🔞Boyd Kisser🔞

there isn't enough talk about the burger scene and the possibilities of it .

after the shooting, the entire place smells like iron , the air is thick with the heat expelling from bodies . it's pressing — no air conditioner in sight , the grills already turned on to preheat, friers already making the oil gurgle .

randy feels sick from that already , but the taste of rot lingers in his mouth and clings to the backs of his teeth like a velvety, fuzzy blanket . no matter how often his tongue dances across the same spots, it always feels like there is something stuck there, still .

the sickness builds slow , and before he knows it — before Benson even gets to raise his hand to count up to ten — he can feel himself gagging, wretching . an instant burn at the back of his throat, a wash of acid , but nothing wants to come out .

when randy does move, it's not towards benson but rather the bathroom . he's stumbling like an ill deer , swaying on his feet , trembling hand with the crescent shaped marks of his nails clutched across his mouth .

benson understands the sickness , understands what randy just saw — but he's pumped up on adrenaline and the high of a predator so when randy seemingly runs , he follows. slots himself into that small employee's bathroom with him . watches him gag three , four times and get out nothing but spit and snot and salty tears . randy is white knuckling the toilet like his life depends on it, forehead shiny with sweat.

there is no hair to hold back, but benson fits his palm against that patch of skin and brushes back those mousy blond strands , tries to soothe him with the repetitive circling of his thumb .

after the tenth gag and nothing coming out, randy not moving but only whimpering like an abused thing , he finally cups him underneath his jaw . pries his mouth wide open with the other hand — feeling his teeth first, the wet wriggle of his tongue — before he plunges digits further inside . the boy writhes like an eel, claws those nails into his wrist and benson thinks the next thing he's gotta do is declaw him .

first, though . . he is pumping those fingers into his mouth in terribly slow strokes , pressing against the back of his throat until the wretching becomes more violent , full body ripples that make randy curl together and over the bowl .

good boy, good boy ,

he’s been obsessed with benson for a while now, watching him every time they have a shift together and noticing his every move. after they get off work one night, randy decides to follow benson home on a whim. he turns his headlights off and trails behind him. the roads aren’t busy, so it’s not hard to keep eyes on him.

when benson starts slowing down and parking in front of his house, randy stops a couple houses down so he can see him get out of his car. he gets a rush out of watching the man he’s infatuated with when said man doesn’t know he’s around.

this becomes a regular occurrence. sometimes he’ll even drive by benson’s house when he’s out (or he’ll leave the house for the sole purpose of passing the house) on the off chance that benson is checking the mail, mowing the lawn, or just sitting on the porch nursing a beer.

he gets brave enough to get out of the car and walk up to the house when he knows benson isn’t there. he’ll steal a piece of mail from the mailbox or a cigarette from a box that was left on the front porch. he basically knows what the inside of the house looks like, too, as he has begun looking through windows.

one night, while looking through the window to benson’s room, he hears a car pull up. benson’s home. he tries to hide in the foliage and trees behind the house, but he can’t find a good spot.

there’s a shine of a flashlight coming towards him. he can hear benson call to him. “c’mon out, bradley! i know you’re here! i saw your car!”

randy slowly steps toward the light. when benson sees him, he notices that randy looks like a deer in headlights. he’s scared to death, even though he’s just facing repercussions for his own actions.

“what the fuck have you been doing around my house, you freak?!”

randy tries to stammer out an answer, but he can’t think of anything. randy thinks: how long had benson known it was him?

benson seems to read his mind. “i noticed the first day you followed me home. turning your lights off didn’t do shit. now get out of here if you don’t want me to beat your ass.”

randy runs to his car, tripping over his own feet and struggling to get up a couple times. he can barely start his car, not able to insert the key into the fob because his hands are shaking so badly.