"Who the fuck dresses up as a zombie for fucking Halloween?" Oscar asked with a sneer. He pointed his smoldering cigarette toward a group of teenagers who had decided to try out their Halloween costumes a day early. The teens wore ratted clothing and were made up in neon green make-up with black bags beneath their eyes. They looked more like demonic Gumbys than they did the undead.
"Zombie movies are so fucking cliché," Racetrack proclaimed. "Like directors think having some stupid corpse walking around automatically makes their shitty horror movie a classic or something."
The trio, consisting of Racetrack, Oscar, and Skittery, was standing in the hallway leading to the men's bathroom, looking out at the mall's crowd and commenting on everyone who passed. All three were blatantly smoking, just daring someone to say something about it so they could then bitch and moan about how unfair life was. While Racetrack and Oscar were being far more vocal in their criticisms and opinions, Skittery hung behind, still listening, but lost within his own head.
Skittery always liked to think that his relationship with Oscar had happened due to his need for teenage rebellion. As if his homosexuality didn't already shock his parents and peers, he took it to the next level by naming the foul-mouthed, chain-smoking delinquent as the love of his life. Of course, they were more fuck buddies than they were an actual couple, their so-called dates consisting of having sex in every conceivable place they could find. They had even had quickies in the school bathroom between classes, not because they really needed the sexual release, but because they wanted to show that they didn't care about the rules. They were poster boys for wannabe teenage anarchists who felt as though sticking it to the man was the only way to express themselves. They conformed to be non-conformists in every sense of the word, despite how oxymoronic the idea actually was.
Racetrack had come into the picture while Skittery was working at the mall, flipping burgers and working the register for minimum wage at a crappy fast food place. The vertically challenged boy would stand at the counter, telling Skittery in great detail just how the cows were killed and how their dead carcasses were processed and packed so as to provide greasy and fattening meals to parents who were too lazy to cook and to fat girls who were depressed and wanted to eat themselves into oblivion. When Skittery asked if he was a vegetarian or an animal rights activist or something, Racetrack had replied, saying "Fuck that pussy shit!" and then ordered three hamburgers, which he devoured right in front of the counter.
Skittery had told Racetrack that he already had a boyfriend, but the Italian midget was not swayed. When Skittery told Oscar about his new admirer, the boy demanded to meet him. Skittery assumed Oscar would try to scare Racetrack away from "his property" (as he often referred to Skittery as such), but when the two met, they regarded each other as best friends. In fact, they soon became best friends. Their common bond, aside from a sailor's vocabulary and a love of comic books, was Skittery. Both of them wanted to fuck him silly.
"Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?" Oscar bellowed. "Iron Man is so fucking weak! You only like him because you've got a boner for Robert Downey Jr.!"
"Shut up, you fag! I was all about Iron Man long before the movie came out. I mean, who wouldn't want to be plowed by a guy with the word 'iron' in his name?"
"He'd fucking rip your sphincter with an iron dick!"
"Do you think that when you get the Hulk pissed off and he gets big, his dick gets really big too?" Skittery asked, hoping to break up the impending swearing match. Both Oscar and Racetrack were heavily loyal to the Avengers, a loyalty that could get violent when they discussed who their favorite heroes were.
It had been strange to get used to an open relationship. It seems like every person's fantasy to be allowed the option of having multiple sex partners, but Skittery had found it a bit unsettling at first. Oscar and Racetrack never had sex with each other, though, on occasion, each would watch the other have sex with Skittery. They would make suggestions to each other as to the best new things to try, the best positions, the best lubricants; they would swap stories about fucking Skittery. They were like two kids playing with the same toy, and Skittery was just an object sitting there in front of them. He really didn't feel insulted by it or objectified. He enjoyed having sex with them, and if they each wanted to talk to the other about ways to enhance said sex, then he was all for it.
The problem was that he had a very empty feeling about it all. The sex was fucking fantastic in his mind, but it ended there. When neither one was in bed with him, Racetrack and Oscar were joined at the hip, with Skittery lagging behind. At least when he'd been exclusively with Oscar they had been almost equals (though Oscar still assumed the role of the Alpha male); now he was little more than the sex slave which they both shared.
"God, I hope so!" Oscar said in response to Skittery's question. "Cause to be proportionate to the Hulk's body it would have to be, like, the size of a fucking boa constrictor!"
"So you're saying you want to fuck yourself with a boa constrictor?" Racetrack asked with an impish smirk. His comment earned him a harsh punch to the stomach.
"This is lame," Oscar proclaimed as Racetrack tried to catch his breath. "Come on. We can smoke some real shit at my apartment. I'll even show you how good I fucked him yesterday," he added, jutting his thumb back toward Skittery.
"Sounds fucking good to me," Racetrack said, finally righting himself after having the wind knocked out of him.
The two strolled out, dropping their cigarettes on the ground, while Skittery trailed behind, looking not unlike a puppy dog on a leash.