The bad touch
Bloodhound Gang - The Bad Touch
Josh *fading* In Chaosland | MySpace Video
The ones he was hearing were not the sounds Matt was used to wake up to on Sunday mornings. Not at that ungodly, way-too-early o'clock hour, at least.
Brian snoring, maybe. Brian cussing, even more often. Brian playing guitar, Brian talking on the phone, Brian just generally pissing him off by not letting him sleep on his only, sacred, untouchable free day, definitively.
But not that.
Intrigued, but also mildly disturbed, he endured the draining fatigue of rolling out of bed and drag his exhausted self all the way to the source of such an unsettling noise. Unsettling, yeah. Disconcerting. There really was no other way to describe it.
The rising volume of the obnoxious sound, at this point mixed with Brian’s unmistakable high pitched shrieks led him to the kitchen’s door, where the sheer monstrosity of the scene unraveling before his eyes caused him to abruptly brake on his heels and his jaw to unhinge and almost reach the floor.
There Brian was, red and green plaid boxers, white tube socks barely reaching his mid calf, a can of dog food in one hand and a fork in the other, indecently shaking his butt in perfect sync with the rhythm of that song. If one dared to call that atrocity a song, that is. Pinkly was yapping at him, toddling over the counter and following the zigzagging of the tin in Brian's hand, Bella was already vacuuming her food from her bowl so none of the three noticed Matt’s appearance at the door. Matt hid behind the doorframe and skeptically ogled the scene, torn between the need to rub his eyes, pinch himself to check if he was still dreaming, or drop to the floor and die suffocated by his own laughter.
Luckily, the first verse ended and Brian stopped singing. Matt was about to give in to the need of burst out laughing, stop that outrageous spectacle, he was sure that there couldn’t have been anything worse than what he had already seen.
Three seconds later, he was sorrily, and sorely, proved wrong. The keyboards kicked in and Brian produced himself in a series of pelvic thrusts, frontal arms crossing included, that would have undoubtedly made Austin Powers proud. Then he nonchalantly proceeded to pour the dog food in Pinkly’s bowl, never ceasing to wiggle his ass to the tune.
The scene needed to be documented, Matt decided after he’d defeated the sudden wave of exhilaration he felt rise up in him. For the whole of mankind’s benefit, that needed to be chronicled and broadcasted. He quickly scanned his options. Camcorder, in the bedroom. Too far. His phone, bedroom too. Brian’s phone. Yes, he had spotted Brian’s PDA on the cabinet in the hall.
If he remembered correctly, he had ten seconds of flat bridge before the second verse started. He made a dash to the hall, grabbed the Blackberry thanking the heavens when he noticed it was not out of charge and rushed back to the kitchen door fumbling blindly with the buttons, trying to get the recording started.
He barely made it in time to capture the Risky business style, sock-aided slide Brian performed from the counter to the sink in order to dispose of the empty tin and the resuming of the lip-syncing show.
“Loooooove…the kind you clean up with the mop and bucket….”
Brian lost a little bit of lyric as he picked the floor sweeper he called his dog up from the kitchen top and brought her to his face, puckering his lips to mock kiss her.
“…only god knows where we stuck it…right Pinkly? Let me be pacific, I wanna be down in your south seas…”
Matt prayed the recording was steady enough to be intelligible, but he was having quite an hard time keeping his hands still as he watched Brian’s performance. He was on the verge of surrendering to the bubbles of laughter threatening to erupt from his chest at any second.
“…but I got this notion that the motion of your ocean means small craft advisory…”
At the moment, Brian was frolicking around with Pinkly under his arm, jiggling her paw up and down with his hand in concert with the song tempo, blatantly ignoring her determined attempts to squirm free and reach her bowl. Brian was not having any of it, and Matt was turning blue.
“…so if I capsize on your thighs, high tide, B-5 you sunk my battleship…”
Matt fought the urge to zoom in on Brian’s butt, since it never ceased to bounce and wiggle in the air as its owner bent at perfect ninety degrees right in front of him to put both the dog and the food on the floor. Brian just hummed the next snippet of song as he picked himself up, but resumed the singing as he finally turned back, not without a good elbow wobbling, of course.
“…so show me yours I’ll show you m-…aaaaarhhgn…ehhhggmm…Matt?”
Matt gave up and burst out laughing, so loud it startled both dogs.
“The fuck you doin’ up?” Brian's voice was still an octave higher than normal.
Matt grinned and waved the Blackberry in his direction. He ducked just briefly to avoid the dishcloth Brian threw at him, but still achieved to record his boyfriend’s reaction. His countenance was nothing short of Oscar deserving. In one single, crimson painted expression, Brian managed to look embarrassed, startled, outraged, ashamed, insulted and humiliated. It was priceless. And it was all on tape.
Matt sprinted down the hallway when Brian charged him. Still, he succeeded in attaching the video to a message, typing Jimmy’s number out of memory and press the “Send” button before Brian caught and tackled him.
He squirmed in the headlock, flashing Brian a triumphant smile when the phone innocently chirped in his hands, signalling the successful sending of the message. Brian let go defeatedly, looking positively affronted.
“You’re so fuckin’ mean!”
Matt tried to resist. He really did. But Brian’s pout could easily contend with the ones Zacky pulled off on his good days and he was only human. He cracked out snickering once again.
“And you looked so fuckin’…fuckin’… gay, baby…”
Brian scoffed and stomped his way back to the kitchen grunting Matt-themed insults under his breath. Matt started to feel a little guilty, so he tried to tame the chuckling and rushed behind him. He wrapped his arms around Brian’s torso, hoisted him up and dragged him back towards the stairs, ignoring the simultaneous cussing, cursing, kicking and wiggling Brian kindly supplied.
By the ninth step Brian had stopped struggling, but Matt was out of breath. He stopped and settled the man back down on the stairs.
“No more chinese for you, B.”, he panted, leaning his forehead on Brian’s back, trying to catch his breath.
“I may be gay, but you’re just one lousy caveman…” Brian huffed again, but there was unequivocable amusement in his voice. “…can’t even carry me all the way up to… where the fuck were you trying to take me, anyway?”
Matt playfully bit down on Brian’s shoulderblade and smiled broadly at his lover looking down at him over his shoulder.
“…to do it like they do on the Discovery Channel, baby…”