Just a little something to... "help" me on my projects coming up. (with said quoted term being used loosely) And I never knew the full song to it so this also surprised me.


One, two, buckle my shoe.


He's sitting there, trying to take off his shoes while everyone else seem to be drunk out of their minds. As he takes off his shoes, a body is suddenly on him, slouching like he's really drunk. He's mumbling something about carrying him to the room, which Oz knows better not to.


Three, four, lock the door.


And suddenly, he's dragged to the room, leaving those with poor alcohol-resistance in the living room, doing whatever damage they can do. In fact, he's being carried there, without so much of a fight. Because if he'll fight back, that person would somehow prolong whatever "torture" he's going to dish out.

And personally, it sucked.


Five, Six, pick up sticks


Oz looks up at the gleaming red. Its purely evil, purely inhuman, purely beautiful. Clothes are being stripped off and breaths mingling with each other.

Stupid faker.


Seven, eight, lay them straight.


Oz resisted, oh he regrettably resisted. And now he's tied to the bed posts with his own tie. He's half-heartedly glaring at him but… he pouts.

Stupid, stupid fake NON-drunkard.


Nine, ten, a big fat hen.


He's whispering something about his hips. About how wide they've gotten. Oz's read about how the hips get widen when one does it too much. He refused to answer because that person already knows the answer.


Eleven, twelve, dig and delve


He's doing it again. He's making him squirm through his weak spots. Oz feels stupid as he struggles to control that hungry mouth of his. He wishes he could slap himself for being so stupid. In return, he feels a painful(?) bite on his neck.

Its his punishment, he says.


Thirteen, fourteen, maids-a-courting.


He's saying that Oz's doing it on purpose. Especially, he says, when he makes that pouty face that just wants to be fucked. Oz knows that half of the time, he really is doing on purpose but the majority, he really doesn't mean it.

But his body just has to betray him.


Fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen.


If Oz pays attention, he would notice the somewhat happy look on that man's face. Not happy as in erotic, perverted happy (which is more likely in this case) but in content, proud, sort of happy.

He doesn't understand it but its only him that can make these sounds come out.


Seventeen, eighteen, maids in waiting.


Oz could probably die from these touches alone, along with that beautiful, dirty smile that makes his skin crawl and his heart jump. He feels like those sentimental girls that first meet their match-made-in-heaven.

So it causes him to blush. So it causes him to ravish him even more.


Nineteen, twenty, my plates empty.


That dirty night is over and Oz wakes up to a sleepy-looking "drunkard". He'll let a soft smile on his face as he runs his hands in his hair (it's the only time he'll be allowed to do that). Oz will make sure that he'll get his fair share in pain as he rubs his wrists. He still needs a way to hide these small burn marks.

Even when the sun isn't completely out, he'll feel a lazy arm around his waist. He'll get a faceful of chest and his head is between the crook of his neck.

That'll be when Break tells him his good-night sleep and kiss.