Vaska kept their face painfully close to Porsche, their nose waltzing around Porsche’s nose, and closed their eyes.
The buzz from Raj was throbbing with Vaska’s heartbeat, and they (after nudging Prosche over to the drum kit which had set up) felt around to the drumsticks. Starting to use the kick drum slowly pounding away with their pulse. Then quietly adding in fills across the toms and cymbals, they wove between blood pumps feeling the force flow down their arms to the drums, and the vibrations back up their skin rifling through their arm hair.
Porsche saw Vaska’s head start revolving as they communed with god. Or what they thought was a god. I don’t know. I’d never understood Vasky when they told me, “If praying is like talking to god, then what I do is like (fill in whatever sexual innuendo they were feeling at the time)”. Always such a poet Vaskya. It was kinda awkward sitting that close to Vaska without kissing them, let alone while they were playing the drums at the same time.
Vaska started to buck, and their playing became more erratic as their hands moved faster and faster, almost hitting Porsche, and hitting a panel of effect buttons, until they resolved and resolved onto a constant quarter count on the ride, kick, and snare. Hitting the panel had turned on some tremolo, looping, and reverb, bringing the feeling of thrall to Raj and Porsche, almost as intensely as Vaska themselves was feeling.
Porsche had to motion over Raj so she could rest against him while staying close enough to nuzzle noses with Vaskya—it’d been well over thirty minutes now—but Vaska was still in her…”experience” and Porsche could never get sick of being this close to Vaskya, so it kept going. It was like when they’d just started flirting back in basic, but the stakes were a little higher back then.
Vaska’s head snapped back and their eyes flew open. Looking around after a second as if they had forgotten where they were,
“where the fuck am I”
“Vasky? We’re in the desert stacks? You’ve been avoiding me etc?”
Vaska blinked, blanked, then blunked, finally coming back nose to nose with Porsche, “ah yes, here were I”
They stared into each other’s eyes as the sunset came through the rectangular opening bouncing around the inside of their eyeballs.
“lets eat!”
And without so much as even a smooch Vaska jumped up and towards the cooling Chinese food. Although Vaska had only initially ordered for themselves, the inordinately large size of Vaska’s appetite proved to give them both just enough to eat. There were just finishing up their meal when some troglodyte decided they wanted to be in that particular stack spot.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He jumped in the front door setting off the proximity alarm in Vaska’s ear, who, knowing that no one else was due, immediately took out their pistol and aimed it at his facial-chestal area. At that distance it was kinda the same. He had on some weird facemask/gimp costume, but it was pained bright white and yellow in some pattern or another. He had a shabby shotgun shaking shoddily at the three of them, bouncing from Raj to Vaska, to Porsche, to Raj, to Porsche, to Vaska, to Porsche, to Raj, to Porsche, you get where I’m going with this.
“Alright b-b-itches listen to m—"
Porsche, nonplussed, “A little presumptuous don’t ya think?’
Him, “what?”
“Well I mean you’ve just busted in here—”
Vaska took over Porsche’s sentence, “Probably the only places he’s busted in to be honest. He has that carpel tunnel lookin wrist jitters”
“He has those plumber pro lookin wrists”
The guy shook his head—the zippers jangling along, miserable that they had to be adorned by such a clueless sack of shit—, “w-what?”
“come on now kid it’s the apocalypse not the sex sanctions of the 50s”
“he’s wearing a fuckin gimp suit and and still doesn’t know what we’re talking about”
“working for boy juice?”
“Pulling for the white army?”
“Making a salty milkshake?”
He just shook his head and cleared his eyes with his free hand, stepping back into the threshold of the panel, triggering the alarm in Vaska’s ear again.
“fuck are you dumb.”
“Really droppin the ball here kid”
“I’d be surprised if his balls have dropped at all”
“I bet if I stuck my hand down there all I’d only find an apology note from your mother for cranking a complete failure like you out”
The last insult seemed to sting him back to reality, “Sh-SHUT UP BITCH I’ll fucking BLOW your BRAINS out”
He was still in the path of the alarm, and Vaska was quickly losing patience.
Porsche put up her hand, “Hey, moRON,” adopting a Brooklyn accent for some reason, “You see that fancy lookin thing in their hand?” Gesturing to Vaska, “What do you think that is? A juiced up nerf gun?”
“what do you want anyways?”
“I’m taking your fucking stacks place, and then im going to fucking do whatever I want to you two” he grew a rapey grin.
Porsche slightly shook her head and recoiled, “oo. Don’t like that one, do we Vasky?”
Vaska looked over at Porsche and shook their head like a disappointed parent, “No we don’t”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP you fucking bitches. And drop the gun.”
The alarm was continuing to sound in Vaska’s ear.
“alright whatever.” Vaska put down the gun, but then triggered the explosive in the alarm, blowing the gimp’s—surprising that he had any—brains out his ear and against the opposite wall, his body flying against the wall his brains had freshly painted. His legs broke and backbone and lower body lodged horizontal in the metal wall.
“Jesus Vaska I had the situation under control,” Porsche pulled her real arm holding a pistol out from insider her jacket, a dummy arm in its place on the outside of the jacket.
“You using a prostetic when not being bereft of limb is problematic” Vaska said to her.
Porsche narrowed her eyes, “Vaska just,” she knit her brow and looked like she was about to commit brain power to it when she looked out the side of her eyes to Vaska’s shit-eating grin, “You’re fucking with me aren’t you”
“Oh in all the ways except the one I want to be”