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Doug shuffled his feet like a small child, his middle and forefinger unconsciously rubbing at his upper lip. He was happy for Tom; finding true love was never easy. What the young officer wasn't sure about was Hanson's choice of partner, after all, Booker's infidelity was common knowledge around the Chapel. He was a gi... |
With Tom's dark, penetrative gaze boring into him, Doug sought to reassure his friend. "Nothing's changed, buddy. I am happy for you. It's just... is it only Booker you're attracted to, or do you feel something for other men too?" |
Tom knew Doug well enough to know it was not his intention to behave like a prick. The young officer was genuinely curious, and therefore, he decided not to take offense at the inappropriateness of the question. "I dunno, I never really thought about it," he muttered, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. |
But as his eyes flitted nervously around the room, his gaze settled on Harry, and a devilish grin tilted his lips. The opportunity presented to him was too perfect to ignore, and deciding to stir the pot, his eyes roved hungrily over Ioki's taut body. "You know, now you mention it, Harry's kinda cute." |
Penhall's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and a nervous smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Um, really? So, does that mean you fancy me too?" |
It was a typical response by those who were not part of the LGBTIQ community. For some reason, they nearly always seemed to think that those in same-sex relationships lusted after everyone on the planet of the same gender. However, rather than be affronted, it took all of Tom's willpower not to burst out laughing. But ... |
Hurt softened Penhall's eyes. "You don't think I'm cute?" he questioned with a sulky pout. |
The expression on Doug's face was beyond adorable, but Tom was not about to let his friend off the hook that easily. "No," he reiterated. "Not really." |
"Why not?" Doug pressed, a look of disbelief widening his eyes. "Plenty of other people think I am." |
"Sorry," Tom replied with a shrug. "I guess you're just not my type." |
Caught up in a wave of narcissism, Penhall missed the teasing twinkle shining from Tom's eyes. "But why?" he whined. "What is it about me you don't like?" |
Without breaking character, Tom placed a finger against his lips and carefully studied Doug's face. "I think it might be your hair... no, wait, it's your eyes; they're kinda shifty." |
The moment finally dawned, and Doug suddenly realized his friend was taking the piss. A broad smile spread across his handsome face, and he swatted his friend with his hand. "Asshole," he chided with a chuckle. "You really had me going for a minute." |
After several seconds, Tom's amused expression transformed into a look of concern. "We're okay, aren't we?" he asked quietly. "I mean, I know it's a lot to take in, but it's not going to change things between us, is it?" |
Penhall's expression softened, and he placed a companionable hand on his friend's shoulder. "Of course not," he reassured gently. "We're the McQuaids, remember? Nothing can break that bond." |
From a few feet away, Booker observed the conversation, his blackened eyes narrowing into resentful slits. Even though Penhall had thought he was protecting Tom, the dark-haired officer was still angry about the beating he had received, and the last thing he wanted to witness was a tête-à-tête between his antagonist an... |
Penhall opened his mouth in protest, but Booker ignored him and, grabbing Tom's upper arms, shoved him forcefully against a nearby filing cabinet. Before Hanson could object, he crushed his body against him, and without holding back, he pressed his mouth against the warmth of his lover's lips and kissed him possessivel... |
As their passion deepened, a cacophony of wolf whistles, catcalls, and approving claps resonated around the room, and embarrassed by the overt display of affection, Penhall made a hasty retreat to his desk. But when the kiss finally ended and the two men broke apart, he saw a look of utter devotion shining from Booker'... |
Therefore, when Booker turned and waggled his eyebrows in a provocative gesture, he pushed down the feeling of resentment he felt toward the smug officer and, taking a deep, calming breath, approached with an outstretched hand. "No hard feelings?" |
Dennis cast a wary eye at Doug, but when Tom jabbed him sharply in his bruised ribs, he inhaled a gasp of pain, and swallowing his pride, he briefly shook the proffered hand. "Sure." |
Dozens of officers watched on with growing curiosity, their work temporarily forgotten as they waited to see what would happen next. Eventually, it was Tom who broke the awkward silence, and placing a hand on each man's shoulder, he grinned impishly. "So, drinks tonight? That way, Penhall, you can ask all the inappropr... |
An amused grin twitched at Booker's lips, but his bravado remained intact. "Whatever," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. |
More than anything, Tom wanted the two most important people in his life to get along, and turning his attention to his best friend, he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Doug?" |
It was a defining moment in Doug and Tom's relationship, and the audience of officers watched on with bated breath. "Okay, Hanson," Penhall replied, a slow smile brightening his face. "But you're buying." |
A collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the room. It had been touch and go for a moment, but it was the two men's unwavering love for Tom that had ultimately brought them together. |
Genre: cartoons |
'Til Human Voices Wake Us |
A Wee Foray Into Dariarotica |
by |
Mr. Bigglesworth |
Chapter 1 |
Charles was dreaming about the mermaids again. He knew it was a dream partly because he'd had it—or variations on it—before, partly because there were no beaches like this obviously tropical one anywhere near Lawndale, but mainly because there was simply no way these were costumes he was looking at. |
Beginning just below the belly button of each of the lovelies he was surrounded by, the human skin made an impossibly smooth transition to iridescent scales. Were they green? Were they blue? They seemed to belong somewhere in that part of the spectrum, predominantly, but they threw off every color of the rainbow in the... |
Strangely, though, instead of feeling cold and scaly, these mermaids' tails felt as soft and warm as any human skin, contrasting with the cool feeling of the breaking surf, which kept running almost up to the level of his head as he lay naked on the beach. |
Funny how the dream seems to get more detailed and vivid each time I have it, thought Charles. |
He could tell that the mermaids felt soft and warm because one of them was reclining across his legs, just above the knees, and two others were lying atop each of his outstretched arms, effectively pinning him in place. Restraint wasn't always a theme in this dream, though it wasn't the first time it had occurred. |
The identity of the mermaids had also varied, though they were always—at least from the waist up—girls he knew or at least recognized. And he certainly recognized these. Across Charles' legs, resting her head on one hand, propped up with an elbow, was the lovely Tiffany Blum-Deckler, gazing vacantly (or perhaps she was... |
On his left arm, her tail section making sure it didn't leave the sand, was one of Miss Blum-Deckler's companions in fashion, the sleek, elegant, haughty, and, dare he say it, cruel Sandi Griffin. Similarly anchoring Charles' right arm was what he had come to regard as the second-loveliest of the Fashion Club members, ... |
So it was to be the Fashion Club this time, was it? But where was his favorite, the beautiful, yet shy Stacy Rowe? |
As if summoned (ah, dreams!), she was suddenly there, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her hands, just gazing at him, seeming to consider for a moment, then rolling atop him. The Stacy-mermaid lay with her body along the length of his, the end of her tail draped over the Tiffany-mermaid (who seemed not... |
'Stacy' did, however, begin to do something else: slowly at first, then gradually faster, with a sinuosity no real girl could possibly imitate, she began to wriggle the... well, the part of her that made her a mermaid... against him. This frottage was something new, but Charles found it a far from unwelcome variation a... |
As if reading Charles' mind (or as if he were dreaming), the Stacy-mermaid pushed the upper part of herself up away from him and, suddenly, there was a can of fudge sauce in her hand. She smiled knowingly down at him, tilted the can back and forth a few times, then poured it onto Charles' chest. When the sauce hit his ... |
'Stacy' continued pouring, laying a trail of fudge sauce down the centerline of Charles' torso, rolling herself from atop him as she did, and finished off the can by pouring the last of its contents over certain of Charles Ruttheimer III's most prized possessions. |
After pausing for a moment, seeming to appraise her handiwork, the Stacy-mermaid began, as had happened in many dreams before, with various mermaids, ever since the first time he'd had this dream years ago, to remove the fudge sauce from Charles' body with her lips and tongue. |
Sometimes before, the other mermaids had joined in, but as had usually been the case since that magic show he and the real Stacy had put on during Senior Year at Lawndale High, the others were little more than bystanders—and, a little unusually, restraints. This had definitely become Stacy's show. |
She made her way slowly down his belly, detouring, strangely, around his navel where some of the sauce had pooled, maintaining eye-contact the whole time. When she'd worked her way down as low as his hips, she started at the edge of the fudge sauce and worked her way inwards, with excruciating slowness, licking up ever... |
Then, at last, at last! Using just the lightest sips and flicks of her tongue tip, 'Stacy' removed the fudge sauce from Charles' most sensitive regions, till he was completely cleaned-off and groaning and straining, looking up at the amused faces of the Quinn and Sandi-mermaids as they giggled at his predicament. |
Finally, a voice: the first actual words anyone had spoken in the dream. "Gee, I hope I'm doing this right," said the Stacy-mermaid, in the same nervous-yet-excited tone Stacy had used when chaining him up for his escape from the trunk at their magic show. |
On hearing this, Charles looked down, and saw the Stacy-mermaid's nervous tone belied by the playfully mocking look in her eyes as she took him into her mouth. Charles' breath hissed through clenched teeth at the almost unbearable sensation of soft, hot wetness. Again he strained against the other mermaids' restraint, ... |
Again Charles let his head drop back, looking up at the sky and at 'Quinn' and 'Sandi' as the sensation built and built. Then he felt something different, something that made him look up suddenly into 'Stacy's face again: a sudden hardness amid the softness as she ever-so-lightly raked teeth along the entire length of ... |
Something else that's never happened before in this dream, thought Charles, and how did she know I liked that? |
As their eyes met, the Stacy-mermaid smiled up at him, her hair falling over one of her eyes. |
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