thewordofweb | (no subject)

(no subject)

There are just some things in the world that shouldn't be what they are.

For instance, I am sure that when I went to bed with my arms around Joe's waist, I hadn't worn red silk boxers, I hadn't strewn the bed with rose petals, and Joe wasn't wearing those...well, those. The bed, even, is dressed in different sheets and I rub at my eyes and sit up, trying desperately to ignore the fact that there are candles burning in the dim light of dawn and soft classical music playing.

"Fuck," I whine softly and yank at the covers (which have inexplicably turned to red silk), burying myself under them with a groan and de-settling too many rose petals to explain, ignoring the orchids and roses in vases around the room. I press my face against Joe's bare back and let out a muffled sound, trying to ignore the fact that I'm fairly sure I saw baby oil sitting on the dresser under a stack of love poetry.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Joe doesn't wake up so much as stir, reaching back with one hand to touch Web's hip, squeezing lightly.

"S'too goddamn early to be awake, Webster," he murmurs, turning his face more firmly into the pillow.

Even my own skin smells scented, as if tinged with jasmine and...sandalwood? I groan a little more and tighten my arms around his waist, pulling in closer as the music seems to take a shift from classical to some obscure old love song I must have heard on the radio ages ago, when I was just a kid. "Joe, someone broke into my room," I protest and burrow my nose against his neck, not wanting to move.

"Somebody else?" says Joe, who's pretty much starting wandering in when he feels like it. He opens his eyes and lifts his head, staring at the bunch of roses about three inches from his nose.

"Is it me or do you smell more like a broad than usual?"

"Fuck off," I spit out against his shoulder, lips securely fastened right there, ready to fall back to sleep and ignore the mess of the room and the way it seems to be driving at a message. And I don't even want to think about why there's a mirror on the ceiling above the four-poster canopy bed. "And yes, somebody else I'm not currently dating."

Joe squints up at both of them in the ceiling, lying there in the pool of red silk sheets. His eyebrows raise and his mouth works, just for a moment.

"...Is that a fuckin' mirror?"

Somehow, of all the things that have suddenly gone wrong in my room, I'm not entirely surprised that this is the one that Joe fixates on. "Yes, Joe," I mumble tiredly, sprawling onto my back and staring up at my reflection in it, t-shirt riding up to show a strip of skin. "Someone broke in," I sigh, groaning and shifting to get up and change, ducking the plush fur rugs and opening my closet.

"Oh, what the fuck?" I howl in annoyance.

Too busy looking under the sheet at the underwear with fuckin' hearts on them, Joe doesn't really hear Web. He looks up, his eyebrows raised.

"What's the matter with you now?"

"Besides the fact that my clothes were replaced with silks," I say, tossing the first suit out onto the bed. "Besides my bed being tossed out for a princess' fantasy." Another. "And besides the flowers and the smelling salts and the roses and the music." I yank out a tux and scowl at it before shoving it on the pile. "All my clothes are gone and replaced with...with...these!" I tug on a silk pink button-down, yanking it on and sliding up the sleeves, because it doesn't seem like anything else is suitable.

I groan and head back to the bed and start shaking off the rose petals from the...

"I know what it is," I say instantly, the second the lightning bolt epiphany occurs. "I'm such an idiot," I groan and sigh, hand pressed to Joe's chest as I stare down at him, leaning down to kiss him once on the lips.

Joe gives up the inspection of his own boxers and lets the sheet pool back around his waist, looking up just in time to catch Web's kiss on his lips.

"So? You gonna enlighten me?"

I shake my head at my inherent stupidity and get up to slide into a pair of navy blue trousers, glancing over my shoulder as my hair curls on my forehead, slipping there. "Happy Valentine's Day, Joe," I wish him with a grin on my lips, leaning back against the somehow-now-pink walls.

"I don't suppose you're feelin' fuckin' brave enough to go check my clothes, are ya?" says Joe, flopping back to lie down again, face turned to one side.

Tugging on a pair of socks and shoes, I run a hand through my hair and duck into the mirror to glance at my reflection, judging it as decent enough, even if it's fancier than what I would wear on any normal given day. Leaning into his door, I glance into his room and snort, digging through the closet and returning with a pinstriped shirt, pair of corduroys and waistcoat. "Just...trust me," I offer to him, not mentioning the presence of a cupid-esque fountain in the midst of it all. "Come on, get dressed so we can get out of here and I can retain my sanity. Bitte?"

"You're kidding me," says Joe, sitting up and rooting through the clothes that Web's handed him. "This is seriously the best it is? Jesus Christ."

He gets out of bed, heart-printed underwear hanging on his skinny hips.

"It's gonna be a fuckin' long day, isn't it?"

I turn away to give Joe privacy as he dresses, not wanting to intrude on him, keeping my eyes on the art in my room that seems to be vaguely erotic and more than disturbing at the same time. "That's why we should get out of here. We can go hide somewhere that doesn't have cherry blossoms falling all over the gazebo."

Such as their backyard.

Joe pulls on all of the clothes that he was handed, vest included, and pulls on his sneakers.

"Cherry blossoms? You're fuckin' kidding me."

"God, I wish I were," I bemoan with a sigh, leaning a hand out to grab Joe's and yank him up off the bed, sliding it around his waist for the three point five seconds we have before we're back out in public and we can no longer do things like that.

I let his hand fall from mine as I open the door to the hall and coax him out the back way. "Maybe the orchards are fine. We can just hide out and talk or something," I suggest.

Joe leans into Web for the three, four steps it takes to get to the door and then he walks ahead of him down the hallway, hands in his pants pockets.

"You want me to hang out. And talk. In a vest. How queer do you need me to look today, Webster?" says Joe, grinning over his shoulder, obviously teasing.

"We could go see if there are darts lying around?" I suggest, finding that a slightly better alternative. "The curling rink to throw a stone around until this abates?" With that, I slide the door shut behind us, smiling half-heartedly and letting out the smallest of sighs.

"You look amazing," I say, wishing I could do something about it.

"So you want to make me look like a queer Canadian?" A few paces ahead, Joe stops and looks back over his shoulder, his smile making him looking pretty much like an adolescent boy for a moment.

"...You don't look so bad yourself."

"Then what do you want to do?" I ask, long-suffering and acting as though Joe is the very bane of my existence, as if that smile doesn't make something fall in my stomach and send a shiver down my back, as if those words aren't as welcome as they are.

"I'm wearing pink," I point out in disgust.

"You think I hadn't noticed?" says Joe, with a broad grin. "I'm hangin' around with you, dressed like that. I'm pretty sure I ain't gonna look any queerer today."

Joe shrugs and reaches out, touching the back of Web's neck while there's nobody in the corridor but them.

"You hungry?"

"Why am I with you?" I ask myself rhetorically as I manage a cocksure grin in Joe's direction, following his lead as I push up the pink sleeves a little more, following until the kitchen comes into view.

My murmur of agreement is quiet, though my whole body is shivering in reply to Joe's light touch and my mouth falls open as I stare at nothing but his lips, licking my own before heading to the kitchen. And finding...well, it's almost as if a sugar confectionary store exploded and threw up at once. And produced this.

"I hope you didn't want anything of substance," I say, dumbfounded, frozen shut in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Because I've got a natural talent for giving head, and..."

Joe stops dead behind Web, staring.

"Jesus Christ." He blinks again and shoves one hand straight back through his hair.

"One of us is goin' into sugar-shock."

Days ago, I'd have protested that 'giving head' should not have a proper direct translation in German, and yet, Joe's proven me wrong on that count. "Yeah," I agree, reaching back to make sure Joe doesn't run me over. I glance back with a trepidatious and worried look on my face.

"One or both," I say, edging inside the room and shooting Joe a wary grin. "Wanna steal a bunch and bring it back?"

Joe thinks about it for a moment and then grins, leaning in against Web for a split second, hips against his ass.

"Sure. Why the hell not? Some of this shit looks pretty damn good."