Mmmk, first time writing a fic guys. Gimmie some feedback. :) Ty.
Disclaimer: The Invader ZIM series and all of its characters are copyright Jhonen Vasquez & Nickelodeon.
Bump. Swing. Grind. Push.
The familiar pattern in body rhythms played against the skinny boy's torso, sweat and hot breath mingling together in an erotic mixture that brought on a rush of dizzy euphoria. Neon rays splayed out across the crowd, dancing over the damp mass of hair and flesh, as industrial-techno deafened any other sound in the dark room. Tired of the repetitive movements in tonight's dance, the lithe figure slipped from between the mass of bodies, coveting eyes latched to him, trailing after the beautiful silhouette yearningly. Coat tugged from the hook on the wall, the boy exited between two abnormally hulking men, both of which eyed him with a familiar sense of brutal desire.
Out on the wet concrete, he tugged a slender paper tube from a pack, and tucked the end into his mouth-- lips dry and worn from breathing hard and dehydration. Snapping open a black matte zippo, his thumb struck the rough wheel, forcing life into the singed wick. The flame sputtered, protesting against the breeze that teased at its existence. He cupped his skeletal fingers around the fire protectively, and brought it in, sucking up a mouthful of smoke and carcinogens. Then, without mercy, he whipped his wrist in a short arc, smothering the lighter in a moment and tucking the tiny object back into his pocket. Fingers gently pinching the cigarette, he drew in another hit before pulling it away, feet strolling casually beneath him, instinctively carrying him home.
At his front door, the boy stared at the cracked and peeling paint, the swollen wood beneath it. He'd never understood, with his father being the greatest scientific mind in the city, and all the technologically advanced hardware infesting the house, why they always had a plain hardwood door. Why not reinforced steel? Or titanium? Something more fitting for such a home.
I hate this place. A single boot connected with the loathed door, shoving it wide open.
It was instantaneous-- that grating, cynical tone.
" Haven't you ever heard of knocking? "
His eyes didn't even bother to look at his robotic sister, he knew the familiar position-- sitting on the edge of the sofa, hunched over, fingers working madly at the buttons on a shiny control pad.
" Its my house too. I live here. "
" Its called courtesy, Dib. Didn't your little alien friend teach you anything? "
He narrowed his eyes at the bent form on the couch, envying the impenetrable spite. Without a further word, Dib moved into the kitchen, swinging the refrigerator door open and taking up the carton of milk-- another thing he'd never understood, why weren't they beaming pure filtered calcium into a milk dispenser by now? A few other questions zoomed through his head even as his fingers folded out the torn diamond of paper and he chugged down several gulps, relieving the parched ache in his mouth.
" That's sick, you know. " Gaz, ever-glued to her handheld, elbowed him out of her way and paused the game momentarily to snatch a cold piece of leftover pizza. Munching on the congealed food, she didn't bother to await another drab, thoughtless remark from her brother, marching back out to the living room. It was a surprise her brain hadn't dissolved by now from all those video games-- it wasn't like anyone intervened in her one-track lifestyle.
Dib, still holding the carton of milk, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth before folding the thin cardboard-like opening shut again, and replaced it on the shelf in the fridge. Running his clean hand through his hair, that insane cowlick momentarily flattened out with its brethren, but by the time he'd reached his room, the strands had popped back up again, angling out awkwardly from his temple before jetting to the back of his head. Plopping down into his office chair-- a leftover relic from his father's old laboratory-- Dib reclined into the dusty cushions lining the tall-backed seat, eyes absently scanning over the collection of papers and manila folders on the wide corner desk.
Fourteen years I've been doing this. The thought came like a separate being, etching itself into his mind before being wiped away, like writing in sand. Always looking out, always researching, always--
Saving people who don't want to be saved.
No. They did want to be saved. Or at least, they weren't aware of their need to be saved. But they would, if they knew. If only they knew, they'd all come running to Dib, crying out their apologies and pleas for aid. Perhaps even his own father, so steeped in all his scientific knowledge, would look to his only-- and previously shunned-- son, for help.
All these thoughts of success spurred a twinge at the corner of his mouth. But what would have become an over glorified full-blown grin when he was but a child, merely subsided back into his dull, impassive expression. Sighing dejectedly, he sat forward in the chair, reaching up to click on the overhead stream of tube lights that lined his desk, instantly flooding the stretch of white paper and shabby hard board beneath with near-blinding artificial radiance.
Bigfoot.
Area 51.
Turkey man.
Bat boy.
Crop circles. Sky lights. Radar blips. Elvis. Meteors. Signals. Undisclosed transmissions.
The desktop was lined from one end to the other with headline after headline, articles and essays, quotes and interviews, all centered around one topic:
Aliens.
The word made Dib quiver with anticipation-- one day he would prove it to the world. The label of "weird" would forever be banished from his name. Nibbling at his lower lip, he had just reached toward a paper clipped packet of papers tagged "FOSTER'S", when that incessant, jarring voice made his hand contract slightly.
" There's someone at the door. " Gaz stood in the doorway of his room, glowering no doubt over being interrupted from her gameplay.
Dib glanced sideways at her, both fearing and loathing her inability to be civil to him. " Then why don't you answer it? " The question came out honestly curious and innocuous, as if he couldn't understand why she would have to inform him of the presence of a guest before she could open the door.
" .. for you, stupid. " Before she was overwhelmed with the urge to impale Dib's oddly large head on one of his fluorescent light tubes, Gaz turned back down the hallway, settling back into her game for a second time.
" For me? " Again with the childlike innocence. No one ever visited him, no one ever had. It wasn't like he had friends. One time he'd been visited by someone-- but it was both startling and unwelcome. The motive behind the meeting was just as unprecedented as well. The whole day had turned out to be one of the worst he'd ever experienced in his short life at the time. He'd hadn't touched a piece of bologna since.
Rising from his seat, he left his desk and meandered out to the living room. Figures the door was shut-- Gaz was never one to be polite with strangers. Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob, he swung the door wide, and felt his stomach drop into his feet.
" Dib? "
" ... Dwicky? "