If you were to look up "bachelor pad" in the dictionary, you would find Sonic's apartment there. Bare beige walls were coated in the nicotine of past tenants, and the tan carpet was in desperate need of a vacuuming and steam clean. The living room contained only a peeling leather chair, a flat screen tv on the floor, and a PS4 (also on the floor). He had yet to hop on the PS5 hype train. This apartment clearly never had the pleasure of a woman's presence. That was something Sonic and his apartment had in common.
Sonic entered his doorway, dropping his shopping bag on the floor. A pile of junk mail and overdue bills was collecting in front of the mail slot. He kicked it aside out of habit, not even seeing it anymore. It joined the pile of older mail. He did not enjoy coming home to this apartment. It made him feel all gross and lonely. He wished he had a house, but realistically any other home he owned would be equally unclean, unfurnished, and unpaid for.
He sat down in his chair and absent mindedly picked at the leather. The TV was on, broadcasting the recent news of the Queen's death, but he wasn't paying any attention and he didn't care. It was a known fact that Sonic the Hedgehog hated British people. Honestly he was glad the bitch was dead, but more importantly he was thinking about a man. A certain pixelated purple man. A pixelated purple man behind the counter. He was so pixelated, it reminded Sonic of his youth, all the way back in the 90's. But that didn't matter anymore, until Sonic 3 releases in theaters, he wouldn't be relevant. Mario had all the relevancy now. Sonic needed to relax. He got up from his chair and undressed as he walked. He grabbed some green stuff from his stash and headed to the bathroom. He ran himself a nice bubble bath. It is a known fact that Sonic the Hedgehog loves bubble baths, and an unconfirmed fact that he loves to smoke that schitcky-icky.
He was soaking in his bubbles, and huffing and puffing on that zaza. He was disappointed to hear a knock on the door. He tried his best to ignore it, but it was annoying and insistent. A rapid fire knock, knock, knock. He sighed and got up, dropping his smoochy poochy in the tub by accident. Who dare interrupt his bubbles and buzz sesh? The nerve! They wasted his dank Sinatra too! He considered making them repay for his losses. Sonic was upset. He wrapped his body and hair in a towel. He radiated feminine energy, almost femboy like, but not quite.
He stomped to the door. The knocking stopped.
"Sonic!" A voice said in between the silence. It was his former good buddy Tails.
"What do you want?" Sonic cracked the door open. He made sure the chain lock was still latched. He didn't want Tails forcing his way in. He thought of earlier in the day. What if Tails wanted revenge? Was he going to get physical? He should never have slapped him like that, even if it was deserved.
"Sonic, let me in. We need to talk."
"You interrupted my bubble bath."
"Your smoke sesh, you mean," Tails said, taking a large sniff. "You need better soap."
"You interrupted my bubble bath," Sonic said again, making sure to enunciate each word this time.
"Can't we just talk? Open the door, let's act civilized." Tails sighed. He looked at him with pleading eyes. "What happened to us?"
What happened to us?
That was a good question. What did happen to them? They used to be so close. Closer than close. Almost But I'm a Cheerleader close. Could you imagine? Haha!
"Hey," Tails chuckled, "remember when we first met? And you called me 'buddy' for the first time. Like, I felt something there."
Sonic felt himself start to smile. He began reminiscing on his innocence too. He closed the door.
"Hey-" Tails began, he felt his heart drop. Then he heard the door chain slide. A grin crept onto his face.
The door opened again, this time opening enough to let the yellow fox in.
"Sit," Sonic said, motioning towards the leather chair. He would have to figure out where he was going to sit himself. "Let me get decent."
He picked up his shopping bag, which he had neglected to put away earlier, and went to his room. It wasn't much better than the living room. The lights didn't work so he had an old lamp to brighten the room instead. He had a cheap IKEA mattress on the floor, covered with cheaper navy blue sheets. Dirty laundry was piled in one corner. In another corner, there was a 2000's television set on an even older nightstand. The wood was chipping at the corners, and he wasn't even sure the TV worked anymore. The ceiling was brown with water damage, and there were wires sticking out of a whole where an outlet should have been. Posters of sexy babes and sports players covered up holes in the walls. Sonic didn't even like sports. He considered buying a fireman calendar instead.
Sonic hastily dressed, not wanting to keep Tails waiting for too long. He thought about not wearing pants, after all he did go bare leg and ass every other day of his life. For some reason he couldn't do it today. He couldn't put his finger onto why, but he felt too exposed. After debating in his mind, he finally landed on a pair of booty shorts from one of his many dirty laundry piles. They were Shemar Moore's brand, so of course they were hot pink and labeled "BABY GIRL" across the ass in white text. He put on his new shirt and socks. It didn't bother him that they weren't washed yet. He was the kind of guy who wears thrift store clothes before throwing it in the laundry. Despite his denial, he has definitely contracted lice or fleas at some point in his life.
When Sonic emerged from his chamber, he found Tails standing next to the chair, rather than sitting on it. He stood awkwardly with his arms crossed.
"Tails," Sonic began. "I'm sorr-"
"Don't," Tails interrupted. "I shouldn't have startled you like that. I was out of line."
"And I'm sorry for slapping you and leaving you by yourself."
The pair stood there, neither saying anything, but both hoping the other would fill the silence.
"Remember seventh grade?" Tails asked, finally breaking the awkwardness. He was hoping to talk about their youth more, and Sonic was willing.
"Yeah," Sonic chuckled. "We were so young and naïve. Like when we stole your neighbor's chickens? I can't believe we never got caught."
"Remember when we were forced to walk the mile in gym class?" Tails laughed. "But we would always skip it?"
Sonic knew where this was going. His face dropped.
"We hid under the bleachers that one time..."
"Tails, shut up."
"And you kissed me..."
"I said shut up!" Sonic clenched his jaw. "You're a liar. Besides, everyone knows that seventh grade homosexuality is just a phase." He spat out the h-word as if it were dirty.
"Sonic, buddy." Tails was wide eyed with shock. "A phase?"
"Get out. Now."
"But I-"
"I would never kiss a man." He took Tails by the shoulders and spun him around. He gave him a hard shove towards the door. "Get out!"
The fox looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but realized it would have been futile. He just shook his head instead. He left.
Sonic went to his refrigerator. It wasn't filled with much. On the top shelf he had old cola, an almost empty carton of OJ, a mysterious plastic jug of "purple stuff," and a new bottle of Sunny D. On the bottom shelf, he had a half eaten box of chain-store pizza, a single rotten head of lettuce, and multiple half finished Powerades. Unfortunately, no beer; bottled, canned, or otherwise. He already felt sober to his dismay, but he didn't want to smoke anymore. It was becoming a problem and he had to start limiting himself.
He grabbed the box of pizza and sat on the chair. He didn't bother heating it up or getting a plate. It was going to the same place anyways, cold or not. He was out of paper plates anyways, and he didn't think he even owned any proper dishware. He turned on the TV and mindlessly watched more media about Queen Elizabeth II's life and death.
Still, he kept thinking back to Tails. What a liar! He couldn't believe he would say such a thing. Sonic would never skip gym class. It was his favorite class!
Besides, he kissed Amy under the bleachers, not Tails. And that was during the pep rally! He began to doubt himself. His mind was racing. Thinking of Amy and Tails, and everything else that went down today. He reflected on how his yellow friend grabbed onto his shoulders with strong, firm hands. How he gave him a rough shake, and how Sonic's heart started pumping hard with alarm and something else. Did he ever really apologize about that?
Sonic's gloved hand started to trail down his body. He blue body trembled.
He thought of his brief adventure with Glamrock Freddy. He would have liked to have given his chest cavity a better chance. He hoped he would have the opportunity to recline in it again. With some decorative pillows and throw blankets it could be quite cozy in there. Goro crossed his mind too. His thick, broad arms and his washboard abs made him wish they could have an enemies to lovers arc. Sonic's hand squeezed his thigh now.
Sonic's beady nose had phantom traces of the Poppy body spray. Hindsight is 20/20, and Sonic realized he acted like a perverted idiot. The body spray gave him a headache as well.
The images of every man he saw today flashed through his mind, but lingered on one man in particular.
His quills shivered at the thought of a certain pixelated violet man. He was so mysterious, Sonic needed to know more, but now just his image would do. His goldmember throbbed in his booty shorts. A hand slipped under his waistband. Sonic's fist firmly grasped his mini-me. He rubbed his tip, fantasizing about a purple man on his chest, fantasizing about Purple Guy and wishing it was reality. He thought about what would really happen if the lavender guy was sharing the chair with him. His purple pixelated cob thrusting on his little sheldon. His 8-bit annihilator was rock hard against his furry body.
Sonic spat in his hand and gripped his blue bomber. He quivered at the touch, and to think his stubby fingers barely made contact. God, was he lonely. He pumped his hand back and forth, only little movements were needed (and possible). He titled his head back. and gripped his chaos emerald tighter. His breath caught in his throat and-
Fuck.
His chili dog went limp in his hand, his fingers coated in his white glue. He removed his hand, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He has yet to last over a minute. The story of the Queen's life and death still played on the television. The inside of his shorts felt gooey, and the hot pink fabric stuck to his skin.
Sonic picked the TV remote off the floor (it had gotten knocked off during his adventure). He switched the channel and tuned into Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man. He was able to catch the second half of the movie.
Sonic suddenly found himself in the passenger seat of a nondescript 90's car. He was wearing a single leather glove that fitted his hand too tightly. The cold barrel of a revolver was pressed against his temple. He was unable to tell who was holding it. The hand almost seemed to shift colors; blue, purple, brown, yellow. He could not tell who the hand belonged to. Was it his own?
"Drive, Tails, drive!" He heard his voice say, although his mouth did not open. Still, he felt a faux mustache flap against his upper lip. He could not see Tails, but he must have been in the drivers seat. The car did not go any faster. In fact, he felt like he was suspended in jelly. The road in front of him moved in slow motion. Despite there being no other cars on the road, the car swerved as if there were. Sonic's body did not sway with it. There was no noise or any other signs of traffic.
"Listen, so called 'blue-blur,'" a voice said. It seemed to originate behind him, but he felt the sound reverberate in his ears. It sounded amplified, possibly by a speaker. It was also familiar, although Sonic could not place exactly where he had heard it from. "I do not care how fast you think you are, I need you to pull that car over. Now!"
Sonic turned towards the back windshield. He had a clear view of a single police car behind him. He could not see the driver, but Willem Dafoe was effortlessly hanging out the passenger side window, in almost complete police garb. The only discrepancy would be his lack of pants. His twelve inch terror swung hypnotically. He had a bright blue kid's megaphone in hand. Sonic wondered how a hunk of plastic could amplify his voice so well.
Sonic resumed his original sitting position. Anxiety cramped his stomach and chest. He wouldn't survive jail. What if he dropped the soap? How would he play his famous game "Sonic Inflation Adventure" and its sequels? Sonic began to wail like the little bitch he was.