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Jimmy wasn't much of a party person.
Too quiet unless he drank too much and got too loud. Then the blackout. And then the black pit of nameless shame, in a foetal position in bed, unless Curly was going to be nice enough to sit by his bed in understanding silence, or get him some greasy pizza eaten on top of the box that it came in.
Curly might not do that though. No, because tonight he had a new friend, one who had taken Jimmy's seat in the couch when he went to take a piss. The guy was just a random student much like the rest of them, but older, built like a barrel and hairy like an ape, and with a stupid t-shirt that said I'm so high right now with art of an astronaut who was similarly buzzed as the partygoers around them. He looked to be in his thirties, and he'd probably flunked more exams than Jimmy, who was twenty-four.
Jimmy stood in the hall and watched them like an obnoxious tv-commercial selling happiness. He emptied the last dreg of his beer. Held it in his mouth until it warmed. The bubbles prickled like bees.
The bastard squeezed Curly's biceps as if he had any right to do so, and suggested that they'd go swimming together sometime, loud enough to be heard through the chatter and the pulse thumping in Jimmy's head. It seemed like the guy was flirting. Curly didn't know any better and grinned. He rarely made good decisions for himself no matter how many times Jimmy warned him.
Swallowing, Jimmy considered getting another beer and then having a chat with the swimmer. But he couldn't afford another altercation if he wanted to keep his place at the academy. And he did.
So, he decided to lock himself into Curly's dorm room, familiar with it as though it was his own. Curly had gotten him a copy of the key in case he lost his own. Jimmy made good use of it.
One of the societal rules that never made much sense to him as a kid was how someone's else's stuff remained theirs when it wasn't in use. Like how his older sisters locked him out of their rooms because they didn't want his boy boogers all over their girly shit.
His mom chided him, "How would you have liked if it was your stuff they took without asking?"
He frowned and answered, "I wouldn't care. My stuff's cheap. Breaks easily. Worthless."
She hadn't liked that answer, but she'd been on the way out to one of her three part-time jobs. That was how he remembered her, always on her way out of his life. His sisters were the same, all four of them, mouthing ew and slamming their doors in his face. Nothing much had changed since then.
Curly's stuff was special though. His room was, too. More like a suite.
Luxury products in his personal bathroom. Expensive workout gear beside the king-size bed. A walk-in wardrobe on the other side of it. Hell, Curly's mother had seen to that his first name was embroidered into all of his organic cotton boxers, but she couldn't hug her son without grimacing and asking why he didn't use the perfumes that she'd bought him. Jimmy was glad that Curly didn't, and actively discouraged it, arguing that it soured a man's natural pheromones.
When in a black mood, Jimmy liked sorting through Curly's stuff. It felt like browsing a luxury boutique, a world far away from his own, but a world he might conquer if - no, after - he graduated. The best part was finding spots where his and Curly's worlds aligned and twisted and knotted together. Like the cheap hand lotion on the nightstand, the rim of the jar greasy and full of hairs no matter how much one tried to clean it, Jimmy knew because he'd recommended it to Curly.
The best place for the sorting was the wardrobe. Behind the grooved doors was a world of fancy shirts and dress pants on velvet hangers, and on the floor, the sweatshirts, sweatpants and other workout gear that was far more worn. Jimmy was pulled inside by the latter, grabbing a pair of wrinkled shorts near the back of the closet and putting it to his nose, finding traces of Curly's sweat and musk among the clean laundry smell, like gifts. There wasn't much in his head except that scent, but on the exhale, he reasoned that it was just to make sure his friend had imperfections.
He was caught in another inhale when the door handle rattled.
If the closet hadn't been near same wall as the door, both facing the bed, Jimmy might've been spotted before he'd shut the doors to the closet. He prepared himself to jump out to scare Curly and laugh it off like a joke, before he saw the swimmer through the grooves of the closet door.
"Niiice," Swimmer said, eyes lingering in the direction of the bed and the exercise equipment. "Ah, it's almost like a miniature home gym. It's smaller than mine, but you've made the most of it."
"Is that an innuendo," Curly said, beginning confident and getting awkward towards the end.
"Oh," Swimmer said, turning towards Curly as if considering him anew. All that damn black hair - on his face, on his head, on his arms - made it hard to discern his expression. He ought to get a haircut.
Curly's eyes widened, a stark blue against his slight blush, "Oh. Sorry. Did I misunderstand?"
What.
"No, don't worry. I was just ... charmed. You're charming, hey. Wanna skip right to it?"
"Yeah," Curly said with relief, locking the door before he sat down on the bed, taking off his shoes.
What.
"Any particular preference?" Swimmer asked while kicking off his own boots.
"I can do both," Curly answered while unbuttoning his shirt, not breaking the eye contact.
What.
"Then I'll top," Swimmer said, something shifting in his eyes, hardening. "Got safety? And lube?"
"Yeah, over here," Curly said, folding his shirt before he twisted around and crawled over the bed.
What. What. What.
Jimmy felt like his head was imploding.
Swimmer crawled after Curly, fast enough to mount him like a dog. He was short but thick and even his knuckles were hairy, groping the swell of Curly's ass through his pants.
"Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Damn boy."
Curly's face was self-contained like always, but his lip quirked. He didn't seem deterred by the groping, simply getting out a condom wrapper and the hand lotion. The very same one that Jimmy had recommended him, and had used for similar purposes, though always alone. Honestly, he'd kind of assumed that Curly was so prim and proper that the ugliness of human sexuality was beneath him. To not vocalize his shock, Jimmy pressed Curly's shorts against his mouth, biting into the fabric.
"How do you like it?" Swimmer asked.
"Hard and fast. But no pain, please. At least not excessively so."
Swimmer grunted, either in acknowledgement, or just awe as he pulled down Curly's pants, exposing his ass. Jimmy felt a wave of dizziness go through him, and he swayed along with the clothes, thankfully moving the coat hangers slowly enough to not make the wire scrape too noisily against the wood.
Curly had handed Swimmer the lotion, and Jimmy could almost smell the sweet, faintly honeyed scent, as it was made from pure beeswax. His insides twisted weirdly when Swimmer dipped a thick finger into the jar and then between Curly's ass cheeks, to a place Jimmy had never seen. It felt invasive to see it. Like Swimmer was a kind of thief that needed to be punished somehow.
"You done this before?"
"A couple of times," Curly lied.
Jimmy spotted the lie in the curve of Curly's brow, and he clung to its existence. He couldn't believe that his only friend had hidden this part of himself for so long. It kind of hurt. If it was anyone else, Jimmy might've been downright disgusted by such preferences, but this was Curly, whose clothes he could smell without it meaning anything except that the other was -
"Perfect," Swimmer said. "Tell me if it hurts too much."
Teeth bared, Jimmy stretched out his neck, like he could bite and eat the words out of Swimmer's bearded mouth. But the layers of clothing hanging near his face were like ghostly hands stroking him, petting his twisted features back into a scowl. He took several slow lungfuls of Curly's scent.
Curly himself was busy getting debased, on all fours, ass up. He was wearing nothing but his pants at his ankles, while the one behind him was fully dressed except his cock hanging out of his jeans. At least it was nothing special. His hands were big though, working at Curly's ass, spreading him and moving two fingers in and out. Curly's lip curled in discomfort, but he pushed back into it, mumbling a thanks when Swimmer used a hand to pull his pants off his ankles so he could spread his legs.
As though he was watching a porno, a normal porno, Jimmy tried to ignore the man and focus on the girl. Because despite being taller and more muscled, Curly acted the part of the girl, here.
"Oh, that's it. Still tight, but we're getting there. You okay?"
"Yeah," Curly said through gritted teeth, legs trembling, the elastic of his waistband highlighting the flesh. He had nice thighs, especially when spread like this, and a nice back, arching like that.
Jimmy used the hand that wasn't holding the bundled-up cloth, to reach down and find himself, like some kind of incidental self-soothing. He was wearing the same sweatpants as Curly had been, except green and not white, and it had pilling that made the texture more soothing for his palm.
Curly lowered his front so he was chest down, presenting his ass up to Swimmer. Swimmer slapped himself against it with the hand that wasn't fingering Curly open. He muttered a few low things that Jimmy couldn't catch, and Curly reddened all over. His cheeks, his chest, his upper arms, splotches on his back. To compare him to a statue or a poem or some shit like that wouldn't do him justice. He was Curly; perfectly imperfect Curly, whose large cock was swinging and hardening for every thrust of those thick fingers. Like he was aching for it. Like he needed something deep inside.
Jimmy slipped a hand into his pants because his balls itched. He palmed them because he liked the weight of himself, knowing - seeing - they were larger than Curly's. Jimmy's dick wasn't, not when they were both erect like now, but Jimmy was bigger than Swimmer and that mattered.
The sight of a condom being put on nearly made his arousal kneel over and die. The condom was such an ugly and unnatural thing, a piece of plastic, pink like bubblegum. At least Curly wouldn't get any of those mutated chlamydia strains, and Jimmy hoped it made the sex drier and more painful.
Hissing, Curly showed his bright white teeth as Swimmer began to push inside him.
Just the tip at first, and then deeper, waiting until Curly had adjusted before he continued.
When Swimmer leaned closer to Curly, kissing the side of his neck, Curly pulled away.
"Don't leave marks," he said with a clear and unquestionable authority, defined by authority's innate aspect to only appear at times where it was needed.
"I won't," Swimmer said, kissing more gently. "I promise."
Jimmy felt strange. He still kind of itched. A different kind of itch. Only when he put the cloth down inside his sweatpants, did it subside somewhat. The fabric was damp from his own breath, and he rocked against it, thankful that the closet was so new there were no creaking wooden boards.
"Try to relax," Swimmer said.
"This is how I like to relax," Curly said roughly, humor in his voice. His expression held a tinge of worry, but with a kind of determined air that he had during exams. If he were a virgin, which Jimmy believed, then he'd read up on this beforehand. That was typical of him.
"Think you can take a bit more? I mean. You said you liked it hard and fast."
"Go for it."
He seemed to regret his words a moment later because Swimmer didn't hold back. He wasn't violent, but as soon as Curly agreed, he escalated. The slapping noises intensified, but they wouldn't be heard outside, not with the chatter and music. But Jimmy heard it all and his face heated up.
Curly struggled to stay in control of himself, biting his lip at some points, before he did something with his position - or his hole, hidden by Swimmer's bush - that made it easier. Sweat dripped off his muscles, giving them a familiar shine, which Jimmy had seen from the corner of his eye as the two of them worked out together, pushing each other to go harder and faster.
Jimmy's hand moved on its own, wrapping the cloth around him and using it as a sleeve. Silicone or skin would have been more comfortable, but it was nice, because it was Curly's. Besides, donating a pair of shorts was the least he could've done for making Jimmy endure seeing this shit.
Enduring his perfection, writhing underneath the weight of another, opening up for it. Enduring their differences, because Jimmy would never let himself get treated like this, but it was ... fascinating to watch. Jimmy wondered how tight Curly was, whether or not his hole was strained around the intrusion. Clenching prettily, struggling deftly. Perfect in his ruin, his wreck of a friend.
"Can you lay down on your back?" Swimmer asked, ruining the illusion, also with how he pulled out and started pulling at Curly's thighs. "I wanna see your face when I fuck you."
"Sure," Curly said, ever the pliant partner, allowing Swimmer to push him on to his back. Stretching out, raising his ass when Swimmer put a pillow beneath it. Like that, Swimmer could lift him up better with a hold on his ankles and slip back inside.
"Shi-" Curly began before he cut himself off, the new angle bringing him more discomfort. "Sorry."
"Good boy," Jimmy whispered as if it was him Curly submitted to.
"Don't apologize," Swimmer muttered, rocking into him with trembling hips, not pulling out entirely but remaining as deep as he could while still moving. "You're so cute, not wanting to curse."
Jimmy felt a sense of loss, because those were his words to say, except he'd make them sexier, he wouldn't say cute, no, he'd use stupid, and compare Curly to a bitch (his mouth formed the words), because he'd probably like that. He'd show Curly just how dirty they both were and how they belonged together in the dark, and he wouldn't slow down, he'd plunge into him with long masculine sweeps, also because his cock was bigger and more deserving of such an experience.
"Touch yourself," Swimmer said.
Curly grabbed himself, jerking off mechanically like he wasn't all that concerned with his own climax. No, of course not, even in a similar situation where he'd been the man and not the girl, he'd probably be more concerned with servicing the other person. He was a giver by nature. Maybe leaders were like that, sacrificing themselves for the whole picture, another aspect of authority being submission.
As he copied their rhythm, Jimmy felt sorry for Curly, because he thought anyone could care for him. Swimmer was just using him for his own ends. Maybe he'd seen the big room and felt jealous, where Jimmy only felt a strong motivation to do and be better.
"You're lovely," Swimmer said in a heartfelt moment among the roughness.
Curly smiled up at him, and his eyes gained an unmistakable edge of old confidence.
Without him really thinking about it, Jimmy formed a gun with his fingers. He pointed them towards Swimmer's head, or in its general direction, because his black hair and beard were such a mess. He imagined shooting him and seeing them thickened by blood and decorated with skull bits, and those thrusts coming to a full stop. The bullet holes in the closet doors would let Jimmy see the scene in full, no longer obscured by grooves like wooden prison bars.
Curly would lay there, wide-eyed, stained red in the blood of a lesser man and filled by the cock of a corpse, until Jimmy burst out of the closet and shoved Swimmer so he fell back like a thief on a cross. Curly would grunt at the loss and then scream when Jimmy shoved into him. Maybe the act would be slicked up by the blood. Jimmy would use spit if he'd need to. He liked it natural after all.
It still wouldn't be enough, and Curly would bite his lips because of the drying friction, but Jimmy wouldn't let him bite them because all those swollen things were his. Everything of Curly's was Jimmy's, he'd twist him around and chew on his lips and tongue until he got it through his thick skull.
With a growl that he barely held back, Jimmy came into Curly's shorts.
"Did you hear – that?" Curly gasped.
Jimmy's mind froze, though his hips kept moving as he kept spilling, more of it than usual.
"Too busy listening to you," Swimmer said, taking breaks between every word, clearly close.
When he came, it was with the ugliest sound in the world, a long uuugh shiiit. At least he was precise: it was a shit show, not making Curly come first even if he had the means to do so.
Jimmy stared into the shadows, his finger-gun falling apart as Curly laughed softly.
"Damn, I haven't come that quick since I was a teenager," Swimmer said, still laughing a minute later, some redness noticeable among the black hair. He had moved off the bed to throw away the condom, but as he came back, he said, "Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about you."
Jimmy's eyes became half-lidded. He wasn't really interested. His own orgasm hadn't been all that great. It had shuddered through him and then broken. But he couldn't help frown when Swimmer crawled towards Curly, motioning for him to get on his back, with a new obscene intention. Jimmy's lips curled above his teeth. Well. At least the bastard was cleaning up after himself.
Kissing Curly's hole. Eating him out. Sucking at the sensitive skin with a noise that was even more grotesque than the others. The beard must be giving the skin around his hole rug burns, leaving marks he had no right to do, and the worst part was that Curly seemed to like it.
"Jesus," Curly said and chuckled, but he was jerking himself off with more intention now.
Jimmy felt cold, his sweat rapidly cooling, running down his back. His come cooled too, near his cock.
As he saw Curly get closer to his climax, Jimmy pulled the shorts out of his pants, but not before giving himself a good rub so his spend didn't cling to his skin. It should've clung to Curly's.
In a fit of strange resentment – narrowed eyes constantly flickering towards Curly's blissful face – he started smearing his sweat and his semen on Curly's clothes. The resentment was a like pit in his stomach, one that had been hollowed out inside him over many years, making him careful and precise like he was enacting a subconscious plan of revenge. He tried to get pieces of himself all over everything, both Curly's used workout gear and his formal shirts, even if it was just a salty drop here and there. He had to be quiet, wringing the shorts, getting some on to his fingers, which were wet like tongues, touching and prodding all over the closet.
"Fuck," Curly breathed, and Jimmy's eyes flew to him, his own soft, wet cock jerking in time with Curly spilling all over his belly, fattier at the exhale and muscled on the inhale.
When Swimmer leaned in to lick it up, Jimmy took a step forward before he caught himself. Another inch and two and he'd opened the closet doors. He'd never been this close to murder before.
Curly, oversensitive and overstimulated, tried to push Swimmer's head away, but his arms fell back above his head when Swimmer made a "Mm," sound like he was really enjoying the taste of Curly.
When he stretched out, his red face fell towards the side towards the closet.
Behind the messy blonde curls, his pupils were blown, bitten lips parted.
Like he was staring right at Jimmy and daring him to do something better.
The pull of him was hypnotizing. It took all of Jimmy's disgust – mostly at the one whose presence was like a miasmic cloud of disease – to stay still. He couldn't even touch himself, because he'd never come twice since he was too hormonal to function, and he was functioning, going to pilot school though no one believed in him except the friend who he'd just watched get fucked.
By a freak, who was kissing Curly's abs, only to travel higher to suck at a nipple. With Curly raising himself up a bit, the flesh was made more supple, and Swimmer nibbled at his tits.
Curly smiled, and he looked politely interested when Swimmer trailed to the side and then higher, before his mouth opened in a perfect o when Swimmer licked underneath his armpit. He stayed there, burying his face in the blonde hair. Jimmy had never seen that done before and never felt the need to do it to anyone, except when he saw Swimmer doing it, breathing in like with honeyed air.
Jimmy's mouth watered, especially when Curly flexed his arm to allow further exploration, clearly enjoying the ministrations, grinning when Swimmer leaned in for a – nasty, nasty, nasty – kiss.
"You taste good," Swimmer said low in his throat. "You smell good, too."
"Thank you," Curly said against Swimmer's lips, before beginning a lazy, filthy make out session. Even if he hadn't fucked anyone or been fucked before, he clearly knew how to kiss. He commanded Swimmer's mouth easily and controlled the shift of their positions so they were side by side, all the better for Curly to plunge his tongue around like he liked the taste of himself.
Inexplicably hungry, Jimmy found himself licking the back of his own teeth.
He took a step backwards. He began shaking so badly he was afraid to stand against the wall behind him or make the clothes hangers move too much. But considering how loud the two men on the bed were, he was probably safe. There were more clothes in the back, damping the sound of his break, and that was what kept him sane: the act of sweating all over Curly's clothes.
The kisses died down and was replaced by conversation. Curly asked questions and Swimmer answered them. Jimmy tried to let it filter in one ear and out of the other, but he caught mentions of Swimmer recently quitting an intense job to study space biology, a relatively new field. Mostly strains of bacteria, which mutated fast and needed to be studied. It was the least sexy bedroom talk ever, but Curly seemed interested, especially at the increasing resistance of new space strains.
"But enough of that. I'm pretty direct, and you seem to be too, so ... Wanna do this again sometime?"
Jimmy tensed all over. His heart began to thump like it'd done in the living room.
He felt as though he was six years old again and standing in the hallway of his childhood home at night, looking at the locked doors to his sisters' rooms and the open one at the end, his mother's room empty because she was working. That was when the pit began to grow in his stomach. It was also when he had begun to realize that his life was a hallway of locked doors and empty rooms.
"I'm not looking, really," Curly said eventually. "My studies take up most of my time. Sorry."
Jimmy breathed out a great sigh of relief. His cheeks hurt from how wide his sneer became, and his teeth itched in a similar way to how his balls had done. To stifle the feeling, he bit into a random new piece of cloth, pushing his tongue against a slit in the fabric, in and out.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Swimmer said, but though warm, there was a wistful undertone. "I'll leave my card though, if that's okay. If you ever change your mind. No pressure though."
"A card?" Curly asked teasingly, reaching out. "Didn't know you were that old school."
Swimmer had to get out of the bed to properly get to a specific pocket of his cargo pants. He took out the card, and then he gave it to Curly. Curly twisted on to his back and held it with two hands.
"Oh wow. No wonder you're so fit."
"It's actually the opposite," Swimmer said ruefully. "All that jumping, climbing and running fucked up me up pretty badly. My physiotherapist recommended swimming, and changing fields."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Again, no need to apologize. Especially not after showing me such a good time. You need anything?"
"No, I'll ... I'll be out in a minute. Thanks. You?"
"Nah, I'm good. Craving a beer, that's all. See you around, pretty boy."
As far as awkward goodbyes could go it wasn't the worst, but it was certainly not the best. There was a lot of negations, a lot of no sorry not for me, which made Jimmy bite down in satisfaction.
"See you," Curly said, giving Swimmer another one of those grins, both secretive and strangely skeletal. It lasted until he was alone, and then it fell off his face, which finally returned to normal.
Biting harder, Jimmy shook his head like a dog with a chewing toy or a smaller animal. He enjoyed it as he saw Curly's expression become blander, like how people looked when they thought no one was watching them, the muscle twitches moved not by performance but simply private thoughts.
Curly's face remained bland, and had the characteristic edge of looking tired, dreamy and sad. There was a new twist to it, but Jimmy couldn't decipher whether it was shame, guilt or disappointment. He looked down on his body not with pride, but with a critical distance towards it, like he had expected more of it. He looked like that during workouts sometimes. Like he didn't get that it was just a vessel. Jimmy understood it better than he did. He didn't exactly like to see Curly sad, but it was better than to see him grinning at some stranger. At the memory of Swimmer, Jimmy spat out the fabric.
It fell before he had a chance to catch it, landing on the floor of the closet with a wet thump.
Curly looked up, expression growing guarded.
Jimmy held his breath as Curly walked closer, grabbing his clothes on the way, dressing quickly as if to assess a threat. Jimmy was all the way in the back, but he could still see those thin horizontal shafts of light, cutting up Curly's face as it came close. Eyes wide, a pale blue that felt otherworldly. There was a slight humidity to them that showed his exhaustion.
Then, he tilted his head to the side, so that Jimmy could only see one of his eyes, staring. It made Jimmy think of his mother's nazar necklace. He didn't remember what kind of evil spirits it was meant to guard her from, but he did imagine one of Curly's eyes hanging like a noose around his own neck.
Curly reached for the door. Hesitated. Slowly, he backed away.
"No," he said and shook his head, features twisting similarly yet also differently than before.
For some reason Jimmy's heart sank while the rest of him felt relief.
Curly walked away from the closet and opened the window. It was a good move, vanquishing the stink of the man. Jimmy wrapped the clothes more around him because he didn't want them to lose the scent of them, nor that they lose the scent of him. Curly looked outside, into the night, and the smog from the city guaranteed there being no moon and no stars. Then he left the room.
Three minutes later, Jimmy exited the closet. The cold air made him shudder, especially with how hot he'd been a moment ago, the sweat on his skin cooling him quicker. The curtains blew in the wind. The night outside was pitch black, welcoming, but he couldn't leave just yet.
The business card on the nightstand identified Swimmer as a former firefighter. Jimmy only noticed that because of the photo, uncaring for all the other details as he ripped up the card. The pieces fell upon the bed like rotten rose petals, but as soon as they'd all fallen, Jimmy snatched them up again. He didn't want them to touch the scene of the crime, nor to exist at all really.
He squeezed his own nose shut as he ate the pieces of the card because he didn't want to taste the remains of Swimmer. Beyond the soggy paper and the chemical dyes, there was the certainty that this was the only way to vanquish Swimmer from Curly's life, to make him forget about all this. Swallowing them down felt like hell, but someday, Curly would thank him for it.
As he was about to leave, he found Curly's old pair of boxers, kicked halfway underneath the bed in a stupid attempt at modesty. Jimmy raised a brow. Previous times he'd stopped short of going through Curly's laundry basket during his sorting, this couldn't compare, right? It was like a gift.
He smirked as he found Curly's name embroidered in the back of the boxers. He scratched the threads out, one by one, and threw them in the trash. He breathed in deep one last time, and then he shoved the boxers back into his sweatpants, flattening them out like a secret layer around him.
And then he slipped out the open window. It wouldn't be the first or the last time he took this route, in and out of Curly's life, hiding in the blackness of the endless night that lay ahead of them.