He never said no but he never flirted back, either. First time they'd met face-to-face, after all the radio nights, Van had got this big grin all over his face and had given Hunter a backthumping one-armed we're-so-manly hug, and his hair had brushed Hunter's cheek.
.Something snapped and Hunter jerked away. He hadn't been paying attention to his arm and the sharpie had fallen. Hunter groped for it, startled again on Van's next honking snore, and fled. His heartbeat thumped in his throat and temples, the pit of his stomach. His skin felt hot and itchy. His bedsprings squealed when he climbed in. He waited through several cycles of snoring and something soft that sounded like Van was calling a pet. Maybe Van was a champion sleeper after all, once he finally fell in. Hunter crept out of bed and turned off the light, closed the door to Van's room in a fit of fear and guilt and a shame he'd thought he'd gotten over. Nothing had happened. Why'd he feel bad? He hadn't done anything. He got another whiff of that Van-smell in the last curl of thick air when the door shut. Oh.
Back in his own bed, lights off, fireflies calling to each other in the fields outside with glittering sparks. Hunter still felt restless, too aware of his pulse and his skin and how soft the cotton of his boxers was when he pushed it aside. Behind his closed eyes the lights were on, or maybe sunlight, and Van was eager, all flushed-up from sex. Hunter couldn't hear the bedsprings over his pulse.
END
You tried to keep it a secret.
But now the world's gonna know.
You tried for perfection.
But then oh uh oh. Erection.
The Faint, Erection.
The night was a pillow of quiet after the damned constant city-noise. No car noise, no siren noise, no people noise, just wind-through-grass sounds, the occasional owl. Crickets. Hunter's mouth was still cool from the water he'd gotten up for, and his feet automatically avoided the creaky boards, though he wasn't awake enough to have done so deliberately. The door to the spare room was closed, but when Hunter drew closer he heard Van mumbling. Talking in his sleep? Well, he was probably asleep. Should be? Even a hyperactive insomniac slept sometimes. Or should. And it wasn't talking, exactly. Humming, buzzing snores interspersed with random syllables. A giggle, disturbingly high-pitched coming from someone whose package Hunter had eyed more than once.
The air in the house was doing that weird thing again, where it had a slight bit more texture than air ought to. Sort of like the wash of cold air that came out of the freezer, but the different-air wasn't colder or warmer, it was just the slightest bit more there. Mass-ier. More sure of itself. What? Tiny really should get that checked out, and Hunter ought to get some sleep before he started seeing vapour trails.
Another snorking inhale from beyond the scuffed old door, followed by a "Mee? Hrrgle." Hunter shook his head, stifled a yawn with his forearm, and padded back towards the living-room. The light was a harsh wash of yellow that made him squint, but he wasn't about to hunt for the sharpie without it.
Rrreeeeeek, went the old door, but Hunter had moved slowly and the snoring didn't stop or sink in volume. Hunter uncapped the sharpie and stuck the cap onto the back-end, then used it to scratch his chin. The black-licorice chemical stink of the sharpie wound round him.
A faint diffusion of light made it along the hall and into Van's room. The bed was empty, though the snoring continued. The bed was empty because Van was a curled hunch atop the dresser. What? How did that begin to make sense? That didn't look comfortable at all. Hunter drifted over. His last Tanuki segment had involved a cameo by Van wielding a purple goggle-eyed sockpuppet, and he'd had the temerity to bite Tanuki's nose with said sockpuppet not once but three times. Hunter figured a little permanent marker to the face was adequate retribution.
Van wore his t-shirt and jeans, as if he'd fallen asleep on the couch and some fuddled parent had carried him to bed and missed. The weak yellow light caught the lines of his nose and forehead, the unlikely curve of his cheek, and it was like art, like those smoky paintings on a wall someplace. He'd kept the window shut so the whole room had a sleepy human smell, a Van-smell that grabbed at something feral in the back of his head, his gut. Not that Hunter had ever sniffed Van. Even the snuffling sleeptalk he had going was cute. Hunter wouldn't kick him out of bed for talking all night. Hopefully he didn't kick too much, but talking wasn't a problem. He could have crackers, too. Hunter realized he was hovering over Van in the dark, a few more inches and he'd be nuzzling the Star on his HomeStar Runner shirt. Oh, it'd be such a little thing, to wake Van up with Hunter's beard on his neck, haul him to the bed and help him get sleepy. Hunter'd put money that Van was a biter.
Tempted, tempted. But was Van even interested? It was hard to find someone who wanted to come out here, nevermind someone who wanted to stay with Hunter. How bright Van's eyes got when he was on a whirl of energy, how he twitched and bounced and snapped his fingers, had to touch everything in arm's reach. Suppose he freaked? He never said no but he never flirted back, either. First time they'd met face-to-face, after all the radio nights, Van had got this big grin all over his face and had given Hunter a backthumping one-armed we're-so-manly hug, and his hair had brushed Hunter's cheek.
.Something snapped and Hunter jerked away. He hadn't been paying attention to his arm and the sharpie had fallen. Hunter groped for it, startled again on Van's next honking snore, and fled. His heartbeat thumped in his throat and temples, the pit of his stomach. His skin felt hot and itchy. His bedsprings squealed when he climbed in. He waited through several cycles of snoring and something soft that sounded like Van was calling a pet. Maybe Van was a champion sleeper after all, once he finally fell in. Hunter crept out of bed and turned off the light, closed the door to Van's room in a fit of fear and guilt and a shame he'd thought he'd gotten over. Nothing had happened. Why'd he feel bad? He hadn't done anything. He got another whiff of that Van-smell in the last curl of thick air when the door shut. Oh.
Back in his own bed, lights off, fireflies calling to each other in the fields outside with glittering sparks. Hunter still felt restless, too aware of his pulse and his skin and how soft the cotton of his boxers was when he pushed it aside. Behind his closed eyes the lights were on, or maybe sunlight, and Van was eager, all flushed-up from sex. Hunter couldn't hear the bedsprings over his pulse.
END