Chapter Seven: Breakfast of Champions
Notes and Disclaimer: Sorry for the delay. Maureen is just very terrible for me to write; she comes off sounding more like a queen than anything else, and… gah. She's just awful. I hate it.Loathe this chapter.This story's quickly coming to a close, though. I've got the final chapter written, so you can expect that soon, plus an epilogue, perhaps, a bit later. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and that you'll like the next one better.
Oh. Note the rating change. Foul language ahead.
Jonathan Larson, may he rest in peace, owns all.
-Maureen-
You know, I've got to admit: for a minute there, I really did think that I had walked in on a kind of queer boy quickie. Don't get me wrong; that's something that I wouldn't mind watching, since Roger and Mark aren't by any means bad-looking, but considering that I'm planning on fucking the bespectacled half of that odd couple mindless tonight, seeing him crotch-to-crotch with another hot guy is sort of weird. Kinky, sure, but still weird.
Not that I can't do kinky. Chances are, if it's doesn't involve any permanent harm to me or anything with more than two legs, I'll at least try it once, and chances are that if I try it once, I'll try it again if I like the guy enough. Something gives me the idea that sweet, little Markie's not going to be into anything too taboo, but you never know. I really am Queen of Persuasion, after all, and I don't think that convincing Mark to experiment would be that hard. I'll see how I feel when we get there.
"So... you were getting started without me?"
Roger isn't even all the way out of the room when I start to work on Mark, who looks like he's about to puke, throwing an arm around his neck and using my free hand to draw invisible pictures over top his skin. Pasty, pale skin. Otherwise perfect, no zits or scars or anything, but so frigging white. This boy really needs some sun.
Unless he's a vampire or something. Like, only prowls at night, seduces fair young women... I've read that all vampires are really hot. Pretty, almost, and the way I see it, since Mark's not exactly all-American handsome, I guess he can be pretty, as long as he's not as pretty as me; I'd make one sexy vampire goddess.
But, seriously. How cool would it be if sweet, little Markie were a vampire secretly lusting after my blood? That's taking kinky to a whole new level, I think, even if it would mean that I only have twelve hours' opportunity for sex, as opposed to twenty-four. I guess I could do that.
"Uhm, Maureen... Do you mind if I, you know... put some clothes on?"
Then again, vampires aren't supposed to be pansies. You'd never hear one ask to suck every drop of blood from your body; he'd just do it. And since they're gorgeous anyway, vampires shouldn't mind being in their underwear in front of hot girls. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that vampires wouldn't need glasses, either.
"Mark." The note of urgency in my voice thickens the air, I swear. "You're not a vampire, are you?"
He stares blankly at me for the longest time, blinking only once or twice from behind his glasses, then actually cracks a smile until he realizes that I'm serious.
"Oh, I- - sorry." He also needs to learn to not be so goddamn polite all the time. He didn't even do anything. "I guess... I couldn't be a vampire, so... no."
"Why couldn't you be a vampire?"
"I... well, they don't exist, for one; they're just... folkloric creatures passed down in stories and glamourized in contemporary literature and film. Halloween costumes and excuses to scare little kids. I mean, sure, there's some debatable evidence as to their existence, but I don't think that blood-sucking creatures could possibly surv-"
Despite my attempt at being interested in Mark's scientific theories, I roll my eyes gently and press two fingers down against his lips, which immediately shuts him up and brings blood rushing to his face. Shit. That's got to be the most he's said in one breath all night, and he was talking about vampires. Maybe he just talks a lot when he's nervous and horny... Why the Hell are we even talking about vampires, anyway?
"And, I guess... if vampires did really exist, I'm still a vegetarian, so I don't think I could drink the blood and everything."
Eew. My little cutie lives on tofu and celery. I really hope that he can't cook
"A vegetarian? Really?"
"Well... sort of." He shrugs against his... bed, I guess, and nods his head, slowly trying to squirm out from underneath me without making it seem like he's trying to squirm out from underneath me. "I'm really more of a dry cereal and Ramen-ian."
"Mm. Breakfast of champions."
"Oh, Breakfast of Champions. Kurt Vonnegut, right? That was a pretty good book. My mother would probably die if she knew I read it, but it was really very good. Sort of sick, but honestly funny. I mean, I guess the time period's a little bit before me, but the ideas are so widely explored in the modern media that the subjects are hard not to relate t- "
"Mark." I whine, exasperated but smiling, almost amused, and he shuts up again long enough to drop his hands, which absolutely fly when he gets to talking, and look up at me. "Are books and obscure pop-culture references the stuff of your wet-dreams?"
I get the idea that nobody's ever said the words, 'wet dream' to Mark, and the look on his face shows it; his mouth is half open, and his eyes are wide, and he looks guilty, almost, like he's trying to come up with some way to explain himself, now that he's been caught red-handed.
Oh, God, I hope he's got nothing to explain, or this poor boy's even sadder than I thought.
"Mark?"
"I- no! I mean, I wouldn't even... that's disgusting, to think... do you mind if I put some clothes on?"
"Mark. I was kidding, hon. I was kidding." He bites his lower lip and smiles in that cute little anxious way of his, and I resist the urge to mess up his hair. "Damn, boy. You've really got to learn how to chill a little bit, you know?"
"Oh, no; I'm okay, rea-"
"No, I don't think so. You're way too tense." I can tell by the way my own smirk takes over my smile, that regardless of how Mark would like to keep things, this whole situation is about to go downhill very, very fast. "I can help with that."
"What do you-"
I quiet him with a kiss this time, instead of with two fingers or a whine, and it seems for a very long time that the either of the other two tactics would have worked better; all he does is freeze up and stare at me down his nose, unwilling to put his arms around me or lean in or just close his eyes and sit back and enjoy the beginning of the end of his life as a squeamish little virgin.
I think he thinks I'm going to suck his soul out through his mouth. Sure, I mean to twist and corrupt it enough so that it's no longer its perfect, pure, sparkling, mama's boy white, but sucking it out completely would be sort of counterproductive; sex is no fun with a corpse. Then again, Mark has got to be the most corpse-like guy I've ever been with, and not only because he's crazy pale and bony. Seriously, what kind of straight, -and he had better be straight, or this whole thing is a huge waste of my time- adolescent guy can resist the charm of a girl as hot as me?
Not to brag, but yeah; I'm pretty damn hot.
"Mark." I huff and pull away from him to see that he's blushing brightly, before resting my elbows against his chest and pushing him all the way onto his back. "Come on, Markie. You know you want it, and this dead fish thing is getting sort of old." I move to straddle his legs, but he draws them up and looks away from me, probably to avoid meeting the scowl that's quickly forming over my once-smirking lips. "If you seriously don't want this, I can leave, you know."
That brings his legs down pretty damn fast. Score one for empty threats!
Quickly making myself comfortable on top of Mark, it isn't long before I find myself leaning down to kiss him again, and much to my surprise, he doesn't move to push me away or to wriggle out from under me. In fact, after a few seconds of hesitation, he even closes his eyes. In a few more seconds, he's opened his mouth enough for me to slip my tongue in, and though he does squirm, he knows better than to protest it.
Aw, poor baby. I almost feel bad that I had to scare him into it. I almost feel bad that I had to scare him into it.
I pull his arms up around my waist, and he lets them fall away once before he decides that it's better to follow than to try and lead, since he obviously has no idea what he's doing, With his fingers laced behind my back, I grin into his shy kiss and burry one of my own hands into his hair, which is still damp and drying into the curls I've wound into it. It doesn't stay there, of course, and quickly starts down his temple and jaw line, then down his throat to chase his collarbone from neck to shoulder and back again.
He twitches. How cute is that? When my fingernails slide from his chest to his stomach, he actually twitches, and I can't help but giggle, which makes him squirm in a good way.
Naturally, once I'm at the waistband of his boxers, there's really nowhere to go but down, but from the way Mark's slowly relaxing, I don't think he's realized this yet. It's almost a shame to freak him out, but with all of the dawdling he did just getting to this point, we've got some catching up to do. So, rather shamelessly, I gently bite down on Mark's bottom lip and quickly slip my hand down past the elastic in his shorts, brushing against him enough to earn an audible yelp from my skittish little partner. Damnit all to Hell.
He's on his feet almost before I can get my hand out of his shorts, cluching at the waistband with one hand and modestly covering himself with the other, staring down at me, perfectly afraid, just as I stare up at him, perfectly annoyed.
"I- - I'm sorry, Maureen, but I think... this-"
"Are you serious? Mark, come on. What are you waiting for?"
"This, uhm- - this just isn't right, Maureen."
Like Hell this isnt' right.
"Like Hell this isn't right."
"No, please... Maureen, just-"
"Listen, sweetie, I know the whole anxious virgin thing, okay? Been there, done that. Mark, if you don't do this now, you're going to regret it. Believe me."
"But it's been... three hours or.. or something like that, and I don't- - I can't just-"
"Sure you can. It's really not that hard, Mark." I'm sorry. I can't help myself: "Unlike some other things, huh?"
He blushes wildly and pretends not to take a glance down, but I use the moment to get on my feet and start towards him. I manage to get within two feet of him before he backs away, eyeing his feet or the floor until he backs with a dull crash into the makeshift partition dividing the loft in two. I know it's mean, but I don't even give him the chance to recover before I'm up against him again, groping boldly while he tries to disappear into the stacked-up tables and chairs.
"Okay, Mark. If you really, really don't want this, I'm not about to risk getting myself thrown in jail for statutory rape or whatever." His eyes widen at the idea, either of jail or of statutory rape, and I know then that I've just about got him. "But. But. If you really, really don't want this, I've got to go downstairs and leave now, and that means Roger and his girlfriend know that you chickened out."
"M-maureen, I-"
"And it means they know that I couldn't even get to you. Markie, you're making me look bad!" I accentuate the guilt trip with a firm squeeze below the belt, and I swear that his knees almost give out on him. "Come on, Markie; you don't want that, do you?"
With a few well-placed kisses and the right kind of grasp on the situation, it's very clear that, no; he doesn't want that at all. See? I knew that I could convince him; in a matter of minutes, he's all mine, shaking his head while I kiss up and down his throat and stammering out some kind of consent as I lead him back over to his mattress.
By the hands, of course.
You know, Mark really is cute.
I sit up a bit in bed, pulling the sheets up to my shoulders in a bad attempt to insulate myself from the chill that never seems to leave Mark and Roger's crumbling building, and I run my fingers through his hair, smiling gently while he sleeps soundly beside me. He looks so small. It's almost scary, really; he could be my little brother, lying there, relaxed for once, his hair wild and his glasses askew, probably dreaming something colorful while I watch him sleep.
Not only is he cute, but he's really very sweet to go along with it. Some guys, you know, they have his innocent sort of aura about them; they're shy and quiet and don't flirt well, but they turn out to be absolute animals in bed. That, or they turn into complete jackasses. It's crazy.
Not Mark, though. He's quiet and soft-spoken, gentle almost to a fault. He blushes at anything and smiles when he's nervous, which is often. He'll take 'making love' over 'fucking,' and he's charmingly clumsy and always apologetic, something you don't usually get when picking up a guy from a sleazy bar.
Sex with Mark wasn't mind-blowing. It wasn't fast and loud, and it wasn't groundbreaking, bed rocking sex like I normally get. Chalk it up to lack of experience, but it didn't even last all that long. This didn't make it bad; just different: very intimate, softhearted, and… loving, I guess. He even said it, right before he curled up next to me and drifted off; "I love you." I don't know if he meant it or if it just seemed like the only thing to say after losing his virginity to an almost complete stranger, but it was, like I said, very sweet, at the time.
I hope he didn't really mean it, though; I don't know if I can handle having someone fall in love with me. You've got to understand: I'm really good with flings. One-night stands, fine. Short-term stuff, great. Even a few months of open sex in a relationship is okay with me, as long as it's for the sex. Love means commitment and crying and all the unhappy stuff that comes with getting dumped and used and shit. I can't take that.
I don't think that Mark can take it, either. He's too nice a guy to have his heart broken, and if he meant what he said in, "I love you," then he's going to be crushed when I've got to move on to other things.
For now, though, he's definitely cute. I can see myself with him for a while, if only because he's different from the other guys I've fucked and left; he's innocent, even now, and it's comforting, I guess, to know that he's going to trust me.
Smiling, I settle back down into bed and place a quick kiss on Mark's cheek before wrapping my arms loosely around his neck and drifting off into a wonderfully dreamless sleep.
I guess that giving him a few months won't hurt anyone.
Notes: And so goes my pathetic attempt at anything intimate. I know, I suck. If you review, though, maybe the next thing won't suck quite so much. Perhaps. If I can find that sort of will. Thanks for reading, though!
