Love And Flamingos
Fandom: Smosh
Pairing: Benny Jean/That Damn Neighbor, Benny Jean/Cletus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Benny Jean and the Neighbor have a game that they play.
A/N: I'm honestly still not sure if this is a crackfic or something serious.
It was dark in the room.
It was always dark when they had their affair. Always the deepest hours of the night. Nothing was visible in the room; nothing but the silhouette of a long, slender neck ending in a pointed beak.
The flamingo. That simple object that had caused them both so much pain, so much anger, so much bliss. The Neighbor had dedicated his entire existence to stealing it, but it meant nothing to him. It was nothing but a prop, a meaningless pawn in their game.
The Neighbor was used to the game by now. It was always the same. Try to steal the flamingo.
Failure meant a lonely night, filled with nothing but the knowledge that Benny Jean was next door, curled tightly in bed with his beloved Cletus. Failure meant sadness, jealously, and above all, emptiness. For what was life without Benny Jean? The Neighbor had nothing else. His days were spent plotting to steal his flamingo and, no matter whether he succeeded or failed, he was kept awake at night with a burning desire for him. Benny Jean defined his entire life; even his name - the Neighbor - was nothing more than a reflection of how Benny Jean saw him. Yes, the nights when he failed to steal the flamingo were dark indeed.
But tonight was different, the Neighbor reminded himself. Tonight was a different sort of dark. Tonight the flamingo was resting on his bedside table as he waited for Benny Jean to claim it. To claim him.
As if on cue, his bedroom door creaked open.
"I'm here," the familiar voice whispered.
There was no conversation, no kissing, no tender embrace. In the dark, Benny Jean pushed the Neighbor to the bed, forcing him to his hands and knees. The Neighbor made no complaint; this was what he was waiting for, what he lived for.
Rough, calloused hands pulled down the Neighbor's shorts, followed quickly by his underwear. He heard the snap of a lube bottle being opened. He lowered his face to the pillow, bracing himself as two slick fingers were shoved carelessly inside him, burning and stretching the muscles that hadn't been touched in far too long. This was his first successful attempt at stealing the flamingo in nearly three weeks; but that would make the reward all the sweeter.
A third finger was added, and the Neighbor squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He remained silent, however; Benny Jean didn't like it when he spoke. He might even leave.
Suddenly, the fingers were removed, and the Neighbor felt the bed shift beneath him as Benny Jean guided his member to the Neighbor's entrance. He could feel the bottom of Benny Jean's flannel shirt brush against his back; he hadn't even bothered to remove it.
When Benny Jean pushed inside, the Neighbor relished the pain of the rough penetration, hips rocking backwards against him, needing to feel him inside as deeply as possible. He needed the pain, needed the pleasure, needed the desperate illusion of intimacy. He cried out softly as Benny Jean hit his special spot, sending waves of pleasure through his body, but he knew better than to expect it again; Benny Jean never stimulated him on purpose. Their affair wasn't about the Neighbor's pleasure. It was about Benny Jean's pleasure, about punishing the Neighbor for stealing the flamingo. Benny Jean knew that it meant more to the Neighbor, but he never acknowledged it, aside from the occasional taunting remark. He thrived on the Neighbor's pain, emotionally as well as physically.
"Stay away... from my damn... pet... flamingo!" Benny Jean said through gritted teeth as he came. The Neighbor moaned softly as he felt Benny Jean's release deep inside him. Benny Jean pulled out almost instantly, climbing off of the bed and calmly pulling his pants back on.
"Just came to get my flamingo," he said casually, lifting the plastic bird from the nightstand and cradling it lovingly. He strode from the room, boots stomping heavily against the floor.
The Neighbor collapsed shakily onto the bed, feeling cold and lonely. He pictured Benny Jean slipping quietly back into his own house, returning to bed before Cletus awoke to find him missing. He imagined the kiss they'd share the next morning when they woke up, the intimacy that the Neighbor longed for but would never receive. That life wasn't his.
His life was just a dark room and a plastic flamingo.
Pairing: Benny Jean/That Damn Neighbor, Benny Jean/Cletus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Benny Jean and the Neighbor have a game that they play.
A/N: I'm honestly still not sure if this is a crackfic or something serious.
It was dark in the room.
It was always dark when they had their affair. Always the deepest hours of the night. Nothing was visible in the room; nothing but the silhouette of a long, slender neck ending in a pointed beak.
The flamingo. That simple object that had caused them both so much pain, so much anger, so much bliss. The Neighbor had dedicated his entire existence to stealing it, but it meant nothing to him. It was nothing but a prop, a meaningless pawn in their game.
The Neighbor was used to the game by now. It was always the same. Try to steal the flamingo.
Failure meant a lonely night, filled with nothing but the knowledge that Benny Jean was next door, curled tightly in bed with his beloved Cletus. Failure meant sadness, jealously, and above all, emptiness. For what was life without Benny Jean? The Neighbor had nothing else. His days were spent plotting to steal his flamingo and, no matter whether he succeeded or failed, he was kept awake at night with a burning desire for him. Benny Jean defined his entire life; even his name - the Neighbor - was nothing more than a reflection of how Benny Jean saw him. Yes, the nights when he failed to steal the flamingo were dark indeed.
But tonight was different, the Neighbor reminded himself. Tonight was a different sort of dark. Tonight the flamingo was resting on his bedside table as he waited for Benny Jean to claim it. To claim him.
As if on cue, his bedroom door creaked open.
"I'm here," the familiar voice whispered.
There was no conversation, no kissing, no tender embrace. In the dark, Benny Jean pushed the Neighbor to the bed, forcing him to his hands and knees. The Neighbor made no complaint; this was what he was waiting for, what he lived for.
Rough, calloused hands pulled down the Neighbor's shorts, followed quickly by his underwear. He heard the snap of a lube bottle being opened. He lowered his face to the pillow, bracing himself as two slick fingers were shoved carelessly inside him, burning and stretching the muscles that hadn't been touched in far too long. This was his first successful attempt at stealing the flamingo in nearly three weeks; but that would make the reward all the sweeter.
A third finger was added, and the Neighbor squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He remained silent, however; Benny Jean didn't like it when he spoke. He might even leave.
Suddenly, the fingers were removed, and the Neighbor felt the bed shift beneath him as Benny Jean guided his member to the Neighbor's entrance. He could feel the bottom of Benny Jean's flannel shirt brush against his back; he hadn't even bothered to remove it.
When Benny Jean pushed inside, the Neighbor relished the pain of the rough penetration, hips rocking backwards against him, needing to feel him inside as deeply as possible. He needed the pain, needed the pleasure, needed the desperate illusion of intimacy. He cried out softly as Benny Jean hit his special spot, sending waves of pleasure through his body, but he knew better than to expect it again; Benny Jean never stimulated him on purpose. Their affair wasn't about the Neighbor's pleasure. It was about Benny Jean's pleasure, about punishing the Neighbor for stealing the flamingo. Benny Jean knew that it meant more to the Neighbor, but he never acknowledged it, aside from the occasional taunting remark. He thrived on the Neighbor's pain, emotionally as well as physically.
"Stay away... from my damn... pet... flamingo!" Benny Jean said through gritted teeth as he came. The Neighbor moaned softly as he felt Benny Jean's release deep inside him. Benny Jean pulled out almost instantly, climbing off of the bed and calmly pulling his pants back on.
"Just came to get my flamingo," he said casually, lifting the plastic bird from the nightstand and cradling it lovingly. He strode from the room, boots stomping heavily against the floor.
The Neighbor collapsed shakily onto the bed, feeling cold and lonely. He pictured Benny Jean slipping quietly back into his own house, returning to bed before Cletus awoke to find him missing. He imagined the kiss they'd share the next morning when they woke up, the intimacy that the Neighbor longed for but would never receive. That life wasn't his.
His life was just a dark room and a plastic flamingo.