Disclaimer: I do not own SpongeBob Squarepants, and I do not make any money from these writings.

"Ink" by Abraxas 2010-07-06

"Spongebob!" Squidward yelled through the window already annoyed at the way that idiot was staring. "We got a customer..."

The words trailed into a mumble. Looking at the squid, face all mad and stuff, the sponge was reminded of that afternoon. That excitement filled his body and his world vanished as it did not matter anymore. The thought that he knew something deep and dark about the squid. Something that bonded them together. He trembled ready to burst with that secret glee.

"Spongebob!" Squidward slammed the ticket. "Get to work!"

The smell of patty filled the air but that was not the cause of Spongebob's inhuman smile. It was his mind, reliving again and again, what happened that afternoon. The meat sizzled. The spatula flipped. But those operations were automatic like a reflex while the brain was elsewhere. And what an elsewhere it was!

Grunts came out of the Tiki. It stirred Spongebob. He had been thinking of jellies but what echoed out of that house could not be resisted. Funny...he did not mean to annoy Squidward that day. Such were plans of snails and sponges.

Spongebob gasped at the sight. Beyond the window was the studio. At its center a tarp. Atop it the unfinished glob of clay and artist. He was consumed yet confused by the sight. Excited. Aroused. He stared transfixed.

What kind of art was Squidward up to?

The sculpture was a Squilliam - only the torso stood complete and the chest showed the mark of little, tiny circles where the squid molested it.

Artist, twisting and squirming, was shoving a clarinet into the crotch between its many curled tentacles. The look upon the face was a mix of rage and ecstacy. Words of hate/love spewed out of the mouth directed at the Squilliam.

The language exchanged between creation and artist (albeit a oneway conversation) were shocking. Yet it was. Words about tentacles and slapping and slurping and biting and slapping again and slurping again and something about inking a face were ejaculated all over the studio.

Slowly, quickly - alarmingly - he went from square-pants to pyramid-pants.

Spongebob rang the bell.

Squidward grabbed the tray.

For a moment there was contact skin to skin!

The sponge gasped as a bubble of black popped out of a pore.

The squid trembled at the sight of that.

Spongebob smiled and wondered if Squidward remembered what happened that afternoon.

The clarinet played a curious melodious tune as the ink passed through it. A cloud of it engulfed the chamber then made its way out of the window. Spongebob took a very deep breath and his superpower, an inexhaustible ability to absorb, soaked those squirtings until he was filled with Squidward's love.

Now, at the restaurant, Spongebob giggled - the pop hinted at how immersed he felt with Squidward as his ink bubbled through his body.

Pointing at the whiff that spread into a ball Spongebob asked at the verge of laughter: "I wonder where that came from Squidward!"

END