Lay Your Prompts On Me - 3. 312 - Holy Bacon

Like a punch to the face, the alarm was suddenly, violent and painful. Kim groaned, prayed the noise would go away, then swept his arm across his little table, knocking the alarm clock, his phone, a small lamp and a stack of have demolished paperbacks to the floor. In response to this sudden attack, his phone also joined in with, what to Kim sensitive ears, was a cacophony of sound, dragging him kicking, screaming and otherwise protesting from heavenly unconsciousness.

Worse than the noise of the alarm was the sensation of waking. Sleep was safe, pillowy soft and comfortable, the wonderful slackness of muscles which weren’t able to send signals to a switched off brain. Now consciousness pulsed all of those signals through the synapses in his waking brain and Kim had a spilt second to wish that he’d been hit by lightning, because surely the pain wouldn’t be quite this bad.

The phone ceased ringing, which was a small mercy, and without opening his eyes, Kim tried to locate the alarm clock on the floor, attempting to remove its incessant bleeping. His knuckles impacted on the side of the bedside cabinet with a sickening crunch.

“FUCK!” The sharp pain pushed his brain into full wakefulness, and suddenly the rest of Kim’s body was making its demands known as well. “Ow!”

Everything hurt, except his right foot. His bladder really wanted him to go to the toilet and his brain really, really wanted him to stay horizontal for as long as possible, preferably forever. His vision was full of interesting colours not normally visible to the human eye and his nose hurt. Every muscle ached. Kim felt like he’d been run over by a bus full of alcoholics with a grudge.

Something heavy thumped violently into the wall next to his head from the other side, and there was an accompanying groan. Kim looked again for the alarm clock and finally managed to switch it off using his other hand. He lay blinking, staring at his hand, the blood stained skin and steri-strips decorating his knuckles.

“Urgh…” The voice from the other side of the wall was muffled. “Something died in my mouth.”

Kim continued to blink, then allowed his gaze to follow down his arm to the rest of his body. He was still sort of half dressed, because he was wearing a t-shirt which he recognised under all the grime as being the one he’d gone out in, and a pair of boxer short which weren’t his.

“I’m naked.” The voice on other side of the wall sounded deeply perplexed. “Where’s my fucking underwear?”

“Don’t worry.” His throat felt raw and dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His teeth tasted furry. “What happened?”

“Fuck…” There was another groan. “I think we might’ve killed something again.”

“Benji?” Kim stared at the ceiling and waited for clarification to his friend’s statement.

“There’s a lot of blood in the carpet.”

“’kay.” Kim couldn’t bring himself to worry about it. He was more concerned with the headache which seemed to be driving an icepick between his eyes. “Breakfast?”

There was the sudden, indescribable but very specific sound of somebody being sick.

They meet in the hallway. Apart from being naked, Benji looked relatively clean for someone who had woken up surrounded by blood soaked carpeting. His hair stuck out all over his head in snuggles. Kim didn’t waste a look of time looking, because the combined scent of vomit, old blood, and the inside of his own mouth was not making him feel any better. He dashed to the bathroom as quick as he could manage, retched dryly over the toilet bowl, and then dug around in his boxers in order to avoid pissing all over the floor. Once relieved, he took a long look at him in the mirror.

Along with the sealed up cuts over his knuckles, there was a cut above his left eye, and when he lifted his ruined t-shirt, a significant amount of dark purple bruising on his ribs. He wandered back out to where Benji was leaning against the wall, looking slightly blurry.

“Those are my boxers.”

“Yes.”

“I think I took a shower.”

“I think I got in a fight.”

“Fuck.”

“You really think we killed something?” Kim gulped, then peered into Benji’s room. “Oh yeah, we killed something.” There was blood everywhere, bits of fur like tumbleweed in the corners of the room. “A rabbit maybe?”

“Gods I hope so. If we killed another dog again we’ll have to fucking move.”

“You want breakfast?”

“Dude. I am not letting you near the kitchen until you shower. You smell like a distillery.” Benji pushed at his chest. Kim watched his nude friend openly. “And I don’t want those boxers back until they’re washed either.”

Kim stood under the shower and collapsed against the tile wall. The shirt was filthy, and would probably have to be burnt, along with the carpet in Benji’s room. Despite the pounding in his head, Kim’s crotch was occupied with thinking about how good Benji had looked naked in the hallway. It was the problem living with a straight werewolf, he had no shame whatsoever, had no issues with being totally naked, and did not understand that Kim thought of him in a very different manner. Benji knew he was gay, but Kim doubted that the werewolf had ever stopped to think about the fact that inter-species relationships could go to hell where Kim’s sex drive was concerned. Kim groaned softly to himself, confident from experience that the shower would drown out the noise he made, and slipped his hand down his bruised abdomen to the length of his cock.

And that was another thing, how had he ended up so beat-up? The bruises looked several days old, but that was a supernatural metabolism at work, and Kim figured that in twenty-four hours it would be impossible to tell that he’d been in a fight. More important though, was who he’d been fighting with. Kim was a slender skinny guy, easy to pick on, but as numerous people had found out, very hard to actually beat up. It looked like he’d thrown maybe two good punches, but unless there was a dead human out there somewhere; Kim had definitely come of worse in whatever scuffle he’d been involved in. He’d have had to be very drunk indeed to just lie there and take a pummelling.

He thought about Benji as he stroked himself. His brain, tired and hung over, flicked through a library of fantasies and picked out his favourite. It was by no means the most erotic, and there were other things that Kim liked to think about when he was lying in bed in the dark on hot summer nights, sweating, writhing and trying not to wonder if Benji was actually out screwing some poor human girl who he’d never look at twice. Now he just imagined that the bathroom door would, open, the glass would slide back and Benji would be there, six feet three naked werewolf glory, and would lean in and kiss him. His lips would be soft under the chapped roughness of a man who had never even heard the word ‘exfoliate’ in his life and the kiss would start out all slow and gentle, a bit tender and unsure, before building in pressure and heat.

Kim blinked hard, because in his head what he’d been looking at was a memory, not a fantasy, and he could tell the difference between the two. He touched his cut hand to his lips, then looked down at his knuckles. He punched someone, quite hard, and that person had either been wearing armour or had super dense bones. He’d been beaten up, and that was a hard thing to do, unless he’d been too stunned to do anything but just lie there and take it. Kim soaped up his hair, scrubbed at his skin and began to piece his evening together.

Drinking. It had started with beer in front of the TV and progressed to somewhere with sharing a bottle of Southern Comfort. Sips traded back and forth had tasted like Benji’s lips, made Kim want to know what the real thing was like. So he’d leant across and kissed his friend. After that things were a bit blurry, but he remembered Benji taping up his knuckles and the cut over his eye. He suddenly remembered hitting his head on the corner of the table as he fell.

More drinking, no wonder his head hurt, and then they’d gone for a walk, arm in arm in the forest, and had dropped the mostly empty second bottle of liquor and chased after something furry with a fast pulse. Killed a rabbit, then a second. Benji had got naked when they returned and had a shower. Kim had stolen his boxers off the bathroom floor.

He shut off the water, dressed himself in sweats and hoodie and towel dried his hair as he walked to the kitchen. The smell made his mouth water.

“Breakfast?” There was no telling how much of their evening Benji remembered, but he smiled as he portioned out the food and passed a plate across to Kim. “There’s drugs on the counter and juice in the fridge.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Kim took his plate and a handful of painkillers. They sat on the sofa, eating without talking. Benji might have remembered everything or nothing, but one thing was certain in Kim’s mind. Regardless of broken heads, hearts, faces or hangovers: bacon cured everything.