(no subject)
Pairing: Layne Staley/Jerry Cantrell [Alice in Chains]
Date Written: September 21, 2001
Notes: Part 1 in a series.
"Jerry," Layne whispers in my ear. "Jerry? Jerry?"
"Go 'way," I mutter, still half-asleep.
He does something that makes my bed bounce. "Wake up, Jerry."
I blindly reach out to bat at him. "Too early."
"It's three in the afternoon, Jer," Layne says, his breath hot on my
face.
"Too fuckin' early," I groan. "Go 'way."
"I'm bored," Layne declares and the bed bounces again.
"Go bother fuckin' Sean or Mike," I murmur, burying my head under the
pillow.
"Sean said he'd kill me if I tried to wake him before five--"
"Ditto--"
"And Mike won't let me play with him," Layne finishes, sounding
suspiciously like he's whining.
I sigh and move the pillow off my face. "Play with you? Are we in
fuckin' third grade, Layne?"
The warmth of the blankets is suddenly gone. "C'mon, Jer."
I open my eyes and grab for the blankets. Layne strips them off the
bed and grins at me.
"Fucker," I grumble, throwing my arm over my eyes.
He tugs at my ankle. "Please, Jer?"
"All right, all right," I reluctantly agree. "Just let me take a
shower."
"Okay," Layne says brightly, patting my ankle. "But don't dry your
hair."
"What?" I ask, but he's already out the door.
**
"So, I see Layne suckered you into it, huh?" Mike greets me as I walk
into the living room, dripping wet in just a towel.
"Suckered me into what?" I ask him, then lift my head and
yell, "Layne, fucker, you said you didn't want me to blow dry my
fuckin' hair!"
Mike smirks. "You'll see."
I scowl at his self-satisfied smirk. "Mike--"
"Oh good," Layne exclaims as he bounces into the room. "You didn't
dry your hair."
I turn away from Mike to glare at him. "Mind telling me why?"
He smiles and grabs my arm. "Because I want to do it."
"What?" I ask over Mike's roar of laughter.
Layne tugs at my arm. "C'mon, before it's dry again."
I scowl at Mike until Layne has dragged me all the way into the
bathroom and shut the door. He indicates that I should sit on a stool
in front of the sink. Before I can ask him just what the fuck this is
all about, he's turned on the hair dryer. I almost fall asleep
watching him dry my hair, running some round brush through it and
poking his tongue out in concentration.
When he's done, my hair is straight but fluffy or something. It
doesn't really lie flat. I reach up to touch it and Layne smacks my
hand.
"Hey," I protest.
"Don't touch it," he admonishes, shaking a can of hairspray. "Cover
your eyes."
I sigh and do as he says. He sprays a light coating of it over my
hair and then fixes a couple of strands, smoothing them down.
"Layne, what's this all about, huh?" I ask as he opens a shoebox.
"Can I shave your legs and stuff?" he asks, ignoring me.
"Can you what?" I balk.
He pouts at me, setting down the shoebox on the counter. "Please,
Jer?"
"Layne," I say slowly, "you want to shave my legs, don't you find
that request to be, I dunno, a little fucking weird?"
Layne holds up a pink razor and a can of purple shaving cream,
smiling eagerly. "Please?"
"Oh, fuck, what harm can it do right?" I ask, mostly to
myself. "Fine, whatever. Shave away."
Layne pats his thigh. "Foot."
I prop my left leg against his thigh. He shakes the shaving cream and
then squirts a line of it up my leg. It's cold so it makes me jump.
Layne laughs and spreads the cream all up and down my leg. After he
rinses his hands, he reaches to undo the towel around my waist before
I can stop him.
"It's covering your thighs," he explains as he finishes smoothing the
cream all the way to the top of my thigh.
"Whatever," I mutter, watching warily as he picks up the pink razor.
I'm a little more awake for this, but the methodical repetition of it
makes me want to fall back asleep. Layne scrapes the razor up my leg,
rinses off the razor and then does it all over again. Over and over
again until both my legs are done. Then he runs a wash cloth down my
legs to clean away the excess shaving cream.
"Vanilla or peach?" Layne asks suddenly.
"What?" I blink at him.
"Moisturizer," he calmly explains. "You're a vanilla I think."
"Why am I a vanilla?" I ask as he picks up a bottle of lotion and
shakes it.
"You're Jerry," he says as though that explains everything.
Then he squirts some of the lotion into his palms, rubbing them
together before placing them on my leg. He kind of massages my
muscles as he rubs the lotion in, and soon my eyes are half-lidded. I
don't even realize I'm making little purring noises until Layne
starts making them too.
"That's cute," he says, grinning at me.
"It feels good," I murmur, smiling back, my eyes still half closed.
"Now it's time to do your make-up," Layne declares as he rinses his
hands in the sink.
"Huh?"
What Layne said doesn't really register in my brain until I notice
that he's got tweezers in his hand. I open my mouth to protest and
Layne presses his finger to my lips.
"Let me," he says lowly.
"Okay," I find myself agreeing.
He runs his finger from my lips to my cheek and frowns. Then he sets
down the tweezers in favor of picking up the shaving cream and razor
again.
"What?" I ask, touching my chin.
"I forgot about your face," he pauses to shake the shaving
cream, "and your pits."
"Wait a fucking minute--" I start to protest and then realize how
ridiculous I sound. "Fine."
"Up," Layne says, nudging my arm.
I sigh and raise my arms. Layne efficiently shaves my pits while I
try not to squirm. It fucking tickles. Then he moves onto my face. It
feels kind of nice to have him shave me. In a way, it reminds me of
my dad teaching me how to shave, except this feels so different.
Especially with Layne's cold fingers propping up my chin while his
blue eyes dance in amusement at me, like some little kid trying to
keep a secret.
"All right," Layne proclaims when he's finished wiping me clean with
a wash cloth, "onto the make-up."
"What is all this, Layne?" I ask as he picks up the tweezers again.
"Just relax, Jer," he says, moving his cold fingers up to my eyebrows.
"Fuck," I swear as he yanks out some apparently stray hair from my
eyebrow.
"Sorry, it's gonna hurt," Layne says apologetically.
It doesn't hurt so much the next time, when he presses his finger to
it right away and then strokes my skin soothingly. When he's all
done, he puts moisturizer on my face. Vanilla again. The scent is
light, but it's starting to overwhelm me. I feel a bit dizzy. Or that
could just be because I've been sitting on this stool for God knows
how long while Layne pretends like I'm some life-sized doll.
"Layne?" I try again. "C'mon, what's up with this?"
Layne just smiles and shakes a bottle of foundation or something. I
sigh and close my eyes. Seconds later I feel a cool liquid on my skin
and then Layne's fingertips sweeping across my skin. I keep my eyes
closed through feather-light touches to my cheeks and eyelids.
"Pucker up," Layne says.
I follow his instructions and open my eyes to see him applying gloss
to my lips with a wand-looking thing. Then he puts that away and
pulls out another tube, uncapping it and moving that wand towards my
eyes. I automatically shrink back.
"Mascara?" I question.
"Yup," he says cheerfully before grabbing my chin and applying it.
I blink rapidly once he moves away. He frowns and opens a compact
before patting my face down with powder.
"Done?" I ask as he snaps it shut.
"Nope," he says, pulling a bottle of cotton-candy pink nail polish
out of the shoebox.
"Pink?"
"Yup." He pats his thigh. "Foot."
I give in, again. Because, really, what else am I supposed to do?
Besides, it kind of feels nice to be pampered like this. Even if it
does involve make-up and pink nail polish.
"Don't smudge those," Layne warns once he's finished with both
feet. "Hand."
I extend my hand and he grasps it lightly as he applies the polish. I
start laughing halfway through. Here I am, naked while Layne holds my
hand and applies nail polish.
"Cut it out," Layne says, laughing with me as he picks up the other
hand. "Don't smudge that."
"Right," I agree, splaying my fingers on my thigh.
"Okay," Layne says as he finishes up, "stand up. But be careful."
I slide off the stool, feeling ridiculous with cotton between my
toes, holding my hands away from my body. Layne grins at me and grabs
the towel off the stool. He nudges my arm and I lift them up above my
head while he ties the towel around my waist.
"Go wait in the living room for those to dry, I'm gonna clean this up
before Sean wakes up," Layne orders.
"Uhhh, sure," I say, shuffling out the door.
"And don't smudge that!" Layne calls after me.
"I know," I shout back.
The second I enter the living room, Mike starts giggling. Soon he's
howling with laughter, hitting the arm of the couch with his fist.
"Motherfucker," I swear at him as I attempt to sit on the couch
without messing up whatever Layne did to me.
"Pink," Mike gasps out.
"Shut up," I mutter, blowing on my nails.
"He never put me in pink," Mike says through laughter.
"You mean he's done this to you?" I carefully turn and ask him.
"Sure," Mike answers, calming down somewhat, "but I made him stop
last week."
"Why?"
"It got boring," Mike says with a shrug.
"Having Layne put make-up on you got boring?"
Mike, strangely enough, blushes. "You have no clue, do you?"
"About what?"
"That Layne--"
"Layne!" Sean shouts as he stumbles out of his room into the hallway,
cutting Mike off. "All of your crap better be out of the goddamn
bathroom by the time I get down there."
Layne bursts out of the bathroom with the shoebox tucked under his
arm just seconds before Sean arrives. Sean grunts at him and goes
into the bathroom, slamming the door.
"Grumpy bastard," Layne yells, kicking the door. Then he turns to
me. "You didn't smudge that, did you?"
I sigh. "No."
**
"I think you're all dry," Layne says much later as he touches my
nails.
"Yeah?" I ask absently as I watch some sitcom.
"Yeah, c'mon."
He tugs at my arm and I have no choice but to follow him.
"Have fun," Mike calls after us, I turn just in time to catch him
smirking at me.
"Layne, what is all this, really?" I ask again as he drags me into my
room.
"You'll see," he says as he reaches to pull off my towel.
"Layne--"
"Here," he hands me what appears to be a pale pink thong, "put this
on."
I hold it up between my fingers, turning it in all directions. First
off, it's way too small, whichever way it goes. And secondly, which
way does it go exactly? Layne sighs and grabs it, turning it the
correct way. I pull it on and adjust myself, feeling pretty damn
ridiculous. But not as ridiculous as when Layne hands me a pink, silk
slip.
"Layne? I don't--"
"The tag goes in the back."
I put the slip on with a sigh. "I know that but--"
"Here, I'll help you with this."
I blink as he holds up a pale pink, satin ball gown. He smiles at me.
I shake my head, unable to even think at the sight of it. He nudges
my arms and as a reflex I lift them up. I just stare as he gathers up
the bottom of the skirt and puts the dress over my head. I'm in the
dark for a moment, and then he's pulling it down, smoothing it out.
He walks around me zips up the back of the dress. It fits tight
across my chest and stomach, some little bow on the neck tickling my
throat. The skirt part has some kind of taffeta stuff that scratches
my legs and makes the skirt stand out from my hips, floating around
my legs.
"Your hair," Layne cries, reaching up to fix it.
"Layne, I--"
"Shoes," Layne exclaims.
He picks them up off the bed. They're white or maybe very, very pale
pink sandals. High heeled ones.
"No fuckin'--"
"Foot," Layne commands, patting his thigh.
I want to argue but instead I steady myself by placing a hand on his
shoulder as he slips on the shoes. When he's all done he examines me
with a critical eye before nodding.
"Beautiful," he declares, guiding me to the mirror.
I don't even recognize myself. My face looks all shimmery with the
make-up, my eyes are all sparkling, and my hair is perfect. Not to
mention the pink dress. I feel stupid but I can't help but twirl once
in it.
"Layne, are you gonna explain all this now?" I ask, turning away from
the mirror.
"Nope," he says and nearly blinds me when he snaps a couple of shots
with the Polaroid camera.
I almost trip in the high heels as I reach out for him. "Layne, I'm
serious now. Tell me."
"Smile," Layne commands.
I do it automatically and he takes another picture.
"Seriously, man," I plead. "What is all this?"
He ignores me, walking around in circles around me, still snapping
pictures. They fall around me, a sea of pink and blonde. A close up
of my eye, sparkling with pink and silver eyeshadow. One of my hand,
pink nails blending in with the color of my dress. Another of my
lips, wet and shinning. And Layne just keeps on taking pictures.
Snap, whirl, toss. Over and over again.
I finally grab his arm, forcing him to stop. "Layne? C'mon, tell me?"
He stands on tiptoe and presses his cheek to mine. "Smile."
Then he snaps a photo of us. As that one falls to my feet, the camera
shuts off, out of film. He sets down the camera and then reaches up
to caress my cheek. I wait patiently for him to answer me, but
instead he kisses me. That's not really the answer I was looking for,
or maybe it was, because I kiss him back hungrily.
The lip-gloss on my lips gets transferred to his and it tastes good,
like cotton candy, when I lick his lips. He flicks his tongue against
mine before sucking it into his mouth. Then I'm just kind of lost in
the kiss.
"Mmmm, Jerry," he says all huskily as he breaks away, running his
thumb over my lips.
I lick my lips reflexively, feeling kind of dazed as he slides down
my body and disappears under my dress. The room seems to be all fuzzy
and I can't catch my breath as he sucks me off. My knees buckle as I
come and Layne catches me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Want to lay down?" he slides back up to whisper in my ear.
I close my eyes and nod. My heart is beating a mile a minute as he
lays me down on the bed. When he lets go of me, my eyes fly open.
He's just standing over me, his eyes trailing up and down my body.
"Layne?" I murmur as I reach out for him, pull him into the bed with
me.
He caresses my arms, running his hands up and down them. "Do you want
this?"
"I still don't understand," I tell him.
"You're beautiful," he says, kissing me.
"Okay," I say against his lips.
**
"Oh, fuck," I mutter as I wake up.
I'm alone. The dress is in a mangled heap on the floor and the photos
are gone. My hips and ass hurt with this dull ache that makes me want
to go back to sleep. Instead I force myself to stand up. I forget
that I still have the high heels on, so I immediately crash to the
floor.
I crawl over to the dresser and pull myself up. One of the straps on
the slip is torn off, so it hangs off my shoulder. The silk is
slightly darker and torn at the bottom. Through the slits up the side
I can see bruises all the way up my thighs. My nail polish is all
chipped and my make-up is smudged. The mascara ran and made dark
circles around my eyes while my lips are still swollen. As for my
hair, it's matted down in some places and sticking up wildly in
others.
For the longest time I stare at myself in the mirror, examining
bruises, hickeys, teeth marks, and scratches. Then I smile waveringly
at myself and walk out of the room into the kitchen.
Mike immediately wolf whistles at me. "Damn."
"Fucker," I mutter, flipping him off. "You want Spaghetti Os?"
"Sure," he says brightly, propping his feet up on the table.
I start searching for a can. "Did he do this to you?"
Mike stands up and reaches past me, handing me the can. "No."
"But--"
He smiles at me. "It was different for me."
I turn and open the can. "Yeah?"
"Look at me, Jerry," he says, touching his lips and hair. "I don't
need to be told I'm beautiful."
"Mike--"
He blows a strand of hair off his face. "I know what I look like,
okay?"
"So what did he do to you?" I ask as I dump the can into a pot.
Mike comes up behind me, handing me a spoon. Then he wraps his arms
around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
"He dressed me up like a hooker," he murmurs in my ear, "called me
ugly, then made me beg him for heroin."
"Oh."
Mike kisses my neck. "I needed it."
"I didn't need it," I say softly as I stir the food.
"No?" he questions, nuzzling my hair.
"Is he going to do it again?" I ask.
He rubs small circles on my stomach. "Maybe. Did you like it?"
"It was nice," I admit softly, my voice wavering just slightly as I
turn my head to look at him.
He smiles and kisses the corner of my mouth. "Until he made you feel
like a slutty prom date, huh?"
I shrug out of Mike's embrace. "Where is he anyway?"
Mike reaches over my arm to dip a finger into the sauce. "Out." He
licks it off, staring at me. "With Sean." He reaches around my waist
and shuts off the stove. "Those are done, sit down."
I slide past him, wobbling in those heels until I'm at the table.
Last night was wonderful, beautiful even, but to wake up alone,
looking just like Mike said, a slutty prom date, I feel absurdly like
crying. I can't make my hands stop shaking to eat the food Mike has
set in front of me.
"Oh, Jerry," Mike says soothingly.
He smoothes my hair back behind my ears before hugging me. I feel
ridiculous, like I'm trapped in some chick flick and I'm the tragic
heroine. I refuse to cry though, so I bite my lip until the urge to
cry has passed.
"I'm sure he didn't mean to make you feel like that," Mike comforts,
kissing the top of my head.
"Did he leave you alone?" I ask.
"Yeah," Mike says quietly.
"I hate him," I mutter, gently pushing Mike away.
He leans down and kisses me lightly. "No you don't, Jerry."
I sigh. "Why, Mike?"
Mike tilts his head. "Would you ever let him do this again?"
"Fuck no," I say vehemently, grabbing the spoon and shoveling food
into my mouth.
Mike sits down next to me, picking at his own food. "You're such a
pushover, Jer. You used to let all of us walk all over you."
I snort. "Used to?"
But he's right. I let them do whatever they want and I'm the one that
deals with the real world. Cooking, cleaning, feeding them, paying
the bills. It's why I let Layne drag me out of bed and dress me up in
a prom dress. Not entirely, but partially, why I let him fuck me.
"Everyone has their limits, Jerry, even you," Mike says
quietly. "Maybe, I dunno, Layne--"
"Whatever," I say dryly and leave the table.
Maybe Mike's right, though, because later, when Sean comes home with
Layne and demands dinner, I just flip him off. Sean swears and
disappears back into the kitchen. Layne grins at me, raising his
eyebrows at my torn slip and high heels. I wink at him and cross my
legs. Then I turn away from him and curl up against Mike, kissing him
this time, instead of the other way around.
**
End
Date Written: September 21, 2001
Notes: Part 1 in a series.
"Jerry," Layne whispers in my ear. "Jerry? Jerry?"
"Go 'way," I mutter, still half-asleep.
He does something that makes my bed bounce. "Wake up, Jerry."
I blindly reach out to bat at him. "Too early."
"It's three in the afternoon, Jer," Layne says, his breath hot on my
face.
"Too fuckin' early," I groan. "Go 'way."
"I'm bored," Layne declares and the bed bounces again.
"Go bother fuckin' Sean or Mike," I murmur, burying my head under the
pillow.
"Sean said he'd kill me if I tried to wake him before five--"
"Ditto--"
"And Mike won't let me play with him," Layne finishes, sounding
suspiciously like he's whining.
I sigh and move the pillow off my face. "Play with you? Are we in
fuckin' third grade, Layne?"
The warmth of the blankets is suddenly gone. "C'mon, Jer."
I open my eyes and grab for the blankets. Layne strips them off the
bed and grins at me.
"Fucker," I grumble, throwing my arm over my eyes.
He tugs at my ankle. "Please, Jer?"
"All right, all right," I reluctantly agree. "Just let me take a
shower."
"Okay," Layne says brightly, patting my ankle. "But don't dry your
hair."
"What?" I ask, but he's already out the door.
**
"So, I see Layne suckered you into it, huh?" Mike greets me as I walk
into the living room, dripping wet in just a towel.
"Suckered me into what?" I ask him, then lift my head and
yell, "Layne, fucker, you said you didn't want me to blow dry my
fuckin' hair!"
Mike smirks. "You'll see."
I scowl at his self-satisfied smirk. "Mike--"
"Oh good," Layne exclaims as he bounces into the room. "You didn't
dry your hair."
I turn away from Mike to glare at him. "Mind telling me why?"
He smiles and grabs my arm. "Because I want to do it."
"What?" I ask over Mike's roar of laughter.
Layne tugs at my arm. "C'mon, before it's dry again."
I scowl at Mike until Layne has dragged me all the way into the
bathroom and shut the door. He indicates that I should sit on a stool
in front of the sink. Before I can ask him just what the fuck this is
all about, he's turned on the hair dryer. I almost fall asleep
watching him dry my hair, running some round brush through it and
poking his tongue out in concentration.
When he's done, my hair is straight but fluffy or something. It
doesn't really lie flat. I reach up to touch it and Layne smacks my
hand.
"Hey," I protest.
"Don't touch it," he admonishes, shaking a can of hairspray. "Cover
your eyes."
I sigh and do as he says. He sprays a light coating of it over my
hair and then fixes a couple of strands, smoothing them down.
"Layne, what's this all about, huh?" I ask as he opens a shoebox.
"Can I shave your legs and stuff?" he asks, ignoring me.
"Can you what?" I balk.
He pouts at me, setting down the shoebox on the counter. "Please,
Jer?"
"Layne," I say slowly, "you want to shave my legs, don't you find
that request to be, I dunno, a little fucking weird?"
Layne holds up a pink razor and a can of purple shaving cream,
smiling eagerly. "Please?"
"Oh, fuck, what harm can it do right?" I ask, mostly to
myself. "Fine, whatever. Shave away."
Layne pats his thigh. "Foot."
I prop my left leg against his thigh. He shakes the shaving cream and
then squirts a line of it up my leg. It's cold so it makes me jump.
Layne laughs and spreads the cream all up and down my leg. After he
rinses his hands, he reaches to undo the towel around my waist before
I can stop him.
"It's covering your thighs," he explains as he finishes smoothing the
cream all the way to the top of my thigh.
"Whatever," I mutter, watching warily as he picks up the pink razor.
I'm a little more awake for this, but the methodical repetition of it
makes me want to fall back asleep. Layne scrapes the razor up my leg,
rinses off the razor and then does it all over again. Over and over
again until both my legs are done. Then he runs a wash cloth down my
legs to clean away the excess shaving cream.
"Vanilla or peach?" Layne asks suddenly.
"What?" I blink at him.
"Moisturizer," he calmly explains. "You're a vanilla I think."
"Why am I a vanilla?" I ask as he picks up a bottle of lotion and
shakes it.
"You're Jerry," he says as though that explains everything.
Then he squirts some of the lotion into his palms, rubbing them
together before placing them on my leg. He kind of massages my
muscles as he rubs the lotion in, and soon my eyes are half-lidded. I
don't even realize I'm making little purring noises until Layne
starts making them too.
"That's cute," he says, grinning at me.
"It feels good," I murmur, smiling back, my eyes still half closed.
"Now it's time to do your make-up," Layne declares as he rinses his
hands in the sink.
"Huh?"
What Layne said doesn't really register in my brain until I notice
that he's got tweezers in his hand. I open my mouth to protest and
Layne presses his finger to my lips.
"Let me," he says lowly.
"Okay," I find myself agreeing.
He runs his finger from my lips to my cheek and frowns. Then he sets
down the tweezers in favor of picking up the shaving cream and razor
again.
"What?" I ask, touching my chin.
"I forgot about your face," he pauses to shake the shaving
cream, "and your pits."
"Wait a fucking minute--" I start to protest and then realize how
ridiculous I sound. "Fine."
"Up," Layne says, nudging my arm.
I sigh and raise my arms. Layne efficiently shaves my pits while I
try not to squirm. It fucking tickles. Then he moves onto my face. It
feels kind of nice to have him shave me. In a way, it reminds me of
my dad teaching me how to shave, except this feels so different.
Especially with Layne's cold fingers propping up my chin while his
blue eyes dance in amusement at me, like some little kid trying to
keep a secret.
"All right," Layne proclaims when he's finished wiping me clean with
a wash cloth, "onto the make-up."
"What is all this, Layne?" I ask as he picks up the tweezers again.
"Just relax, Jer," he says, moving his cold fingers up to my eyebrows.
"Fuck," I swear as he yanks out some apparently stray hair from my
eyebrow.
"Sorry, it's gonna hurt," Layne says apologetically.
It doesn't hurt so much the next time, when he presses his finger to
it right away and then strokes my skin soothingly. When he's all
done, he puts moisturizer on my face. Vanilla again. The scent is
light, but it's starting to overwhelm me. I feel a bit dizzy. Or that
could just be because I've been sitting on this stool for God knows
how long while Layne pretends like I'm some life-sized doll.
"Layne?" I try again. "C'mon, what's up with this?"
Layne just smiles and shakes a bottle of foundation or something. I
sigh and close my eyes. Seconds later I feel a cool liquid on my skin
and then Layne's fingertips sweeping across my skin. I keep my eyes
closed through feather-light touches to my cheeks and eyelids.
"Pucker up," Layne says.
I follow his instructions and open my eyes to see him applying gloss
to my lips with a wand-looking thing. Then he puts that away and
pulls out another tube, uncapping it and moving that wand towards my
eyes. I automatically shrink back.
"Mascara?" I question.
"Yup," he says cheerfully before grabbing my chin and applying it.
I blink rapidly once he moves away. He frowns and opens a compact
before patting my face down with powder.
"Done?" I ask as he snaps it shut.
"Nope," he says, pulling a bottle of cotton-candy pink nail polish
out of the shoebox.
"Pink?"
"Yup." He pats his thigh. "Foot."
I give in, again. Because, really, what else am I supposed to do?
Besides, it kind of feels nice to be pampered like this. Even if it
does involve make-up and pink nail polish.
"Don't smudge those," Layne warns once he's finished with both
feet. "Hand."
I extend my hand and he grasps it lightly as he applies the polish. I
start laughing halfway through. Here I am, naked while Layne holds my
hand and applies nail polish.
"Cut it out," Layne says, laughing with me as he picks up the other
hand. "Don't smudge that."
"Right," I agree, splaying my fingers on my thigh.
"Okay," Layne says as he finishes up, "stand up. But be careful."
I slide off the stool, feeling ridiculous with cotton between my
toes, holding my hands away from my body. Layne grins at me and grabs
the towel off the stool. He nudges my arm and I lift them up above my
head while he ties the towel around my waist.
"Go wait in the living room for those to dry, I'm gonna clean this up
before Sean wakes up," Layne orders.
"Uhhh, sure," I say, shuffling out the door.
"And don't smudge that!" Layne calls after me.
"I know," I shout back.
The second I enter the living room, Mike starts giggling. Soon he's
howling with laughter, hitting the arm of the couch with his fist.
"Motherfucker," I swear at him as I attempt to sit on the couch
without messing up whatever Layne did to me.
"Pink," Mike gasps out.
"Shut up," I mutter, blowing on my nails.
"He never put me in pink," Mike says through laughter.
"You mean he's done this to you?" I carefully turn and ask him.
"Sure," Mike answers, calming down somewhat, "but I made him stop
last week."
"Why?"
"It got boring," Mike says with a shrug.
"Having Layne put make-up on you got boring?"
Mike, strangely enough, blushes. "You have no clue, do you?"
"About what?"
"That Layne--"
"Layne!" Sean shouts as he stumbles out of his room into the hallway,
cutting Mike off. "All of your crap better be out of the goddamn
bathroom by the time I get down there."
Layne bursts out of the bathroom with the shoebox tucked under his
arm just seconds before Sean arrives. Sean grunts at him and goes
into the bathroom, slamming the door.
"Grumpy bastard," Layne yells, kicking the door. Then he turns to
me. "You didn't smudge that, did you?"
I sigh. "No."
**
"I think you're all dry," Layne says much later as he touches my
nails.
"Yeah?" I ask absently as I watch some sitcom.
"Yeah, c'mon."
He tugs at my arm and I have no choice but to follow him.
"Have fun," Mike calls after us, I turn just in time to catch him
smirking at me.
"Layne, what is all this, really?" I ask again as he drags me into my
room.
"You'll see," he says as he reaches to pull off my towel.
"Layne--"
"Here," he hands me what appears to be a pale pink thong, "put this
on."
I hold it up between my fingers, turning it in all directions. First
off, it's way too small, whichever way it goes. And secondly, which
way does it go exactly? Layne sighs and grabs it, turning it the
correct way. I pull it on and adjust myself, feeling pretty damn
ridiculous. But not as ridiculous as when Layne hands me a pink, silk
slip.
"Layne? I don't--"
"The tag goes in the back."
I put the slip on with a sigh. "I know that but--"
"Here, I'll help you with this."
I blink as he holds up a pale pink, satin ball gown. He smiles at me.
I shake my head, unable to even think at the sight of it. He nudges
my arms and as a reflex I lift them up. I just stare as he gathers up
the bottom of the skirt and puts the dress over my head. I'm in the
dark for a moment, and then he's pulling it down, smoothing it out.
He walks around me zips up the back of the dress. It fits tight
across my chest and stomach, some little bow on the neck tickling my
throat. The skirt part has some kind of taffeta stuff that scratches
my legs and makes the skirt stand out from my hips, floating around
my legs.
"Your hair," Layne cries, reaching up to fix it.
"Layne, I--"
"Shoes," Layne exclaims.
He picks them up off the bed. They're white or maybe very, very pale
pink sandals. High heeled ones.
"No fuckin'--"
"Foot," Layne commands, patting his thigh.
I want to argue but instead I steady myself by placing a hand on his
shoulder as he slips on the shoes. When he's all done he examines me
with a critical eye before nodding.
"Beautiful," he declares, guiding me to the mirror.
I don't even recognize myself. My face looks all shimmery with the
make-up, my eyes are all sparkling, and my hair is perfect. Not to
mention the pink dress. I feel stupid but I can't help but twirl once
in it.
"Layne, are you gonna explain all this now?" I ask, turning away from
the mirror.
"Nope," he says and nearly blinds me when he snaps a couple of shots
with the Polaroid camera.
I almost trip in the high heels as I reach out for him. "Layne, I'm
serious now. Tell me."
"Smile," Layne commands.
I do it automatically and he takes another picture.
"Seriously, man," I plead. "What is all this?"
He ignores me, walking around in circles around me, still snapping
pictures. They fall around me, a sea of pink and blonde. A close up
of my eye, sparkling with pink and silver eyeshadow. One of my hand,
pink nails blending in with the color of my dress. Another of my
lips, wet and shinning. And Layne just keeps on taking pictures.
Snap, whirl, toss. Over and over again.
I finally grab his arm, forcing him to stop. "Layne? C'mon, tell me?"
He stands on tiptoe and presses his cheek to mine. "Smile."
Then he snaps a photo of us. As that one falls to my feet, the camera
shuts off, out of film. He sets down the camera and then reaches up
to caress my cheek. I wait patiently for him to answer me, but
instead he kisses me. That's not really the answer I was looking for,
or maybe it was, because I kiss him back hungrily.
The lip-gloss on my lips gets transferred to his and it tastes good,
like cotton candy, when I lick his lips. He flicks his tongue against
mine before sucking it into his mouth. Then I'm just kind of lost in
the kiss.
"Mmmm, Jerry," he says all huskily as he breaks away, running his
thumb over my lips.
I lick my lips reflexively, feeling kind of dazed as he slides down
my body and disappears under my dress. The room seems to be all fuzzy
and I can't catch my breath as he sucks me off. My knees buckle as I
come and Layne catches me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Want to lay down?" he slides back up to whisper in my ear.
I close my eyes and nod. My heart is beating a mile a minute as he
lays me down on the bed. When he lets go of me, my eyes fly open.
He's just standing over me, his eyes trailing up and down my body.
"Layne?" I murmur as I reach out for him, pull him into the bed with
me.
He caresses my arms, running his hands up and down them. "Do you want
this?"
"I still don't understand," I tell him.
"You're beautiful," he says, kissing me.
"Okay," I say against his lips.
**
"Oh, fuck," I mutter as I wake up.
I'm alone. The dress is in a mangled heap on the floor and the photos
are gone. My hips and ass hurt with this dull ache that makes me want
to go back to sleep. Instead I force myself to stand up. I forget
that I still have the high heels on, so I immediately crash to the
floor.
I crawl over to the dresser and pull myself up. One of the straps on
the slip is torn off, so it hangs off my shoulder. The silk is
slightly darker and torn at the bottom. Through the slits up the side
I can see bruises all the way up my thighs. My nail polish is all
chipped and my make-up is smudged. The mascara ran and made dark
circles around my eyes while my lips are still swollen. As for my
hair, it's matted down in some places and sticking up wildly in
others.
For the longest time I stare at myself in the mirror, examining
bruises, hickeys, teeth marks, and scratches. Then I smile waveringly
at myself and walk out of the room into the kitchen.
Mike immediately wolf whistles at me. "Damn."
"Fucker," I mutter, flipping him off. "You want Spaghetti Os?"
"Sure," he says brightly, propping his feet up on the table.
I start searching for a can. "Did he do this to you?"
Mike stands up and reaches past me, handing me the can. "No."
"But--"
He smiles at me. "It was different for me."
I turn and open the can. "Yeah?"
"Look at me, Jerry," he says, touching his lips and hair. "I don't
need to be told I'm beautiful."
"Mike--"
He blows a strand of hair off his face. "I know what I look like,
okay?"
"So what did he do to you?" I ask as I dump the can into a pot.
Mike comes up behind me, handing me a spoon. Then he wraps his arms
around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
"He dressed me up like a hooker," he murmurs in my ear, "called me
ugly, then made me beg him for heroin."
"Oh."
Mike kisses my neck. "I needed it."
"I didn't need it," I say softly as I stir the food.
"No?" he questions, nuzzling my hair.
"Is he going to do it again?" I ask.
He rubs small circles on my stomach. "Maybe. Did you like it?"
"It was nice," I admit softly, my voice wavering just slightly as I
turn my head to look at him.
He smiles and kisses the corner of my mouth. "Until he made you feel
like a slutty prom date, huh?"
I shrug out of Mike's embrace. "Where is he anyway?"
Mike reaches over my arm to dip a finger into the sauce. "Out." He
licks it off, staring at me. "With Sean." He reaches around my waist
and shuts off the stove. "Those are done, sit down."
I slide past him, wobbling in those heels until I'm at the table.
Last night was wonderful, beautiful even, but to wake up alone,
looking just like Mike said, a slutty prom date, I feel absurdly like
crying. I can't make my hands stop shaking to eat the food Mike has
set in front of me.
"Oh, Jerry," Mike says soothingly.
He smoothes my hair back behind my ears before hugging me. I feel
ridiculous, like I'm trapped in some chick flick and I'm the tragic
heroine. I refuse to cry though, so I bite my lip until the urge to
cry has passed.
"I'm sure he didn't mean to make you feel like that," Mike comforts,
kissing the top of my head.
"Did he leave you alone?" I ask.
"Yeah," Mike says quietly.
"I hate him," I mutter, gently pushing Mike away.
He leans down and kisses me lightly. "No you don't, Jerry."
I sigh. "Why, Mike?"
Mike tilts his head. "Would you ever let him do this again?"
"Fuck no," I say vehemently, grabbing the spoon and shoveling food
into my mouth.
Mike sits down next to me, picking at his own food. "You're such a
pushover, Jer. You used to let all of us walk all over you."
I snort. "Used to?"
But he's right. I let them do whatever they want and I'm the one that
deals with the real world. Cooking, cleaning, feeding them, paying
the bills. It's why I let Layne drag me out of bed and dress me up in
a prom dress. Not entirely, but partially, why I let him fuck me.
"Everyone has their limits, Jerry, even you," Mike says
quietly. "Maybe, I dunno, Layne--"
"Whatever," I say dryly and leave the table.
Maybe Mike's right, though, because later, when Sean comes home with
Layne and demands dinner, I just flip him off. Sean swears and
disappears back into the kitchen. Layne grins at me, raising his
eyebrows at my torn slip and high heels. I wink at him and cross my
legs. Then I turn away from him and curl up against Mike, kissing him
this time, instead of the other way around.
**
End