When you’re on a golden sea, you don't need no memory
I hope I never die unexpectedly, because then my loved ones will go through my computer to see what I was doing beforehand. And then I will be disowned.
Okay, so we’ve established that I'm incapable of writing drabbles that are actually drabbles. If this trend of 100 words = 3000+ words continues, God knows where we'll end up.
The double-combo bondage seems to be winning the poll, (Well, actually, the Penny Arcade reference is winning, but that is because y'all are geeks, and I love you for it) so to prove I'm not dicking around completely, have the first two pages of it as a placeholder while I try to get the drabble requests done.
Ryan had terrible ideas.
"So, I think we should have a threesome with your ex while we're all here," Ryan announced right after he finished sucking Michael's dick, and Michael automatically said "No," out of reflexes honed from knowing Ryan; his brain caught up with Ryan's words and he said, "Wow, seriously, no."
"You didn't even let me say who!" Ryan said indignantly.
"I don't have to," Michael said. "If it was Aaron, you wouldn't have asked, he would've been in here naked already."
"Aaron's not the only one here you've bumped uglies with, dude." Ryan dragged a hand across his mouth, grimaced. "Don't make me name names. But--"
"Yeah, but he's the only one who would have gone for a threesome. Which we're totally not going to do," Michael added hastily, "so it doesn't even matter."
"I think Chinese food does stuff to your jizz," Ryan mused. "It's all... different. Have you tasted the difference?"
"No, because I don't sit around and evaluate my own-- okay, please stop doing that, it's really messed up."
"I meant mine, dumbass," Ryan said, still smacking his own lips and wiggling his tongue around. "What, you sit around and lick up your own jizz? Michael Phelps, you pervert. I'm telling NBC to do another feature on you, you dirty, dirty boy. And why's it always about you, anyway? Why can't you just tell me if you've noticed a difference in the taste of my extremely manly ejaculations?"
"Because you've been eating McDonalds all week and the closest you've come to actual Chinese food were the sesame seeds on the burger buns," Michael pointed out.
"Huh, good point," Ryan said, and immediately launched himself at Michael and knocked him backwards on the bed.
"Off, fucker!" Michael yelled, and then sputtered "Gah, Jesus, what!" when Ryan stuck his tongue in Michael's mouth. Then it was just on, and there was a vicious fight where Ryan twisted Michael's nipples three times but Michael managed to give Ryan two wet willies and a noogie. Michael rolled off the bed, and Ryan didn't so much follow him as fall on him, a move that left Michael uninclined to do anything but lie still and try not to choke.
Ryan looked deep into his eyes, nose to nose. "Threesome."
"No," Michael said, and pushed, but not very hard. Then he thought about how the races were over and he didn't need to worry about broken bones and how everyone would totally buy Ryan injuring himself in some dumbass way, and pushed a lot harder.
"I read about it in Cosmo," Ryan said, grunting a little to keep his seat on Michael's stomach. "We need to keep our sex life spiced up. It was right next to an article about G-spot orgasms. Which are a total myth, by the way, I don't care what my girlfriend says. What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Dismissing Why were you reading Cosmo, and Why do you bring up your girlfriend when you just tried to snowball me, and Seriously, Cosmo, what the hell, Michael said, "G-spot orgasms."
"Yeah, you know, with the, you know," Ryan said, and crooked his fingers in a gesture that was indeterminate and yet obscene at the same time.
"Oh," Michael said. "I thought you just were making a Gainesville reference, not the actual, you know, thing."
Ryan looked vaguely thunderstruck. "I totally should have," he said. "Shit. Okay, next time we get interviewed, you have to help me figure out a way to work that in. But anyway, I think having a threesome would be good for us."
"Yeah, this'll be real good," Michael muttered, and let his head drop back against the carpet.
"Pissy bitch asshole," Ryan said affectionately, sitting back and crossing his arms. "I totally have reasons for this, so let me sell it to you. One, it'll be fun. Two, you've been all freaky and uptight about seeing him, so this'll break the ice before your Omega event with him. Three, you've been saying in all those interviews that you're looking forward to trying new things, so it'd be hypocritical if you didn't. And four, I kinda want to see what magic dick this guy has that kept you all up on his jock for so long. So, what, jeah?"
"No," Michael said.
"I figured you'd say that," Ryan said, and got up, giving Michael a hand as well. He started hunting for his pants; Michael grabbed them off the back of the chair and tossed them over. "That's why I planned ahead of time."
"What?" Michael said warily.
"See the thing is," Ryan said, scratching the back of his head and looking earnest, one leg in his pants and one leg out. "The thing is, I might have already asked him. And he might have already said yes. There was a lot of laughing, but I'm pretty sure he's on board."
"What?" Michael said, less out of wariness than sheer horror.
"Yeah, anyway, I put it in your Blackberry. So, like, be sure to shower and wear clean underwear tonight," Ryan said, yanked his pants up, and disappeared through the door. A few seconds later, he stuck his head back in the room. "And for the record, the only one of your exes who would absolutely turn down a threesome is Crocker, not that I know that from asking all of them or anything."
After Ryan left again, Michael found his Blackberry under his own discarded pants and scrolled through the calendar.
Monday August 18
hawt 3sum sex w/ ian thorpe, 11:30-??? bring medals
"Huh," he said, and went off to take a shower and maybe drown himself if he had time.
***
And, why not, let's update the Scaly Dicks.
The problem with this story is that it's being written from the middle to the outside, which makes it difficult to find coherent excerpts complete enough to post. This is why I shouldn't post WsIP at all, really.
***
"Show me your dick," was the first thing Aaron said to him at BWI, before he even got in the car.
"Jesus," Michael muttered, and nearly gave himself whiplash looking around to make sure no one else had overheard. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Helping," Ian said, hefting a backpack into the trunk. Ian also had a carry-on suitcase and a dufflebag that Michael assumed belonged to Aaron; otherwise it looked like Ian was planning on a long-term stay, and that was ominous. Michael had sort of hoped Ian would have a plan to fix his dick by the end of the day, after which he could thank Ian and then never mention it again for the rest of his life. "Well, I came because you called. Aaron came because he wanted to see it for himself."
"Brendan had a clinic he couldn't get out of right away, but I promised him I'd take a lot of pictures as soon as I got here." Aaron said. "Seriously, whip it out."
"Shut up," Michael said distractedly. "Look, Ian, okay, I appreciate this, but I'd kinda like to, uh, not tell the world about this. If you don't mind."
"I do mind," Aaron said. "I would mind a whole lot if Ian was the only one who knew. How do you know the rest of us aren't going to come down with whatever you've got? What if this is something we all picked up in Beijing, like bird flu or whatever? Maybe you're just the first one showing symptoms."
"I'm sorry," Ian said, and he did actually look both guilty and sorry. "I needed to get another opinion. I mean, I wasn't sure if you were serious or if this is just, you know, a reaction to stress or something, or if you had a rash or just. Yeah. And I figured I should come out here anyway, because something was obviously wrong, and I know you've had a problem with-- would you stop freaking glaring at me? God."
"Maybe you should have just asked if I was crazy," Michael said. He wasn't sure whether to be more pissed off or hurt. Maybe he could be both. "You could have saved on airfare."
"Hey now," Aaron said, ruffling Michael's hair and putting one arm around his shoulders. "C'mon. Don't get all pissy on us. Ian said you had a problem, and we both wanted to make sure you were okay. It doesn't matter what's going in your pants, we're here out of concern."
"I can see the camera in your left hand, dingus," Michael said. "You're not hiding it as well as you think you are."
"Shit," Aaron said. "Well, let's hug anyway, I'm already in position."
Michael let himself be hugged because it was easier than making a scene, and because Aaron always smelled good, even though that was something stupid and girly he'd never, ever admit, like how women's shaving creams really were so much better than men's. "Can we go now?" he asked after getting untangled. "Do we need to wait for, like, someone with a video camera? Anyone else in on this?"
"Just me and Aaron and Brendan," Ian said. "Unless you called--"
"No," Michael said, getting into the car.
"Then just us," Ian said. "Stop worrying, we're not going to blab about it."
"Ah," Aaron said, and both Michael and Ian turned to stare at him. Aaron shrugged, looking guilty but not at all sorry. "Maybe. Not? I figured you might need other help. And support. In this difficult time for you."
"Who?" Michael said hollowly.
"Show me your dick," Ryan said as he jogged up, dufflebag slung over his shoulder. "Also, please tell me this isn't fatal or some shit like that, because I really want to start laughing. Also, I can't believe you didn't text me about this. I thought we were friends, dude."
Michael leaned his head down on the steering wheel and contemplated death, both his own and that of everyone else in the near vicinity.
***
After he'd nearly driven off the road for the third time--
("C'mon, I wanna see it," Ryan complained, and Michael yelped, "Fuck, don't touch that!" and Ian shouted "Truck! Truck!" and Aaron said, "Ryan has a point, you know.")
--Ian made him pull over onto the shoulder, and there was a Chinese fire drill while Ian got into the driver's seat and the rest of them scuffled over who got shotgun. There was some more crotch grabbing, and a few terrifying seconds where Michael thought Aaron and Ryan were going to succeed in making him drop his pants on the side of I-195, but after giving out promises and threats and a lot of hard elbowing, they were off again.
Michael grunted directions to Ian, ignored Ryan and Aaron, and turned his iPod up as loud as he could make it. Ryan and Aaron whispered together in the back seat. His Blackberry vibrated, and he picked it up to see who had texted him.
lets stop 4 food. show us in the b-room.
He turned around to glare at Ryan. "Knock it off."
Ryan grinned. "Is it prehensile now? Like, in a tentacle way? Can you pick things up with it?"
There was a minor scuffle while Michael lunged for Ryan; he had the reach but suffered interference from the seatbelt. Ryan had more maneuvering space, but he was laughing too hard to defend himself well. Aaron didn't help or hinder; he just leaned against the window and texted on his own phone, probably to Brendan, ducking whenever Ryan or Michael swung near him and didn’t look up except when Ian said, "I will turn this car right around."
Reluctantly, Michael let go of Ryan's hair and Ryan let go of the earbud cord noosed around Michael's neck. Ryan said, "Seriously, I am kind of hungry," and Michael thought about what he had in the fridge at home, and told Ian to bear left at the second light ahead.
"Where would you have turned the car around to?" Aaron asked, but everyone ignored him.
Walking into the pizza parlor grounded him a little, made Michael feel better. Someday, it was probably going to suck when he couldn't eat any quantity of whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but for now he could still focus on shoving an entire large pizza in his mouth and feel at peace. Ryan tried to get into the booth seat next to him, but Michael feinted left and managed to drag Ian in as a shield.
"You're gonna have to show me eventually," Ryan said, after they ordered. He blew his straw wrapper at Michael.
"At home," Michael said, and grabbed for the garlic breadsticks before Aaron could sneak them back to his side of the table.
"Let's just eat and not talk about Michael's genitals for a while," Ian said, doodling on the butcher paper that covered the table. There were a couple stubby crayons on top of the napkin dispenser; Michael played tic-tac-toe and hangman with Aaron while Ryan drew flying fish that looked a lot more like penises, only with wings and eyes. By the time the pizzas arrived, he'd managed to almost completely cover the table surface, an entire surging school.
The conversation restriction managed to stay in effect through most of the meal, all of them too busy eating to talk much anyway. Finally, Aaron reached for the last slice of mushroom and sausage pizza, leaned his elbow on the table, stifled a burp, and said, "So, do we have a game plan here or something?"
Michael looked at Ian hopefully; Ian shrugged. "We'll go back to Michael's place, check out the, uh, problem, and then go from there."
"That's it?" Michael asked. "That's the plan? You flew over a thousand miles just to look at my dick?"
Ian gave him a mild look. "Have you thought of anything else to do? Or called anyone else?" he replied. Michael scowled.
Aaron reached across the table and patted his arm. "I flew over a thousand miles just to look at your dick, Michael." He pulled his wallet out. "I got this."
"I can pay," Michael said, automatically reaching for his own credit card.
"No, no, I know you're a multi-millionaire, but I can pay," Aaron said. "Eight hundred thirty nine dollars for a short notice flight to Baltimore. Sixty-seven dollars and four cents for food. Whatever we end up shelling out for alcohol afterwards. But a chance to see whatever's going on with your junk?"
"Priceless," Ryan finished for him happily. He'd drawn a stick figure with disproportionate arms and legs, wearing a tiny crown, right in the middle of all the dick-fish.
"I'm endorsed by Visa," Michael muttered, feeling his pizza-glow already beginning to fade.
***
When they got back to Michael's house, Michael rushed to the bathroom to piss because he'd been afraid Ryan would follow him into the one in the restaurant and totally molest him again. Not that this was new; Ryan was pretty handsy on a normal basis, but when something caught his interest, he turned into a goddamn octopus.
He nearly tripped over Herman on his way in, who yipped frantically outside the bathroom door until someone shook what sounded like the tin Michael kept the dog biscuits in.
"Don't give him any more treats," Michael yelled through the door.
"Your dog is a hostage until you back your ass up out here," Ryan called back.
Michael ripped some toilet paper off to wrap around his hand before he shook the last few drops off. He'd never realized how much he actually touched his own dick every day until he started being afraid to do it. If it turned out he couldn't jerk off any more, he was just going to say fuck it to the 2012 Olympics and kill himself right away, because life was not going to be worth living any more.
He took a deep breath, didn't bother buttoning his jeans, and walked out. "Give me a drink," Michael said calmly, and he took five jerky swallows of the bottle Ryan handed him without even looking at the label. He unzipped his jeans and pushed them down over his hips before stepping out of them completely; the last thing he needed to do was to trip getting out of his own pants and break his other wrist. "Okay, now give me your phones. And the cameras. All of them."
"Dude, you are no fun," Ryan complained, but he eventually handed it over while Ian frisked Aaron; Aaron had three cameras, not including his phone, and he also had a tape measure that Michael chose to ignore.
"Okay," he said, once all devices capable of taking photographs had been confiscated and stowed in Michael's workout gear bag, and took another long pull from the bottle, "okay." And he dropped his boxers, staring straight ahead.
There was a long silence.
"Huh," Ian said, and blinked.
"Your balls look like they belong at a disco," Aaron said. "Do you know the opening lines to Dancing Queen?"
"Have you tried jerking off yet?" Ryan asked eagerly. "What's it like?"
"Oh God," Michael said, and collapsed bare-ass on his couch, clutching the bottle to his chest like a lifeline.
Ryan insisted on doing a full (gloved) search for prosthetics, zippers, or glue; after some unduly intimate touching, he finally pronounced it "completely real, if totally fucked up," and started asking questions. Ian just sat there, looking blank, and Aaron kept shot longing looks towards the bag full of cameras.
"For the last time, I'm not jerking off in front of you!" Michael hissed, and Ryan asked, "Okay, how about pissing?" and that was, if anything, worse, which Michael immediately then said.
"Well," Ian said finally. "We can all see it. You're not delusional, that's for sure."
"Unless there's a gas leak, or someone's piping LSD in here," Aaron said cheerfully. "Maybe we should all go outside and look at it in the fresh air."
"Yeah, you think," Michael said, and crossed his legs.
Ian came over and sat down next to him. "It'll be okay. We're gonna figure this out," he said, and visibly struggled with deciding whether to put his hand on Michael's leg or shoulder. He eventually split the difference and patted Michael awkwardly on the chest, which Michael figured was a Longhorn thing or something. At least it wasn't as bad as when Aaron had victory-slapped his chest after the Olympics medley relay; his nipple had hurt after that one. "Yeah?"
"Totally," Ryan said, and crawled up on the couch on the other side of Michael. "We've got your back, dude." Michael didn't even bother to fend him off; he just moved the bottle out of tipping range and let Ryan add his manly comfort-groping to the mix.
"Anyway, tell little Mikey to smile," Aaron said, and there was a bright flash that blinded Michael even as he was rolling onto Ryan to avoid it and trying to put a pillow in front of his crotch. "Hanso is gonna love this."
"Where were you even keeping that one?" Ian asked, sounding genuinely surprised, "okay, never mind, I probably don't want to know."
"Are you coming on to me?" Ryan asked from beneath him.
"Fuck," Michael groaned miserably.
***
Having contributed all that he felt was necessary and that he was capable of for the moment, Michael put his pants back on and drank steadily while the others discussed it around him, or at least, while Ian and Aaron discussed things and Ryan played GTA IV on Michael's X-Box.
Ian had taken the bottle away from him and made him at least cut his drinks halfway with Coke; when Brendan called on the phone, practically shouting in excitement through the receiver, Ryan helpfully gave the bottle back to Michael. Michael had downed two thirds of the bottle, and Ryan had gotten Niko killed four times (one knife fight, one van explosion, and getting gunned down by the police twice, once in a heroin sting and once in a spectacular child pornography bust that got both the police and coast guard involved) by the time Aaron and Ian stopped arguing.
"Okay, so," Ian said, and then didn't seem to have anything to follow that up with.
"Fix it?" Michael asked, and he would have been more upset about how pathetic he sounded if he wasn't mostly sure that it would help his case. Ian was a soft touch; he rescued abandoned kittens and restored cars that should have gone into the compactor long ago. "Please?"
"Yeah, just. We gotta figure out how you got this way," Ian said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I figure that's the best place to start. So. How'd it start?"
"I don't know, I told you, I just woke up this way," Michael snapped.
"But, like, was there anything?" Ian asked doggedly. "Were you itchy? What'd you eat? Did you go swimming? Was there anything different that you remember?"
"Did you recently fuck a dolphin?" Aaron asked. "Ow. Fine, I'm out of ideas."
Ryan stopped beating hookers long enough to put the game on pause and do his best Morgan Freeman imitation, which mostly just sounded constipated. "Michael Phelps isn't part dolphin. Or fish, or amphibian. He doesn't have gills or flippers or fins. Then again, if you sort of squint your eyes, and the light is juuuust right…"
"Dolphins," Ian said in his I'm-thinking-about-something-deep voice, which was worryingly similar to his I'll-blog-about-this-later voice.
"I usually figure a day is bad if I have to count the number of times people've questioned the humanity of my genitals, uh, at all," Michael said, staring at the ground.
"So, like, does this give you the ability to command sea creatures to do your bidding?" Ryan gestured vaguely at Michael. "If you, like, shake your dick at them?"
The alcohol must have been cushioning his system, because instead of unleashing righteous beat-downs of incredible proportion on Ryan, Michael just blinked and took another swig. "I. I dunno." He stared down at his crotch uncertainly. "Do you think I could?"
Two hours, a ridiculous amount of money, and four signed t-shirts for the security guard's kids later, they were all somehow being let into the Baltimore Aquarium at one in the morning. The original plan had been to break in, but even under the influence they could all figure out that that was probably not destined for success, and it wasn't like anyone wanted to deal with the inevitable Troy McClure fishfucker rumors that would follow. Not to mention Bob.
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael said. He swayed a little, and grabbed the corner of an educational sea turtle display for balance.
"The dolphins are over on Pier 4," Ian said. He and the others were crowded around the You Are Here directory.
"No way, he should start with the giant octopus," Aaron said. "I mean, what's cooler than that?"
"Sharks, you dumbasses," Ryan said impatiently. "Mike, c'mon, pick something so we can figure this out."
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael repeated.
"How about the electric eels?" Aaron grinned. "You can be just like Ursula instead of Ariel." He started to hum Under the Sea again.
"Fuck you," Michael said for the five hundred and nineteenth time since he'd woken up with scales on his dick.
"Besides," Ian said, "I'm pretty sure the eels in The Little Mermaid were morays."
"You guys suck," Michael said bitterly.
"Oh, come on," Aaron said, "Like there's any other logical response to a freakish scientific anomaly like this besides giving you tons and tons of shit about it? Okay, let's try the dolphins."
He and Ian marched Michael between them all the way there, Ryan complaining loudly about not seeing sharks for most of it, and making repeated references to flogging the dolphin when he wasn't.
***
I'm 99% sure chickpea's request will be the next thing out. On we go. You can still leave a request on the previous post, I just might not get to it for a bit.
Okay, so we’ve established that I'm incapable of writing drabbles that are actually drabbles. If this trend of 100 words = 3000+ words continues, God knows where we'll end up.
The double-combo bondage seems to be winning the poll, (Well, actually, the Penny Arcade reference is winning, but that is because y'all are geeks, and I love you for it) so to prove I'm not dicking around completely, have the first two pages of it as a placeholder while I try to get the drabble requests done.
Ryan had terrible ideas.
"So, I think we should have a threesome with your ex while we're all here," Ryan announced right after he finished sucking Michael's dick, and Michael automatically said "No," out of reflexes honed from knowing Ryan; his brain caught up with Ryan's words and he said, "Wow, seriously, no."
"You didn't even let me say who!" Ryan said indignantly.
"I don't have to," Michael said. "If it was Aaron, you wouldn't have asked, he would've been in here naked already."
"Aaron's not the only one here you've bumped uglies with, dude." Ryan dragged a hand across his mouth, grimaced. "Don't make me name names. But--"
"Yeah, but he's the only one who would have gone for a threesome. Which we're totally not going to do," Michael added hastily, "so it doesn't even matter."
"I think Chinese food does stuff to your jizz," Ryan mused. "It's all... different. Have you tasted the difference?"
"No, because I don't sit around and evaluate my own-- okay, please stop doing that, it's really messed up."
"I meant mine, dumbass," Ryan said, still smacking his own lips and wiggling his tongue around. "What, you sit around and lick up your own jizz? Michael Phelps, you pervert. I'm telling NBC to do another feature on you, you dirty, dirty boy. And why's it always about you, anyway? Why can't you just tell me if you've noticed a difference in the taste of my extremely manly ejaculations?"
"Because you've been eating McDonalds all week and the closest you've come to actual Chinese food were the sesame seeds on the burger buns," Michael pointed out.
"Huh, good point," Ryan said, and immediately launched himself at Michael and knocked him backwards on the bed.
"Off, fucker!" Michael yelled, and then sputtered "Gah, Jesus, what!" when Ryan stuck his tongue in Michael's mouth. Then it was just on, and there was a vicious fight where Ryan twisted Michael's nipples three times but Michael managed to give Ryan two wet willies and a noogie. Michael rolled off the bed, and Ryan didn't so much follow him as fall on him, a move that left Michael uninclined to do anything but lie still and try not to choke.
Ryan looked deep into his eyes, nose to nose. "Threesome."
"No," Michael said, and pushed, but not very hard. Then he thought about how the races were over and he didn't need to worry about broken bones and how everyone would totally buy Ryan injuring himself in some dumbass way, and pushed a lot harder.
"I read about it in Cosmo," Ryan said, grunting a little to keep his seat on Michael's stomach. "We need to keep our sex life spiced up. It was right next to an article about G-spot orgasms. Which are a total myth, by the way, I don't care what my girlfriend says. What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Dismissing Why were you reading Cosmo, and Why do you bring up your girlfriend when you just tried to snowball me, and Seriously, Cosmo, what the hell, Michael said, "G-spot orgasms."
"Yeah, you know, with the, you know," Ryan said, and crooked his fingers in a gesture that was indeterminate and yet obscene at the same time.
"Oh," Michael said. "I thought you just were making a Gainesville reference, not the actual, you know, thing."
Ryan looked vaguely thunderstruck. "I totally should have," he said. "Shit. Okay, next time we get interviewed, you have to help me figure out a way to work that in. But anyway, I think having a threesome would be good for us."
"Yeah, this'll be real good," Michael muttered, and let his head drop back against the carpet.
"Pissy bitch asshole," Ryan said affectionately, sitting back and crossing his arms. "I totally have reasons for this, so let me sell it to you. One, it'll be fun. Two, you've been all freaky and uptight about seeing him, so this'll break the ice before your Omega event with him. Three, you've been saying in all those interviews that you're looking forward to trying new things, so it'd be hypocritical if you didn't. And four, I kinda want to see what magic dick this guy has that kept you all up on his jock for so long. So, what, jeah?"
"No," Michael said.
"I figured you'd say that," Ryan said, and got up, giving Michael a hand as well. He started hunting for his pants; Michael grabbed them off the back of the chair and tossed them over. "That's why I planned ahead of time."
"What?" Michael said warily.
"See the thing is," Ryan said, scratching the back of his head and looking earnest, one leg in his pants and one leg out. "The thing is, I might have already asked him. And he might have already said yes. There was a lot of laughing, but I'm pretty sure he's on board."
"What?" Michael said, less out of wariness than sheer horror.
"Yeah, anyway, I put it in your Blackberry. So, like, be sure to shower and wear clean underwear tonight," Ryan said, yanked his pants up, and disappeared through the door. A few seconds later, he stuck his head back in the room. "And for the record, the only one of your exes who would absolutely turn down a threesome is Crocker, not that I know that from asking all of them or anything."
After Ryan left again, Michael found his Blackberry under his own discarded pants and scrolled through the calendar.
Monday August 18
hawt 3sum sex w/ ian thorpe, 11:30-??? bring medals
"Huh," he said, and went off to take a shower and maybe drown himself if he had time.
***
And, why not, let's update the Scaly Dicks.
The problem with this story is that it's being written from the middle to the outside, which makes it difficult to find coherent excerpts complete enough to post. This is why I shouldn't post WsIP at all, really.
***
"Show me your dick," was the first thing Aaron said to him at BWI, before he even got in the car.
"Jesus," Michael muttered, and nearly gave himself whiplash looking around to make sure no one else had overheard. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Helping," Ian said, hefting a backpack into the trunk. Ian also had a carry-on suitcase and a dufflebag that Michael assumed belonged to Aaron; otherwise it looked like Ian was planning on a long-term stay, and that was ominous. Michael had sort of hoped Ian would have a plan to fix his dick by the end of the day, after which he could thank Ian and then never mention it again for the rest of his life. "Well, I came because you called. Aaron came because he wanted to see it for himself."
"Brendan had a clinic he couldn't get out of right away, but I promised him I'd take a lot of pictures as soon as I got here." Aaron said. "Seriously, whip it out."
"Shut up," Michael said distractedly. "Look, Ian, okay, I appreciate this, but I'd kinda like to, uh, not tell the world about this. If you don't mind."
"I do mind," Aaron said. "I would mind a whole lot if Ian was the only one who knew. How do you know the rest of us aren't going to come down with whatever you've got? What if this is something we all picked up in Beijing, like bird flu or whatever? Maybe you're just the first one showing symptoms."
"I'm sorry," Ian said, and he did actually look both guilty and sorry. "I needed to get another opinion. I mean, I wasn't sure if you were serious or if this is just, you know, a reaction to stress or something, or if you had a rash or just. Yeah. And I figured I should come out here anyway, because something was obviously wrong, and I know you've had a problem with-- would you stop freaking glaring at me? God."
"Maybe you should have just asked if I was crazy," Michael said. He wasn't sure whether to be more pissed off or hurt. Maybe he could be both. "You could have saved on airfare."
"Hey now," Aaron said, ruffling Michael's hair and putting one arm around his shoulders. "C'mon. Don't get all pissy on us. Ian said you had a problem, and we both wanted to make sure you were okay. It doesn't matter what's going in your pants, we're here out of concern."
"I can see the camera in your left hand, dingus," Michael said. "You're not hiding it as well as you think you are."
"Shit," Aaron said. "Well, let's hug anyway, I'm already in position."
Michael let himself be hugged because it was easier than making a scene, and because Aaron always smelled good, even though that was something stupid and girly he'd never, ever admit, like how women's shaving creams really were so much better than men's. "Can we go now?" he asked after getting untangled. "Do we need to wait for, like, someone with a video camera? Anyone else in on this?"
"Just me and Aaron and Brendan," Ian said. "Unless you called--"
"No," Michael said, getting into the car.
"Then just us," Ian said. "Stop worrying, we're not going to blab about it."
"Ah," Aaron said, and both Michael and Ian turned to stare at him. Aaron shrugged, looking guilty but not at all sorry. "Maybe. Not? I figured you might need other help. And support. In this difficult time for you."
"Who?" Michael said hollowly.
"Show me your dick," Ryan said as he jogged up, dufflebag slung over his shoulder. "Also, please tell me this isn't fatal or some shit like that, because I really want to start laughing. Also, I can't believe you didn't text me about this. I thought we were friends, dude."
Michael leaned his head down on the steering wheel and contemplated death, both his own and that of everyone else in the near vicinity.
***
After he'd nearly driven off the road for the third time--
("C'mon, I wanna see it," Ryan complained, and Michael yelped, "Fuck, don't touch that!" and Ian shouted "Truck! Truck!" and Aaron said, "Ryan has a point, you know.")
--Ian made him pull over onto the shoulder, and there was a Chinese fire drill while Ian got into the driver's seat and the rest of them scuffled over who got shotgun. There was some more crotch grabbing, and a few terrifying seconds where Michael thought Aaron and Ryan were going to succeed in making him drop his pants on the side of I-195, but after giving out promises and threats and a lot of hard elbowing, they were off again.
Michael grunted directions to Ian, ignored Ryan and Aaron, and turned his iPod up as loud as he could make it. Ryan and Aaron whispered together in the back seat. His Blackberry vibrated, and he picked it up to see who had texted him.
lets stop 4 food. show us in the b-room.
He turned around to glare at Ryan. "Knock it off."
Ryan grinned. "Is it prehensile now? Like, in a tentacle way? Can you pick things up with it?"
There was a minor scuffle while Michael lunged for Ryan; he had the reach but suffered interference from the seatbelt. Ryan had more maneuvering space, but he was laughing too hard to defend himself well. Aaron didn't help or hinder; he just leaned against the window and texted on his own phone, probably to Brendan, ducking whenever Ryan or Michael swung near him and didn’t look up except when Ian said, "I will turn this car right around."
Reluctantly, Michael let go of Ryan's hair and Ryan let go of the earbud cord noosed around Michael's neck. Ryan said, "Seriously, I am kind of hungry," and Michael thought about what he had in the fridge at home, and told Ian to bear left at the second light ahead.
"Where would you have turned the car around to?" Aaron asked, but everyone ignored him.
Walking into the pizza parlor grounded him a little, made Michael feel better. Someday, it was probably going to suck when he couldn't eat any quantity of whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but for now he could still focus on shoving an entire large pizza in his mouth and feel at peace. Ryan tried to get into the booth seat next to him, but Michael feinted left and managed to drag Ian in as a shield.
"You're gonna have to show me eventually," Ryan said, after they ordered. He blew his straw wrapper at Michael.
"At home," Michael said, and grabbed for the garlic breadsticks before Aaron could sneak them back to his side of the table.
"Let's just eat and not talk about Michael's genitals for a while," Ian said, doodling on the butcher paper that covered the table. There were a couple stubby crayons on top of the napkin dispenser; Michael played tic-tac-toe and hangman with Aaron while Ryan drew flying fish that looked a lot more like penises, only with wings and eyes. By the time the pizzas arrived, he'd managed to almost completely cover the table surface, an entire surging school.
The conversation restriction managed to stay in effect through most of the meal, all of them too busy eating to talk much anyway. Finally, Aaron reached for the last slice of mushroom and sausage pizza, leaned his elbow on the table, stifled a burp, and said, "So, do we have a game plan here or something?"
Michael looked at Ian hopefully; Ian shrugged. "We'll go back to Michael's place, check out the, uh, problem, and then go from there."
"That's it?" Michael asked. "That's the plan? You flew over a thousand miles just to look at my dick?"
Ian gave him a mild look. "Have you thought of anything else to do? Or called anyone else?" he replied. Michael scowled.
Aaron reached across the table and patted his arm. "I flew over a thousand miles just to look at your dick, Michael." He pulled his wallet out. "I got this."
"I can pay," Michael said, automatically reaching for his own credit card.
"No, no, I know you're a multi-millionaire, but I can pay," Aaron said. "Eight hundred thirty nine dollars for a short notice flight to Baltimore. Sixty-seven dollars and four cents for food. Whatever we end up shelling out for alcohol afterwards. But a chance to see whatever's going on with your junk?"
"Priceless," Ryan finished for him happily. He'd drawn a stick figure with disproportionate arms and legs, wearing a tiny crown, right in the middle of all the dick-fish.
"I'm endorsed by Visa," Michael muttered, feeling his pizza-glow already beginning to fade.
***
When they got back to Michael's house, Michael rushed to the bathroom to piss because he'd been afraid Ryan would follow him into the one in the restaurant and totally molest him again. Not that this was new; Ryan was pretty handsy on a normal basis, but when something caught his interest, he turned into a goddamn octopus.
He nearly tripped over Herman on his way in, who yipped frantically outside the bathroom door until someone shook what sounded like the tin Michael kept the dog biscuits in.
"Don't give him any more treats," Michael yelled through the door.
"Your dog is a hostage until you back your ass up out here," Ryan called back.
Michael ripped some toilet paper off to wrap around his hand before he shook the last few drops off. He'd never realized how much he actually touched his own dick every day until he started being afraid to do it. If it turned out he couldn't jerk off any more, he was just going to say fuck it to the 2012 Olympics and kill himself right away, because life was not going to be worth living any more.
He took a deep breath, didn't bother buttoning his jeans, and walked out. "Give me a drink," Michael said calmly, and he took five jerky swallows of the bottle Ryan handed him without even looking at the label. He unzipped his jeans and pushed them down over his hips before stepping out of them completely; the last thing he needed to do was to trip getting out of his own pants and break his other wrist. "Okay, now give me your phones. And the cameras. All of them."
"Dude, you are no fun," Ryan complained, but he eventually handed it over while Ian frisked Aaron; Aaron had three cameras, not including his phone, and he also had a tape measure that Michael chose to ignore.
"Okay," he said, once all devices capable of taking photographs had been confiscated and stowed in Michael's workout gear bag, and took another long pull from the bottle, "okay." And he dropped his boxers, staring straight ahead.
There was a long silence.
"Huh," Ian said, and blinked.
"Your balls look like they belong at a disco," Aaron said. "Do you know the opening lines to Dancing Queen?"
"Have you tried jerking off yet?" Ryan asked eagerly. "What's it like?"
"Oh God," Michael said, and collapsed bare-ass on his couch, clutching the bottle to his chest like a lifeline.
Ryan insisted on doing a full (gloved) search for prosthetics, zippers, or glue; after some unduly intimate touching, he finally pronounced it "completely real, if totally fucked up," and started asking questions. Ian just sat there, looking blank, and Aaron kept shot longing looks towards the bag full of cameras.
"For the last time, I'm not jerking off in front of you!" Michael hissed, and Ryan asked, "Okay, how about pissing?" and that was, if anything, worse, which Michael immediately then said.
"Well," Ian said finally. "We can all see it. You're not delusional, that's for sure."
"Unless there's a gas leak, or someone's piping LSD in here," Aaron said cheerfully. "Maybe we should all go outside and look at it in the fresh air."
"Yeah, you think," Michael said, and crossed his legs.
Ian came over and sat down next to him. "It'll be okay. We're gonna figure this out," he said, and visibly struggled with deciding whether to put his hand on Michael's leg or shoulder. He eventually split the difference and patted Michael awkwardly on the chest, which Michael figured was a Longhorn thing or something. At least it wasn't as bad as when Aaron had victory-slapped his chest after the Olympics medley relay; his nipple had hurt after that one. "Yeah?"
"Totally," Ryan said, and crawled up on the couch on the other side of Michael. "We've got your back, dude." Michael didn't even bother to fend him off; he just moved the bottle out of tipping range and let Ryan add his manly comfort-groping to the mix.
"Anyway, tell little Mikey to smile," Aaron said, and there was a bright flash that blinded Michael even as he was rolling onto Ryan to avoid it and trying to put a pillow in front of his crotch. "Hanso is gonna love this."
"Where were you even keeping that one?" Ian asked, sounding genuinely surprised, "okay, never mind, I probably don't want to know."
"Are you coming on to me?" Ryan asked from beneath him.
"Fuck," Michael groaned miserably.
***
Having contributed all that he felt was necessary and that he was capable of for the moment, Michael put his pants back on and drank steadily while the others discussed it around him, or at least, while Ian and Aaron discussed things and Ryan played GTA IV on Michael's X-Box.
Ian had taken the bottle away from him and made him at least cut his drinks halfway with Coke; when Brendan called on the phone, practically shouting in excitement through the receiver, Ryan helpfully gave the bottle back to Michael. Michael had downed two thirds of the bottle, and Ryan had gotten Niko killed four times (one knife fight, one van explosion, and getting gunned down by the police twice, once in a heroin sting and once in a spectacular child pornography bust that got both the police and coast guard involved) by the time Aaron and Ian stopped arguing.
"Okay, so," Ian said, and then didn't seem to have anything to follow that up with.
"Fix it?" Michael asked, and he would have been more upset about how pathetic he sounded if he wasn't mostly sure that it would help his case. Ian was a soft touch; he rescued abandoned kittens and restored cars that should have gone into the compactor long ago. "Please?"
"Yeah, just. We gotta figure out how you got this way," Ian said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I figure that's the best place to start. So. How'd it start?"
"I don't know, I told you, I just woke up this way," Michael snapped.
"But, like, was there anything?" Ian asked doggedly. "Were you itchy? What'd you eat? Did you go swimming? Was there anything different that you remember?"
"Did you recently fuck a dolphin?" Aaron asked. "Ow. Fine, I'm out of ideas."
Ryan stopped beating hookers long enough to put the game on pause and do his best Morgan Freeman imitation, which mostly just sounded constipated. "Michael Phelps isn't part dolphin. Or fish, or amphibian. He doesn't have gills or flippers or fins. Then again, if you sort of squint your eyes, and the light is juuuust right…"
"Dolphins," Ian said in his I'm-thinking-about-something-deep voice, which was worryingly similar to his I'll-blog-about-this-later voice.
"I usually figure a day is bad if I have to count the number of times people've questioned the humanity of my genitals, uh, at all," Michael said, staring at the ground.
"So, like, does this give you the ability to command sea creatures to do your bidding?" Ryan gestured vaguely at Michael. "If you, like, shake your dick at them?"
The alcohol must have been cushioning his system, because instead of unleashing righteous beat-downs of incredible proportion on Ryan, Michael just blinked and took another swig. "I. I dunno." He stared down at his crotch uncertainly. "Do you think I could?"
Two hours, a ridiculous amount of money, and four signed t-shirts for the security guard's kids later, they were all somehow being let into the Baltimore Aquarium at one in the morning. The original plan had been to break in, but even under the influence they could all figure out that that was probably not destined for success, and it wasn't like anyone wanted to deal with the inevitable Troy McClure fishfucker rumors that would follow. Not to mention Bob.
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael said. He swayed a little, and grabbed the corner of an educational sea turtle display for balance.
"The dolphins are over on Pier 4," Ian said. He and the others were crowded around the You Are Here directory.
"No way, he should start with the giant octopus," Aaron said. "I mean, what's cooler than that?"
"Sharks, you dumbasses," Ryan said impatiently. "Mike, c'mon, pick something so we can figure this out."
"This is the worst idea ever," Michael repeated.
"How about the electric eels?" Aaron grinned. "You can be just like Ursula instead of Ariel." He started to hum Under the Sea again.
"Fuck you," Michael said for the five hundred and nineteenth time since he'd woken up with scales on his dick.
"Besides," Ian said, "I'm pretty sure the eels in The Little Mermaid were morays."
"You guys suck," Michael said bitterly.
"Oh, come on," Aaron said, "Like there's any other logical response to a freakish scientific anomaly like this besides giving you tons and tons of shit about it? Okay, let's try the dolphins."
He and Ian marched Michael between them all the way there, Ryan complaining loudly about not seeing sharks for most of it, and making repeated references to flogging the dolphin when he wasn't.
***
I'm 99% sure chickpea's request will be the next thing out. On we go. You can still leave a request on the previous post, I just might not get to it for a bit.