Aw, nuthin’ too special - jus’ the 2010 V8 Camaro 2SS.
She’s got uh Tremec six-speed manual transmission, Brembo brakes with four-piston aluminum calipers, uh 245 watt Boston Acoustic stereo system with nine speakers, heated leather seats, an’ with uh s-type Borla catback awn th’exhaust, she’d have uh purr like uh goddamn sabertooth tiger.
TELL ME SHE AIN’T BEAUTIFUL.
Imagine Person A of your OTP nyehing sensually in Person B’s ear.
When Ellis had been a boy, he’d wanted a horse of his own to ride to school on instead of the bus.
His grandfather had owned a horse ranch before he was born, and pictures of his mother on various mounts lingered in the photo albums his grandmother had let him pour over in his grandparents’ living room. The ranch had fallen through after a tourist had snapped his neck, and Ellis come into the world with a grandpa who dabbled in banking instead of majestic beasts. The boy’s disappointment was profound.
Keith’s head in his lap was a warm, familiar weight, the fluffy brush of his hair beneath Ellis’s fingers stirring a restless smile on the brunette’s lips that spread into a grin when Keith huffed softly and shifted to get comfortable. Votes were being tallied on the news, rapidly accumulating in favor of one candidate and then another, states turning red and blue across the country as polls finally closed in others. Riggs had managed to get up onto the couch without Keith – rather docile on pain medication – fussing at him, the lithe dog settled atop the redhead’s jean-clad legs to nose at his own thick tail in apparent listlessness. Ellis’s toes curled in the shag of Keith’s living room carpet, sleepiness mounting as hours trickled by with Florida waffling between red and blue and California still accepting voters.
The older mechanic’s mishap in voting had required several stitches and two hours in the emergency room, half of which Ellis had spent bragging on the phone about his boyfriend’s patriotism. But the excitement was gone now, replaced by idle affection as Ellis pet his fingers down the sparseness of a sideburn framing Keith’s handsome face.
“Nick says he’s gottuh win Ohio ‘er Florida,” Ellis noted for the thirtieth time, eyeing the two swing states in question as the tv displayed a map of America again. Florida had trickled into favoring Romney again, while Ohio was slowly inching closer to Obama’s. Georgia had long-since flushed red in Romney’s support, which hadn’t been much of a surprise though Ellis’s circle of friends had all voiced their hopes for Obama’s reelection. “Man, when’s this shit gonnuh end? We gottuh git yer ass intuh bed.”
“M’fine,” Keith groused in slurred denial, lifting a hand to blindly pat at Ellis behind himself as he cuddled his cheek against the man’s thighs. Ellis snorted, lifting his free hand to catch Keith’s, fingers unevenly twining together. “It doesn’t even hurt,” he added brusquely, lifting his thickly bandaged hand as if to prove it, and Ellis laughed.
When Ellis stirred an hour later, Keith remained asleep with his face tucked against the younger survivor’s lap, injured hand draped off the side of the couch and Riggs snuggled up on his back as the pair snored softly in the unnatural yellow burn of lamplight. Blinking sleep out of his own eyes, he squinted at the television, election news still burbling on with footage from election parties across the country celebrating Obama’s landslide victory.
Grinning, Ellis leaned back into the couch, fingers stroking the exposed nape of Keith’s neck as he settled in to go back to sleep.
[I was able to sleep easier, too, after staying up with my lover to watch the tallies and see our president win. I’m pretty passionate about a number of social issues and while I don’t think Obama has done enough about them, I’m hoping for a brighter future in the next four years. :)]
ask4ellis replied to your post: Magic Anon says, please do a stream for us! :)
Aw, man, why not? :(
Because I dun want tuh.
Well okay…
[Art by the ever-fabulous and spoiling Ask-Keith. Cue me writing the boys being tools.]
As Keith closed the door on the night’s final trick-or-treater, pausing long enough to flick off the porchlight to prevent further stragglers from coming along at a later hour, he heard the soft press of Ellis’s shoes on the carpet behind himself and let a smirk unfurl on his scarred lips. He’d spent their evening needling Ellis with incessant teasing, feeling him up and spilling gentle nips across the hick’s throat without committing to actually getting him off, and no doubt the brunette was eager to collect on his redhead’s wordless promises of the night.
ask4ellis replied to your post: What’s the dirtiest you’ve ever felt?
Was it more like uh gritty paste kinduh feelin’ ‘er like wet papertowels gone moldy stickin’ tuh yer hair?
No, no. It was more like a “Shut the hell up, Ellis” feeling.
Definitely, that one.
Does that feel more like wet shit, ‘er flappy dead skin, stickin’ tuh yew?
‘Er maybe it feels like that time that bird shit in yer coffee when we wus outside an’ yew didn’t notice an’ took uh sip? Man Ah didn’t even know birdshit cud float til yew got uh mouthful off th’top!
[Been out of the writing loop for a lil bit, here’s some wee drabbles for warm-up practice I did.]
Doing something domestic.
Ellis was once more apt to leave his clean clothes piled somewhere than put forth the effort of folding or hanging them up, but this poor habit was assuaged by Keith’s presence after the redhead moved in. The pair would make an afternoon every other week of going through the wash and sorting and folding it all to be halved between their houses. Tedious though the task was, splitting the effort and chatting their way through made the act tolerable, if not enjoyable, and Ellis rapidly abandoned former distaste for folding to instead enjoy the chore with Keith beside him, elbows-deep in dryer-heated fabrics and hangers.
Y’know yew got uh awful lottuh questions about mah breakfast drinks, miss.
Anyhow, Ah got loads of experience with m’KAWC, so Ah don’t choke none. Who th’heck chokes awn orange juice? An’ Ah ain’t much fer sharin’ drinks with anybody but Keith cus, c’mon man, cooties. An’ Ah don’t reckon he cares much, we don’t always check up awn eachothers’ blogs so he prolly ain’t even seen.
Oh-ho, Ah see wut yew think yer doin’ there, anon. Yew think yer real’ smart, askin’ me how Ah’d feel if Ah wus Overalls and Nick kept visitin’ his friends when Ah told’im no, am Ah right?
Well lookie here, man. When Keith wus jealous, wanted me tuh quit visitin’ Nick s’much, Ah told’im no. Cus Ah wusn’t doin’ uh damn thang wrong an’ that wus mah best friend who fixed me up when Ah didn’t know how tuh be mahself no more. Yew don’t ask sumbody tuh quit seein’ their best friend cus yer jealous. Yew work awn trust an’ helpin’ ‘em git along.
Tuh be honest, them lines kinduh blurred fer awhile, an’ Ah wusn’t uh real’ good friend tuh Nick. But we’re awl workin’ awn it now.
Findin’ yer soulmate’s th’most important thang yew can do in life, man. That’s th’person yer gonnuh spend th’rest uh yer days with – yer gonnuh write yer life’s story tuhgether. But yew don’t fergit th’folks who kept yew company awn th’way, an’ that’s yer friends.
Th’way Ah figgur it, lotsuh folks ain’t got no other option, righ’? Like, single moms ‘er dudes whose parents kicked ‘em outtuh their house?
Ah met uh couple guys in Atlanta an’ they wus real’ nice people. Me an’ Dave swapped stories with ‘em cus we split uh pizza an’ sat buhind uh buildin’ few like four hours, man.
See, Dave knew’em cus he’d go tuh Atlanta tuh see his grandparents every weekend, an’ him an’ Paul came across’em in the park once. They’d dance durin’ th’day an’ let folks see’em, then at night they’d hang around an’… *Shrugs his shoulders* Sum people’d come back around an’ pick’em up.
Ain’t like messin’ ‘round with whoever from uh bar ‘er whatever fer th’hell uh it. Ah git awl tore up when Ah think ‘bout people who got so little thah’s awl they got tuh sell… *Rubs the back of his neck, eyes dipping low*
Ain’t never been much fer water, but Ah’ll crack open uh bottle ‘er sip from th’hose if Ah haftuh, cus it gits hot as hell here, speshully in th’summertime, an’ it’d be sum real’ fool shit if Ah passed out cus Ah didn’ wannuh drink water.
Plus soda don’t help none. S’mostly sugar an’ shit, righ’? Ain’t gonnuh do uh dang thing fer yuh if yer dehydrated outtuh yer skull. Ah think Ah read sumplace that it makes yuh worse off when yer thirsty… Ah love Pepsi an’ Coke both, an’ Ah’m gittin’ tuh like rootbeer cus mah baby does, but mostly fer eatin’.
Ah like Gatorade when Ah’m out, like, doin’ shit, mahself. Better’n pop, an’ don’t taste funky like water. Ah git thah shit bah th’cases from Sam’s Club an’ stack ‘em up in th’laundry room fer when mah fridge runs out. Ah drink awl th’flavors, too. *Grins* Makes it real’ easy tuh shop for.
Well, heck, a’course! Back when Ah wus real’ down awl th’time, Ah wudn’t really workin’ no more an’ me an’ Nick usetuh jus’ lay around bein’ sad. Ain’t no way fer nobody tuh live.
He still takes like uh million naps erryday an’ gits sore when yuh wake ‘im up, an’ he’s too old fer sleepin’ like uh baby awl goddamn day. Awl ‘e does is sleep an’ mope an’ it ain’t no good.
“Mommy?” Ellis echoes with furrowed eyebrows, his lips quirking into something of a frown as he watches the little girl return her dirty thumb to her mouth. “Why th’heck am Ah mommy?”
The thumb pops free with a slurp and she says in obvious exasperation, “Cus you don’t have a beard.”
“Ah got stubble!” Ellis objects, giving his face a scratch in illustration, his troubled gaze going to Keith trying to refrain from sniggering. “Jesus,” grumbles the brunette moodily, swinging his AK-47 back behind his shoulder on its strap so he can lift the toddler from her perch on a battered couch, “Even lil’ kids think Ah’m th’lady.”
Keith reloads his rifle in preparation to leave the saferoom, head tilted slightly to listen to the garbled snarls outside in the semi-darkness of evening. “His name’s Ellis,” he tells the little girl, hoping to console his boyfriend, “An’ he’s m’BOYfriend.”
“Wife,” the girl corrects stubbornly, her nose crinkling under the frazzled drape of her over-long bangs, the greasy blonde strands immediately tucked behind her ears by Ellis.
“Let’er think wut she wants,” says Ellis with a shrug and a sigh, “Folks usually do. An’ she’s jus’ uh baby anyhow.”
“M’four,” huffs the toddler in his arms, and Ellis grins a little wider, his earlier irritation bottoming out with affection.
Being a few inches tall afforded Keith a substantial amount of leeway in life, both socially and physically. He could, for example, perch on his friend Dave’s shoulder instead of having to walk anywhere himself; likewise, when he didn’t feel like dealing with someone, it was just a matter of slipping behind a knickknack to avoid them. Simple tasks for others – like fixing a bowl of cereal – were daring adventures for Keith, who’d learned dozens of tricks and feats to keep his independence even in a world that was far too big for him. He was injured and lost often, and had once been forced to kill his little brother’s cat before it could kill him, but he was resilient, surviving every accident and poor decision with renewed determination to succeed.
Relationships, on the other hand, were a little more complicated, for obvious reasons. He’d had several girlfriends, a fiance he’d then left at the altar, and dated his former best friend for awhile, but nothing had panned out for him; and while being miniscule was a novelty at first, it posed some embarrassing problems down the road that Keith hadn’t yet come up with a suitable fix for.
Ellis, however, didn’t seem to mind the awkward sex life and the lack of warm body to hold in the night; in fact, he remained upbeat even when Keith’s risky behavior went afoul and nearly got him killed trying to climb the coffee pot to initiate it himself. Unlike lovers of the past, Ellis wasn’t prone to hovering protectively; any help he offered was done casually, followed up by a change of subject when Keith wasn’t happy about his independence being questioned. Further, Ellis seemed to have fun with Keith’s size, crafting boats for the bathtub and meticulously constructing a model car with a functioning engine that Keith helped tinker with before being able to drive. Child-like in his wonder, Ellis was a different breeze from all the others.
At night, when Keith stretched out on the impossibly broad surface of a pillow with his tiny blanket, Ellis would cuddle close but not too close, eyes half-lidded and full of happiness Keith could never get used to seeing glimmer in his direction.
Kendra hadn’t spent much time questioning her sexuality in highschool; it had simply occurred to her that while she wasn’t pulled towards any girls in particular, she wasn’t put off by the concept either. So though she dated men, she kept an open mind towards women as well. She wasn’t particularly surprised to end up with one, little Ellis – with her thick drape of curls, big gray sky eyes, gorgeous bowed lips quirking in bashful little smiles, and stocky body host to curves Kenda was greedy about mapping out with her hands – proving herself to be quite the catch after the awkward phase had dwindled a little. Kendra was happy to help Ellis reconsider her own sexuality, too; strangled whimpers and moans filling their nights with music Kendra rapidly found addicting.
It was easy to get Ellis started; all she had to do was tweak the girl’s nipple through her shirt and she was buckling to her knees, begging for Kendra to give her a taste. And as far as pussy-eating went, with a little practice Ellis was outdoing anyone Kendra had been with, eager tongue and pretty lips bringing the redhead over to bliss with natural talent the older woman was a little sad had been wasted on cock in the past. Likewise, Kendra had Ellis’s number in bed and dialed it often, reducing the brunette to a mess of buzzing nerves and reverent thank you’s.
Though Kendra had her hands full when it came to babysitting. Ellis, despite bearing the scars of survival, was a complete idiot when it came to men, forcing Kendra to frequently step in when a friendly guy at the bar became a handsy guy; customers, too, enchanted by the concept of an all-female mechanic crew, were a problem, Ellis too gullible to notice when she was being objectified. It was a full time job keeping her out of trouble, and Kendra took it on with flair. Nothing beat telling some arrogant asshole to shove off her girl.
And Ellis hadn’t been the picture-perfect example of a house wife, but her cooking improved quickly, and by nature she was a spunky, get’er-done kinda gal who blew through chores quickly to get to the fun that followed. This meshed well with Kendra who wasn’t fond of lazy people and but WAS fond of having her meals prepared and served by her little dish of a girlfriend. Likewise, they mixed well with the fun that followed, Ellis as prone as Kendra to crazy ideas and impromptu feats that usually ended up in drunken giggling and a hospital visit.
Kendra hadn’t spent much time questioning her relationship with her little shortcake; it had simply occurred to her that like her thirst for life, her thirst for Ellis was strong, bright, and a little dangerous – just the way she liked it.
[Kind of a sequel to this.]
Keith isn’t intending to watch the race – it’s a Monday and he’s an entire weekend behind on sleep, show the next night burning on his brain – but something draws him to pick up the remote when he stretches out in bed, shrouded in the blessed darkness of his own bedroom for the first time in months. The constant sweep of multi-colored cars around the track is visually soothing, brief montages about the drivers now and then doing little to break his gradually drifting into bliss – until –
At first it’s just a scuffle on the track, a couple of cars skimming too close and scuffing up logos, but then a car Keith doesn’t recognize clips the back of El’s and Ellis smacks into another car, scraping along the side until he drops free – and is immediately struck by a third as his car spins slightly, tires dragging black across the pavement. A fourth car hits him dead-on and Ellis’s pitches over onto its side and rolls on its back like a flung turtle, rocking slightly before the windshield gives out.
Keith’s sitting up and grabbing his leather jacket and cellphone before the program cuts to commercial. His brain forces him to take a gulping breath when he slams the front door behind himself, dizziness and nausea staggering his steps as the brightness of daylight stings tears in his eyes; maybe. He calls the head of the pit crew as he gets in his truck, phone shoved on his shoulder as he drives to the airport.
Waiting for his flight, he watches the clips again on Youtube, and finds an update on a news website of Ellis being pulled from the wreckage and placed on a stretcher; he can’t tell how hurt the man in, thick jumpsuit and a plethora of paramedics obscuring Keith’s view. Sarah calls, then Nick, and Keith loses his voice entirely before his plane is boarding.
His manager calls halfway through the flight to offer her condolences and make sure he’s going to be on his plane to Baltimore tonight for their next show. Keith tells her no and hangs up.
No one he talks - rasps - to has any answers about Ellis’s condition, but Keith’s going to get them himself in a few hours.
Ellis sits on the bank, clumsy fingers jabbing themselves with the needle on every other awkwardly slow stitch he makes. The white-feathered beauties on the lake’s black surface loiter without taking notice of his efforts, occasionally dunking into the water in search of a morsel before the blue hue in the sky calls for sleep. His tongue protrudes from the corner of his mouth, the slight narrowing of his gaze the only emotion visible in his expressions after two long years without a trickle of sound from his lips. Better not to smile or even frown when his tongue is caged by obligation; a single word and the one swan he’s prone to watching will remain cursed forever.
The swan in question moves closer to the bank, an unnaturally blue eye fixed on Ellis’s silent ministrations. Its graceful neck unfurls as its head lifts, flat feet coming up onto the grassy slope of the bank, its rotund body shaking free of water with an abrupt shiver and a soft, warbled noise like a purr and a hiccup combined.
Ellis greets it only with a nod, returning to his work.
When Keith steps closer, it is on bare human feet, his gait unbalanced as he comes to stand beside his lover. He sits a little heavily, knees raising to obscure some of his nudity, and leans into Ellis for warmth. He’s forgotten how to talk, Ellis thinks, without anyone to talk to; or maybe it hurts him to talk like it hurts Ellis not to. They don’t look at each other anymore, just watch the stars emerge on the vast ink spill of the sky and try not to think too much about magic and misery.
When warm skin is replaced by sleek feathers, Ellis lifts a hand to pet his companion’s long neck, careful not to smear some of his bloodied fingertips on the pure snow white.
It shouldn’t be long now – maybe a few more months of Dave watching him questioningly as though expecting him to break, his mother petting his curls and mourning his muteness, Abby wishing for her son without closure Ellis could provide if only he could talk. A few more months spent running from jokes that might trick his laughter free and biting his tongue on the urge to share a story. A few more months of sleeping alone with the window open to the lake and the soft grumbled hums of the swans in their gaggles.
A few more months.
