The woods are different at night. Every tree that would otherwise appear ordinary in daylight morphs into something sinister. A crack of a twig or a rustle of a branch reverts to something wicked. The darkness remains unforgiving. No one is safe.
Robert, mid-trek through the forest, is on edge. Considering that even he, a man so familiar with being edged is feeling the effects of the dark night- it's a sure sign that something is definitely off. There is a certain thickness to the air, a particular smell drifting and weaving throughout the otherwise typical scent of the outdoors. Robert does a big sniff and uses all of his fat brain power in an attempt to place it. It's sweet, yet tangy. It's musty, too, reminiscent of the stench that Robert's own pits emit after a long day of riding his Harley and having sex in public. With another large inhale, his temples collecting sweat with the effort of the feat, Robert's crazed eyes snap open wide. He's got it.
It's the smell of long-expired pizza sauce.
He takes that as his cue to run, despite knowing in the back of his brain already that any venture he could make to flee would be futile. Regardless, his feet take him darting through the woods, kicking up foliage as he speeds like Lightning McQueen. Robert is red-faced with the effort, albeit it's hard to tell with the already strawberry-like tone of his natural complexion. He figures he must compare uncannily to Bob the Tomato from Veggie Tales by now, but in his haste, that's the least of his worries. Robert knows that tomatoes get all of the ladies, anyway, and that he doesn't have a thing to worry about.
Dodging trees and various branches in his path in the thick blackness is a feat, but Robert is managing. The smell of pizza sauce is becoming overwhelming, and he knows he isn't going to make it. But he persists. He fights past the burning he can feel in his hefty gut and fuckable moobs. It just so happens that Robert, with the wetness on his cherry skin dripping incessantly and his heart pounding, cannot flee fast enough tonight.
Through the brush, with just the faint light of the moon shining like a glowing golf ball in the desert aiding for light, Robert spots it. He's here.
Two scorching red eyes pierce through the dark, and Robert is stopped in his tracks. Is this fear that he can feel in his chest? Or a different kind of heart-fluttering eagerness instead?
"Why am I not surprised to see you, old friend?" The voice cuts through the obvious tension between them. Robert feels his chest continue to constrict. He hasn't felt this way in so long.
"Is that what you'd call us? Friends?" Robert questions, feeling a pang of hurt at the notion that he's really just been friendzoned. He's trying to desperately to keep an edge to his voice, despite the urge he has to just fall to his knees and surrender. Robert has never been much else but a melted mess of desire in front of him, and it's hard not to revert back to his old ways.
A chuckle sounds out, ominous and dark, with just a hint of wheeze not unlike that of a 75 year old man laughing at the same joke about crustaceans he's just told for the 8th time in a row, but can't remember due to the Alzheimer's. And then, he emerges. Denny seems to float from the trees effortlessly, eyes still glowing with a deepened crimson color that envies that of Robert's juicy, leathery skin. He's grinning, as if he can't believe his eyes. As if he wants to devour Robert whole.
"Now, is that any way to treat ol' Uncle Denny?" Denny asks slyly, his smirk showing off crooked teeth that emulate how not-straight Robert is for him. His eyes still glow potently, but there's a twinkle to them, too. It's something about him that Robert has never been able to trust, but also never been able to resist.
"You're looking pretty chunky and hunky these days," Denny continues, filling in the dead air that Robert's stunned, gay silence leaves between them.
With a shake of his head, Robert manages to somehow cling to his composure. "W-Well you know I like to eat all day long. It's my favart…" Robert says shyly, and blushes but you can't tell because he is an actual red rocket.
"Must be all the fast food, huh?"
"Yeah…" Robert mumbles, and feels his resolve failing him. He's always been so weak around Denny.
"Pizza Hut slut is what they called me in high school."
It's quiet, then, and the woods are still so foreboding and full of malice, but with such a creature as Denny standing before him, Robert feels inexplicably sane. He's unable to look away from the glisten of the waning gibbous moon on Denny's beef jerky skin. He loves to eat all day long… and suddenly, he's feeling ravenously hungry.
"What would I have to do, then…" Denny starts, and he begins an advance towards Robert, licking his lips between words, "To get a large specialty meat lover's pizza… to go?"
Denny traces a fingie down Robert's jawline, and Robert knows he's done for. He was a fool, an absolute radish to ever fathom a world in which he could resist such a flavor. Now that Denny is so close, the smell of musty pizza sauce is stronger than ever, wafting into the cavernous nose-holes of Robert's honker. It couldn't less pleasing in the slightest, though. It's an aroma so inviting. Robert nearly has to restrain himself from begging Denny for more.
"Any sauces?" Robert manages to murmur, his voice so frail in a standoff against Denny's dark, deep, spooky-wooky tone.
"Only some of your finest slime," Denny mutters, then presses a wet, mostly tongue-kiss to the side of Robert's already drenched face. Robert wants to ask him to suck on his ears, but finds that he's unable to search for the right words. His heart thunders with a mix of embarrassment, anticipation, and pure, spicy lust.
"Denny, you know that this is forbidden," Robert says desperately, as if he actually cares what the Slime King would do to them both if they were found out. He's never tasted ecstasy this strong; nothing that was so wrong, it's right.
Uncle Denny was never one to care for the rules. Robert the naive weenie should have known that from the start. He shivers with unbelievable desire, his own blood in his red, meaty body feeling as though it's turning to pizza sauce itself, all on its own.
"What, are you scared?" Denny mocks with the most sinister sneer, and as if by reading Robert's mind, begins to suck on Robert's ever-moistened ears. Robert has never felt such a feeling. The actual experience is much more incredible than he could have ever imagined it to be while watching his favorite ASMR videos.
"N-No, I…"
"Gonna cry? Gonna piss your pants maybe?"
Robert shivers with raw need, and his objections die quicker than Bazzy B. Bensen during an Outlast playthrough, snuffed out by the raging powerhouse that is Uncle Denny. The strangest, and perhaps most intoxicating part of it is, that Robert doesn't even have a problem with it. He welcomes the overtaking. He's always been a powerbottom at heart.
"Maybe shit and cum?" Denny drawls on, words slightly muffled by the smokin' hot lobe he has nestled between his corn on the cob-like teeth. Robert wants to comply and let Denny take him, feels an unsatiated pull for it tugging mercilessly in his heart. He wishes he could ragdoll to the floor like limp, overcooked noodle and just let Denny have his way. But he's always been known as a sassy bitch. He always needs to have the last word.
"No, Denny. I just… I'll just make you squart."
Without missing a beat, Denny just feeds into the pulsing passion that is this saucy, moonlit romance in the woods.
"Mmm, you always did give the best oegamioms, Robby…"
Robert gasps at the mere mention of the overtly obscene word, the sensual pleasure of its utterance aiding his very well hung HOT DOG in awakening from its slumber.
"You remembered :-)" Robert says, and feels in his throat the urge to cry, though wonders if Denny would judge him for his emotions. He just can't help it, no matter how hard he tries. Uncle Denny has got the taste he can't resist.
With a nod, Denny wraps his chicky fingies delicately around Robert's wrist, and begins to usher him away into the forest. Where they could possibly be headed, Robert has no idea. All he knows is that he'd follow Denny to the ends of the world, until they both fell off the edges of the flat earth together.
"Come now, Robby. Let's eat… to the beat."
And Robert, tum tum so full of vanilla shake already, but more than welcoming to something more, just nods shallowly in agreement. He allows with an open, slimy body and willingly complacent and pathetic soul, for Denny to lead him to his fate into the night.
He has a feeling that these woods will not be the only wood that he will be seeing tonight.