Overwhelming Feeling of Nothing

     Fang knew why he was “unavailable”. Why he had to stay put for a while. Numerous reasons. Mostly because he just lost all the remaining trust he barely had to begin with. Not with Durant, of course. But the rest of security and other staff members. Shit, he was surprised his sister and the Darcy guy hadn't personally come over to slit his throat. Another reason being he was “bad publicity” right now. He'd attract too much, or rather distract from the normal everyday that the park was trying to push. Everything was perfectly fine. And if Fang was out of sight, he stood a better chance of being out of mind for many worried. And finally, if he had been targeted once, what were the odds he wouldn't be targeted again? Without knowing exactly how the park had been infiltrated or what the true goal was, it wouldn't be wise to risk Fang being approached a second time. 

     Knowing all of this, Fang didn't press the issue about wanting to be set free. But he was fighting some serious urges to just break a window out and snap all the dog necks he'd have to in order to find the nearest dealer. He had to do something. Move. Get tired. Anything to settle that feeling of flight. Coupled with the nicotine patches, Fang was trying to return to something closer to his usual demeanor. It had been so many years since he didn't have the comforts of smoking. Even in prison, he buddied up with the crew that could smuggle them in. He knew he could probably bitch and moan to Durant to get him more. Or Chris. But in his mind, as soon as he could get back outside, he was going to track them down again. Those were his. They fucker took his shit. 

     It was imperative he have some human interaction before he lost his goddamn mind in Durant’s house. Durant must have seen how he was crawling up the walls and agreed to go fetch Santos for the Trash Bros reunion since Santos was feeling better after getting jumped in the last hit. Fang heard the buzzer to the front gate before Durant got back and knew it could only be one other person. Smirking, he spotted Chris and headed outside to go let him in.

     “Oh, so you play fetch now?” Chris jeered at him as Fang came to the gate. It had always been Durant before. 

     Fang grinned, grabbing the bars and leaning against them. “I don't even piss on the floors anymore,” Fang sneered back at him. He shoved the gate open, letting Chris come in.

     Chris knew better than to ask how he was doing. He could get a better answer by just feeling out Fang's mood instead. The past couple days, he had been a real dick. He'd apologize for it eventually but it was hard to take the apology after getting snapped at and being berated by the colorful language Fang pulled out of his ass. Chris didn't make a repeat visit those days. And not immediately the next day either. Fuck that attitude. Going through shit or not, Chris was not his punching bag. But so far, today seemed promising. Chris was already braced to meet eyes with Durant. The dude was intense. Unnerving for types like Chris. 

     “Dude, unpucker your asshole,” Fang chuckled, leaning on the counter. “It's just us right now. Durant's not here.” Fang perked up as he said the words. Oh ho. 

     Chris knew that look. “No.”

     Fang whisked around the table, sauntering over anyway. He ignored the refusals, realizing it had been so long since they had some alone time. He had some very strained hormones that needed an outlet like some ‘fuck before the parents walk in’ activity. 

     Chris snatched his bandaged hand, giving it a firm squeeze, making Fang wince and halt his advances. “Not happening.”

     “He's not heeeere,” Fang begged. “Come ooooon,” he tried to persuade him. “My balls are gonna explode- ah, fuck!” He winced and hissed, hunching in pain as Chris squeezed harder. “Mmmm, you know that only turns me on more,” he growled, but he didn't make any passes now. 

     “I am not doing shit with you in someone else's house.” Not. Happening. Just no. Even if the guy wasn't there, Chris still felt his eyes were still somehow on him. He shivered, thinking how humiliating that would be. Not to mention disrespectful. “So put your dick away, I've got something else for you.”

     Fang raised a brow, shaking his hand away. He followed Chris, curious about what he might have instead of dropping pants for a quickie. Damn, surely he felt just as horny. Siiiiiigh. Chris dropped his bag onto Fang's bed, rooting around through it as he sat down. “Please be drugs. Anything.” Fang flopped down on the bed ungracefully, turning on his side. When was the last time he had something fun? It was probably some hush order paperwork or a pony coloring book. Blllleeeeh. He'd so rather just have five minutes, shirtless makeout, and go yank one out real quick if he wasn't playing along. 

     Fang recognized what it was right away, sitting up at attention. A walkie talkie. “I want my own channel,” Chris clarified. “If you're going to live in a cave without modern technology, can I at least have that much?” He smirked, pushing Fang's face away. Wasn't happening. Stop trying. “It's so annoying to find you.” 

     Fang groaned in frustration that was more of a whine if anything, “You are the most thoughtful cocktease I've had the displeasure of being addicted to. Coming in here all toned and buff, with your tight sleeves and charm. Don't fuck me, he says, but then whips out the most romantic gift,” Fang sighed. 

     Chris was a mixed bag of reactions. Didn't know how he felt about being an “addiction”. That was just a joke, right? Others might feel flattered but with Fang's addictive tendencies towards things that were really bad for him, Chris didn't necessarily think that was a compliment… just a bad joke. That's what he was going to believe. Not like Fang was a wordsmith. But romantic? That warmed his cheeks. “Just so I can call in if you missed a trashcan,” Chris rolled his eyes, still smirking. 

     “Or when you're thinking of me in the middle of the night?” Fang teased, leaning over again. This time, he brushed Chris's hand aside. Enough with the shy boy act. He could have done this right at the kitchen counter. He wanted this to mean something. And he was right being met with a returned kiss. Just as he was pressing for more, if he could just heat him up- he huffed as Chris pushed him back again. 

     “Get me my channel or you'll never get it done,” he instructed. Especially when he only had one thing on his mind. He didn't know how long Durant would be gone but he wasn't doing this while he was around. It was too, for lack of better emotion, embarrassing. 

     Fang growled and complied, rolling off the bed and retrieving his radio. “Tch, well, shit, I already gave 69 to Durant. Fuck. Santos has 3 because it looks like boobs,” he chuckled boyishly, plopping down on the bed beside Chris. He went through the numbers that were off limits as they were used by other sources; not private. None of them really were but unless someone was just channel hopping, it was rare to just come across a conversation. Chris didn't really care so long as it was empty. 

     “Mmmmm, I know the one.” Fang took both of the radio and flipped the frequencies to match up and applied the quick setting so with a press of a button, it would return to the channel. 

     “78?” Chris didn't get it. 

     Fang smiled devilishly, picking up the radio and buzzing in. His voice echoed over Chris's radio, “Cuz you're a 7 and I'm an 8, bitch.” The radio clicked off again and Fang leaned closer.

     Chris scowled, still not getting it. Until he did. He scoffed, falling back over onto his back. “You're disgusting.” 

     Fang straddled him, leaning over him like he was a fresh kill and he was starving. “What? Sorry, didn't catch that. You have to buzz in, dumbass.” 

     Chris scoffed again, smirking. He took up the walkie talkie, speaking into it. “I said go fuck yourself,” he voice echoed through Fang's radio. 

     “Oooooh, can I choose what with?” He leaned down, leaning over to one elbow to get the pressure off his fucked up hand to get those kisses. Yeeeea, he knew there was no way Chris wasn't just as pent up. “I choose the seven.” He slipped his hands between Chris's thighs for it, knowing full well he was going to get in trouble for it. But after the monotony of this house day after day, he needed trouble. Something to stir excitement. 

    “Only if you're ready to lose your eight,” Chris threatened, jabbing the radio against Fang's boys rather hard, making him jerk and remove his hand. “Not. In. Someone else's house.” He reiterated. 

     Fang quickly deflated to irritated, “Man, come on, I live here too!” 

     “Oh yeah? Show me the deed,” Chris led him on. He could be as pissed as he wanted. “Is your name on it?”

     Fang scoffed, “Give me like… a couple years. I bet I could convince Baldy to share. Dammit Chris,” Fang groaned, sitting back. “I'm fucking stuck here. This is my whole fucking day because I got jumped. I'm the one the got fucked up and I'm the one taking the shit for it by staying out of the fucking way. Meanwhile, you-” He sighed, gesturing to the radios, “You come and make me feel like at least someone is thinking about me in here. And it just makes it even harder because now I want out even more. Because we were fixing shit. We had something good going. And I can't stand that everything that was going right stops because of everything that went wrong. I fucking miss you, you hateful shit-” he words were muffled underneath Chris's hand. 

     “Okay,” he cut Fang off. He looked around the empty room and growled a sigh. “Fine. You swear Durant's away for at least another hour?” He was suspicious Fang nodded almost too readily. Could he really trust a horn dog in heat to tell the truth? “I swear to fuck if he walks in- God, fuck you. You're lucky I have sympathy for your pathetic ass,” Chris growled, dragging himself off the bed. “Bathroom,” he ordered. He wasn't risking it. “And shut your fucking door.” 

     Fang was automatically obedient. Door slammed immediately and he was on Chris, pulling at his clothes. “Chill the fuck out,” Chris snapped, bringing his bag with him. He didn't figure Fang had any kind of supplies at his disposal. “Clothes stay on.” Christ, it was like running an operation rather than love making but Chris was the pissed off one now. Letting him get away with this shit would only make him pull this shit again. 

     Fang obliged to follow whatever dumb rules. He wasn't kidding when he called Chris an addiction. Every fiber of his being was desperate for that next hit of whatever he could find. Whatever tripped the dopamine, Fang wanted it. Fang knew after that last time he came off cocaine, that had been the worst he had ever felt. He knew the next time would be unbearable. Had to have him. Could not exist without him. Get him to the next second, minute, hour. And then again. Til the day rolled over again. Again. And again. 

     And Chris could feel it. Fang was off. It was still hot as fuck. No difference there but the dumbass loudmouth… Wasn't the same. Was he just tired? Fang was never just quiet. Where were the stupid remarks? The name calling? The innuendo? Chris let it go for now. Fang had it rough the past few days. His breathing still sounded raspy as they ramped up the foreplay but he hadn't needed his inhaler for a couple days now. And to the best of his knowledge, he had been stone cold sober. The patches, sure, but not even weed? And just dropping smoking? Maybe this was just what was left when he was stripped down to nothing. 

     Braced against the wall, Chris was anticipating catching Fang on his backside. Couldn't tell if he was going to be a gentleman about it or a savage asshole. But then he heard a sound that made his heart jump and his feet go cold. No, no, no. No. A door shut from outside of Fang's room. A deep rumbly voice. No. Fuck no. No! Another lighter sing song voice. NO!! People! “You fucker!” Chris hissed under his breath, reeling back and shoving Fang away. He jerked his pants up and shut. “You absolute shithead!” 

     “Meeeh, oops. Come on, I can be quick,” Fang shrugged it off. 

     Chris's jaw hung on its hinge. He shouldn't be surprised. Look who he was talking to. “I fucking trusted you.” He grabbed Fang by his throat, he was so pissed he could choke him out! “You-” he was enraged but he didn't have the time to take out every single word he had for Fang in him just yet. He was fucking trapped and had to get the fuck out of this situation quickly. “Get the fuck in the shower. Don't you fucking come out until you have all your shit together.” He let go of him and shoulder barged past him. “You asshole,” he muttered, shoving all of the evidence into his bag. 

     “Chris,” Fang pulled him back by his wrist. Try as he may, he could only land a kiss on Chris's jawline. “Thanks.”

     Chris turned quickly, elbowing him in the process of stepping away. He huffed, looking him up and down. What the fuck was wrong with him? “Fix your shit,” he hissed once more and closed him in the bathroom on his own. He ran his fingers through his hair, sorting it out as best he could while he straightened his clothes. He wiped the sweat from his face as best he could, hastily making for the bed. He swiped his walkie talkie, shoving it in his bag. Shit, did he stay in here and wait or go out there and meet his maker. He should just leave. Right? Just hi, Fang was feeling a little off and thought maybe a shower would make him feel better. Haaaa, just headed out. Run and flee. Yes. Perfect. 

     Chris was at the door in a few strides, ready to bail in the most forced calm way he could. That is until he opened the door and didn't come face to face with the ogre but bumped right into, “Santos?” Santos!? Chris might have turned a shade blue, his blood froze in his veins. “H-hey…” It took everything in him to ignore the bead of sweat that just trickled down the side of his temple. Not Santos. “Uhm, he's,” he looked back in the direction of Fang's bathroom. The hell was his idea again? “In the shower. Did you want- to, uh, see him?” Chris had never felt so frazzled in his life and he didn't like it and what the hell was going on!? From Fang being a lying weirdo to Santos colored like he was hit by a train to- oh shit, that judgmental blank stare from Durant. “I was just-” Trapped.

     Chris had to tough it out a bit longer if he was going to “act natural”. He was like eighty percent sure both Santos and Durant assumed Chris and Fang had been fooling around. And Chris wanted to decline those assumptions but in doing so would only make him look more guilty. So he just did his best to try and pretend he was totally not embarrassed or flustered. Fang made that incredibly hard while in this whimsical mood. He couldn’t have been happier to have both Chris and Santos at the same time! Over the moon delighted. 

     Chris was far from delighted. Santos was annoying and Durant had eyes on him like he was a threat. All Chris had explained was how he was handling some of the rumors drifting around about Fang with the video of him circulating. Chris was on damage control! 

     Durant had turned around but stayed silent in the ‘background’, however there was a point where he had to say something. “Mr. Burton...” he interjected “You asked me if you were at risk before and I told you that you weren't. However, one false move on your part can put you in the hot seat. It's still unlikely from what I've seen so far, but I've learned never to count out anything. Given that they snuck in under my radar I'm keeping my guards up even more now.” 

     “We have zoned in on the suspects and are working on closing the bag on them once and for all, but we aren't quite sure of the extension of the leak so far. That is why we haven't made our move to strike just yet either. To this is also the fact that we aren't sure on how far down people have been paid. I know you mean well but my advice is still that you are careful to answer questions from others at this point, even if they sound harmless. You never know whose ears are listening in among the riders - or staff. If you are not careful, you might unknowingly poke the hornet's nest, Mr. Burton.” There was more to this of course...but it was a fine line what he could and could not share.

     He gave Chris an extra hard look, gauging if he was one to be trusted. Fang had some trust in him at least. “I'm not sure if you have ever wondered why Mr. Darcy is the way he is, Mr. Burton, with the security measures and all that. It all has its reasons, family enemies being one. There are also those enemies that don't shy to hit low.” He nodded towards Fang. “Targeting those within that already has strikes against them, to put all the blame on them, because as you say...who believes the words of a former addict? Even if they are family.”

      Fang had been paying more attention to Santos at the time but when he glanced at Chris, ooh, he saw Chris was mad. He was pissed. Not his usual resting apathetic uninterested expression. That level of pissed off Fang saw all the time when their bickering turned into arguments. Only now he was having to hold it just under the surface. Fang kind of grinned, wondering if that crazy fucker was gonna try to fight Durant? Hot. Do it. 

     “Thank you for the pertinent information,” Chris said in a monotone. “Might I request it be delivered a little more promptly the next update you decide is worth sharing? I shouldn't have to be the one keeping anything in check…Mr. Durant.”

     “Oh shit,” Fang snickered quietly under his breath, not taking his eyes off this. Did he know he sounded exactly like his snobby dad when he got all polite pissed? Big words, fancy sentences, backhanded meanings? Fang had to check himself before he let it get him all hot and bothered! “Ey, you're not leaving, are you?” 

     “Chris-,” Fang swiveled out of his chair and followed after him. Fang was two steps too far behind as the front door shut. “Godammit, Baldy,” Fang groaned. “You pissed him off! Fuuuuck,” he hissed and had to go after him before he got too far away. “Chris!” Fang called after him, hurrying out the door after him. 

     As the door shut behind him, Fang called for him one more time, “Chris, what the fuck? Wait-” 

     Chris whipped around, now he didn't have to mask how pissed off he was. “Does he think I'm a fucking child!?” He hissed, keeping his voice quiet but just as furious. “I've been around this shit all my fucking life! The stupid fucking pageantry, the fucking secrets, and knowing who the fuck is who! All of it! So we don't own a fucking billion dollar industry! But the people my family are connected to have their fingers in shit too! Does he even know who the fuck my mother is!? We've had to move houses more than a couple times when ass-faced bigots would berate her own children just coming home from school! And clearly we do a better fucking job of protecting who we operate with if that asshole doesn't even fucking realize the shit I put up every fucking day-”

     Fang stepped much closer, taking Chris by his wrists, trying to calm him down for once. How the roles reversed all of a sudden. “He's just doing his bullshit. To be fair, I didn't know that shit-”

     He ripped his hands away, not done with his rant as they approached the end of the yard, “I asked for fucking relevant information so I could making fucking sure of what I was doing. I can't just sit on my ass and saying fucking nothing like a fucking moron. Oh, what's happening around here? Oooh, I don't fucking know! Ha ha! Oh well! Just to treat me like I'm naive!? Why? To show off in front of you two!? To make an example out of me!?”

     Fang snorted and held in a laugh. “I doubt that,” he muttered. He and Santos were the bottom tier of people to try to impress. 

     “Does he have a hero complex or some shit!?” Chris continued, pulling away from Fang and marching for his car. Fang hesitated to follow, staring at the gate he'd have to go through. Was it on? A quick touch didn't make his arm go numb. That's all he needed as he trotted out after Chris, knowing it probably triggered some alert he was out of the yard but Durant could clearly see he was just following Chris to his car. He wasn't going rogue or anything. 

     “I am doing just as much shit for you too,” Chris stabbed a finger to Fang's chest, turning back to his car to get the fuck out of there but he finally took a second to catch his breath. He hadn't been this angry in so long. “And all I get is ridiculed.” 

     Fang clucked his tongue and sighed, totally getting how he might feel that way. He stepped a little closer but this time leaving Chris as he was with his back to him. “He only speaks in lectures. It's all he knows. Believe me,” Fang assured him. “I chew his ass out all the time for doing the same shit with me.”

     “It's fucking ridiculous.” 

     “It is,” Fang agreed. “But,” he paused, “he comes from a life where everyone around him is either going to get killed or is the killer. It's pretty fucked up. I mean, did you see him staring at your bag?” Fang chuckled, referring to the walkie talkie hidden like it was a secret. “He probably thought you had a bomb in it from how twitchy you were being, fucking school boy.” 

     Chris huffed, finally turning back to him. No, he hadn't noticed.. But why would he think he was some suspect? He was on the same damn side! “I'm on your fucking side. I'm not stupid. I'm not fucking worthless…” 

     Fang was grabbed with a steel grip by those eyes. He cupped Chris's cheeks and got at least one kiss from him that wasn't flavored with spite. “You're a fuckin’ badass. I respect your hustle. I kinda didn't think you thought much of me if I'm not around… that was… cool,” he shrugged. 

     That scored him at least one more kiss. “Honestly, I think there's been a little too many people with you on their mind and it's kind of pissing me off…” Chris admitted quietly.

     Fang smirked, “You don't like I'm becoming more famous than you?” 

     “Infamous,” Chris corrected him. 

     Fang shrugged again, pulling Chris to his chest, “Bask in my inglorious motherfucking infamy, Christopher.” 

     “Pass,” he declined the offer, pushing Fang's arms away and stepping back to his car. “Oh, you know what? I did find something else for you.”

     Fang tipped his head to the side, “Yea?”

     Chris nodded, returning to him. “Yea, yea, I did. You fuck-” It was just a firm bat with his knuckles, not enough to be a punch but enough of a thud to double Fang over to a hunch on wobbly knees. “Pull that bathroom bullshit on me again and the next thing up your ass is your own radio since that's where you're keeping your head these days. Don't take advantage of my sympathy. Are we clear?”

     Fang groaned, cupping his poor assaulted dick and balls. All he could do was nod and wince. He watched Chris get into his car and start to pull away as he could finally wheeze and breathe again. Damn! He hadn't seen Chris go on a rant like that over anything other than something Fang did! He thought it was just him under the microscope! Fuck! Even though he was now gone, Fang felt like that was one of their more meaningful moments. It made Fang smile stupidly. 

     So he tried putting in a good word with Durant, back inside afterwards, “He’s trying, Baldy. Isn’t that all you ask of us? He’s the kind of asshole that will do anything to protect himself first. But he’s also the kind of asshole that let’s people think that’s all he’s doing. I used to think I didn’t really matter and as many times as I fucked up, he could just cut me off like I never happened.” Which is exactly what happened in the first break up. Severed and pushed away like the parts of a vegetable for the compost. 

     “I think now… maybe in protecting himself, I’m included as a part of what he considers himself. Even the whole damn park and everyone associated with it. That means you too, Little Lasagna Lover,” he called back to Santos if he was even listening. “If I've figured anything out, his identity comes before all else and that's like…fucking everything he does. Believe me, he’s got a plan for everything he does at any given second of the day. It’s fucking annoying. Both of you are.” He didn’t feel the need to add that Chris also liked to keep the plan to himself until someone messed it up then was incredibly annoyed at them for screwing things up they weren’t aware of but that was another bridge to cross some other day. “And he's not a fucking idiot either. As his boyfriend, I am obligated to say at least that much in his defense,” he held his hand up, pleading for understanding he couldn't just leave his boy out to dry. Man stands up for his bitches. 

     It had to be let go for now. No sense in squabbling over who was more right than the other when they were both essentially doing the same thing: taking care of the people they cared about. So Fang’s attention was back to Santos being a good guest. A shame Chris left so early. He was looking forward to being a bunch of stupid boys together. But he and Santos could be enough stupid for the whole household just on their own. Fang sparked up a good way they could go have some fun~ 

     “Let's go play, mi amor,” Fang purred, stepping back from the counter. He ushered them into his bedroom so they could be a little more rowdy and loud without alerting the bear to their horseplay. And so they could crack open the wine Santos snuck over just for them. He made sure to grab some plastic cups because he planned to keep on drinking until he felt something. They were gonna get as trashed as they could and have a good time doing it. 

     Fang was just getting some music turned on with how his stereo worked in his room when he realized he could test out that new channel or theirs! He swiped it from his bed and flicked it on. It was still on the right one so he just spoke right away, “Ey, Chris. We kicked Durant out of our party. You should come baaaack. We're gonna get naaaked.” He gave it a long enough pause without a response, so he chimed in again, “Last chance. C’mon Chrissy Poo.” Fuck it. He probably still had it off. It wasn't like a text he could read later. He'd have to learn this whole communication thing didn't happen if the thing was turned off. Dummy. 

     “Just you and me, ‘Tos. Let's get fuckin’ naked,” Fang snickered while shuffling up the playing deck. A good ol’ game of Strip Poker because what else were playing cards good for?? How did he want to play this? Nice and slow or just a swift kill? He looked at the wine and smiled. “Let's chug between hands too.” He poured them both half a cup of wine and lifted the cup as a toast, “Cheers, bud. To getting our asses kicked by some thugs and still not a damn bit of respect around here, eh? Trash boooyysss!” He clinked the plastic cup against Santos’s and down the hatch it went. Oh, sweet bliss.

     Fang realized as soon as he tossed his shirt off, this game wasn't going to last long. Even if they both caught on to be as frisky as they wanted, neither one seemed to mind the harmless advances. All he had left was his sweatpants and underwear. He figured out how to drag it on, no problem. A couple pauses for karaoke/dance break and a little guitar solo of his own if a song came on he knew how to play. Maybe a little fingering lesson to Santos, one more thing to start giggling over as the wine was settling into their bloodstreams. 

     A warm smile from ear to ear as Fang stared at his poker hand. The first bottle was gone and they were into the second. He felt waaaarm. Not black out embarrassing drunk but his tolerance had come down a lot more from his stay here. It was sporadic booze here and there and not kegs night after night mixed with whatever drugs were offered. He swayed a little, looking over his cards at Santos with a devilish grin. This was the final hand. They were both in their underwear. Both with what was left of the scattered body bruises from their assault. “Yer so fuckin’ cute, dude. I just wanna fuckin’ eat you like a snack. Raaaahhh-” He made work on that threat, coming over their pile of cards between them and pushed Santos over backwards. He chomped his jaw and then his chin, eating him alive before snorting and giggling. 

     He played out his hand across Santos's chest , leaning on his elbow. “Ta daaaaaaa, I fuckin’ win,” he claimed without even seeing Santos's hand. He was also not drunk enough to be able to ignore how dangerously close he was to doing something stupid. But it made his heart shimmy and come to life. Like it had a purpose under his ribs again. It was like it would just go dormant otherwise. Santos was looking like a fine drug just laid out in the open for the taking. He was absolutely beautiful. 

     A tickle went through his body at the touch from Fang and he smiled with all his being, dimples, twinkling eyes and all. Santos was letting Fang do what he wanted. Just look, touch or whatever. With some self awareness Santos knew he wasn't all that bad on the body front as far as eye candy went, and by the looks of it Fang didn't mind the looking. Sooner or later however, Santos still knew he would wake up alone in his bed and realise this was all a dream. It had to be, because why or rather how would he end up like this? It was usually more of a struggle, or someone WAY too drunk to know any better. 

     Santos glanced down at the cards displayed on his chest. He didn't need to double check his own hand to know that his hand was just, even if just barely, better. Ever the people pleaser, however, Santos stretched his arm over the side of the bed and let his cards fall to the floor, some scattering in under the bed out of view. He was ok with giving Fang the win if it kept him happy and in this mood. “Yea gnocco, you totally won...”

     Did his conscience tingle too, like a spider sense, not just the stuff below his belly button hidden under his comic book print underwear. Underwear that shifted just slightly. Yes, a little bit. But then on the other hand, wasn't Fang coming on to him? Was it just the wine talking? Perhaps. Did either of them care why? Gingerly, Santos finally dared to lift his hand and with a finger he stroked some of Fang's hair out of the way. He could just see him clearly with one eye, the other just barely. Still waiting on perhaps a more definite sign of a go-no-go his other hand went lower. 

     It fetched itself a cheese stick from the pile, and made short work of the wrapper even if it was done one handed. With a cheeky grin on his lips Santos then brought it to his mouth not at all suggestively, sucking, licking and nibbling at it before inserting all of it slowly into his mouth. He wasn't a naughty boy at all, oh no, just a boy eating a cheese stick. He then brought up another, and after peeling that wrapper off that one, he offered it to Fang, teasing him with it by not letting him have it at first. A smile on his lips. “Voglio baciarti (I want to kiss you)...ma non oso, cagnolino (but I dare not, little dog)” His warm eyes spoke of what he didn't really dare to say in words Fang understood. Used to rejections more often than not, some wishes were better said in ways the other didn't understand. A smile and a nod - at best - was better than a shove and a slap. To pretend was better than the harsh reality. 

     Fang grinned, grabbing Santos's wrist firmly and biting that cheese out of his hand. “It's’a spaghetti,” was all he could come back with in a terrible Italian accent, having no idea what he actually said. His bet? Probably something cheese or dick. He pulled Santos's arm back above his head, pinning it there, staring at but through him at the same time. He didn't know when it started happening but it was like he was rising up to the ceiling. A breathless sensation overwhelming his senses. Like getting high for the first time. Scary at first but he knew if he welcomed it in and embraced it, he'd feel so incredible. He leaned down, nuzzling against his cheek so he could whisper over the music, “They gotta come off, loser,” he chuckled, letting his wrist go and sitting up again. 

     Santos, being stripped by almost all his clothes, his one and only tattoo just barely peeked over the hem of his underwear. At first glance it just looked like a rectangle, but it was a cross once it was uncovered. It was one of those silly things he had done when he was younger, but he couldn't remember if it was a dare or not. He jokingly told the story to those that would listen, that it was the one place outside church anyone could come to confess before the ‘saint’ aka himself. He would not turn anyone away, he would bless them all. A soft giggle as he came to think of it. Had he told Fangman that story? He couldn't remember.

     Fang wasn't shy to tug the underwear off either. That was the game. Those were the rules. He stretched them like a slingshot, sending them flying across his room, hitting the wall on the other side. He giggled, looking down and seeing the cross looking back at him. “Oh,” he laughed a little more. “‘Tos, are you a cute lil Bible boy? You never told me that. Cuuuuz-” he hiccuped and coughed, “That ain't a measurin’ stick.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively with a devilish grin. 

     While he was looking at the cross, he noticed his body was a lot more than a little aroused. Didn't take much for his young body to overreact. Wasn't just the wine making him sway. All of his blood pooled between his legs. Deja vu… did he not just do this… Mmm, Chris. He thought maybe the guilt would be the tug on the reins he needed. He was spiraling out of control and fast. He felt almost numb on the surface but just below his skin was incredibly hot and electrified. He was trapped in this suffocating suit with no way out. A bundle of nerves screaming and he didn't know what was happening anymore. He was desperate. He didn't know how to function anymore. His whole mind was broken, nothing was right, he was out of control of himself. 

     An attempt at a coy shrug was made as an answer, but it was tricky with being ‘held down’. Santos didn't mind Fang looking at him the way he did. In a way it was a turn on, and perhaps he felt himself react more because Fang looked at him like he was one of those italian marble statues that was always nude. Those poor people in the past who never seemed to have enough clothes other than thin bed sheets. Part of him was just surprised by what happened, the other thanked any other saint that was passing by for granting him that it did happen, just in case they existed and had any part of this. 

     Fang lurched forward, fulfilling that desire of Santos's, delivering a hot and heavy kiss, swallowing the words he may have been saying. He might not have understood the Italian, but he could spot the body language a mile away. Didn't know shit about horses but this Italian Stallion was posturing and needed some breaking or whatever the fuck those crazy horse people called it. He dragged his nails over the cross tattoo and it was not a mistake that his thumb hooked Santos's dick. He brought that along with him, giving him a firm tug for a howdy doo. He knew immediately this kiss was not Chris. This was his friend. This was not a drunken mistake. Doing this would hurt them both. He didn't do shit that hurt anyone but himself. This wasn't who he was. He didn't do this kind of shit. Just stop. But that's not what he did. 

     Perhaps it was the surprised side that had tried to say something but the words, whatever they might have been, were swallowed by Fang's kiss. Santos masked the surprise and pushed it to the back as his turned on autopilot took control. He didn't mind the way Fang went about it either, rough or soft, Santos adjusted and kissed him back with the same vigor. The touches given seemed to ripple through his body, and he arched slightly towards it, like his body asked for more. A slight intake of air as his most sacred was touched. Another cheeky grin at Fang's words about the cross, perhaps he had told him after all. Santos let himself loose himself in Fang's eyes.

     “You even taste like a snack,” Fang growled, licking his lips. “Hey, you still have to pick a pill,” he whispered across his cheek. Those were the rules they made up. Loser not only had to get naked but then got to pick a mystery pill Fang found around the house. Who knew what they did!? He let Santos go, teasing him more with the tips of his fingers as he felt up his chest, neck, and finally gently caressed that battered side of his face, ever so gently. Like saying kind words to the cattle he was about to slaughter. Who did it really matter to in this situation? “I thought of a different pill you could swallow…” he said suggestively, thumbing over his bottom lip. “But it's a big one.” He dipped his hips down, pressing his crippling boner up against him. “Think you wanna try it, you little cheese tease? I dunno what the side effects are. Could be fun to find out.” He raised his brows, sitting up and freeing the man underneath him. He was nearly there. He pulled the hem of his own underwear down, three of the bridge piercings peeking out. There were many more tucked away still yet, ready to be discovered. 

     “Of course...” Santos finally answered but wasn't sure to which pill it was directed at. It was like Fang was a snake charmer and the snake didn't mind being charmed - or swayed - at all. Santos grinned more at what he was presented. That was a more fun option than a pill and he had no problem picking that. He was good at pleasuring others given how often they had called for the almighty himself. He got himself in a good position, pushing down the underwear, then he let himself taste Fang for the first time. His tongue ‘jiggled’ over the piercings as they were found, then pressing against them a bit firmer before he took in as much of Fang as he was able. One of his hands stroked the skin of Fang's inner thigh while the other searched and found the crown jewels, fondling them, altering from a caress to soft upwards rub using his palm. As his tongue found the piercings, he played with them as he moved slowly up and down the growing shaft. Now and then he glanced up towards Fang's face with his good eye. Smiled at his own success when he thought he heard or felt Fang react to his touch. Trash bros forever.

     Santos paused, altering from only giving the head little flicks of his warm tongue as the tease that he was, to gently tugging the piercings with his teeth, and sucking him off as firm and deep as he could go. He didn't do each ‘trick’ for too long though. Just enough to make the receiver just a little frustrated - and perhaps flustered. He wasn't sure why but it felt like Fang needed this, despite having what he claimed to be a boyfriend. Perhaps he just didn't get enough. Santos was happy to fill any void, being a giver of all kinds of affections. A pleased little hum vibrated in his throat. “Mm...Mi ecciti davvero (You really turn me on), tell me what you want me to do next...” he gave a cheeky grin “...il mio comandante (my commander)”

     He thrust harder against Santos, knowing he could take it. With a mouth and a grip like that, this wasn’t his first blowjob. He sighed and groaned, rubbing his hands over his shoulders. He just got hotter and hotter but he couldn’t feel what he was looking for. The room swayed as he leaned back, watching Santos work his magic. Damn, this was some quality dick sucking. He was well practiced. Good for him. “Fuuuck, dude… don’t stop.” Another stifled groan, feeling him tug a piercing. So hot. 

     Would Chris ever? Fuck no. Why didn’t it feel as bad as it should thinking about Chris right now? He should feel awful. He wasn’t this kind of guy. He was a piece of shit but he was loyal. That was the only ground he had left to stand on… “oh shit…” Fang muttered to himself, leaning his head back until he laid on his back. Oh shit, he felt nauseous and numb all at once. His heart raced fast and hard as he realized just what he had done. 

     The thrill. The rush. It wasn’t even about feeling good anymore. He was numb to it all. He was just scratching and scratching and scratching at an itch that wouldn’t go away. No matter how fast his heart raced and his blood rushed. The further it went along, the more numb he felt. He only realized now… he reached over, grabbing the radio. He did it. He had finally taken everything from himself. All along, he was just chipping away until there was nothing left. He did it. He finally found the bottom of his own hell. There was nothing left to stand on. He fell. 

     “‘Tos, Santos, come here,” Fang patted his shoulders to get his attention. He rolled his finger to entice him to come to his chest. “Come here, bud,” Fang smiled sadly, wrapping his arm around his waist. Maybe it felt like Fang was going to ask him to ride his dick or maybe Fang was going to take a bottom role (lol hell no). Instead, Fang let go of the radio and wrapped another arm around Santos, turning him over so they were face to face. A strange loving way really. 

     Fang pulled him in so his forehead resting against his shoulder. “We gotta stop…” Fang whispered quietly, almost inaudible over whatever song was playing. “I can’t…” Fang felt his own voice waver. He was broken. Everything was wrong. “I can’t keep doing this shit to people I love.” Fang felt more than a little wave of some terrible emotion like being stranded at sea, scared but also a feeling like this was the end so what was the point of even worrying about what was going to happen? “Something’s wrong with me,” he could barely say. It didn’t even feel right to be clinging to Santos, rock hard wieners between them. But he couldn’t let go. He had nothing to stand on. Only one soul to hold onto. “Something’s really wrong with me.”

     He still smiled, perhaps it was sadness in the depths of his eyes, but he still smiled. What else could he do but smile. It was like he knew why Fang had stopped. Perhaps all those other times when he had been nothing but a tool for jealousy or a stepping stone for revenge. Showing sadness and sorrow about it had never helped him. Not that smiles did either, but it seemed to patch and smooth things up better. All he could do was to be happy for the things he did get.

     Fang didn’t want to let go. He’d be so weirded out why the sudden halt and really weird riddles. He’d laugh his way out of it. He’d walk home for all he knew. Maybe just sleep on the couch. They’d go back to Trash Bros like nothing happened. Fang eased his hold, sighing and feeling the shakes coming on. Sober? He wasn’t sober from anything. Drunk, high, lusting for anyone… he was just some flesh suit being dragged around by whatever this fucked up mass of impulses wanted. “I’m sorry, ‘Tos. Your boner game is great. I… just….” He didn’t know what to even say, laying limp with a throbbing dick. Where was the sharpest utensil he could get to? Fuck, he hated himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the agonizing emptiness would go away. How could feeling like nothing…hurt this much? 

     Santos looked up as he brought his hand up, and caressed Fang's cheek as he placed a tender kiss on his forehead. The kiss of a saint on a sinner, giving his forgiveness, a soothing balm to a tormented soul. “Nothing is wrong with you. Don't be sad, be happy instead because your heart has someone it wants to fight for. There is nothing wrong with that, Fang, nothing at all. It hurts because love is the greatest emotion of them all. It makes you do and feel a lot of things.” Even if Fang let go, it was like Santos knew that perhaps Fang needed to be held anyway so he didn't let go. He embraced him a little harder against himself instead, not romantically this time, but more like the hold of a someone that needed comfort. The end of his own heated dream had come sooner than he thought or had hoped for. “It's worse not to feel anything at all. Or to feel it all and have nobody to give it all to.”

     Fang didn't really like mushy shit. Raised like an animal by animals, kicked off to a farm to be treated like an animal, ran away and treated himself even less than an animal. Soft embraces and heart to hearts were so out of place when all he wanted to do was sit alone in a dark room. Forever. 

     But he didn't hate any of this. A side of both of them so rarely witnessed. Fang feeling so little and feeble? Santos, the voice of reason? And yet it felt okay. Fang may as well have been the one that punched him in the face and he'd be the one to say it was okay and ask if his knuckles hurt. 

     Santos just knew his friend needed comfort in some form and he was there to give it. He gently rocked him the best he could. Perhaps an odd image for anyone that would walk in right now to see them like this, but Santos didn't really care what others thought. Fang was his friend and he was sad. He gave the forehead another tender kiss just because. There might never ever be the chance for him to do that again. Gently he took Fang's injured hand and placed it gently on his own chest, just over his heart. He still had a smile on his face. “Dolce ragazzo (sweet boy), think instead of how rich you really are. You are in possession of two hearts already, perhaps even three...if you count papa bear...because why would he care the way he does, and do all these things for you if he didn't love you in his own way?” He stroked Fang's head next, this time offering his own shoulder to lean on. “Life is fucking rough...but I’ll always be your friend, in any shape and form, dick or heart...” He couldn't help it. He giggled at his own words. Perhaps it was getting a bit too mushy even for him. Perhaps he just tried to cope with the only way he knew how.

     How could anyone not like Santos? This was real friendship. He smirked at his humor, appreciating it really. “You're my best friend, dude. I wish there was a word better than friend.” He tweaked his nipple gently between knuckles, keeping the moment lighter than how dark it had felt before. “You're the best guy I'd totally fuck but I have too much respect for as a human being that I really fuckin’ like hanging with,” he just explained it all the way. “I fucking love you, bro. S'not the wine sayin’ it, I swear.” No one else on this planet could be put in this position and say or do the same for him. 

     He scooted in closer, tightening his arms around him once he knew he wasn't leaving him. “I need you, dude,” he mumbled. “I don't want to feel nothing.” It was true. This fucking angel of a man was the only thing Fang was clinging onto during this mental spiral he had never felt before. He balled up a little, feeling so insignificant and tainted. What did he do from here? What should he tell Chris? He had to tell him, right? Before that, he had to seriously seek out help. Devin. The doctor. Despite Santos's kindness for saying so, Fang knew something was wrong. He never felt that overwhelming feeling of nothing before. This body didn't even feel right anymore. If it wasn't for Santos's warmth, he didn't think he'd feel anything else at all. 

     Fang felt like such a quitter. He always had himself to rely on. Not that he was great at making the best decisions when they mattered but one thing he thought was always true was his will to survive whatever the hell he got himself into. But last night. He had nothing. No part of him gave a single shit. He abandoned himself. And maybe Santos would never know that but he had to have picked up on something. Who else would have chosen to stay in such an awkward predicament? 

     Love. What the fuck did he do with that? He glanced over to the radio off to the side. It was off. He'd never know if Chris tried to talk to him last night. That was the thing about them. Unless both sides were in sync, it would never work. Both lines had to be open for communication. He reached over and flicked it on, turning the volume down low so it wouldn't scare the ever loving piss out of anyone if it went off. 

     He returned a kiss to Santos's forehead. A thank you he'd never know how deep it went. He had to get up. He couldn't let this nothingness replace himself. He had to find wherever he left himself. He wouldn't leave behind any of these people giving a piece of themself to be around him. He couldn't just give them some half ass version of himself back in return. 

     He found Durant in the early hours of the morning, just as the sun was rising. That was enough to get Durant’s attention. Fang was hardly ever up this early. Fang staggered over, nursing a killer hang over and simply said it before he could rethink it, “Hey, Durant? Could you call up Devin when you get a chance? I wanna ask him some shit. Doctor shit. I think I might have broken my brain,” Fang smirked. He was totally serious. It wasn't meant to be funny. But Santos smiled. And Fang liked that. 

     Durant raised a brow in surprise, staring at Fang. What was this? WHO was this? “Eh...yeah...sure, Fang. I can do that.” Would Devin believe him when he called? He had always been sceptical to Durant's methods, and after meeting Fang. Well, perhaps it was time to cash in on that bet. Maybe. “Do...do you want to speak to him in person or on the phone?” Durant scratched his head. He hadn't expected this, even if he had his hopes up. “Are you alright, Fang?”