Title: As Wrong As It Gets
Author: Whyyy
Rating: R (I'm getting there damnit)
Category: Crap
Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title. Also, I shamelessly beat around the bush, thereby delaying the evil but inevitable yaoi scene for another chapter. But no worries, Spike and Vicious still act like idiots. Hoo-yah!
Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters. Or the pickup lines, which I came across after Googling "worst pickup lines".
Note: It has been at least a month since I last updated. If you are one of the truly crazy (but I mean that in the nicest most complimentary way possible) readers out there who apparently get my vindictive sense of humor and actually anticipate the uploading of these chapters, I apologize for my writing hiatus. If not, never mind. And if you're my roommate, shut up, I'm getting to the yaoi scene already. And thank you, friend Austine, for your contributions to this fic.
Spinereader: Well, there IS major OOC, but I'm really flattered you think it's witty! I feel so special :)!
Wilwarin: You're quite welcome for the bonsai trees! I'll see if I can slip some more yummy shrubbery scenes in for ya!
AnonymousTrigunOtaku: I certainly wouldn't be adverse to writing some grotesque Trigun fic, but I'll have to finish the series. It's tragic, I know, that I still haven't watched all of Trigun, but most of the anime I watch is when I mooch off my friends. Hell, I only recently finished watching Cowboy Bebop because my roommate pretty much made me (and this fic is to express my gratitude). But I'll definitely keep Trigun in mind as a future project! Thanks for enjoying the fic so much, and I agree with you about the GW yaoi fics. They get…a little out of hand.
Krystal-flames: Thanks, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!
Vegetasbride1669: Oh yeah, the wrongness will prevail, and if it weren't for you pervs, I wouldn't have an audience, so thank you!
Jean: Yay, I made someone chuckle! And I shall keep writing, hopefully more constantly now that it's summer.
Chapter 3 – The Wrong-ness is Hinted at Via Ugly Pickup Lines
To Spike's credit, the first thought that came to mind after addressing Vicious was not Hot damn, I am SO going to rape him. No, that was his seventh thought. His first one was, Wow, it really is Vicious. After all, he answered to the name. His next thought was then, Unless he's a different Vicious. Like an evil twin brother. Only…Vicious WAS evil, so maybe this is his…uhh, good twin brother? After which, his third thought was naturally, If he's good, will that mean he's more likely to climb into bed with me? It was amazing how lightning-fast these thoughts flew through Spike's head. Then again, he was this awesome bounty hunter with the ability to create some poisonous lobster mold purely with the aid of an everyday freezer and run up buildings when the mood seized him. However, it should be noted that despite the breathtaking speed of Spike's critical deductive skills, Vicious clearly was a regular mental champ himself, because he cut short Spike's deluge of keen reflections by snapping tersely, "So what if it is a cockatoo?"
This brought Spike up short. He blinked. "Well, uh…that's…good." Vicious didn't seem inclined to say much more about his having a cockatoo, so Spike continued, trying to pick up the conversation from where it was lying on the gravelly asphalt-y ground of the lot, between a few pebbles, "It brings out the…milky white goodness of your skin." There. That was pretty damn smooth, Spike thought, given the abrupt circumstances of this midnight rendezvous. It had just the right amount of come-hither sensual undertone, but was subtler than "I want to jump your bones". Truly a prize of an opening statement. Oh yes, he hadn't been the Red Dragons for so long just for his petty gun skills.
Sadly, it seemed as if Vicious had already heard this "milky white goodness" line before, because he glared broken pieces of tennis racket, which are a step up from daggers because they have splinters, at Spike, then unceremoniously changed the subject with yet another question, probably a social blunder that could get one killed in some backward third-world space colonies, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
Which led to Spike's fourth thought: Me? (mental scoff) Hellooo, I've survived hallucinogenic mushrooms and Faye's random fanservice poses. This led him to say, "Me? Hellooo, I've survived hallucinogenic mushrooms and Faye's random fanservice poses," disdainfully, and scoff. When he didn't elaborate, those two sentences being the entirety of his thought, and Vicious didn't deign to respond, Spike had to search for another conversational lifesaver, and that was his fifth thought: I guess this isn't Vicious's good twin brother then, if he thinks so lowly of my survival skills. This was followed quickly by his sixth thought: But wait, if this is normal evil Vicious, shouldn't HE be dead, getting shot fatally through the chest and all? Unless one wasn't actually shot fatally through the shot, and was actually shot through some less critical body part close enough to appear as the chest from certain angles. Like the toe. Not that that's what happened to Vicious, I don't think.
Vicious, seeming to read the question written all over Spike's face, growled, "I was shot through the toe."
That explained a few things. Well. That really was a relief. After all, Spike had really been befuddled over how to shack it up with Vicious posthumously. With everything all cleared up, Spike was ready for his greatest and seventh thought. Hot damn, I am SO going to rape him. But this was Vicious with a katana and a cockatoo. Better tread carefully. Straightening, Spike did his best to waggle his eyebrows, then said sultrily, "So baby, what's your sign?"
The dim lamplight gloriously reflected the whites of Vicious's eyes as they appeared to be widening. "…what?" The cockatoo, not to be left out of the dramatic conversation, whistled, ruffled his feathers, and echoed, "What's your sign? Raawk! What's your sign?" This was followed by two wet sounding 'plops' and something Spike couldn't quite make out in the light landed on Vicious's shoulder. Vicious's eyes stopped widening and started twitching.
In all his years of flirting and stealing other people's pleather-wearing girlfriends, Spike's heartwinning pickup lines had never been met with such a reaction. So what did he do? Never a quitter, Spike tried again. "Hey, Vicious, you must have a mirror in your pants 'cuz I can see myself in them."
Vicious seemed a bit preoccupied with strangling the cockatoo to respond. Spike stifled a sigh. How did Julia ever manage to land this coy testicle with legs? It certainly was lucky that Spike knew so many pickup lines. "Vicious, let's go play house. You be the screen door, and I'll slam you all day long."
The damn cockatoo was distracting Vicious. Alright, to be fair, Vicious was yelling, "How would you like it if I shit on you??" a little too loudly to hear
Spike's pimp-daddy sweet talk. It was time to up the ante; maybe these lines were a mite too subtle.
"Vicious?" Spike cleared his throat. Vicious finally hurled the abused parrot to the ground, and gave Spike The Look. The Look cannot be described, but it's the standard classic Vicious Look. Not because it's that unique or bone-chilling-fear-inspiring—really, Vicious just looked as if he smelled something bad—but because Vicious wore it so perpetually, so either he had supernatural olfactory powers, or he was born all angry with The Look. That certainly would explain the lines on his face. But at least Vicious was looking at Spike again, so Spike resumed his suave oration. "Vicious, let me tell you: I like every muscle in your body, especially mine."
It would appear Vicious got the gist of that statement, because his eyes went wide without that actual widening part. They were just suddenly as big and round as beanbag chairs or maybe monster cookies, with that whole deer-in-the-headlights look. It was rather refreshing, and Spike couldn't help but imagine Vicious looking so sweetly helpless and caught underneath him, ready to be ravished like a dead Amazonian deer by a school of rabid piranhas. Spike managed to calm himself and Spike Jr. down by pondering on the significance of why he kept comparing Vicious to deer, and then decided one last powerful uber-sexy line would do the trick. "And I'll bet your legs are just like butter."
Almost nervously, Vicious glanced down at his legs. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Spike grinned cheekily. "It means they're smooth, creamy, and easy to spread."
Vicious began coughing violently. Terrified he was about to lose the object of his lusty affections, Spike hurried over to Vicious's side. "What is it? Spit? Gum? Allergies?"
"…Shut UP!! What the hell is wrong with you??" Vicious demanded in between gags. Spike obliged and remained quiet, patting Vicious's back in a friendly, almost maternal gesture to soothe him. Then reached down an iota lower and squeezed Vicious's right cheek, the one that wasn't on his face. Ahh, so soft and pliant, yet sculpted like a Greek statue of Apollo. Yep, that's what Spike thought. Being all crazily in lust causes one to start thinking in overly-sappy gushy phrases with similes and weird allusions all the time. It's like a mental illness. Like schizophrenia, but much worse, because the voices in your head just keep using the same phrases over and over again in an attempt to sound romantic. Vicious meanwhile was busily and uncharacteristically shrieking his larynx out. Then again, for any sort of semi-romantic relationship between him and Spike to work, there was going to have to be quite a deal of uncharacteristic-ness on both sides. With Spike's willingness to throw his normal behaviors out the window, and Vicious's rapidly losing his grip on his usual character mannerisms, the two were well on their way.