"Oil and Water"


a humoresque m/m fantasy 'duel'

Tidbits and teasers from my submission to the 2013  "Love Has No Boundaries" Event on the M/M Romance group at Goodreads. Warning: Explicit sexual themes. 


I have to add this stupid other warning because of recent events. My apologies to 99.99% of my revered readers: These words and characters are my own. I expect that simple moral and legal fact to be respected as you enter here. Else I will find you and chew your bits off. Unlike in fiction, that would not be pleasant for either person involved. So lookie no touchie, capiche.


Enjoy!

Teaser 1

Opening lines, originally (slightly changed meanwhile):


Towering bare-chested and glorious before the naked, dripping young man, the surfin’ messiah shook his long, trailing dreadlocks and heaved a way too sexy sigh. The young man himself silently responded, blinking several times through his massive specs and slowly getting hard. This was going to be a little complicated. Alas, there was nothing for it but to get to work. The hour that one secretly dreaded, three times a week, and the other fantasized about incessantly, was upon them. The scheduled appointment for Enzo’s deep-tissue massage. 

Teaser 2

The Setting:


Somewhere out there amongst the caverns, today, a real-life Big Bad Wolf, in an exceedingly rare but conclusive sighting, was prowling, which odd behaviour was — barely — audible to Jericho. Those faint noises were plenty blood-curdling, in that Jericho was able to make them out at all, let alone clearly. Just the two of them were shut up tight, in a chamber sound-proofed for privacy, which was moreover constructed, for all intents and purposes, to defy armageddon. All a-growl and a-scowl the Wolf was, scouring for any possible scent of a doomed goat to let scape for the quenching of his wrath. His minions thanked their own Fates, one by one, for being grumblingly spared as irreplaceable, though they were still in the shits.


The team had been ramping up for the imminent Asian tour, Morpheus Dawning, but preparations had stalled while deadlines were looming. The engineer was tearing her fiery red hair out by the roots; the taciturn computer genius was volubly cursing in choice unicode; the avuncular caterer was scowling from behind an untouched tray of mephistophelian baklava that everyone, usually, would rather bleed out for, fingerless, than quickly fetching a ‚band-aid‘ from Jericho first — and the boss Himself … who was as kind, queer and collected as Jericho was hot, empathic and straight, whose … 


… queerer, actually, were one to compare and contrast … (No effing way. I should know. And by the by, I can hear you just fine from in here.) Way. … whose habitual mien lay somewhere between that of a boddhisatva and an ice-pick — that one had at present morphed into one enormous, black bristle, stomping, huffing and puffing the whole carved-from-solid-rock place down. 

Better them than me, Jericho decided. This minute, I’d rather be right here: in a sticky little love nest, pressed up against a sweet kid who has a hard-on for me that I can’t help him with. 

Teaser 3

Bits and Bites:


Jericho was literally shocked; he collapsed in a heap, torso sprawled across Enzo's, hands flattened between them, face locked to Enzo’s greedy mouth.

...

He imagined he must be the love child, sort of, of a lesbian ménage-à-trois in outer space (not an unpleasant notion to him), among the unerring doctor, the empath and the … Whoopi. 

... hands cupped Jericho’s temples as he, Jericho, eagerly took another bottomless draught of the sweet, sexy boy … No, wait, that’s not what's happening here at all.

ashes to ashes rust to rust fountains of tears frozen wastes pillars of salt

Dust, not ‚rust,‘ Moron. Go away. No time right now, we’re rusting here. Rutting. Blazes to hell. Do I have to spell it out? I’m b-u-s-y riding my … his … Dude’s big fat juicy fruit shiny red corvette, so fuck off. 

Teaser 4

Further Tidbits, the first describing Jericho's early adulthood, the second Enzo's.


Perhaps he already dimly sensed some separate spiritual destiny; perchance he was searching for his personal kehuna: that devout priesthood of like-minded souls who would show him whether he belonged anywhere at all. But while gifted with boundless energy, spelling never was his forté, and neither was focus. So quite soon he became deeply distracted from his noble quest.

****

If what one wanted from him instead was verbal intercourse, but one preferred mumbled English over jumbled Italian (the proffered alternatives to impromptu sounds and signals), he’d manage to express through a heavy accent, that a thriving fish was ruined upon the stove by his silly sibling. Just a moment … that he hailed from a village of six houses, including barns, such as exist all over Sicily. Eventually, after much back and forth it would come to light, despite considerable skepticism and loudly reiterated short phrases (how did most of humanity inevitably intuit that what ailed myopic foreigners was actually their ear-canals?), that he wanted to be an electrician. 

POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD

I suggest you don't read anything below here unless you really want to find out more about the themes, plot and characters of the story before reading it. I may post, for example, deleted scenes that might give some of the game away more informatively than the above snippets do. Cheers.


___________________________________________________________________________________________

Deleted Segment

An epilogue I was toying with, but then most of these themes managed to express themselves in the body of the story. 


In which Jericho has a heart-to-heart with his … authority figure.



Um, excuse me.


Yes?


Still around, dude.


Apparently. Weird. Maybe if you stop, I don’t know. … Thinking?


Well. I’ve been thinking.


Aha!


No, I mean. About. Enzo. A lot.


Jericho, this is fiction. I was horsing around with you. Maybe if I went too far. I’m sorry. It’ll wear off. I promise. At least, I think. Not really sure, both of you are so -- 


Freakish, man, you can say it.


Unusual. A few days, weeks. You’ll be back to … normal. I … I thought I needed to teach you a lesson. I guess the way you came across, all … perfect and … full of it. Except for your little ‚hangups.‘ Thought I needed to get in there, fix some stuff. Stupid of me.


You really pulled a fast on me this time, you’re right about that  …


Shush! Trying to apologize here. Don’t ruin it. You are. Perfect. The way you are. The most content alone person I know. You’re also absurdly hot stuff ok and I was jealous and frankly I wanted to get up your ass.


Who doesn't, these days.


Metaphorically! There. 


Actually. I was going to ask whether Enzo's gonna be ok. I know you’re not supposed to tell us, like, endings or anything. I don’t wanna know, ok. It’s fine. But. See. I think I got into his head too. Not like him into me, but. After. Cause all of a sudden I’m. …  Just a little sweet on the guy, you know, and I'm worried that --


I told you. It’ll ... probably … fade.


Um, can you … make it … not. Fade?


Oh. If you like. If you’re sure. 


Y-Yeah. Actually. I am. 


Ok. You do know you’re … feeling ambivalent. And. Frankly. I think the effect he’s had on you. It’s a bit like the effect you have on him. Wanting to share, so bad. Having so much of it to share, you both have no, sorry, but … until I get to it, you have no … vessel to take the overflow. Your hearts are so full of love for the one (or severals or everybodies or whoever ends up being compatible with your own truth) that the … the love for everybody else, that you’re supposed to be able to … that’s your own free choice to give away, or not, depending on who you believe you are. ... Is spilling out all over. Shit, it’s too complicated. That’s why stories get written and not explanations. Stories are truer anyway because they are real, explanations are just … to explain things away most of the time. From your heart, into your head. Stories are … the other way around. Somehow. I’m just a writer, I can’t explain it. I just do it.


… 


You’re trying to say all of us, everybody, you me them, over here, in your parts, has too much love flowing through them to contain and unless they bottle it up or destroy it with hurt or greed or fear or for whatever fucked up reason, it’ll just keep flowing and flowing until you meet and recognize your true other(s) and then you’re complete but you still have enough left over because it’s in reality endless because it’s not really yours to parcel out or keep at all anyway and so you could give it all to the whole world five times over and would still be gushing with it. But once you’re complete and have fulfilled the primary purpose for why you were created, it’ll be your choice how you play the bonus levels. Crystal waters, Dude.


Wow.


Anyway, please, I need to know, will Enzo figure it out or have I fucked him up for good now. Because. I couldn’t live with that. If that’s what you’re planning to write, because it sure looks like it from here, then forget it. I'm out. I really quit. No joke. No horses.


Yes.


Yes what? Not kidding around here. Gonna throw myself under a shark next time I’m up on the crests, that kinda not kidding around.


Lesson learned.


You or me?


You, this time. In preparation for your next level. „The blood brothers“. Your … Level Three. Soon.


And Enzo?


Gets to have his fun with you until he meets his … in his case, one. Also quite soon. Not much longer. No more … levels for him to complete except that one, seeing you brought up the gaming metaphor. He just needs to grow a bit more. In power and maturity. As do we all. Most of all your writer.


So we’re gonna be just fine, like you promised … whispered into my head … back there. Just different fine.


Yes. You’ll both be just fine. Better. This is, after all, fiction. I promise. See, you didn’t pay attention again. 


Huh?


The new sparkle.


Yeah?


Not just meant for you.


No?


No. He’ll take what you’ve just shown him, or … what he managed to glean through you, on board. It was mostly for him. Seeing himself through your eyes. Who he really is. It’s not so much yet. Not enough. But we have to stay real. Otherwise, this wouldn’t be fiction either. 


What would it be?


Utter nonsense, of course.


Most of it, today, frankly, was nonsense.


True. Maybe. Who knows. Thanks for playing along, then.


Um. Ok. If you say so. I guess. Thanks for … letting me play. Um. With. Us. It was … fun. More. Have some more thinking to do. Which means, I guess, I won’t disappear? 


You won’t disappear. You’ll just go somewhere quiet and think. For a change. A little change is a good thing, don’t you think?


Right. Yeah. Think. Maybe I’ll check in with Enzo first, though. Just make sure he’s … ok. Ok?


You can do whatever you feel like doing. Really feel like. Not just pretending.


So how do I know when it’s real and when I’m just pretending?


That’s the actual question, isn’t.


Yeah I guess. Gonna have to think about … feel about that too. Funny how a even a guy who can feel has trouble sorting it all out, sometimes, you know. Especially he knows most of the time how others feel — or don’t — about him. Makes you wonder where or with who or … heck, whether you really belong at all.


Now don’t you go making a mess around here by spreading a whole bunch of morals around. That would be tacky. 


Hmph.


Like the floor in your wellness pad. You really should clean it up. Someone could slip and fall. If you're out, they might get hurt.


And I thought your whole point of my … exercise was that if only I had been out they wouldn't have. And that's why I had to come and get my ass licked. Kicked. Hmph.


No. Not really. Hadn't thought much about it.


You didn't bother to think about my crystal ass when you wrote that damn scene??


Actually, I thought about it in great detail. I do my research, you know, unlike some.


 So we done here?


For now. And Jericho?


Mhm.


Lay off the ganj for a bit. Seriously. I almost couldn’t get you back out. Your brain was a lot more … susceptible … that I realized. Close call. His pushing himself into your … happy bits. Your synapses were like pudding.


'Happy bits'? Seriously, dude?


Overstimulated axons.


Haven't heard that one before. Peachy pits. So I was trippin'.  


Just a little. Go play some trumpet. Anywhere you want. Just make sure you add that lovin’ vibe. It’ll sound real sweet. Go … tumblin’ some walls …  Damn, you’re hard. 


Don't worry about it. Happens all the time.


To write. 


Wouldn't be fiction if I was too easy, would it. Just silly. 


Smartass. Go.


Be seein' ya round them parts o'mine, uh reckon.


Bet on it.


Weapon of Total Devastation

Deleted sections. From last pages and, below that, also cut epilogue.


Jericho rallied his final defenses. His ultimate weapon. Rising up like the avenging angel Gabriel from his forehead. He had no choice. It was simply too much power to handle for one love-blinded boy. It had to end now.


So he raised an eyebrow. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing changed around him. Not in how he himself felt (permanently dazed and confused) and certainly not in Enzo’s huge dark, mischievously sparkling pools, that were doing their level best to drown him again.


Jericho was usually amazing at it, too. Raising just one like that. Straight up and proud. Look how straight I can be. Utterly unbendable in my lack of intention. Meanwhile the other would hardly twitch. This time too it sat there, totally horizontal and oblivious. Jericho had executed his patent-perfect warning-off salute, perfectly. Like someone else might raise just one corner of their mouth to show they understood much more than you did about certain things that had just been deliberated over, laid out on the (massage) table, but were too polite to say so (or too smart). Just like that. 

It cracked people up, usually, and managed to dispel equally and at once any lingering tension and false hopes. Such as might be felt, by someone, during the embarrassed 'now what' after great sex. 'Now what happens, we all gonna play naked twister together again, sometime soon?'


But on all-powerful Enzo, of course, it had had no effect. He was quite simply immune. Or. Wait.

Enzo of course hadn't even seen his elegantly executed parring manoeuvre. Or maybe he wasn’t just blind, but blinded too. By desire to see. Something else. In Jericho. Something that might secretly, treacherously, like a spy in the house of Jericho’s love, instead wink back invitingly.


Jericho wondered which of the two of them had actually been the one to see everything clearly, grinning back at him all the while like that. Innocently happy. And a little too sly. With that disturbingly butterfly-inducing faint sparkle that seemed to signal, what exactly?

The spy's secret accomplice in Enzo seemed to be messaging someone very nearby Jericho's own person, to the effect of, how you say, „A dopo, you big dope!“


….


That potent eyebrow? Crying uncle? Well, you know why it didn’t work, of course. Because even though the one Jericho had so expertly arched had in fact remained totally straight, the other had remained about as straight as a three-dollar bill. So it just silently smiled to itself, the traitor, like a Buddha comfortably perched on the ample pillow of Jericho’s brow, in perfect contentment with the way things were, as far as it was concerned, just peachy-keen. 



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